#( caitlin ; jameson )

[revencntt]

WHEN? 10:58pm

WHERE? Caitlin's home.

WHO? @ofgarnett

Time blurs. Sure, the calendar say it’s been two years, but how can that be true?  One moment its seconds, the next, it’s centuries.  Sometimes, the wound is healed. Its only reminder was a faded scare that disappeared more and more as each day passed. Other days, it was fresh. Still dripping deep red blood,  leaving a gruesome trail wherever the two went.

Did Caitlin Siltshore ever exist? Or had she only been a fragment of his imagination? Just a character that starred over and over in his dreams. When he feels like being kind, when Jameson needs the rest, Dorian lets him believes this. There was no Cait. She’s a cautionary tale. She’s make believe. This keeps Jameson pacified. Keeps him calm. Keeps in him in line. But, when Dorian needs a sharpened knife, he allows Jameson to fixate on it. On Caitlin. Their relationship, from beginning and end. Especially, the end. He lets Jameson go to that night. Remember how cold he felt when he came to. Nearly frozen. The smell of the dirt his face laid on for God knows how long. How alone he was. Or so he thought. How Caitlin disappeared, without a single curiosity about if Jameson had lived or died that night.

Since his return to Port Leiry, Jameson thinks of her more and more. Memories of her flood him while he walks through the streets of the city. Dorian provides no relief and Jameson doesn't want him to. It makes the atrocities easier to commit.

They roll into town long before Caitlin does, but they knew she'd be coming. One of the many things Dorian has taught Jameson is that there are ways to summon witches without the use magic. Jameson would argue, murder is a type of magic and Dorian, stuck somewhere in Jameson's mind, would chuckle.

Nothing brings home the prodigal daughter sooner than an open seat on the throne. When whispers of her return are shared in the streets of Port Leiry, he's ready. Dorian isn't. He says to wait some; He's got to keep Jameson on a tight leash. Brennan Silshore was an example of how Jameson likes to go for the jugular. Then some. And then some more.

Two weeks pass before Dorian gives the okay. Tonight's the night. Dorian's been silent all day. He does this sometimes, Jameson's notice. He disappears. Jameson's grown so used to the voice in his head, the silence is strange.

Oh well. 

Jameson adjusts. He has his own thoughts in his mind this evening. It’s sort of like a date, isn’t it? He wants to look nice for Cait.  Clothed in a black button up shirt, paired with black slacks, he dressed up for the funeral she never threw in his honor. Squirts on the cologne he knows she likes, cause she bought it for him on their third anniversary. Jameson, like the romantic that he is, even picked out a little something special for the occasion. He keeps the gift in a medium sized black box with a pretty white bow. It’s not earrings, a necklace or any kind of jewelry, it’s something much more sentimental than that. He thinks she’ll like it. Dorian told him not to, said it’s a bit much, but Jameson brushed him off. He doesn’t do everything Dorian tells him to. 

 Apparently, Cait hasn’t learned much after far too soon passing of her beloved uncle  Brennan, cause the locks are much too easy to break. Just a little “Aperi portam” here and a little “revela veritatem,” there. Voilà! The door unlocks. The home looks the same as it did a few weeks ago. Just some moving boxes are here now. It smells like her too. Along with a lingering scent of bleach.

Jameson helps himself to opening a few of her boxes, he figures Cait needs help unpacking. Some of her things are familiar, some aren’t. The things that aren’t trigger a nasty emotion. His heart rate picks up.

<You have to stay in line tonight, Jameson.>  There he is. 

“You know,” Jameson says out loud to the voice in his head, as he rummages through Caitlin’s stuff. “I am perfectly capable of being civilized.” Jameson finds a stack of pictures  in her things. He begins to shift through them. 

<Hm. Need I remind you of what happened just weeks ago?> 

Dorian grabs control of Jameson’s head and points it at the across the room, aimed at the floor. Jameson catches sight of the blood stained rug.

A sheepish grin washes over Jameson face, like a child caught red handed in a cookie jar. “Oh, right,” he says out loud. “That.” 

Dorian doesn’t say anything more.

 His attention returns to the photo album. He turns the page and there’s one of them. Oh, they look so young in the photograph. Innocent. They look happy too. So genuinely goddamn happy it could make him sick. It starts to.

Divine timing intervenes. Cause before he can tear the photo to shreds, the front door opens. Take a guess who’s standing there.

Jameson has never been one to bother with hellos. “You need to invest in better locks, Cait,” he says, as he looks up from the photo album. “At least a Ring camera or something. Anything.” He starts fumbling with the photos and slips that special one into his pocket. He lets the others fall to floor. “Anyone could just let themselves in here.” He clicks his tongue. “With the way someone is slaughtering Siltshore witches, I’d be extra careful if I was you.”

[ofgarnett]

woods

11:11pm

@revencntt

Time’s up. Hourglass turned over and empty. As agreed, it’s been a week. A week not to write, not to sketch out sigils on her wrist in ballpoint or whisper commands to the marrow of the world. This spell is as simple as it gets, doesn’t need flourish. No poetry, no cleverness. Just surrender. This week, just like this spell, is about acceptance. Cait chews on that for a long while. Seven days ago, acceptance tasted like asphalt. It hasn’t changed much since. Maybe it never does. Maybe that’s the point.

She walks under a sky heavy with stars, the branches whispering above her like old friends trying not to interfere. The lighter in her hand flickers back and forth, a signal to whatever watches in the dark. It’s not for him - he’ll come regardless - but for her, to keep her hands busy. The fire is a comfort, it makes the shadows feel honest. Beneath the canopy, she stops at a tree trunk. She puts her candles, unlit, on the flat wood, makes it her altar.

She doesn’t turn when she hears him, though she knows he’s there - knows the particular hush the forest gives him, like it’s holding its breath. She keeps her back to him a moment longer, just to prove she can. She tugs at the glove on her hand. When Cait finally speaks, her voice is steady, stripped clean of fear or sentiment. “Sneaking up on me. Nice. That’s a good way to get stabbed. Again.” She hasn't actually checked yet, to see if it's actually him.

[lifeofkaze]

Jaz (Wait for it)

The Moon: When has your character’s path been unclear?

The Sun: When does your character sit back and enjoy themselves?

Sels

The Hierophant in Reverse: When has your character’s personal beliefs been challenged?

Caitlin

The Tower in Reverse: When has your character’s actions led to disaster?

Lizzie (I had to, I had to, I had to)

The Moon in Reverse: When does your character mistrust their feelings or intuition?

The Sun in Reverse: When does your character’s goal seem just out of reach?

Reva

The Empress in Reverse: When has your character felt dependent on another?

Good thing you understand ask hoarding @kc-the-writer It’s a thing. Love you.

Jaz

The Moon: When has your character’s path been unclear?

Jaz was very unsure about her path forward when Equinox was first founded because it meant turning from her actual career plans for good. Good thing Mel has a way of being very annoying convincing about the things she wants to happen.

The Sun: When does your character sit back and enjoy themselves?

Boringly enough, Jaz just wants all of her friends to be content and happy. She will bother you if you are not.

Selene

The Hierophant in Reverse: When have your character’s personal beliefs been challenged?

Selene grew up very sheltered and without much contact to other children so her parents’ ideals and beliefs were all she knew. When she first arrived at Hogwarts and was without their influence, she quickly learned that there was more to the world than the Frasers’ narrow ideas of it.

Caitlin

The Tower in Reverse: When have your character’s actions led to disaster?

The biggest disaster Caitlin ever caused was a quiet one when she broke off contact with her mother for several years. Selene took Cat leaving with bad blood between them very badly, and there were more tears shed about it than Selene would ever care to admit.

Lizzie

The Moon in Reverse: When does your character mistrust their feelings or intuition?

Pretty much throughout the whole time between Orion leaving her until they got back together again, Lizzie didn’t listen to the voices in her head murmuring to her that maybe, just maybe, Matthew wasn’t quite who he made himself up to be. He made sure to turn her the other way from where all his red flags were waving.

The Sun in Reverse: When do your character’s goals seem just out of reach?

Lizzie dreamed about winning the Quidditch World Cup ever since Skye made her fell in love with the sport at twelve years old. Being a mother of two under two, with a partner who is home a whole lot less than both of them would like, this dream seemed well and truly out of reach for her.

Reva

The Empress in Reverse: When has your character felt dependent on another?

Right before she took her sabbatical and went travelling for a year by herself, Reva felt like all of the people important to her had either physically or emotionally removed themselves from her life. She felt like she depended on her friends to be there for her to be happy but neither of them was there (or so she thought), which created a hollowness in her that was harder to fill than Reva would have liked.

[the-ruin-of-roy]

Shannon Roy

( Billie Lourd / female / she her ) — Shannon Evie Roy has been living in Port Leiry for about 9 years. They currently work as an Paleobotonist and are 26 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a witch or if they’re connected to The Garnett Coven  They tend to be quite covetous and selfish, but can also be benevolent and loyal.—

TW violent/hints of abuse, drugs, death

Name: Shannon Evie Roy

Occupation: Paleobotanist

Age: 26

Sexuality: lesbian

Species: Witch

Affiliation: Garnett Coven

Relationship Status: In a complicated relationship with @ofgarnett

There was a time before the fire when things weren't so great. Big brother was harder on her. That was before their lives had the pleasure of turning upside down. The gap between siblings, Irish twins, felt like a never-ending gorge. Jameson hurt her and she has never forgotten. It was hard walking in that shadow when she had her own shit going on.

It was clear that she never would fit in. Brother was a jock and Everett was a child, Shannon was the rebel. The Outsider with money to burn. That's what she did, filled her hollowed out spaces with weed and liquor. It quieted the buzzing in her veins—magic.

She snuck out often, it was nothing new. Normally shed crawl back in the window and pretend shed never left, but its hard to crawl back into a burning house. Parents dead, baby brother speechless, and Jameson leading the pack. Everything changed.

Jameson did too. He had saved Everett and that meant something for all the hate shed built up over the years. He chipped away at it one day at a time, but she never let her guard down. There was a slow burn resentment pooling in her stomach like bile while she watched her brother get everything while she had to wait for the table scraps.

He was at school.

He met someone.

She's a witch

They were all magical.

Suddenly it made sense. Jameson moved them to Port Liery after their Aunts death. They had a coven and a life. Most importantly they had mentors to help them hone their craft.

There was also a girl. Shannon had not thought much about relationships outside of the family. So many years in fight or flight had made the notion comical, but it was different now. Her little brother was older, Jameson was... Jameson was fucking her crush.

Like always she tucked it away on a shelf in the back of her mind. It was a phase. They'd break up. She'd bide her time—engaged!

Caitlin Siltshore was becoming her sister in law. Shannon wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Heartbreak was a new emotion, grief was bad but this was worse….

Confessions, Shannon couldn't stop herself and it put a wedge between them. Her hatred of Jameson was deeper than it had ever been.

Did he even love her?

Shannon separated herself from it. Moved on to other matters while her heartbreak simmered on the backburner. Then Caitlin waltzed back into her life with devastating news.

Jameson was dead.

How was she supposed to feel? Sad, sure, but he'd hurt her enough that she was numb to it. Her biggest concern was Everett and how it happened. She pressed Caitlin who deflected with a kiss and one thing led to another.

Did Shannon finally get the girl?

The victory was short lived because she immediately felt guilty and Cait ran off to Europe.

Shannon poured everything into her work and magic, relying on Brennan to fill the gaps where Jameson and Cait had broken her. Cait only needed space. She could understand. Shannon developed a bond with Brennan that was the best familial link shed ever had. He was, in many ways, the rock she could put her foundation on.

Until he was murdered….

[declanofruin]

Name: Declan McCormick Occupation: Part-time associate at Retrocity Age: 47 (physically 39) Sexuality: Bisexual Pronouns: He/him Species/Affiliation: Witch / Augury Coven Hometown: Boulder, Colorado Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: (+) Observant, Emphathetic, Gentle (-) Cowardly, Insecure, Pessimistic

pinterest - playlist

BIO.

Eight years ago, Declan McCormick died.

But long before that, he's just a kid who has no idea what's coming from him. It begins in a dorm room; his roommate is gone, which means he's nose-deep in his silly little comics and manga, free of judgement. Next door, a bunch of kids have their hands on a badly copied excerpt from an Ironwood grimoire containing the origins of Deathroot. Promises of prosperity, power, a taste of something greater tempts them.

But the spell they cast is a mere echo of what it should have been, riddled with mistakes and missing key pieces. It doesn't take hold of them. It reaches out, out, out until it finds him - the boy next door.

A bastardized strain of Deathroot wraps around his very being, old and unnatural, it latches onto him and feeds. It hollows him out from the inside, consuming every bit he has to offer and more.

Doctors call it a rare blood disorder, but Declan can feel it's something else. He can feel how hungry it is, how wrong it is, and no matter what they do, no matter how much they try to treat it, he feels himself slipping away year after year.

His mother dies. Then his brother, Cam, leaves. And all that's left is him and his little sister, Devon. He's sick, but he holds it together for her as long as he can.

Declan dies when he's 39.

And then someone digs him up, breathes something unnatural into his bones. I can smell the magic on you, they say. They say more, but it's all noise because the blood rushing back to every corner of his body deafens him. Hunger is the only word he hears out of the rest of it.

The thing is, the hunger has always been there. Now, it just has barbed teeth and it whispers demands.

To keep living, Declan has to feed his curse what it demands - he has to take life from something else to extend his own. At first, it's small things. A squirrel. A rabbit. A bird. He studies witchcraft and utilizes rituals to enhance the taking of life. Deep down, in the recesses of his mind, he begins to understand at least one thing about his affliction - it will never be sated. It will never be enough.

And then there's the other thing - the sense that creeps under his skin when he looks at people. Their intentions, their auras - he can see it, vague and shadowy, but it's there. It's an extension of something he's always had, honed from years of watching his own back when his siblings aren't there to watch it for him.

MISC HEADCANONS.

app questions/answers

Declan is physically younger than his age (physically 39, to be exact) because unbeknownst to him, Devon attempts to bring him back herself, except the only thing she's able to do is slow the decomposition process.

CONNECTIONS & PLOTS.

His Maker (Jameson Roy) — The witch who resurrected him. Maybe they could sense the dark magic still rooted six feet beneath their feet. Maybe they were just bored or needed something to practice on. Maybe it was an accident.

Friendly Neighborhood Vampires — Declan can relate to some of the Vampire moral dilemma of either wasting away or taking what he needs at the expense of another, except he doesn't have fangs, super speed, or super strength. God he wishes he did, though.

Witch Mentors — He's a new witch and studying has only gotten him so far. He's terrified of of actually practicing magic, under the assumption that if he practices it outside of prolonging his life, his curse will demand more of him. But the subject is endlessly fascinating to him. Real life superpowers?? Who knew!

Devil On His Shoulder (Caitlin Siltshore) — The natural progression of his condition is human (or monster~) sacrifice. Declan will never allow himself to realize or acknowledge that. Someone will need to get him there - but be warned. Declan is a good noodle and will need convincing that another's life is worth extending his own. It will take time and perseverance!

Embodiment of the Eyes Emoji — There's a few reasons why one may look Declan's way. Maybe they smell the decay on him. Maybe they're seeing the younger, bright-eyed shadow of one Cameron McCormick. Maybe his animal sacrifices in the woods draws a hunter's eye. Ironwoods familiar with the particular brand of magic Deathroot tends to carry may have questions for him.

Other— Everything and anything. Maybe they catch him mid-sacrificial ritual. Maybe they're a nerd and they see him nerding out.

current connections (this is mostly for me to keep track)

[cityofruinrp]

Congratulations L and Rey and welcome to the City of Ruin! Please look over the checklist and send in your blog(s) as soon as possible!

Jameson Roy (Witch) played by L

Caitlin Siltshore (Witch) played by REY

[the-ruin-of-roy]

Shannon loved Caitlin enough to let her choose Jameson. She hadn't acted on it, physically. She had only confessed the words and let Caitlin Siltshore rip out her heart and feed it to her with her rejections. "Ev..." She sobbed his name, barely a whisper now. She exhausted and her body was burning. She couldn't tell if it was physical burns or the emotions that boiled beneath the skin. "Jameson was alive and he had sliced her open with mere words.

"Fuck!" She grit her teeth. Just moving too much was searing hr will to stay awake. "Everett, how bad am I burned?" She didn't tell him that Caitlin had left their brother for dead. She couldn't let that sink in for herself just yet. Why was it so hard for her to be loved? She had given too much to be treated like such shit. "I am going to kill him for this." her fist clenched and her jaw tightened at the thought. She had absolutely no love left for her brother.

He held her. It’s all he could do in that moment. Her grief stung. She was clawing at him, both their worlds falling at their feet.

“Caitlin…he knows……” she gasped. They all knew, Shannon hadn’t been subtle in her pining. Gods what a mess. But it had been his instinct to call Caitlin too.

But Everett didn’t know. Something felt wrong about calling Cait when it was Jameson who was back. Of course he was pissed. This was such a mess. He pulled Shannon closer, he couldn’t treat her wounds until she was calmer. And maybe he wouldn’t have to make the decision on whether or not to call the girl who had both held him family together and was also ripping it apart.

[captain-penguin2]

Favorite Tv Show Characters

A lot of the actors of my favorite characters left their shows, My favorite characters who had/have a relationship on their corresponding show tend to be the ship I ship when I am watching the show.

-  Special Agent Nina Chase (F.B.I)

- Special Agent Stuart Scola (F.B.I.)

- Special Agent Eleanor “Ellie” Bishop (N.C.I.S)

- Special Agent Nicholas “Nick” Torres (N.C.I.S)

- N.P. Nicolette Nevin (The Resident)

- Dr. Conrad Hawkins (The Resident)

- John Constantine (Arrowverse (Any time Matt Ryan plays him))

- Zari 2.0 (Arrowverse)

- Oliver Queen (Arrowverse)

- Felicity Smoak (Arrowverse)

- Mon-el (Supergirl/The Flash)

- Dr. Caitlin Snow (Arrowverse)

- Mark Blaine/Chillblaine (The Flash)

- Detective Erin Lindsay (Chicago P.D.)

- Dr. Natalie Manning (Chicago Med)

- Special Agent Jamie Kellett (F.B.I: International)

- Special Agent Scott Forrester (F.B.I: International)

- Lea Dilallo (The Good Doctor)

- Dr. Morgan Resnick (The Good Doctor)

- Dr. Alex Park (The Good Doctor)

- P.I.C Sylvie Brett (Chicago Fire)

- Captain Matt Casey (Chicago Fire)

- Detective Amanda Rollins (SVU)

- A.D.A Dominick “Sonny” Carisi Jr. (SVU)

- Geri Broussard (Walker)

- Juliet Higgins (Magnum PI)

- Officer Edit “Eddie” Janko-Reagan (Blue Bloods)

- Sergeant Jameson “Jamie” Reagan (Blue Bloods)

- Maggie Bloom (A Million Little Things)

- Ace (Nancy Drew)

- Liam Ridley (Dynasty)

- Clarke/Ryan (Legacies)

- Hope Mikaelson (Legacies)

- Wade Kinsella (Hart of Dixie)

- Dr. April Kepner (Grey’s Anatomy)

- Dr. Lexie Grey (Grey’s Anatomy)

- Dr. Mark Sloan (Grey’s Anatomy)

- Dr. Arizona Robbins (Grey’s Anatomy)

- Sergeant Tim Bradford (The Rookie)

- Special Agent Laura Stenson (Rookie Feds)

- Special Agent Brendon Acres (Rookie Feds)

- Jack Sheridan (Virgin River)

- Penny (Big Bang Theory)

- Quinn James (One Tree Hill)

- Peyton Charles (IZombie)

- Blaine (IZombie)

and many more I can’t think of right now:) (this is in no specific order)

[writermuses]

Thread Tracker

last updated: 11 June 2022

Note 1: I only went back a month or to whatever was on the last thread tracker, so if you want to keep something that is older than that, please let me know. I will still and forever be the slowest replier in all of time, so I’m happy to keep threads. I also probably missed something in the process of making this tracker, so just lmk.

Note 2: I know some of the threads are finished, I plan to go back and cross more of them off. I just like having them linked so I can go back to them as a reference due to my memory loss. Seriously, don’t think I expect you to respond to the older shit, I just love our bebes 💙

Note 3: Click here to find my open starters, which are open for all eternity.

@brok3nxdreams

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@chaoticallycosmic

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@chingcna

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@imperfectox

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@marimelwrites

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Micah x Diana - 01

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Pem x Tiberius - 01

Resna x Jameson - 01

Solena x Ilya - 01 - 02 - 03

Tadgh x Maddie - 01

Vincent x Azra - 01

Will x Emine - 01

Yana x Eren - 01

@midnightsaboteur

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Aurélie x Jude - 01 - 02

@not-museing-around

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Alina x Xavier - 01

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Nate x Danny - 01 - 02 - 03

Tomlin x Leah - 01 - 02 - 03

@rcsegld

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@tenderstars

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Alina x Thomas - 01

Aurélie x Nora - 01

Drew x Rylee - 01

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@thekingswench

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Pembe x Percival - 01

@turkishdclights

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Emirhan x Ramona - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04

[revencntt]

☎️

Send ☎️ And I Will Tell You:

What My Muse Has For Your Muse's Contact Info: Cait ❤️‍🔥

What Their Ringtone Is: This one.

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse:

Leaving now. Can't wait to do freaky magic with you 😈 😝

Do you think it's going to be cold out there? Should I bring a jacket?

Imma grab a jacket, hold on.

Outside.

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone:

(Jameson snapped this picture after he said something stupid and this was her reaction. He wanted a picture of Cait in her natural state. Her annoyed at him. Given the hat, I'm gonna say they were on vacation.)

[the-ruin-of-roy]

“A woman who doesn’t know she’s beautiful, how sad. Do you want to do things?” Shannon chuckled softly. “I highly recommend trying it out.” Keeping Caitlin distracted, did she even care! “It’s pointless. I don’t believe she’s capable of reciprocating love anymore than my brother is capable of loving anything but himself and the power he desperately craves.” Shannon was used to giving herself over to love and getting nothing in return. It left a ln open void in her that was getting harder to ignore. “I don’t have that shit in my system. You can taste all you like. You couldn’t possibly do anymore damage than I have already sustained.”

Shannon waved her hand. Clearly this woman was not aware of her own attractiveness. Shannon wasn’t bothered but it was a shame she didn’t.

“And my brother,” Shannon pointed to Jameson, “he just wants to be the most powerful person in the room. He wants all eyes on him, he wants to control them. I’d love nothing more than to put his mother fucking head on a spike.” Shannon placed her hand on her stomach, the worst of her burns still healing, “I thought he was dead, he came back to my greenhouse and…” anger, pure anger white like lightning flashed in her features, “ killed my familiar and set everything on fire. Nearly killed me.”

"Died? Is he like me, or simply extremely lucky in his survival?" She asked with intrigue, not having gone toe to toe with another vampire in a long time. She'd be rusty, but Christy would do it if it were worth it. "Oh I just. . ." Christy looked around nervously, a little shrug coming to her shoulders, "I haven't done anything with a woman, ever. And I think there are many more pretty people around here that would work more effectively. Besides, you could be keeping your girlfriend distracted whilst I go after the brother."

She was beautiful, but no, she was meant to find a boy. . . a man. That was the way of the world, wasn't it? Even if sometimes she did feel that familiar flutter deep in her core for very beautiful women. Frankie, mainly, but she tried to ignore it. It wasn't what she was supposed to do, was it? "So long as you don't have that horrible herb in your system, I'm sure you'll be delicious. If you're not. . . well, you can find me a replacement witch." Christy had no qualms with being given a supply that wasn't the person she was dealing with, so long as a supply was guaranteed. "Mm, it's supposed to be. So long as you don't end up dead. Don't worry though, I won't kill you. My control is impeccable, you know, when I decide to control myself."

Brows furrowed in confusion now, because this all sounded rather complicated. . . Christy lived for complicated. "And his fiance was. . ?" She had a feeling that the other would say her current girlfriend, how deliciously messy. "Give me a taste, then point out your brother to me."

[ofgarnett]

THREE PIECES OF CAITLIN SILTSHORE & SHANNON ROY'S HISTORY.

A STORY IN THREE PARTS: ONE. CONFESSIONS. Three years ago. After Jameson and Cait's engagement. TWO. REVELATIONS. Two years ago. After Jameson's death. THREE. EPISTLE. Two months ago. After Brennan Siltshores's death. Cait returns to Port Leiry.

@the-ruin-of-roy

CONFESSIONS. Three years ago. After Jameson and Cait's engagement.

Location: Obsidian

THREE YEARS AGO.

Shannon shoved her despair into a closet—no, it was a cell with cold steel bars. She could mask it, paint her face with the expectations of joy and happiness. It wouldn't stop the pain of swallowing that burning coal of an announcement—engaged. The hot ember silenced her protests; no, the fireball burned in the pit of her stomach. Her brother would marry the only person Shannon ever saw herself loving. Not that he had any idea of her inclinations; no, she had never been in love with anyone. It could be assumed that her heart was not able, too marred to beat for anything but her own life. But she loved Cait from afar, always had, from their lessons and introduction into The Garnett Coven—Another shot, another memory fizzled out. She should slow down but she tossed another down her throat. She'd burn all her tears. “So you are marrying my brother. Does this make us sisters now?” Never let them see what they do to you; put it in the box and swallow the key—fucking get a grip. “Congrats.” She couldn't rein in the tone; resentment mingling with something raw and sad. Shannon’s gaze lingered over Cait. There was something on the edge of her tongue, something couldn't say…not yet. 

Jameson stays back at the apartment, sleeves rolled up and elbow deep in chalk lines and powered quartz, poking at the magic of leylines. This is probably why Cait can slip out for the evening - tonight, the night out doesn’t come at the cost of progress. It earns her a little patience from Dorian. 

<You’re leaving.>

I’m stepping out.

<A meaningless distinction. You do not step away from eternity. You borrow time from it.> 

Then let me borrow it.

Or as much patience as he can spare. He goes quiet, because Jameson is doing the work, and so Cait gets to steal away. It’s been a week of cryptic texts from Shannon — and Cait’s suspicion is only bolstered by the five shots of fireball that have already been emptied by the time she gets to Obsidian.

“Either we’re celebrating something or I just walked in on a one-woman act of arson. Blink twice if I need to confiscate your credit card.”

Cait takes a seat - just as Shannon’s congrats get delivered. Oh, they’re celebrating her. Cait remembers then that that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone gets engaged, offer up congratulations. This whole thing is an out of body experience - Cait sometimes forgets that the engagement is happening to her, that she’s the one getting married. She constantly fiddles with the ring - Penelope Roy’s heirloom switches between her finger and the chain around her neck, back and forth, back and forth, as if Cait hasn’t made peace with the concept of it yet. 

“Yeah - thanks. Believe me, no one’s more surprised than I am.”

But it doesn’t feel wrong. And is that what the whole strangeness of this week has been about? All to say congrats? Cait wants to call bullshit on Shannon - her coven member, one of her oldest friends, sister to her fiance (weird! So weird to say! And to think!)

“So you invite me out and then speedrun liver failure before I show up? Bold strategy.”

Cait flags down a bartender, gestures between them. “Two waters, and maybe a fire extinguisher. She’s starting to smolder.” Caitlin nods down to the empty shot glasses, moves to push them away. 

“Careful—if you hit six, you unlock the ability to astral project straight into regret. What’s up, Shan?”

Shannon hated how her body betrayed her, how this woman could simultaneously wreck her and make her smile with a perfectly poised phrase. Was it warmth at her presence or just the fireball? “Usually, arson only happens when I'm not at home.” That remark brought her back down to somber. The way Cait brushes it off is distant from the engagement, holding it at arm's length while Shannon swims circles around the situation. There's blood in the water, no, it's blood rising to the surface of her skin. Every feeling is more chum in the water—six one down. “Bullshit, I can't believe you said yes. I am in shock here.” The shot glass hits the table, and immediately, she calls for another. “That is funny, water?” Shannon shot her a questioning look. Was she not happy? She wanted to marry him, she agreed. Shannon grasped at the straws, reaching for the conclusion that might see her hopes to fruition. “Do you even love him?” The sorrow was palpable, but Cait would have understood that drinks made her less than cheery. Jameson had always loved her in his way, or at least she called it love. The family was everything.As far as this happy union; The best case was he loved her, and she loved him, leaving her heart shattered. Worst case, she didn't love him and Shannon would single-handedly break her family. There was no happy ending. But she could be honest; it wasn't over until vows were made. She had time to lay everything down—a line in the sand. Worst case, she makes a fool of herself and scorns her brother. Was that worth it? “One more shot unlocks the truth. If you care to know it.” Shannon was not inebriated enough to outright confess…yet…soon there would be no going back.

The arson bit is a bit dark. But the Roys are a dark, dark family. That whole home gone up in flames, all three siblings forced to rebuild. Cait knows what happened, who did it - Shannon’s pain, and Everett’s sadness - and she decides to say yes to Jameson anyway. Because if Jameson’s got skeletons in his closet, Cait’s got close to labyrinthian catacombs. She hasn’t told him about Dorian yet, hasn’t told any of them. She doesn’t plan to. Ever, if she can help it. Cait will accept Jameson for whatever he is, because she knows the thing she is is far, far worse. 

< You think this is love, Caitlin? No. This is the oldest bargain in the world - monster for monster, shadow for shadow.> 

She doesn’t stop Shannon from taking the sixth one. But her hand lashes out to hold tight to the seventh. Shannon’s working through something. Cait’s not going to pretend she doesn’t see it. “Why? Because you thought I wasn’t the marrying kind - or because it doesn’t fit whatever version of me you decided to hold onto?” She’s a little sharper here, doesn’t like what Shannon’s doing and so her words turn interrogative. Cait thinks it's so stupid to ask about love here. Yes she loves him, of course she loves him -- but when has that ever been enough! Does Jameson even love her? How much of that love is for her and how much of that love is for whatever Dorian made her? How much of that love is for Dorian, whether he knows of him or not? Love is insignificant in the gaze of gods, pales in comparison to the hunger that made them. Love is not the point, love was never given the option to be the point. Cait can survive a world where Jameson doesn’t love her. She’s built for that kind of emptiness - knows how to live beside a hollow and call it home. She can even marry him in that world. Wear the dress. Make the vows. Pretend the ache in her chest is something everyone feels eventually. But a world where they don’t build something together? Where there’s no legacy forged from the wreckage, no reason for all the ruin to mean anything? That’s the world Cait doesn’t know how to survive. That’s the one that feels like death in slow motion. She meets Shannon’s eyes. Now her voice is a touch lower, fiercer. 

“We are going to build something great together.” She says firmly, with a sort of raw honesty few receive from her. She brings the shotglass to her lips. “Give me that - I’m not going to have you drink me under the table here.” Tosses it back. Competitive, they all were. It’s a damn disease. She takes the remaining shots in clean succession. Takes them to keep Shannon from taking more. “One more shot won’t make it easier, Shan. It’ll just make it messier. Say it or don’t. But don’t pretend the booze made you brave.” Shannon’s never been anything but brave. 

"The only version of you that I cling to…" Shannon lets it die, bleeding into the space between them. Was she so enthralled with her brother that she couldn't see it? The Cait that Shannon wanted to hold, and caress chooses ambition over being loved. Shannon wasn't without a legacy; she was a Roy, which meant something. Shannon exhaled a long, maniacal laugh. "How many dynasties is he building? Are you the only architect?" The words burned in her throat, and Shannon wanted desperately to swallow them back down. She went for the next shot but was derailed by her unrequited love interest. "Fuck off." She seethed. Shannon was not a loyal subject to this hellscape of a kingdom her brother was orchestrating. "No, but one more shot will take away the pain of being shot down. You are too focused on this perfect, ambitious life...twirling my mother's ring around your finger to see the one who's worth your affection." She instantly regrets it, the underhandedness of it all. Her emotions claw at the reaches of composure only to devour her good sense. You fucked up. Shannon knows that embarrassing heat is blooming over her neck and cheeks. Is it the alcohol or both? There was no going back from it. She walked up to the ledge, knowing damn well she would jump. "Jameson doesn't love or deserve you. He is an entitled ass who thinks he is something special. You want to build something with a washed-up baseball jock who barely got his shit together. I love my brother, but I love you more than he does. Even if you believe that, I doubt you would admit you feel the same."

The night takes a turn, as the confession spills forth. The embarrassment splashes across Shannon’s face, basically reaches out and touches Cait too. Thickens the air between them with shame of knowing. Torture couldn’t have pulled such vulnerability out of Cait. Shannon bleeds willingly. That’s the tragedy. That’s the proof. Brave Shannon. At first, Cait is too shocked to say anything other than: “What do you know about what I deserve?” If Cait doesn’t do anything less than take what she wants from the world. She doesn’t bow to rules - she cracks them open like pomegranates, split and seething with red. When the natural order says no, Cait rewrites it. It’s the only way she knows how to live. 

All this time, she’s had Shannon’s love. What the fuck. What the fuck! Had it always been there? Existing on the periphery of her life, just in the corner of her eye? Did people just do that? Give love away so easily? No, there’s some trick to this. What the fuck. 

“You love me? You waited until I said yes to him to say that?” She breathes out the words. Time feels like it’s folding around them. Slowing down and speeding up and rushing them through the entirety of their existence to bring them to a screeching halt in this moment. “That’s not love, Shannon. That’s timing. And yours is fucking awful.” It’s the gall of it. Shannon hadn’t offered love, not really. She’d offered disruption. A ghost of a maybe, delivered only when Cait had already built something solid from the wreckage of her past. That wasn’t honesty. That was sabotage dressed in sentiment. And Cait’s not some sweet prize to be won, nor some girl to be passed between desperate hands. She’s a conquest, a cataclysm. Not Penelope waiting at the loom, but the sea that swallowed Odysseus whole. 

<You were not made for their stories. Let them drown in the ending.>

Cait’s angry now. On behalf of herself, on behalf of Jameson - first person to look at her like she’s not something dangerous to survive. “You don’t love me, you just hate that he got here first.” The only reason Cait hasn’t hexed Shannon is out of respect for the history of them. She wants to take Shannon by the shoulders, shake her, for the piss-poor calculation of it all. She takes another shot. Swallows down the cinnamon burn of Fireball. “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

She knows plenty, evidenced by scars. It’s palpable, the tension between them. Jameson was stealing her Persephone and dragging her down to rule over his hell. How long before the garden goes bare? Shannon could feel the trajectory of the spear coming closer to her chest. She’d let it run her through, bleed her feelings onto the bar. “You deserve everything.” Shannon’s gaze fell to the counter—no more shot to take it all away. “I thought I could put it on a shelf, wear a happy face, and be glad for you both. I can’t do it. I can’t forgive him, let alone condone this arrangement; that’s what it is: you don’t love him. You haven’t said it once. Your justification was greatness, not love.” Shannon closed her eyes and buried her face in her palms—exhausted. Maybe that was the alcohol. Sleeping it off, forgetting this confession, she might be able to convince herself that it was a nightmare. Cait would oblige her for the sake of preserving this fucking facade. “Fuck you for trying to tell me how I feel. Just because you don’t want it doesn’t nullify it. That’s the difference between me and my brother. I’m capable of loving something other than myself.” Shannon let out another amused laugh. Jealousy was true. That was precisely what it was, but she knew it wasn’t a race Jameson was running. It was chess, and his pieces were moving to gain power, not to worship his queen. “Whatever makes you sleep at night. I do love you unconditionally. I wonder what conditions you have with Jameson?”

It’s hard to see Shannon like this - face cracked open, soft and wounded - but Cait’s past mercy now. She’s on a warpath, and the only thing sharper than her tongue is the certainty burning in her chest. Let the world burn. Let this burn.

“Oh, do you want me to say it? Just so you can weigh it in your little martyr’s scale and decide if it’s real enough for you?” Her voice rises, eyes blazing. “You think love is the easier choice? That greatness is some fallback plan for cowards? You think I’m hiding behind ambition? No, Shannon. I am ambition.”

Her fury’s blooming unchecked. “And what - what then? If I don’t pick him, am I supposed to pick you? Pick silence and stolen glances and a fucking funeral dirge of a maybe? For what? For someone who only knows how to want me when it’s too late?” She laughs, harsh and guttural. “I do deserve everything. And no one - no one - is ever going to give me all of it. Not Jameson. Not you. So I’ll take what I can, and I’ll build the rest with my own two hands.”

Cait’s trembling now, rage running hot through her blood. “Unconditionally. That’s great to hear, Shannon. What’s love ever done but show up late and ask for credit? Thanks for proving that. I want what I want, Shannon. And I’m done apologizing for it. Stop trying to rewrite my desire into something you can stomach. You don’t get to define my life just because you couldn’t live yours.”

Shannon took every blunt blow with as much dignity as she could manage. “Why so defensive?” Shannon caught the echoes of it. Justifying and defending herself, not Jameson. Shannon had only slighted her brother. Why was Cait going for the kill? “Shut the fuck up!” Shannon could feel her blood boiling as she aimed her insults. Needles and pincushions, bleeding out.  “You think Jameson is going to give you the golden ticket? It’s comical that you see my love as weakness, me as weakness. I can and would give you all I have—everything. Together, we would rise. Too bad you chose the wrong Roy. He will fail you like he’s failed me.” Shannon coaxed another drink from the bartender. She was raw, chipped away with nothing left but disappointment. Caitlin had broken her completely, grounded her into powder to be cast out in the wind—insignificant. “Just leave me the fuck alone. Don’t call me when he fucks you up.” 

REVELATIONS. Two years ago. After Jameson's death.

Location: Jameson's grave & Shannon's Greenhouse

TWO YEARS AGO.

She keeps waiting for him to breathe. For a twitch of the fingers, a shift beneath the linen. The wind rustles the canopy like lungs inflating, and for one wild, fractured second, she thinks it’s him. It has to be. Jameson doesn’t die - he’s too stubborn, too precise. He would’ve found a way out. He always did. Cait brushes soil from his jaw as if he’ll flinch, eyes fluttering open with that dry little smirk of his. Not yet, she thinks. Not like this. He’s not dead. She says it like a mantra, like a prayer, like a child whispering in the dark, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream. There’s dirt under her nails and something warm cooling on her hands but she keeps thinking if she rewinds the scene fast enough, if she walks backward into the moment before the moment - he’ll be there. Whole. Laughing. Smudged with blood and still stupid enough to smile at her. The grave is a suggestion. The wind is a lie. He is not gone. He’s hiding, she decides. Playing a trick. She’s seen his body do impossible things, so this - this - is just a delay. He’s going to walk out of the trees and ask why she’s crying. He’s going to kiss her with his mouth still tasting like magic and ash and please just let me wake up.

And then she’s screaming. At the dirt, at the sky, at her own dumb hands. You did this. The magic didn’t go wrong. You went wrong. She’s the thing that ruined him. The sharp edge. The cracked spell. The soft place that let him stay long enough to die in her arms. “You should’ve died first,” she hisses. “You should’ve taken the hit.” But she didn’t. She lived. Like she always does. Like a cockroach with a grimoire. Her magic fizzles at her fingertips, doesn’t want her anymore. She can’t blame it. She doesn’t want her either. There’s a stillness in her. The loud kind. The kind that cracks open your ribs. Dorian is gone. Not banished, not slain - simply absent. Her soul no longer echoes. No teeth behind her eyes, no second heartbeat gnawing beneath her own. Her body feels wrong now, like a chapel emptied of god. She should feel lighter. Instead, she is unmoored. Free. A terrible word. No one told her it would feel like vertigo. Her hands are her own. Her voice, unpossessed. She touches her chest – 

Okay, okay, fine. Take it back. Please. She’ll rewrite the laws. Rewrite herself. Call Dorian back from the dark and carve a throne into her bones if that’s what it takes. She’ll give up the good parts, the sacred parts, she’ll give up her name, her face, her voice. “I’ll build the whole world again if it brings him back,” she says, voice hoarse, knees slick with mud and desperation. Let him blink. Let him say her name. Let her mess it up again - just let her have the chance to fail better. She’s not asking for a miracle. She’s asking for a glitch. For a heartbeat out of order. For a god with bad aim. She’ll fix it. She swears. Just give her one more try. One more try and she’ll never ask again.

But nothing answers. Nothing moves. The trees keep growing. The soil keeps settling. She lies down next to the grave and tries not to breathe too loud, like even oxygen is a betrayal. Her body is too heavy. Her name is too sharp. She closes her eyes and lets the dark do what it will. She’s not crying anymore. She’s something quieter than that.

The sun comes up like it doesn’t know what she’s done. Pale light across ruined ground. Cait sits up because she has to, not because she’s ready. Her hands are shaking. Her mouth is dry. But she traces his name into the stone anyway. 

Then she runs. Through the thinning trees, yo through the breathless dusk, through the soundless scream her body has become. Guilt is the shadow that keeps pace, never tiring, never asking permission. The road to Port Leiry stretches out like a throat ready to swallow her whole. She knows what waits at the end—Jameson’s family, the shape of their sorrow not yet carved, and Shannon, sharp as salt and memory, still standing in the ruins of the past they never repaired. 

The greenhouse is overgrown. Vines choke the rafters, flowers bloom out of season like they’ve forgotten how time works. Cait stands in the doorway, all scraped knees and silence, dirt caked under her nails like a secret she doesn’t know how to stop holding. Shannon is there, bent over a cluster of heartleaf, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in the soil. The light catches in her hair. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need to. Cait’s presence bends the air, curdles the breath between them.

Cait opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. There are no words soft enough to land gently, no spells for this kind of wound. Everything she could say feels obscene in the face of what she’s done. Her shadow falls long across the tiles. Shannon sees her before a word leaves her. 

The Greenhouse was chaotic, much like Shannon—untamed and natural. She preferred it unkempt and tended in her little biome. The vibrant colors cascaded from the rafters, crawling in and out of seasons in an environment contrary to reality. She'd sensed something looming on the edge of her mind, someone overshadowed. Her instincts reached out—Jameson. Did she care that much? Her brother had caused her enough heartache.  Shannon stood up to dust the dirt off her clothing, not that she hadn't already soiled her garments with sweat and grime—not Jameson. Her eyes lock onto Caitlin. Fucking hell. Shannon’s gaze lingers over the woman she still loves.  Don't call me when he fucks you up. Her mouth opened, but whatever she wanted to say was silenced. Luckily, there was no fireball to loosen it up. “What happened? Are you okay? "

Guilt weighs down like a beast. Finally catches up to her after all this running, drags itself into her chest and curls there, purring mean. “I couldn’t save him,” she says at last, and the words taste like the bottom of Jameson’s grave - wet stone and splintered magic. Her voice isn’t steady. Pride, ever faithful, has its hand around her throat. “I thought I could. I thought— I thought if I could just get there in time, bind the spell right, keep him safe…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to. The silence after it is heavier than any admission. She can’t take acceptance now - not when it would mean facing the shape of what she feels. Something else has caught up to her too now, now that she’s left that grave behind. Here it is: Dorian is gone, and that’s a relief. The quiet in her head is sweet. Still. Spacious. There’s no shadow breathing through her ribs, no teeth behind her thoughts. Just her, alone. And she hates it. Hates how good it feels to finally belong to herself. Hates that something soft bloomed in the space Jameson left behind. There it is. Guilt and sweetness, wrapped tight. 

He is gone, Jameson is gone, and Shannon feels numb. An empty void is closing in, overpowering logic, and reason, and her blood. Is it getting hot? She's boiling, full of a humming energy that works its way into the seams that hold her composure. “How?” Caitlin looked to be in one piece, physically intact. Jameson was gone, and Caitlin was there to help. Perhaps Shannon underestimated Caitlin. She expected the worst but in reverse.  The threads start to stretch and groan with the tension. “Caitlin, I am sure you did all you could. Tell me how and why.”  What fool's mission brought them to the crossroad demon? What thirst for power sucked the life out of him. She reached within, feeling for the thread of life in the hands of Atropos. “Please…” Shannon could feel tears trailing down her cheeks. “At least you are safe. Gods, if I'd lost you both…” She's thankful for that small kindness. She was glad it wasn't Cait’s thread in the scissors. 

Cait’s got Shannon’s tears on her hands too. Warm, frantic things, stinging with salt. Here come those How and Why - small words, sharp teeth. Truths Cait isn’t going to give her, won’t give her, because maybe Cait really is the worst person in the world. Shannon weeps for a brother - terrible in some ways, tough in others. And through all of it, still, even then: a brother. Cait’s hubris is that there’s a part of her still thinking that she can fix this. That she’s not to blame because it’s not over. That somehow, she, Cait, is bigger and better than death itself. 

The questions keep coming, louder in the quiet. So Cait reaches for the profane. She knows the one thing that will let her avoid saying anything at all. In the absence of Dorian, Cait swaps out one demon for another. She crosses the room - slowly, like wading into a river she doesn't expect to come back from - and pulls Shannon close. Takes Shannon’s face in her hands like it might fall apart if she doesn’t. And then she kisses her. Not to confess. Not to comfort. Just to shut the truth inside her mouth before it escapes. Poisons the well just like that. It’s not tenderness. It’s not mercy. It’s possibly the furthest from love Cait’s ever been. 

Shannon was betrayed with a kiss. How long she had wanted to feel and taste her on her tongue. Jameson was dead. She felt too close to the line but far from reason. Jameson was dead, and Caitlin Siltshore wasn't talking in words. She was drinking her dry. The chains wound tightly around her, pulling her down into the depths of pleasure born out of deflection and sorrow.  Shannon vibrated with needs more primal than human. Perhaps she was just a beast who finally had permission to go off-leash. The way their mouths mingled wasn't to comfort each other. It wasn't a careful exploration of repressed feelings. It was a burning flame. Shannon struck the match and lit the fuse. Hands pillaging, mouth devouring every drop of ecstasy. Jameson was still dead, and this was so wrong that it was right.  Shannon looked up through the transparent panels into the night sky. Her chest was bare and heaving—remorse. Was this how it felt to be Jameson? To take without caring about consequences. She didn't ask Cait if it was good. It seemed wrong and more that the lingering taste of Caitlin Siltshore entirely inebriated Shannon.  Jameson Roy was dead. So much to do. Did Everett know? “I’ll call Everett in the morning.” Shannon looked to Shannon trying to get a bead on her headspace while also processing everything of her own.

EPISTLE. Two months ago. After Brennan Siltshores's death. Cait returns to Port Leiry.

Location: Airport

TWO MONTHS AGO.

Brennan was dead, murdered. Shannon lost the contents of her stomach when she found her mentor lifeless. She crumpled to his side, not him too. Shannon couldn't take much more of this feeling, like inhaling too much smoke and fighting to save everything she cared about.  Shannon had to get her shit together and find Caitlin. She deserved to hear it in person…from Shannon who saw him. It was the courtesy shed given to Shannon the night Jameson died. Maybe they fuck over this too. Shannon could use a good distraction.  Shannon: Cait, meet me at the airport….I need to talk to you. Shannon walked into the terminal. She dreads the thought of having to say it out loud. She's dressed like an omen —black from head to toe. When she sees Cait, the tears start falling, but words are choked out. She needs a minute, an hour, days. No time could be enough for this, but Shannon has always faced uncertainty with a brave face. “Brennan is dead.”

Towns away, Cait lies motionless in the stale hush of a roadside motel, the hum of the mini-fridge a poor lullaby for grief. Salt has carved lines down her cheeks, drying in uneven trails like fault lines on a broken map. Her fingers tremble - soft tremors echoing the quake beneath her skin. She doesn’t need to cast, doesn’t need to whisper his name. The tether is gone. The magic that once braided her life to her uncle Brennan’s flickers once, twice - then dies like a candle in the wind.

This is it. She’s the last Siltshore.

The plane ride back to Port Leiry unfolds in a numb haze. Altitude doesn’t matter; she’s already so far from herself. The clouds drift beneath her like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt. Her body is strapped in place, but her mind spins at impossible speed, chasing what it cannot catch: the shape of a world where he is no longer breathing, no longer burning. She hasn’t seen Shannon since she ran - vanished before dawn had the nerve to break the sky. Left nothing but rumpled sheets and a silence too sharp to touch. But this time, when the call comes, Cait shows up. No questions. No shield. No cloak.

The magic in her bones pulls her toward the place like a tide.

“I could feel it,” she says. And she means more than just the death. She means the end of the line. The quiet horror of being the last.

She felt it. Shannon’s heart was breaking all over. Her Caitlin had endured so much. Shannon didn’t blame her for running from her, from the constant memory of Jameson. Shannon hadn’t pushed her further, but no doubt it was proximity that deepened the blow. Like fiberglass splinters digging deeper into the skin with every attempt to remove it—invisibly painful. Brennan’s murder was more; it was an open wound that needed to be cauterized.  “I found him. I am sorry I couldn’t keep him safe. I failed you both.” Some sadistic side of her felt it was cosmic justice—an eye for an eye. “Please forgive me. I need you to stay. For me, please?” Shannon collapses into herself, a husk of sorrowful heartache. She needs to be loved, anything, to fill the empty void left in the wake of tragedy.

And Cait knows what this means - not just the aftermath, not just the hollow ache left in his place - but the inheritance of it all. With her uncle gone, the weight of Garnett now settles on her shoulders like a mantle stitched from ash and obligation. The mausoleum too. She can carry it. Of course she can. She can make herself a mausoleum too. That’s the curse of being Cait Siltshore. Competence in the face of devastation. But gods, she’s so tired. So unspeakably sad. Like someone’s swapped her bones for wet paper and asked her to build a house.

And still, Shannon reaches across the wreckage with that trembling request for forgiveness, as if she’s the one who detonated everything. Like she’s the reason that Cait ups and runs. Don’t give yourself credit for the thing that I am, thinks Cait, bitter and blistering. That thought curls from her like smoke from a burn wound—slow, mean, acrid. The word Stay lands like a knife in cork, someone desperate to fix her in place. To mount her to memory. To keep her from vanishing again.

Cait looks at her. Holds that grief between them like a matchbox - dangerous, delicate. “I’ll stay,” she says, voice carved thin. But her eyes are somewhere else. It won’t be for just you.

[lifeofkaze]

🌹 for Leon and Ev

💧 for Caitlin and Selene

🍃 for the one and only Lizzie Jameson

🌹- What's this oc's biggest fear

Leon: There being no meaning to what he does

Ev: Loneliness

💧- What is this oc most passionate about?

Caitlin: Knitwear Her reputation

Selene: Caitlin

🍃- Describe this oc in one word

Pleasing

[compendiumofconstellations]

Sex Facts 3/?

Lillian: Very much a dominant personality. Wants to be the one in control at all times.

Jameson: Fuck him at the office. XD

Nelson: Top him. Top him.

Shen: Was quite wild when he was younger, very free. Nowadays, it was only for his (now deceased) wife.

Amelia: Will wear lingerie just to drive her partner wild.

Admiral: Wants someone to help him forget that he’s always in charge.

Mac: Would never admit to it, but would die for someone to just be there for her.

Caitlin: Would definitely climb any woman with muscles like a tree.

Harm: Definitely loves casual sex. He knows when he has feelings and can’t sleep with anyone he sees a future with casually, but will have casual sex otherwise.

Webb: Very much a submissive guy.

[everroy]

Shannon was no where in sight. One minute she had been eye-fucking the back of Caitlin’s head, the next she had gone trailing off after some attractive blonde. Classic Shannon. Maybe tonight she could let go, let the magic and revelry take its course. Everett just hoped that she wouldn’t have another run in with Jameson tonight. He knew his brother was here, he had heard the whispers in the crowd. But Everett had yet to witness the return of his undead sibling. Evidently killing Shannon and making a scene had taken precedence.

Everett understood. There were more important things to do when one returned to the world of the living than remember you had a secound sibling that had missed you. Everett sighed, tilting his head to the side to stretch his neck. He deserved to have some of his own fun, this was a party after all. As Everett glanced over the crowd his eyes landed on a figure that stood sorely out of place. What was this man thinking, all straight lines dressed in denim, every trace of the chaos around him reverberating off his stalwart frame. They reminded Everett of a lion in a pool of piranhas. His mural would be a shimmering illusion, one minute exuding the confidence of a creature that believed itself the ultimate predator. The next stained in a simmering red mess, a result of trying to hunt in an unforgiving biome. Everett grinned as he tracked the hunter, because that’s who this had to be, trailing behind as the figure who was fruitlessly stalked through the crowd. When a stopping point was reached Everett saddled up next the stranger.

“You look even more lost than I feel.” Everett huffed, “Goodness you would’ve attracted less attention if you had strutted in here without those atrocious ill fitting monstrosities on” Everett indicated to the terrible jeans the hunter had deemed acceptable to enter the club in. “I mean, really dude, if you wanted to swim in these waters you might as well have dressed the part.”

WHO: OPEN! (2/5) WHEN/WHERE: Early evening, Khàos Grand Opening

“No sign of hostiles”, Shiv muttered under their breath. “Still on high alert. Remain on standby. Over.”

The longer Shiv lingers in Khaos, the more they are convinced that this event is nothing more than what it is advertised as. Booze, music and magic. 

Yes, there are several supernatural individuals of a higher threat level but their mere presence is not reason enough to call upon a hunt. If that were the case, Kennedy ( @drownholywater-kennedy ) would have run her surveillance van through the front doors by now. She was on high alert nonetheless, having ranted at them in said van over cups of coffee moments before. In exaggerated summary: Leeches, beasts and witches, all potentially conspiring in one hedonistic cesspool. A party.

Its going to take several more hours of eavesdropping on conversation via earpiece to ease Kennedy's anxiety and give the go ahead to leave. So here Shiv is, hovering from group to group, from magical attraction to frat ritual with little commitment and even less direction.

Tonight is supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. But a lone hunter on the prowl is bound to draw attention.

[never-was-has-been]

Sorry if this offends you on this Memorial Day. It offends me too, because it's the Truth. I admire Caitlin Johnstone for continuing to show what kind of phony democracy the United States of America claims to glorify. Our history stinks. When anyone uses the toilet and squeezes out yesterday's meals, then wipes their cheeks, flushes the toilet, washes their hands and steps out the door, the odor of what was left behind is a reminder of how much it stinks....That's history. Our USA history stinks. No matter what kind of "bathroom spray" we use to cover up that odor, it STILL lingers. And no matter what kind of patriotism with parades, bands, solemn prayers, and broken-hearted relatives' tears are applied, the stench of war profiteering, death, greed, power hunger and avarice STILL linger...if not in the air, then in our very own minds and souls. I have my own Memorial Day perspective: Memorial Day is a tough time for me, on many levels and for many people that I have loved and am still thankful that I knew them. I remember my mother's passing in 1964. I remember my father's passing in 1999. I remember my father's story about my uncle Lester, who I never met, being killed in WWII during the Normandy invasion 2 months after they landed (Uncle Lester was an ANTIFA version 1944). I remember Gary Jameson, a guy I grew up with on the south side of Binghamton NY in the 1950's, getting killed in Vietnam, in 1969. I remember all the true patriotism of the 1950's, in honor of the men that served and died in WWII and the Korean War. To me, the phrase "fighting for freedom" made perfect sense.....then. However, after President Kennedy was murdered and we entered the Vietnam War, I began to see the different kind of country America was becoming. A corporate-interested War machine, hatched by the Military Industrial Complex (Pentagon)---you know, the one that President Eisenhower warned us about on National TV during his "exit interview" in 1961. Since then I find the phrase "fighting for freedom" a bit ironic and cynical. Especially when I think of ALL the servicemen and women's lives that were lost, broken, and gradually destroyed in the name of Corporation's *business interests*. For over 55 years I've had a twisted knot in my stomach when I see or hear about American men and women sacrificing their lives and limbs for a cause that never crosses their minds: Big Business. War is Big Business--just like Pope Francis once said. And like many others before him, priests and lay people alike, the Pope was ridiculed and dismissed by the people that don't understand and never have understood the reason that 229 years out of 245 years, the USA has been at war, either here on our own soil or somewhere in someone else's sovereign country. It's business, not patriotism. .....And I weep inside my soul for those that willingly gave their lives for such a cause. But...I still and will always remember them and honor them, just the same. A good thoughtful Memorial Day to you all.