#BONE EXPANDER KIT

[itsmrshamilton]

Watch Him Rise

Summary: Lewis & Y/n watch their son's first competition. Y/s = your son's name.

A/n: guys, 100 of you?? Thanks for the liking, commenting, reblogging and reading🫶 I saw these pics of Lewis and thought they were so cute. Its giving WAG or SupportiveDad.

"Can you please sit down, it hasn't even started yet." You admonished your husband who was standing with his hands on his hips, eyeing the arena. You two had just found your seats and set down your belongings but Lewis refused to move from his position.

"I have to make sure he sees me! Support matters, love." He responded adjusting his bucket hat and moving his hands back to his hips. "Yes, I-" "I also need to scope the whole arena so we know where to look when his name is announced." He continued to assess the grounds.

You sighed in resignation and focused on unpacking drinks and supportive gear. You two had bought everything from bucket hats, to t-shirts, to foam fingers and pom-poms. All in the colours of your son's gymnastic team's colours. Your matching shirts had 'HAMILTON' printed in all caps and had a family picture at the back.

It was his first competition since he started training two years ago. His interest in the sport was a surprise to you and Lewis because you had never brought it up nor had you participated in it as children yourselves. But you were happy to do anything to make your son happy no matter how short his obsession with the craft. Luckily (cause you forked out thousands), your son remained devoted and passionate about gymnastics. He was the one who woke you up on weekends for training and asked to spend hours after school practising in the backyard.

Lewis was incredibly proud. He went from being worried about a bone injury to researching new moves and routines for your son to perform. He looked up the best coaches, got the best reviewed gear and most importantly, attended every single practice. The support he received from his father when he was growing up was what drove him to be his son's biggest supporter. Lewis understood how much of a mental game sports really were despite the physical strain they caused.

The day you gave birth to your son, you felt your heart double in size and increase in the capacity it had to feel love. When Lewis held him for the first time, it grew even more. And since that day, watching Lewis easily take to fatherhood and complete the simplest of parenting tasks made your heart ache and expand some more. You didnt think it was possible to feel so much love. Their matching brown eyes brought bright smiles to your face and it was your lifelong goal to constantly see joy reflected in those eyes.

"Oh, there he is! There's the team!" Lewis raised his voice in excitement. "Y/s! Y/s! Up here! You're going to do great!"

You stood up to wave your pom-poms in your kid's direction. He looked at you two through his mop of dark curls, grinned and waved. Nothing was embarrassing for him. Yet, you thought to yourself. You were lowkey dreading the teenage years but you put your all into cherishing these current days.

"Hi baby! Go smash it! Wooo!" You yelled at him. The parents around you were beginning to look on in annoyance but you paid no attention. This first competition was something you had spent months waiting for so you wouldn't allow your son to feel inadequate or unsupported.

A loud voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the day's events. Your son waved one last time before turning to his teammates and coach. You and Lewis sat down to watch. You leaned on his arm and he turned to press a kiss to your temple and grasp your hand in his. The events began and you separated shortly every now and then to clap for the other kids. At this age, the events were not complicated and mainly consisted of the vault, parallel bars and balance beam. The floor was covered in busy bodies of varied ages all dressed in shiny kit and doing their best to score well. The mother in you wanted to give everyone full points for the adorable effort they put in. Lewis, on the other hand, sounded like a professional judge beside you. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and muttering to himself.

"More power. Don't flex the feet. Lift now. Mm. Too slow. Release. Mmm. Pull back." It had taken him less than 2 days to understand this sport's rules and regulations. In fact, he had crammed so much gymnastics information that if you asked him a rule about F1 right now, he'd spend hours trying to recall the correct answer. It was hilariously cute and you admired him greatly for it.

"Next up on the vault, Y/s Hamilton!" The big voice boomed. Lewis stood to cheer as you dug around for the sign to hold up: 'Soar high, Y/s! Fly!'. It was covered in glitters, stickers, jewels and more.

Your son stepped up to the end of the mat.

Your eyes began to water slightly as he pushed the curls away from his forhead and closed his eyes. Lewis had taught him to take a moment to envision the routine and make intentional movements before starting. A second later, he opened them up. Even from your distance you recognised the fierce look of determination in them. The same look Lewis got before a race and before he signed on a new business venture. You were so proud of that look because according to it's history, only great things followed.

Y/s took off sprinting down the mat and you felt your heart move to your throat. "Right. . .now" You heard Lewis mutter beside you. "Twist, tighten, lengthen. . . release. Release!" He went through each of the movements mentally while he watched his son soar, flip, twist and land perfectly on the mat. "Yeah! That's my boy!"

You jumped up and down squealing with pure bliss at Y/s's achievement. Lewis scrambled to get his phone out to record the scores the judges selected. You noticed that his hands trembled slightly as he reached up to swipe a lone tear on his face. His smile still bright and proud.

"Y/s Hamilton. 10s across the board." The voice boomed.

The two of you erupted into bigger cheers and grabbed each other before steadying the phone that was recording. It caught your son jumping up and down in excitement and high-fiving teammates. He turned to the stands to wave at his parents and receive all the kisses they blew at him. "Oh Lewis, our baby!" You whispered when everything had settled down. He pulled you towards him and hugged you tightly. Together you watched your son get warmed up for the next event. His smile so wide it showed all of his gaps and baby teeth. "He's only just beginning to rise." Lewis said to himself. "And we'll be here til he reaches the top."

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Why did I nearly make myself cry? Guys, I had to take a break for a couple of weeks because I was doing too much on this app and not focusing on my real life, lol. Thank you for reading. Remember to interact before you leave. This is not a part of the "tattoo of us" series.

[ofbatsandballads]

i love you, i’m sorry

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: injured character, explicit descriptions of wounds, brief mention of reader having a panic attack, emotional angst, bad dad Bruce implied

a/n: i just feel like jason showing up half dead at your door would be a massive turning point in your relationship, y’know? can be read as a successor to this or as a standalone.

divider credit: saradika

When Red Hood comes to you, he’s almost always hurt. You’ve learned to keep a first aid kit that would make any hospital jealous and with no formal training you’ve picked up skills that rival that of an army medic. Over the last year, you’ve seen gashes, bruises, concussions, even a dislocated shoulder.

You have never seen anything like this.

You spot him the second you walk through your front door. He’s slumped against the wall just below your window. His armor has gashes in it and blood steadily drips from the tears. There’s more blood dripping down his chest, making the red bat symbol look like it’s melting. More concerning than anything else is the helmet. It’s broken. There’s a huge chunk of it missing on the left side of his head. You can see the red domino mask underneath, the battered skin that’s already coloring the initial red-purple of a black eye, and the blood flowing from a nasty looking cut on his eyebrow.

You freeze. A bolt of panic shoots from your head to your toes. No, not panic. Fear. Pure, undiluted fear. Because he looks like he’s dying. The thought startles you out of your haze and you slam your front door shut, locking the five different locks he’d insisted on installing around three months into your partnership. You run to him. You don’t know what to do. All you know is you need to get to him.

You drop to your knees and place your hands on either side of his head. For the first time, your right hand meets skin instead of cool metal. Maybe another time you’d savor that, but your hand is slick with his blood the second you make contact.

“Red?” you call, voice frantic.

You repeat the nickname over and over, fear rising into your throat when he makes no acknowledgment of you, when there’s no sign of life. You continue to call for him, begin gently shaking his shoulder. Finally, the white lens of the domino mask narrows and expands. A blink. He’s alive.

“Hey.”

His voice is broken, weak, filled with pain. He’s hurt in a way you’ve never seen him hurt. Underneath the fear you feel a surge of anger. Whoever did this to him…you want their head on a pike.

“Hi…hi,” you greet him shakily.

You’re lost. He’s in such bad shape you don’t know where to begin. You decide to look at the wounds on his torso first. There’s many, but the blood that leaks from them is the bright red of surface wounds. Most of the blood he’s drenched in comes from a brutal gash situated just between his helmet and his body armor. It’s a tiny sliver of skin, maybe an inch of exposure, but it’s raggedly cut open.

Whoever hurt him had aimed just right to target the inconspicuous vulnerability. The rage flares again before it’s swallowed up by fear. You press your hand against the wound to stem the flow of thick, dark blood. Your heart breaks at the groan of pain he lets out.

Finally, you look at his head. This is the first time you’ve seen any part of his face. You’ve longed to know who your nighttime companion is, who your friend is. You never wanted to see him like this. The eyebrow cut is long, a slice from just above his eyelid to the middle of his forehead. Bruises cover his brow bone, his cheekbone, his forehead. Every bit of exposed skin looks battered. It clicks in your brain in one horrifying instant.

His wounds aren’t from a shootout or a tussle with a criminal gone south. He’s been beaten. Badly. And there’s only one person who you can think of that would be capable of harming him like this. You pull your curtains shut and say a prayer to whoever’s listening that the World’s Greatest Detective isn’t still hunting him.

“Red? I need to get you to the bathroom, okay?” you ask, the cracking in your voice betraying any sense of strength you were trying to convey.

He doesn’t respond and you feel fear shoot through you again. Then his arm wraps around your waist and you breathe a sigh of relief. You can’t lift him to his feet, nor could you support his weight if you managed it. You realize you’re going to have to crawl to your bathroom.

The process is slow and awkward. Red Hood lifts himself off the wall, slumping forward toward you. You pull his arm over your shoulder, and even with both of you on the ground his weight is heavy against you. You keep one arm wrapped around his waist, the other slowly helping to drag the both of you towards your bathroom.

Your muscles are burning and your arms are shaky when you finally make it. With his help, you manage one last burst of strength to get him into your bathtub. You think that that’s the last bit of help you’ll get from him tonight when he goes limp against the tub wall.

You feel a sudden wave of anxiety come over you. You’re going to need to get his clothes off. Worse, you need the helmet off. You feel wrong even thinking about it. Once when he’d had a bad concussion, you’d woken him every hour on the hour with your eyes closed so as not to see his face.

“Red…I know you’re not going to like this, but I have to take off your helmet, okay? I need to see if there’s any other wounds under there,” you say carefully, slowly, like trying to comfort a wounded animal ready to bite.

You feel his shoulders stiffen under your hands. You wait for him to tell you no, to fight you on it like he has every time before. Instead he gives a nearly imperceptible nod of his head. It makes you feel even worse. You had hoped that if he ever revealed himself to you it would be because he trusted you, not out of necessity.

His hands reach up to push on the undersides of the helmet and you hear the distinct click of it unlatching. He weakly pushes it off his head and drops it on the bathroom floor. It’s more of him than you’ve ever seen and you try not to look too long. But then his hands are up by his face again and you can’t stop the look of shock that creeps on your face as he willingly pulls the domino mask off.

For the first time, you see his eyes. They’re a beautiful seafoam green. You feel your breath catch in your throat. You already felt a fondness in your chest for the man that keeps you safe. He scoffed when you told him that for the first time. Made some snide comment about if you were aware of the fact that he kills people. You just remained steadfast, told him that he protected good people, innocent people. You told him that he was good.

You never doubted the phrase, but now you know firsthand how true it rings. Eyes are the window to the soul. Now there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s good. And no doubt that you care for him deeply. He lets out one shaky breath that pulls you from your trance. He looks a little nervous, a little vulnerable. You suppose he is, so you keep moving.

“Lean forward for me, just a little? I need to see the back of your head,” you murmur.

He obeys, a slight hiss leaving him at having to crane his neck. You’ve got your hand pressed against the cut under his jaw and you feel blood gush as he tilts his head down. Your other hand gently combs through his hair as you look for gashes or bumps. Thankfully you find none, though you suspect he might be concussed.

“I’m gonna patch you up now, but I need to get all this off. Is that okay?” you ask.

He looks extremely put out by the idea of being undressed. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable. After all, you don’t know how thrilled you’d be if you had to strip down in front of him. You think you could stitch him up through the tattered gear, but then he’d need to shower. He can’t even stand by himself right now. He realizes it too. He gives one jerky nod, his sea green eyes staring right through you.

You pull the easiest stuff off first. His boots, socks, and holsters lay abandoned on your bathroom floor next to your small waste bin. You move on to his body armor. He has to help you but you get it off without causing him too much pain. His tactical pants are next. Belt, button, zipper. Simple. You pull them off and add them to the pile of bloodied gear.

Now that he’s undressed you see that your lightbulb moment was correct. Bruises are starting to color across his body, a memento of blunt force. You fix what you can. It’s easy to stitch the little cuts on his torso, slightly harder to close the neck gash. Soon he’s all patched up, the blood beginning to dry on his skin in that uniquely gross sticky-crusty mix.

“Can I—I mean, would it be okay if I ran you a bath?” you ask quietly.

He looks wide eyed at you. You tell him that it’s fine if not, that you can figure something else out. It’s important to you to be careful of his boundaries, always respecting what he was willing to give. Perhaps that’s why he finally gives a slow nod of consent. His final item of clothing comes off and you add his boxers to the literal laundry list of clothing on your floor.

You start running his bath, leaving to grab a washcloth and toss his bloodstained clothing in the washer while the tub fills. As you're setting the cycle to run, your mind flashes with muddled, disjointed thoughts.

Thoughts about pain and sacrifice and betrayal and trust. The Batman did this to him. The Batman also helped him take down a Falcone drug ring three weeks ago. The man in your bathtub was Robin, a bright light in a city so dark that it snuffs any glimmer of hope that shines through. The man in your bathtub is Red Hood, a scourge to the ilk of Gotham with so much blood on his hands that he’s drowning in it. It’s all so much. Then you wonder if anyone has ever extended their hand to him and never curled it into a fist later on. And it hits you hard and soft all at once: you’re in this forever now. You won’t leave him. You love him.

It’s ridiculous. You love this man whose face you had never seen until tonight, whose name you don’t know. But you know that he loves classic literature after the night that he’d browsed your bookshelf after you wrapped his sprained wrist. You know that he has a fondness for chocolate chip cookies after the night he crawled through your window while you were baking a batch. You know he’s kind after the night he came by just to check on you, only to find you having a panic attack on your bathroom floor. You know he’s gentle after he picked you up off the ground and carried you to your bed, after he put your hand to his chest and made you breathe in time with him, after he held you until you fell asleep. And what was a name or a face compared to a heart and soul?

You swallow down the confession you’ve made to yourself and head back to the bathroom because right now it doesn’t matter. He needs help; you can worry about your being in love with him later. The tub is just about full when you get back and you turn the knobs shut. You dip the washcloth beneath the warm water and grab your bottle of soap off the ledge.

“This is all I’ve got, so you may just have to deal with smelling like me for the night,” you say, attempting to crack a joke.

“Well, y’smell nice, so ‘m okay with that,” he mumbles, Gotham accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

You can’t see yourself, but you’re pretty sure your face is as red as his helmet. You busy yourself by squeezing an unnecessary amount of soap into the cloth, scrubbing it until it’s more suds than fabric. You begin slowly, making sure his watchful eyes can see every move as you bring the cloth to his neck. You wash the blood and sweat off him gently, careful not to go near the stitched up gash.

“Can you raise your arms for me, Red?” you ask quietly as you run the cloth over his shoulders

“Jason.”

Your head snaps to face him and you feel like someone’s just slapped you.

“My name’s Jason.”

He whispers it like it’s a confession. You smile at him, soft and warm.

“Okay, Jason. Can you lift your arms?”

You spend the better part of an hour bathing him. Once all the blood, sweat, and grime is gone, you give him a towel fresh from the dryer to wrap himself in and leave him to dry off. You give him a thick red hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants you’d bought for him after the concussion incident. You still feel bad about him having to sleep in his gear that night.

You turn your favorite classical music playlist on low volume and the two of you sit comfortably in silence on your couch. You’re reading an Agatha Christie novel and Jason is resting with his eyes closed, no doubt nursing the migraine you gave him some Tylenol for. You think that maybe he dozes off a couple times when his breathing goes even and deep.

You take the time to memorize details of him, uncertain if you’ll ever get the blessing of seeing him as he is again. He’s got inky dark hair that’s on the longer side of short. There’s a stark white tuft in the front that stays neatly curled to itself, not a single hair slipping into the night black mess of waves and curls. His hooked nose and strong jawline give him a striking, rugged handsomeness. Scars litter his face. Some are barely there little white lines, while others are thicker and jagged at the edges.

Scars cover the rest of his body too. Every bit of skin you saw while bathing him has some form of scarring. You recognized healed slashes from knives or glass, thick circles with rough edges from bullet wounds. The one that took you by surprise is the largest of them. It’s red and raised in the shape of a Y, the two forks extending from the edges of his collarbones and meeting in the middle to carve straight down, taking a little curve around his belly button before disappearing into the dark trail of curls that leads to his pelvis. You’ve seen enough NCIS to know what it is: an autopsy scar.

You can’t even begin to fathom how he got an autopsy scar. You quickly remind yourself that it’s none of your business and push the sharp ache in your chest down, down, down. Your mind is still a hazy mess, a deluge of thoughts that leave a faint numbness and sorrow in their wake. You feel so deeply for this man that lies quietly on your couch. You wish you could protect him, as ridiculous as the idea sounds. You don’t even realize you’ve lost yourself to your thoughts until his sweet voice pulls you out.

“You’re in your head again,” he says quietly.

You turn your head to him slowly, still in a daze.

“Sorry, just thinking,” you reply, giving him a strained smile.

Anxiety washes over his face. He pushes himself forward, elbows on his knees like he’s trying to take up less space.

“I’ll get goin’ soon. ‘M sure I’ve wasted enough of your time,” he murmurs.

“Please stay here tonight.”

You spit it out without thinking. The last thing you want is him to think you were spacing out because you didn’t want him here or because he was an inconvenience.

“What?” he asks blankly.

His eyebrows are furrowed and he looks an odd mix of dumbfounded and agitated.

“Please stay. I don’t want you heading back out there tonight. Please, just stay here where you’re safe,” you whisper.

It’s a quiet request, but a desperate one. You need him to stay. You need to know he’ll be safe, that he’ll make it through the night.

“I…” he trails off uncertainly.

“You don’t hafta take care of me, y’know?” he finally spits out, “I’m not somethin’ you can fix.”

You bristle. Is that what he thinks of you? Even after all these months? That he’s some fixer upper to you? Some pet project?

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jason,” you say firmly.

His name is new in your mouth, but it feels natural even in the midst of your frustration.

“Good, ‘cause I can take care of myself. Been doin’ it for years now,” he bites.

Okay, now you’re starting to get a little annoyed. He’s done this a couple of times over the past year. Pushing you away when you just want to help him, just want to make sure he’s okay. And that’s fine. You can handle that most times. But not tonight. Not when you’ve just coaxed him back to life, not when you felt like you were so close to losing him.

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone anymore!” you snap.

You see him tense at your harsh tone and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm your storming emotions.

“I…I’m not doing this because I’m trying to fix you. I’m doing this because you’re a human being. That first night…I’m sure you could’ve handled it yourself once you woke up. But I couldn’t leave you alone, hurting. Not then, not now,” you begin, leveling him with a stare so fierce that it holds him in place.

He goes to open his mouth, no doubt to argue, and you hold up a finger to quiet him.

“And I have no illusions that you won’t come back hurting again. None. I know you will. I know we’ll keep doing this over and over and over again. And I don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone. I won’t do it. So push all you want, but I refuse to be anything less than someone you can count on.”

Silence. The weight of your words is heavy in the air. You’re expecting him to leave. Even with his clothes still in your washing machine. You’re sure if he wanted to go, he’d just unplug the thing from the wall and throw his damp gear back on. You brace yourself for it. A small part of you even feels the pang of heartache at the thought that he might never come back.

You’re not expecting him to surge forward and thread his fingers into your hair to pull you into a kiss. You’re not expecting the burning intensity you feel him pour into it. You’re not expecting the warmth of his scarred mouth pressing against your soft lips. You’re not expecting how easy it is to kiss him back, as natural and simple as breathing.

He pulls away all too quickly. Doubt flashes in those sea green eyes and his entire body recoils back from you. You don’t let him run far, fingers curling in his night black mess of hair. You pull him back to you, his forehead resting against yours even as his body is strung tight as a bowstring.

“Well now I can’t let you go,” you whisper.

“I shouldn’ta done that,” he mutters shakily.

“You should do it again.”

You have no idea where the sudden burst of confidence has come from. It’s so very unlike you, you who are normally so passive, so calm and docile. But it seems to bring Jason to his knees because a desperate noise sounds from deep in his chest and his big, warm hands come up to cradle your face as he slots your mouths together again. You sigh his name against his lips when he pulls you closer and then he’s pushing you away. With no effort at all, he picks you up and gently shoves you to the other side of your sofa. He rises too quickly and sways on his feet.

“I can’t–I can’t do this. I won’t do this to you,” he rushes out as he staggers toward your window.

You’re bolting in front of it before you can even think.

“You’re not doing anything to me. You’ve already told me the risks of being associated with you. I’m okay with them. I want this. I want you,” you tell him, and you’re so earnest that it leaves no room for doubt.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for. You can’t just show me a little kindness and fix me up to love you right,” Jason insists.

You should be mad again, but this time his statement lacks all the bite that it held before. Instead, you can hear the self-loathing in his voice, recognize the burn of it from the countless nights you two have sat on your floor debating whether he’s a hero or a necessary evil. And that just won’t do. You cradle his face and angle his head down to lock eyes, anchoring him in place.

“All I want is you, just as you are, come what may.”

There’s a shine to his pretty eyes, soft silver pools in the pale moonlight of the Gotham night. He shakes his head.

“Can’t make me somethin’ I‘m not,” he says, “‘m not made for this.”

And, oh, how your heart aches for this beautiful man. He’s so convinced that he’s violence incarnate, nothing but blood and gunpowder.

“We decide what we’re made for, what we want to be made for. What do you want, Jason?” you ask him softly.

Your hands are so gentle combing through his hair, thumb stroking his cheekbone sweetly. He flinches at the contact and you go to pull away, but he leans into your touch once he recognizes it won’t hurt him.

“I…don’t deserve it,” he whispers.

There’s something unspoken there. Something buried deep down in his chest. It aches to get out. He wants to scream it but the walls he’s built brick by brick around himself muffle the noise. I don’t deserve it, but I want it. He doesn’t have to say it, though. You understand loud and clear. And that alone is comfort to him, that he doesn’t have to say the quiet part out loud, that you just know him. No one has known him in years.

“This isn’t something you have to earn. And even if your answer truly is no, I’ll still be here in any way you want me to be.”

That’s what breaks him. Because it has only ever been something he’s had to earn. He had to earn it from his mother; earned it with cans of stolen soup heated in a rusted pot when Catherine was lost in the fog of her addiction, earned it with each spoonful he held to her mouth. He had to earn it from Bruce; earned it with every case solved, with every batarang that landed home in a bullseye, with every civilian saved. He had to earn it from Talia; earned it with every hit and kick, every blade mastered, every life taken. He’s had to earn love, earn affection, earn open hands instead of curled fists all his life. And you’re here offering up your love for free. You’re not even asking for him to love you back.

So as his defenses scream at him to tell you a thousand words that would cut you to ribbons–I don’t want you at all, go find another soul to save, you’re wasting your time–his heart hammers, demanding he be honest for once. He takes one shuddering breath before he whispers two words that change the trajectory of his life.

“…I’ll stay.”

And he does. He lets you nurse him back to health with water and painkillers. He lets you read to him after he sheepishly asks what your book is about. He lets you sit closer to him, shoulders and knees brushing under the soft blanket you’ve tossed over both of you. He even lets you guide him to your room, lets himself fall asleep tucked under your covers with your pinkies interlocked. It’s the first night that Jason Todd spends in your bed. It will hardly be the last.

[bonefall]

is hawkheart allowed to be a nuanced or at least fun character in better bones? on my knees begging after so many aus of “hawkheart goes straight to hell because he loves murder and nothing else” and “hawkheart killing an enemy during a battle where the invaded his home to destroy his medicine supply and immediately and long term endanger his clanmates actually means he put his clan in the wrong”. he has so much fun personality across his appearances and i love how hes one of the few characters who we’re allowd to see is multi faceted based on whos perceiving him (yellowfang sees him as curteous, bluestar sees him as cruel, tallstar sees him as gruff but kind, etc)

WHO IS BEING MEAN TO MY SON?? I LOVE HIM. What is it about WindClan that just sucks the ability to have nuance out of a person??

BB is about that. It's about pointing out how the extreme emphasis on war pits good people against each other, and people die over pointless bullshit. I spoke about it in passing once before but the Killing of Moonflower is something that I plan to expand on with Bluestar's Flowers.

When Bluepaw was young, she hated Hawkheart. Blamed him for killing her mother, NEEDED to believe it was StarClan's will that they went into glorious battle that day. She was insulted when Pinestar and Heatherstar entered talks after the vigil-- was her mother's life really only worth a couple squares of linen??

But Bluefur eventually makes friends. From ShadowClan, RiverClan, and even from BloodClan-- and there's two members of the little group from WindClan. Hoprunner and Ashfoot.

Meeting them starts to put things into perspective. She hears the story from the other side. Ashfoot was still a kit at the time, sick and being treated in the Cleric's Den. She remembers a ThunderClan warrior who burst in, and how terrified she was before Hawkheart shot out from the shadows... but she didn't know that was Bluefur's mother.

She just knew that if Hawkheart hadn't stopped the nameless warrior that night, she would be dead. Even if Moonflower hadn't even touched her, without those herbs, Ashkit would have died. Ashfoot wouldn't be standing here before Bluefur.

I haven't planned out her reaction yet, but it's something that should absolutely shake Bluefur. She probably ends up leaving the get-together early because she needs to be alone with that. Everything she's ever had to believe about Moonflower's death, that it was noble, that it was StarClan's will, that she was the strongest warrior and thus worthy of the front line...

How can she reconcile that with the trembling image of one of her best friends, someone she loves more than almost anything, sick and terrified in Moonflower's shadow?

It's hard to hate Hawkheart after that. She still wants to. But how can she? Who's even left to blame, if she can't be mad at her own Clanmates, and she can't be angry at WindClan?

But, anyway that aside? Hawkheart's a neat background character. I like him a lot. He's never going to have a starring role, but I think what he does do is very important.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 77

While Mosspounce’s bruises heal, the broken bone takes one of Downstar’s lives.

[Image ID: Mosspounce and Downstar are healed. Under Mosspounce, it says - CONDITION: BRUISES. Under Downstar, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BONE, LIVES LEFT: 2.]

(Mosspounce: 38, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Downstar: 136, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

A rogue asks the Clan to care for their son, Shrew, now that he is weaned.

[Image ID: Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Waspdawn find a red kit. Under the three of them, it says - CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: SHREWKIT, 1, MALE, BOSSY, NEVER SITS STILL.]

---

There were no safe patrols anymore. In Oilstripe’s mind, she could see what Anchovypaw reported every time he returned from patrol; black ichor smearing the grass and trees, the spiritual residue of monsters that lurked in the corner of your eye. Everyone knew that was why Silverpaw never returned to camp. Perhaps it was also why Oilstripe never saw the young molly’s spirit. Troutpool’s dreams simply told her Silverpaw had made it to the stars… eventually. That was why no apprentice could leave camp alone. That was why even the senior warriors asked for a few extra eyes to accompany them, even when not on patrol.

Today, Oilstripe had Carnationspeckle and Waspdawn to watch her back as they marked their borders. Haunted or not, RippleClan couldn’t give Gentlestar or Eelstar any ideas about expanding their territory in RippleClan’s time of crisis. They patrolled along AshClan's border first, spreading their scent wherever it smelled weak.

"Do you think anyone over there mourned for Weedfoot?" Carnationspeckle asked as Waspdawn finished marking a tree that sat right on the border.

"I'm sure of it," Oilstripe huffed.

"She saved their flanks," Waspdawn muttered, rejoining the couple. "They should be honored my mother deigned to help them." Deep within AshClan territory, the spirit of one of their warriors strolled through the trees. Even though they ignored Oilstripe, she felt the need to dip her head to the StarClan warrior. They could have killed one of the Ashes in the Water, for all she knew, but it felt right. It felt like the sort of diplomacy a deputy should show the former members of a different Clan.

"Who's that?" Carnationspeckle asked, her gaze following Oilstripe's. The ginger molly startled. Did her mate see the spirit too? But then Waspdawn's focus settled on something within the trees. Oilstripe's shock faded when a tortoiseshell, a living tortoiseshell, walked through the StarClan ghost. She carried a bright red kit in her jaws. The kit had a sharp blaze of white on his forehead that reminded Oilstripe of a star, or a half-moon set against a sunset. Oilstripe didn't recognize the tortoiseshell, but she knew her escorts. Barkfur walked beside the tortoiseshell, with Heronflank and newly graduated warrior Fernwhisper behind them.

"Ah, Deputy Oilstripe," Barkfur sighed as he approached the border. "Good, good. It's better we don't wait around."

"Who's this little tom?" Carnationspeckle purred, sniffing the red kitten.

"I'm Shrew," the kitten declared, wiggling as much as he could with his scruff in his mother's mouth. "Mom, let me go!" Shrew's mother obliged, placing her son at her paws. Shrew immediately tried to race off, but his mother hooked a paw around him.

"You're not an AshClan cat," Waspdawn noted.

"I hail from the northwest," the queen explained. "I… I've heard stories that the Clans take in kits whose mothers can't care for them."

"We…" Carnationspeckle said, blinking rapidly as she processed what the queen wanted. "We do. My daughter was one of those kits."

"We found her wandering our territory," Barkfur said. "We explained to her that AshClan isn't taking in cats from outside the Clan, but that RippleClan may be more open to assisting her."

"And we will, if that's what you want," Waspdawn said, dipping his head to the queen. "But.. why can't you care for Shrew?"

"He's the last of his litter," the queen sighed as Shrew, oblivious to the adults around him, nipped at his mother's grasp. "They all fell ill, I'm worried it's in their blood. I thought Clan medicine could help my son."

"He seems healthy to me," Carnationspeckle hummed. Shrew finally broke away from his mother and tumbled across the border. He chomped onto Oilstripe's leg with sharp kitten teeth. Oilstripe yelped and batted the excitable kit off.

"Very healthy," Waspdawn chuckled.

"So did his siblings," the queen gulped.

"You don't have to give him away," Oilstripe explained as Shrew gawked at Waspdawn's half-tail. "You can join RippleClan as well. We've accepted a few mothers in your position."

"I can't," the queen whined, flinching. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm destined for the Other Side. I don't belong here. I waited until he, he, he was weaned, but… this is better. He deserves better than me." The queen looked to Barkfur and sighed, "I'm ready to go now."

"RippleClan will treat your son well," Barkfur promised. "We'll escort you to the river." He nodded to Heronflank and Fernwhisper, ready to depart.

"That's it?" Oilstripe huffed as Shrew finally paid attention to his mother. "No, you… you should tell your son something."

"Tell me what?" Shrew cocked his head. The queen stared back, her posture stiff. She swallowed hard. She kept opening her mouth, ready to explain, but she lost her courage each time.

"I'll see you in a while, Shrew," she finally croaked. She spun around before she could falter. Heronflank and Fernwhisper led Barkfur and the queen through the thick blankets of golden needles, under the gray-speckled leaves that clung to the trees, refusing to acknowledge the coming winter.

"You didn't give us your name!" Carnationspeckle suddenly yowled. Yet the queen didn't turn back. Her escort led her farther and farther from her only remaining kit.

"I know her name," Shrew huffed. "It's Mom."

A short while later, Shrew sat in the nursery while Troutpool put her nose in his ear, checking for fever. Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar sat around her, waiting for a diagnosis. Shrew laughed when Troutpool pulled her nose out. He itched his ear and ogled the Clan's vast medicine stores.

"He needs a better diet," Troutpool sighed, "but he's a healthy young tom. I don't see any signs of disease."

"Could his mother have lied about his littermates?" Downstar asked Oilstripe. "Perhaps she just wanted an excuse to give her child away."

"Why don't you ask her?" Shrew shot back, a tiny paw reaching for a pot. "She said she's coming back." Troutpool gently shoved his paw away.

"He doesn't understand," Carnationspeckle whispered. "I think he's too young."

"We could have Paleseed explain things to him," Downstar suggested.

"Maybe we let him believe that until he's settled into RippleClan," Carnationspeckle said.

"Mom?" Rattlepelt and Wildclaw trotted to the medicine den, peering around the older mollies. Leaves clung to Rattlepelt's fox pelt, mixing with the carefully woven lavender. Wildclaw crouched and scanned under Downstar's legs.

"Hi, Rattlepelt," Carnationspeckle purred, absent-mindedly touching her daughter's nose before turning back to Shrew. "We're a little busy right now. Can we talk later?"

"Halibut told us about the kit," Wildclaw huffed. "Rattlepelt insisted we meet him."

"That's a bit of a bold word," Rattlepelt chuckled. "I just suggested we stop by the medicine den."

"What are you?" Shrew gaped at Rattlepelt with giant blue eyes. There was no fear in his stare, like when a new apprentice met Rattlepelt at a Gathering and Oilstripe had to hide their shock from her adopted daughter. His gaze was more like emerging from the darkest level of the ocean into the sun.

"I'm a cat," Rattlepelt laughed. She squeezed around Carnationspeckle and sat next to Shrew. "My name is Rattlepelt, and this is my mate, Wildclaw." Shrew put his paws on Rattlepelt's fox pelt and his eyes grew bigger. He shoved his face into the red fur, purring.

"You're so soft!" Shrew gasped.

"Why don't you play with it?" Rattlepelt suggested. "Just be very careful." Rattlepelt slipped off her fox pelt and laid it in front of Shrew.

"You can take your fur off?" Shrew squealed. While that idea would have disturbed Oilstripe at Shrew's age, the little kit simply dove into the leather pelt, rolling in the well-groomed fur. Wildclaw laughed, and even Downstar managed to chuckle.

"I heard your mother asked us to take care of you," Rattlepelt said, laying beside Shrew. "My mother did the same thing when I was a kit. It was a little scary, but I'm glad she gave me up. I got Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe as my new mothers, and I'm very happy in RippleClan."

"You can have more than one mom?" Shrew sat up, the fox's tail covering his face.

"You can," Rattlepelt purred. She gazed tenderly at Shrew as he sniffed the fox pelt's lavender accents. She turned to Wildclaw, beckoning her inside. Wildclaw sat by her mate, similarly entranced by the little red kitten.

"You know, Shrew," Wildclaw purred, "now that you're staying with us, you'll get to sleep in the nursery. We don't want you to be lonely in there. If you want, Rattlepelt and I can move in with you. You can share a nest with us."

"Can I sleep with this?" Shrew asked, his teeth digging into the fox pelt.

"You can," Rattlepelt laughed, voice catching. She turned to Wildclaw, whispering, "Are you sure you want this? I don't want to hurt him."

"When it's just you in there," Wildclaw chuckled, gently batting Rattlepelt's head, "you'd die before you hurt a kit. You'll be great." Wildclaw and Rattlepelt snuggled against each other.

"Congratulations," Troutpool chirped, bunting her older sister. "Oh, I get to be an aunt! I'll make sure there's a nest ready for you." She squirmed around the other mollies and hurried to the nursery, squealing like a kit.

"Welcome to grandmotherhood, you two," Downstar chuckled, playfully nudging Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle.

"My heart was not ready for this," Oilstripe laughed awkwardly, trying to breathe.

"Shrew, from now on, you can call me Grandma," Carnationspeckle declared, diving to Shrew's level.

"I will!" Shrew chirped, utterly unaware of the implications. Carnationspeckle squealed and pressed against Rattlepelt with a deep purr. Oilstripe joined the family gathering, her heart expanding to make way for her bright, enthusiastic grandson.

(Oilstripe: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 79, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Waspdawn: 43, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Shrewkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, never sits still)

(Troutpool: 38, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Downstar: 136, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Rattlepelt: 60, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Wildclaw: 69, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

Moontide, Vervaincough, Anchovystrike, and Billowhaze graduate from their apprenticeships together.

[Image ID: Moontide, Vervaincough, Anchovystrike, and Billowhaze are all grown up! Under Moontide, it says LEVEL UP! MOONPAW → MOONTIDE, QUICK TO HELP → EXCELLENT TEACHER. Under Vervaincough, it says LEVEL UP! VERVAINPAW → VERVAINCOUGH, BLOODTHIRSTY → INSECURE, LOVES NATURE → UNDERSTANDS NATURE, QUICK TO MAKE PEACE → GOOD MEDIATOR. Under Anchovystrike, it says LEVEL UP! ANCHOVYPAW → ANCHOVYSTRIKE, CURIOUS ABOUT STARCLAN → DEEP STARCLAN BOND. Under Billowhaze, it says LEVEL UP! BILLOWPAW → BILLOWHAZE, THOUGHTFUL → LOYAL, ACTIVE IMAGINATION → GOOD KITSITTER.]

(Moontide: 12, female, warrior, playful, excellent teacher)

(Vervaincough: 12, female, codekeeper, insecure, understands nature, good mediator)

(Anchovystrike: 12, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Billowhaze: 12, male, historian, loyal, good kitsitter)

During their assessments, Currentpaw and Yarrowpaw find a former kittypet/Witch Hunter interested in joining the Clan. He takes on the name Venturedapple and becomes a codekeeper.

[Image ID: Currentpaw and Yarrowpaw stare at a long-furred brown and white tom. Under the tom, it says NEW PLAYER: VENTUREDAPPLE, 65, MALE, COLD, ELOQUENT SPEAKER.]

(Currentpaw: 12, male, caretaker, loving, constantly climbing, has lots of ideas)

(Yarrowpaw: 12, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

(Venturedapple: 65, male, codekeeper, cold, eloquent speaker)

[princesssmars]

a royal affair

after their trumph against the crone and a long journey home, jade and kit return to a bustling kingdom and a tense relationship. little do they know the answer to their problems lies in a foreign princess.

wc : 6.096

contains : sfw and nsfw content. takes place after the season ends. dont ask me how they got back idfk. fxfxf poly relationship. kit and jade mutually start to like reader so no cheating. slight jealousy later but all resolved. reader is a fem!princess. skin color not described. reader is described as having hair. reader wears dresses and pants. arranged marriage but it ends well promise. nsfw includes kissing, oral, and penetrative sex. a strap on because i like em. switch reader, switch jade, dom kit bc i think its be cool if she was a freak idfk.

a/n : i need to be neutered. disney bring willow back or i send b0mb. kingdom name generator sucks so yes ur kingdom is one from skyrim. enjoy.

it was over. it was finally over.

after a few months on the road fighting for their lives, discovering lost and painful secrets, and facing an ancient evil and actually surviving, the group from tir asleen were so glad to return home.

and none of the group were as thankful to return home as kit. sure when she got back she'd have to explain to the king of a neighboring country that his son, her fiancée, had died suddenly at the hands of the crone, and she'd have to deal with her best friend who was now more than that who was a member by birth of a clan she and her people previously thought were barbarians, and don't get her started on the whole thing with her dad actually still being alive.

but on that first night back as she takes a two hour long bath and flops onto her bed, she realized it was all so worth it.

when they returned it was nothing short of chaos. at that point a good portion of the people had thought the group had perished on the road, either due to the harsh climates, thieves, or probably just their own poor judgements and inexperience. but the kingdom had collectively lifted in spirits when the new heroes of tir asleen returned, victorious against a great evil and bringing back their beloved prince.

(the news about the whole giant evil wyrm thing was kept under wraps as to "not disturb this long needed sense of peace", as said by queen sorsha herself, who was surprised but not rejecting when as soon as they returned both of her twins slumped into her arms and gave her a giant warm hug.)

this so called sense of peace brought more changes than they expected. it was almost like the realm was revitalized, the daikinis expanding their reach and the nelwyns trusting willow enough when he suggested that they stop living in darkness and start rebuilding their community.

it was really nice, for most people to not be so afraid all of the time. but kit couldn’t truly revel in the shared joy of the people. not when she knew what she had learned out there.

that jade was a bone-reaver. that she had a sister and a whole community waiting back for her in the wilderness, and soon she would have to make a decision if she would stay here, with kit and the people who technically had stolen her from her family but she had nevertheless grown to love, or back with the reavers to build a connection with people who would welcome her with open arms.

every day between the two was tense. those romantic feelings were still there, obvious between the gazes in hallways and the frantic make outs in the dead of night in each others beds. but there was a weight, a sinking feeling in the both of their stomachs after each shared moment. the knowledge that one day this might end.

a few weeks into their return they don’t get much time to feel on it, as queen sorsha is alerted that two kingdoms from the north and the east have heard of the kingdoms triumphs and would like to visit to form alliances. kits a bit shocked that her mother seems so open to the idea, but figured anything would be better than her focusing on the threat of the wyrm and what will come of the shaken galladoorn king.

the preparation is a whirlwind, workers of the castle working day and night to get ready for the stay of distant royalty. whenever she’d stop by the kitchens to sneak away a snack it was as busy as she’d ever seen it, her favorite cook margaret always rushing her out before she could get a pastry.

kit had to admit she was wary about visitors. it’s not like a journey akin to the one she went on made for a perfect tale of random hospitality when it came to new people.

nevertheless, the time for the royals banquet came in the blink of an eye. she had spent a great deal of the day letting her lady’s maids get her read, taking a bath after an early morning air with jade, fixing her tousled hair and putting her in a classy yet breathable dress.

when she finally does get to the feast, she’s surprised by how much fun she actually has. a few lower ranking royals and warrior had coke from each kingdom, and spent the night telling stories from their pasts and some even reenacting them for the queen. kit swore she even saw her mother laugh at one of the stories, something about a stupid man falling head over heels for a woman who hated his guts.

kit was nothing but enthralled by the important guest of the evening. the royal family of the eastern kingdom, maelstrom, were a collection of tough looking people hardened by battles and a love for fighting. despite thinking they would be a family of scary hard asses, they had come bearing a multitude of gifts, the king constantly wearing a smile on his face as he was ecstatic to meet the legendary warrior turned queen sorsha.

and then there were the others. the royal family of winterhold, were a small family but carried a regal and powerful air about them. before eating the first course a noble guard had told her and jade some things about them, like how the family were known for being gracious but ruling with an iron fist. they had trampled many threats, people regularly mistaking their beautiful appearances for weakness.

and the princess of tir asleen had to admit she was guilty of the same thing. for the first hour she frequently catches the eye of a girl she’s never seen before from across the room. she can tell she’s an important person from the north, seen by her intricate hairstyle and the furs of her dress. every time you lock eyes you send her a little smile and she quickly turns her head away to avoid you.

she would feel guilty if a little while later when looking for jade who had wandered off she didn’t catch the both of you in the midst of conversation, jades sword in your hands as you admire the craftsmanship.

“it really is a beautiful weapon, jade. i’d love to see you use it in action, i’m sure you’re more than proficient with it.” kit listens to your conversation as she walks up behind the two of you, noticing how close you stand next to her knight.

“i don’t know how appropriate it would be for me to train in front of a visiting royal, but i’m sure i could pull some strings.“ jades head bows and tilts to yours, a sign kit recognizes as the red head being bashful. she doesn’t like how it makes her feel.

almost like you have a sixth sense you turn towards the princess, the quickness of it and your face being so close to hers throwing her off a bit.

“your highness, we finally meet. your companion here was just regaling me with the tale of your adventure and defeat of the crone. i have to admit im more than impressed.”

“it’s nice to meet you princess. i’m glad you’re warming up to us here. if you don’t mind, i’d like to talk to my close friend here. alone.”

“kit!” jade hissed, hoping you don’t take her partners words in the wrong way. but all you did was smile, bidding the two girls a good night and that you looked forward to seeing them later.

(jade wouldn’t admit that she thought jealousy was a rather cute look on the girl, especially later that night when the princess was moving like a woman starved to remove her clothing, staring at her body like she was going to tear her apart. she would let a little jealousy slide then.)

before the pair went to sleep jade decided to bring it up, not wanting the two them to go to sleep with any grudges or things left unsaid. it didn’t take much for kit to admit her feelings at the encounter she had with the foreign princess, but it did shock her when jade thought it was alright since she caught kit staring at you. a lot.

the next few days are now tense for a completely different reason. there is a mutual understanding between kit and jade that they both find you attractive, but they agree not to do anything about it in fear of freaking you out and jeopardizing the alliance. they swore to both be on their best behaviors'

but it was pretty damn hard to do so when it seemed like you were flirting with them often. the best example would be on the days that they sparred, you would frequently not be too far away as you watched the both of them with great interest. sometimes it would make one of them fumble, leading to the other to gain an advantage and win the round which always made you laugh before you left.

when it was clear that the two of them were going to keep dancing around whatever this was, you decided to take matters into your own hands. after careful observations you could tell what would attract each of the girls to you.

jade was more open to you after that first meeting. she was dedicated to the crown, although not as much as you would expect, but you could save that question for another day, and if you asked her for help with anything she would dutifully do as you requested. your favorite was asking her to show you some of her moves and attacks, praising her for her skills and what a talented warrior she was.

the warrior had a thing for praise - you realized when you complimented her for her strength after a simple self defense lesson ended up with you on the floor - could this get any better?

kit was a bit harder to crack for you. even with some careful questions and answers from jade, the brunette was still a bit standoffish when it came to you, most likely because you were flirting with her lover in front of her face and then flirted with her back after. but the clear internal battle in her was so intriguing to watch you couldn’t help but feed the flames.

since both of you were the heirs to your kingdoms and your mothers were still negotiating, the two of you spent quite a bit of time together inside the palace. granted most of it was spent in formal settings like meetings, dinners, et cetera. you could tell kit was constantly trying her hardest to be polite, but would sometimes let a sly remark slip through. you’re just glad they were directed at you under her breath; if you’re mother heard any disrespect targeted at you she’d most likely command her soldiers to attack at once.

but you were nothing if not persistent and determined. you would sometimes catch the way kit looked at jade, her pupils dilated and her lips bitten when the knight would stretch or show a sliver of the skin in her stomach. it was almost too easy to grab her attention when you started dressing in more traditional tir asleenian attire, swapping between tight pants to show off your figure or airy dresses with drooping necklines. they were drastically different from the garments from home, most of your clothes having fur and heavy fabrics.

you can still vividly picture the look on kit's face when you passed each other in the halls one morning, her eyes drawn like a magnet to the skin of your neck and the top of your cleavage in your pretty blouse. for added effect, you had worn one of those semi-corsets you'd seen the princess occasionally wearing. partly because you wanted her attention and partly because you thought they were cute.

besides trying to seduce the pair, they eventually became two people who you truly enjoyed being in your company. you were surprised at the leniency queen sorsha gave her children, the twins given free reign over the castle and the villages nearby. kit herself invited you once to join them in, lightly teasing you as for the first time she saw you nervous, scared of getting caught and having to face the wrath of your mother.

but one night it all became so, so worth it. a dark tavern, too much ale, and an off handed comment about how cute you found their not-so-secret relationship led to you three in a cramped rented room in a mix of kisses and tongues and limbs.

you had to admit you were thoroughly surprised by their dynamics in bed. when it came to training you noticed that whatever jade said to kit goes, the princess clearly having a deep affection and respect for the older girl. you would have thought that it would carry over into the bedroom and jade would be pinning kit to the bed, but when the three of you rush into the rented bedroom and kit pins jade's hands above her head you are exceptionally excited.

you sit yourself down on the bed, facing the tangled lovers while you slowly start to undress yourself. when you take off your top and your cloth bra, jade can't help but let out a moan at the feeling of one princess sucking and biting a mark into her neck and one exposing her breasts and smiling at her like a siren. she gets so overwhelmed when she feels kit's eager hand grasp her breath she has to push the girl by the shoulders, tilting her head to bring her attention to you.

now, you had had your fair share of trysts back home, easily able to find girls who had either wanted to experiment or just have one shot with the princess of winterhold. most of the time you had intercourse with girls you'd take on the more dominant role, be it because of the way some girls were inexperienced, some were just submissive at heart, and how you didnt think you enjoyed anything more than seeing pretty girls fall apart under you.

but as you and kit are almost violently fighting for dominance while she kissed you like she was almost insane, you're starting to think that duke's daughter you slept with a year ago who said "you're a control freak in court and it travels down into your sexual life." really was onto something.

you swore the brunette was about to give in, little moans escaping from her lips and her eyes rolling back into her head when you tug her hair to get access to her neck, but you suddenly get the wind knocked out of you when she's flipping you over and pressing you into the bed, your arms suddenly held above your head by jade as kit looks at you with a wild grin.

maybe you can be on the bottom, just this once.

except 'just that once' turned into a whole lot more than once. after that first night of passion and lust it seemed like the three of you couldnt keep your hands off of each other, taking any chance possible to sneak into a room or hidden broom closet to induldge in each other.

while you were able to change thins uo when you were with jade, a simple praise and brush across her neck turning the girl to putty in your arms. you had to be careful, though. once after another unneeded self defense lesson where she had beaten and pinned you in under a minute, one little "god, im so proud of you." led to her nearly humping you like a dog outside on the rocks.

but no matter what you did you still couldnt manage to dominate kit. youd be damning her to the high heavens if it didnt turn you on immensely on she could so quickly reduce you to a whimpering and begging mess.

it got to the point where you were daydreaming about her constantly. when you passed each other in the halls you shivered when her hand brushed against yours and it gave you the muscle memory of her lithe fingers curling and thrusting inside of you, when you were eating together your eyes focused on the movement of her mouth and how you could picture her mouthing at your cunt, or even how when you got the princess and jade tangled up after a spar you got so many ideas how badly you wanted your legs tangled with theirs as you felt your pleasure together.

they were actually driving you crazy. you, the heir of winterhold, fawning over a princess and her ptoector. if those girls back home could see you now they'd cackle.

the three of you werent as sneaky as you would have hoped though.

one night, kit had come to the two of you with a proposition and a package she had acquired, asking if you would like to try it out. jade had opened the package and the way her breathing stopped and eyes enlarged made you think there was actually a rabid wolf inside of the box, but instead she pulls out an object that is long and black and phallic. you’re a little embarrassed to even think of the flutter it starts in your chest.

"i think ill opt out, this once," you nervously squirm in your place. "gods, kit. where did you even get that? ive heard about these but ive never actually seen one."

"aw, are you scared?" kit pinches your shoulder and slightly winces when you do it to her wrist.

jade scoffs at the two of you before telling kit to stop teasing you, assuring you that you didnt have to do anything you didnt want to. gods, she was so sweet to you, always making sure you were comfortable with whatever was happening between the three of you. you just couldn't help yourself when kit was pounding the toy into her, her soft red curls resting on your lap as her big green eyes stared up at you. you could tell that your unmoving gaze on her face and the touch of your hands moving across her face, neck, and chest was not helping in her struggle to keep her noises at bay.

so when your fingers traveled to her breasts and squeezed her nipples, could you really blame yourself for the loud moan that came from her throat? it wasn't exactly your fault she was sensitive. although if it was up to her she would say you definitely knew what you were doing, especially when your fingers trailed down her torso and lightly grazed her clit just at the same moment kit roughly trusted her hips and hit the gooey spot deep inside of her.

looking back, it was only a matter of time until the three of you got caught.

only three days later both of your mothers asked you and kit to join them to a private tea. it wasn't odd for your mother to ask you to tea with her at home, but she hadn't called for you since you arrived in tir asleen. on the way kit had even told you her mother hated tea, and she couldn't recall a time in recent years when the two of them just sat in a room talking to each other without an argument starting.

when you entered the room you could immediately tell something was wrong. first, jade and erik were there; jade was supposed to have a rare day of rest today, and erik was...well, he wasn't often present at important conversations you had come to learn. second, your mother looked on edge. in all your years on earth, you had never seen her show any sign of weakness, the woman learning from a young age that being a ruler of an entire nation meant constantly being guarded. the sight of her being nervous put a sick feeling in your stomach.

"uh, mom? is something going on?" kit took a blunt approach before sitting down on the armchair across from her mother as you did the same. sorsha face looked tense but also a little judgy if you were reading her right.

sorsha raised her hand in a simple gesture and a timid-looking girl wearing a maid uniform came rushing from the corner of the room until she stood behind the sitting queen. you stared at her for a second until the realization hit you like a brick in the face. you never caught her name, but you knew she worked in the hallways surrounding kits room.

"this is moira, one of the new maids who works in the west wing," sorsha begins to explain as the maid in question can't meet your eyes, her eyes staring at her feet. "a few days ago she took the night shift for cleaning some of the floors and heard something quite peculiar coming from your room, kit."

"mom, i can explain-"

"no, kit, we would really like you to not explain." the queen's voiced raised as she quickly cut kit off, the girl's body going rigid beside yours. at this point you were the same, your mom's cold glare making you uncomfortable in your seat.

"although i'm slightly embarrassed at this situation, both because of the nature of it and how fast it seems to be spreading among the staff, queen morwine and i have come up with a proposed solution to this."

as soon as you heard this proposed (more like already decided) idea, for the two of you to get married in the following weeks, you think you blacked out for a few hours. and in hindsight that was horrifying. if there was anything your parents taught you it was to be composed, to be ready for anything at a moment's notice. but to be fair you'd never had to deal with an arranged marriage proposal before.

everything you could remember after it was said was a blur. you could remember kit yelling, obviously opposed to the idea of yet another arranged marriage, at the fact that she thought she had finally managed to finally convince her mother that she deserved the right to choose who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and had proven she wasn't just a political pawn. even though you agreed with what she was saying, the malice in her voice from even just the idea of marrying you hurt.

jade was in an equal state of shock and only moved from her spot when you stumbled out of the room to the audible disapproval from your mother and rushed down the halls.

before you knew it you had run out of breath and settled on a log by a lake not far from the castle grounds. the sun was setting and there were fireflies out over the water. you could hear frogs croaking. it was nice. peaceful.

the knight gently rested a hand on your shoulder. "are you alright?"

you really didnt know how to answer the question.

"up north all of our lakes are frozen solid. the only time you see the water is when the ice is broken for ice sellers or a fool falls through on a dare that they can walk all the way across. i'd never even seen a fully melted one until we started to journey here," you breathe slowly and rub your hands up your arms, the night chill starting to take an effect. jade sits beside you and her natural warmth makes you feel a little better. "i care about you both, really, i do. but whatever this is has only just started and i...i don't know if I'm ready to give my whole life up for it."

the air goes quiet and the sun sets before she walks you back to your room, pausing outside of the door and taking your hand in hers and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

"i know this will be difficult but just...don't shut us out, please."

you could only give her a smile before you shut the door.

the next two weeks were tense.

sometimes when you were little you'd dream about your wedding, picturing a gorgeous girl waiting for you at the end of a beautiful altar and everything would be big and grand and snowy and perfect.

but now you're in a nation that's hot and filled with people you don't know but you're apparently about to rule over, and your gorgeous girl has been giving you the cold treatment ever since the news broke. you had tried cornering her in the halls, after sparring, even after dinner, but she always found a way to get around you and continue doing whatever the hell she was doing.

she wasn't talking to jade either, which slightly made you feel better because if she was you'd be feeling jealous, left a sour taste in your mouth at how she was shutting both of you out for no reason. one night jade had snuck extremely carefully into your room to bring you some snacks you'd been craving and had told you that the princess was just feeling a mix of betrayal, hurt, and worry all at the same time and wasn't the best at handling her emotions when she was upset.

if there was anything keeping you grounded at that time it was jade. she had to tread carefully so it didn't look like she was choosing sides between the two of you, but she always made sure to be there when you were slipping. one of the royal wedding planners was pressuring you to pick a flower to add to the bouquets that would be used to decorate the ceremony and the one you'd hold as you walked down the aisle, and just when you were on the brink on breaking down and just retreating to you room altogether jade stepped in for you and recommended a mix of your favorite flowers from your homeland and kits, signifying the union of your nations in a small but beautiful way.

and maybe having so much of her attention and still having to see kits stupid but cute upset face whenever she saw the two of you got to your head, because later that night you're sitting with jade by that same lake from a while ago and kissing her like your starving, pulling her closer by the back of her neck while your hips grind into hers like you'll die if you don't get closer to her. a few weeks ago you had all agreed to not leave too visible marks, but when you bite roughly on her collarbone and she pulls you closer by your hips, you don't really think she cares.

which is great for you, because when you walk with jade to drop her off at her training session and kit sees the mark on her skin her reaction is worth every bit of sadness you felt.

the night before your wedding was nice you would admit. there was a banquet with both families and a few dozen others, which gave you a crazy sense of deja vu, and you were able to somewhat enjoy yourself. your younger siblings were teasing you nonstop and some of the more vulgar court members were doing the same in a way that made you slightly uncomfortable, but nothing you hadn't heard before. it'd be made better if your bride-to-be wasn't glaring holes into the side of your head every so often, but you would take what you could get.

once the party has ended and an uncountable amount of people had wished you 'good luck's and 'congratulations'' for the following day, you trek back to your bedroom and decide to wind how with a nice warm bath and some scents a courier had brought from your home. just as you had poured the liquid into the water and sunk into the water, the gentle whoosh of the bathroom door opening and closing has your eyes widening and reaching for the closest thing you could as a weapon when your gaze lands on kit, standing at the door with her arms crossed and staring you down.

"if you don't mind, i'd like to spend my night alone and not with you leering at me while i do it."

"to be fair, its nothing i haven't seen before," she smirks and starts to walk closer to your bath, not being able to avoid you flicking water on her clothes. "this is serious, i want...i need to talk to you."

you can't help but scoff at her words. "oh, you need to talk to me? i wasn't really getting that from the past two weeks of silence and ignoring."

"i know, i get it, and im sorry-"

"that's not enough."

you close your eyes and focus on your breathing, not wanting a fight to start lest anyone hear it through the walls. you can hear the sound of kit's boots moving until they stop at the side of your tub, seeing the girl get on her knees before softly taking your hand and holding it over her heart.

"you're right, its not enough. i acted like a complete and utter dick to you and you didn't deserve it. i was so in my head about the wedding, and my mom and graydon and jade and you, that i shut both of you out when we all should have been with each other. and i swear I'm gonna spend the rest of our dumb married lives making it up to you."

you couldn't help but snort at her while she apologized, able to tell that she truly meant it. it was all just hitting you how much you missed her these past few weeks, how she was always trying to say something humourous to break your 'cold exterior'.

(she thought that joke was hilarious and neither you nor jade had the heart to tell her it was lame.)

"i forgive you, kit. and dont think for a second that im not going to hold you to that promise." you brought a hand up to sweep some hair away from her face, chuckling when she lightly tries to shake off the water your fingers left.

she looks at you so fondly before giving you a light kiss on your lips. but blame it one the faint traces of alcohol still in your system, or the low lighting of the bathroom, or just the sensitivity from opening up to each other, but the kiss quickly turns heated before you're both hurriedly rushing to remove her clothing before she's joining you in the bath, the both of you giggling as water sloshes on the ground and you nearly cackle when you see kits giant little toy below her hips.

"were you planning this? you expected me to forgive you as easily as i did?"

"no, but. a princess is always prepared."

luckily no loud noises were heard in the hallway (where jade happened to be standing outside of your bedroom door for both protection and assurance for kit), even though it took biting your lip until you thought it would bleed before kit took some pity on you before she manuevered your body to take you from behind, covering your mouth with her hand as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

once your high hits you with what feels like the power of a hundred stars, the girl carefully lifts you from the cold water and helps you dry off before leading you to lie down on your bed, where jade waits in the middle after assuring you all helpers on the night shift didn't come near your room out of respect or privacy.

you laid in between the two girls, jade in front of you and kit behind you as they snuggled into you and held hands across your waist. they whispered sweet words in the darkness of the room, promising each other that they wouldn't let this get in the way of their previous relationship, that they hoped to build a great life with you by their side, and that they couldn't wait to spend the rest of their lives with you.

you fell asleep dreaming of a white wedding in spring. you really enjoyed it.

when you woke up the two of them had already left to get ready for the wedding, as a handful of lady's maids came in to prepare you for the day. you were thankful they ignored how worn out you looked as they helped you to take another bath and do up your hair.

if there was one thing you loved most it was your dress. it was a traditional but gorgeous dress from your homeland, and you were glad your mother insisted on it being made exactly the way you had envisioned. she might have forced you into a marriage but she'd be damned if you didn't look exactly how you had always dreamed.

the preparation was over in what felt like a second, and before you knew it you were walking down the aisle. the renovated dining hall was ethereal, decorated in a combination of white and purples and blues and pinks and greens. winter meets spring.

regret was seeping into you for picking jade to be your maid of honor because seeing her stand across from kit makes you feel so nervous and sick and in love that you want to just turn around and take a breather for a few hours.

the vows arent long and once you give her a quick kiss it doesn't fully register in your mind that the two of you are actually married now. but it does feel different. like there's a new gravity to your relationship that wasn't there before that both terrifies and excites you.

the reception is lovely as well. compared to last night there are less inappropriate jokes and more genuine well-wishes for the two of you and what this marriage will do for both kingdoms.

the mention of your home would make your mouth twitch. you were starting to become truly happy here, but you would always miss winterhold.

after the food was served and some forms of entertainment were performing for the crown, your mother pulled you aside to talk. at this point, you hadn't talked to her in a few weeks, safe for required details about the wedding or basic pleasantries.

"i understand you're upset with me, and i know that i will have to earn your trust again. and i will do so no matter how long it takes. sorsha and i have been discussing establishing a safer and faster trade route between here and winterhold, maybe start establishing some new towns to people displaced by this crone madness. once its finished you can come back whenever you'd like. it will always be your home, no matter what."

you hugged her tighter than you ever had before.

after the toasts are made and the festivities of the night (which were very fun, you had to admit. you asked kit what gave some of the people such a love for fun and partying and she said it was something her dad brought out in people) are over you make your way to kits room and plop yourself down on the bed, kit and jade in tow and plopping down themselves. its quiet for a while. as they help you out of your wedding dress no words are said. nothing about how two of you are going to be queens once sorsha steps down, nothing about how jade has agreed to go visit her sister for a while to bond with her family and her people before coming back and seeing if there was any way to help them more, or how kit would most likely go on another adventure with boorman and the elora danan to help her father escape from wherever he was.

all you could focus on was the two girls who you cared about more than anything and being surrounded by them as you fell asleep, knowing that whatever new surprises that came in the future you would face.

together.

i love them a lot is it obvious. the bath scene was inspired by a p0rn video i saw on twitter but then i remembered they didn't have showers in that time period :( i didn't realize until the end that i barely talked about boorman elora and willow... ok bye bye

[miz-chase]

Bones Renaissance AU Starter Kit: Character Roles

Brennan: Orphaned child of a university scholar, she was permitted to remain, slightly feral, on campus (ala Lyra at Oxford but with a lot more reading), alternatively loved, ignored, and actively mistreated. She mostly spent her time hiding in the library, reading anything she could get her hands on, especially on anatomical topics. Growing up in the company of old scholars, she ends up an incredibly well-educated, poorly socialized, rather self-important woman. She rarely leaves campus, has viewed the students as below her since she was a child, and the citizenry are even below them. While not recognized as a scholar and often actively dismissed, people in-the-know know that she's a fantastic resource (if you can stand her/if she will tolerate you).

Goodman: One of the senior scholars who doted on Brennan and encouraged her reading. Tried to keep her out of trouble as he could, and especially discouraging any male interest in the young lady. They bonded strongly over reading together.

Zach: The one student Brennan feels is worthy of her time. He is also a library goblin like her, and wants to be just like her. She is directing his study of the texts they have, the acquisition of new material, and the publishing of new scholarship.

Michael Stires: Still a piece of shit. Traveling scholar who arrived at the university to teach. Contrary to tradition, he invites a young Brennan to his lectures and eventually private lessons. She is delighted and takes to the scholarship with her usual verve and is oblivious to the sexual undertones. Goodman, on the other hand, is very aware and does not approve, tries to intervene. When Stires propositions her, she is academically curious on the matter and agrees. What she emotionally feels about the situation, and its inevitable disastrous fallout, is a topic yet to be investigated. He implies he will marry her and thus give her actual standing, status, and a permanent home. Yet, before anything can even be planned, he's moved on to a different paramour.

Hodgins: Local eccentric scholar who definitely isn't nobility (wink). He has traveled the continent to better his knowledge and expand his experiences, and is glad to have a spacious office where no one asks anything of him. While he has studied at a variety of universities, he's happiest here because maybe, possibly, his family holdings are conveniently nearby. Zach is intrigued by his experiences and wants to follow in his footsteps... probably, someday. Their shared study hall is just so comfortable and leaving home feels too challenging.

Angela: A Florentine cortigiane oneste:

The cortigiane oneste were usually well-educated and worldly (sometimes even more so than the average upper-class woman), and often held simultaneous careers as performers or artists. They were typically chosen on the basis of their "breeding"—social and conversational skills, intelligence, common sense, and companionship—as well as their physical attributes. It was usually their wit and personality that set them apart from regular women. Sex constituted only a facet of the courtesan's array of services. For example, they were well-dressed and ready to engage and participate in a variety of topics ranging from art to music to politics.

When she met Hodgins, she was deeply unimpressed. He tried flaunting his money, she had no interest. He tried his wit, his knowledge, his possessions, but still she had no interest. It became a game between them, where he would travel the continent to return with an exotic fruit or flower, only for her to turn him down (though each time her smile grew fonder, the laughter in her eyes sparkling). Eventually, he presented her with a perfect little violet, plucked from ground just outside the palace. Only then did she agree to come traveling with him. They have a lot of fun together.

When Brennan is jilted by Michael, it's Angela that insists they take her in at the Hodgins Estate. Angela uses all means she has to get Michael expelled back to where ever it is he came from with his reputation in tatters. She knows people, you know.

and of course, the boys: I'm of many minds (or just different stories) if we choose to translate the FBI as the sheriff/constable (more like cops) or perhaps royal (ie, federal) guards or attendants. There's a class thing going on, where it doesn't seem quite right to make Booth a Knight/member of the nobility or gentry. He's an esteemed successful soldier, which puts him more in the realm of the Yeoman. Yeoman also has the bonus connection with longbow archery, which matches our sniperboy. The Yeoman of the Guard are royal bodyguards who could be tasked with specific missions, like say, perhaps, solving a prominent murder!

so we have

Booth: Is pretty much Booth. Working class improving his station through exemplary military service. Serves the Royal Court and Queen (fuck it, let's just say this is Liz I's reign) as an analogue to federal service. Is good at people, hates the rich, has absolutely no connection to the university and doesn't know what to make of those people.

Aubrey and Sweets: Come as a pair, they gay, come at me. Drive Booth insane. While Booth climbed socially to get to his position, both of these guys come from more money and status than him. Booth is their commander but they often are the ones navigating court politics for him, especially Sweets. Aubrey comes more from the military side, while Sweets is a city boy.

[riconas]

rico.... aeon and mean rain? perhaps.... expand on that post you made about rain choking aeon?

the post in question

i can expand, actually. i can expand quite a bit.

cw: choking, slapping, degradation-ish, general mean rain (you know the drill)

“Can you breathe?”

Aeon peels his eyelids apart, blinks what feels like one thousand times, and promptly closes his eyes again. He manages a miniscule nod and a halfhearted squeeze of Rain’s wrist. It’s skinny enough that his fingers easily wrap around it, strong enough that he’d never be able to escape. 

Aeon isn’t quite sure he wants to escape. 

“Can you breathe?” Rain asks again, a tad sardonic, and Aeon tries to convey his frustration through a meek scrunch of his eyebrows. Judging from Rain’s mirthless laugh, he is unsuccessful. 

He can breathe. He can’t speak. He could give it a shot, of course, but the noises would come out like metal going through a grater, and if Aeon can’t look sexy while Rain chokes the very essence out of him, he’s at least trying to sound it. 

“Use your words, baby,” Rain says, and Aeon thinks he sounds remarkably like Swiss, if only for a second. The sarcasm, the uncaring lilt, they dig into him like a pick into ice, chipping him down to the bone. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently. 

Rain is silent. Aeon can’t see his face, but he’s sure the expression there isn’t one of approval. His tail thumps nervously against the mattress, beating out stilted rhythms, as unsteady as the cobblestone path around the Ministry's garden. When he cracks his eyes open again, Rain is frowning. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He gives Aeon’s neck a nasty little shake, and Aeon cringes at the shower of pins and needles that shoots down his spine. “I said to use your words. You understand English, right? English?”

Rain shakes him again, and Aeon makes a gurgling noise that isn’t completely within his control. He admits, shamefully, that the careless manhandling is making him feel some kind of way. Like an object, reusable, faulty with time. Like hitting a remote until it works. 

“Rain,” he tries to choke out, but Rain’s bringing a knee up between his legs without warning, squishing his chubby cock and his sore balls, and all he manages is a shocked little cry. He arches, gasping for air that won’t come, tugging fruitlessly at Rain’s arm as he tries and fails to dislodge the pressure against his throat. 

“Settle,” Rain snaps. “Satanas. You’re impossible.”

Aeon kicks his heels into the mattress. It’s not like he’s surprised—Dew’s told him many times how Rain can be utterly cruel when he wants to be. Aeon’s just never had the chance to experience it himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry who?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Aeon breathes. Oh, he can breathe. How kind of Rain, how generous, how grateful he should be. He flings a hand out in Rain’s general direction, desperate to have him close again, but Rain doesn't react. Aeon thinks he hears a huffed-out laugh, but he’s so gone it could be his imagination, a fantasy made up by his poor, deprived brain. 

Rain purses his lips. He’s sitting astride Rain’s stomach now, no longer his hips, inching higher and higher. Soon he’ll be sitting on Aeon’s chest, and Aeon will really start to struggle then. If only Rain would take his jeans off—Aeon would love to see that cock, right in front of his face, hard and unreasonably wet and far too big for him to take without gagging. Maybe Rain will force him to take it, hold his head down and fuck his face until he feels it in his gut. 

“You want something, baby?”

Aeon blinks himself out of his stupor. He’d been staring. Staring at the bulge in Rain’s pants, no denying it, and he feels so dirty all of a sudden, so nasty. 

“No,” he says. “I was just—” he swallows, mind going blank. “Thinking.”

Rain sighs, not unlike the way one might sigh about a misbehaving kit. “Thinking,” he says in disdain, like Aeon’s just committed a heinous crime. “What should I do with you?” 

Aeon blinks stupidly. What should Rain do with him? A lot of things, hopefully involving his cock and his hole. Rain could shove his cock down Aeon’s throat, could choke him through a blowjob, make him gag and tear up and struggle for a bit. Or he could ram his cock into Aeon’s hole, flip him over nice and easy, pound him into tomorrow and the day after. 

Rain drags his clothed dick up Aeon’s stomach, and Aeon loses his grip on the whimper he’d been holding back. 

“Oh, that’s a pretty noise,” Rain says softly. “Did that feel good?” 

It felt good for Rain, is the point, so Aeon nods. Smiles, even. He wants—needs—Rain to tell him he’s been a good boy, and what better way to do that than to appease him? His own arousal is a thin sliver in the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter right now, not to him, and certainly not to Rain, but as the seconds tick by and his cock remains neglected, he feels his desperation grow. 

“It felt good,” Aeon says, when he remembers how to speak again. 

Rain picks him up by the throat and slams his head back down against the pillow, punching the breath out of him. “Don’t lie, Aeon.” 

Caught in the act. Aeon closes his eyes in shame. 

“I thought you were going to be a good boy,” Rain continues. “You said you would, didn’t you? You promised.” He squeezes Aeon’s neck again, turning his head this way and that, like he’s inspecting him for damages. 

“Uh-huh,” Aeon mumbles. He can’t stop staring, even with the layer of fuzz behind his eyes. Rain’s just captivating.

“You’re not being very good, Aeon.”

Aeon whimpers. Out of everything Rain could have said, that one cut the deepest. His hands drift to Rain’s thighs, searching for something to hold onto, and curl into loose shapes over his bony knees. Rain really isn’t that much bigger than him. Aeon doesn’t know why he feels so small. 

“I want to be good,” he says sadly, the words burning through a throat that feels like it’s been crushed to ashes. 

“I know,” Rain soothes. He reaches behind him, curls his fingers around Aeon’s cock, and gives him a couple of sad little rubs. Aeon jerks, terrified, and Rain doesn’t hesitate to slap him. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rain slaps him again, on the other cheek. “No. Say it like you mean it.”

Say it like you mean it? Aeon doesn’t know what that means. He’s quite sure he said it like he meant it the first time round. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says again, on the verge of tears, and when he loses his footing and the first one slides down his face, Rain just laughs. 

“What for?” Rain asks, rubbing his dick again. Not really rubbing, actually—massaging, more like, twisting it in all four directions in the least pleasurable way possible. It isn’t nice at all, and he’s stopped letting Aeon breathe now, those spindly fingers tough as a vice, well and truly having made the switch from mean-Rain to cruel-Rain. 

Aeon cannot do this right now. 

“For making me feel good,” he says quietly. “Rain, I don’t—please can you—”

“Rain?”

“Sir,” Aeon corrects hastily. He usually enjoys this—the crude treatment, the power play, the way Rain will find and take every opportunity to beat him down. But it doesn’t feel right today. He doesn’t want to be teased, or bullied. He wants something gentler. He wants Rain to be kind. 

“Good,” Rain says primly, and the spark of pride that single word evokes almost makes Aeon sob. Eyes wide, he clings to Rain’s forearm, dizzy and not quite seeing clearly. He is vulnerable, prey, a mouse with an eagle’s talons digging into his belly. 

“Will you touch me?” Aeon pleads. “Please?” 

Rain reaches behind himself and smacks Aeon’s cock. “Try again.” 

“Please will you touch me, sir?” He’s blubbering, gasping. Stupid. There’s no way Rain finds him attractive like this, certainly no way Rain will ever call him pretty again. 

Rain smiles, dragging a sharp claw down the side of Aeon’s damp cheek. “Keep being a good boy,” he says. “And we’ll see.” 

[atissi]

okay all of the reviews for "severance" by ling ma said it was a hilariously deadpan satire on the post-apocalypse — and maybe that was true in 2018 — but now that i've read it i can say i probably laughed Once and felt a bone-deep nihilistic dread Constantly. the bit about the protagonist's company gifting her a self-care kit of 2 N95 masks, a nutrient bar, and an expanded insurance plan in response to a worldwide pandemic isn't really funny post-2020, it's just realism.

[yandereunsolved]

I am kind of obsessed with the idea of Evan Peter's characters with a magic system like Steven Universe. If you aren't familiar, the most bare-bones way to explain this is that certain characters are able to fuse with each other because of their bond. Their mind, body, and soul become one and create an entirely new being. If their fuse is unstable, then they will defuse. If they take a lot of damage, they will defuse. They can also stably defuse and return to their separate forms. If you want to know more about what I am talking about, go to the Steven Universe Wiki under Fusion Gems.

Now imagine Evan's characters fusing to create new characters. Tehe. Especially in a yandere setting.

Your toxic boyfriend Kai Anderson takes you to the Cortez to spend the night because every other place is booked. You both meet James Patrick March. Kai and James click together like puzzle pieces. One is an aspiring cult leader and the other is a mass murderer. They both have grown to be madly obsessed with you. Kai is only willing to share because James is even better of a manipulator than he is. They fuse and create a new being— their obsession and individual abilities multiply tenfold.

Giggling and kicking my feet in the air rn.

Quicksilver and Tate? Peter moves into the Murder House and you're their neighbor. Peter acts like Tate is his brother. Tate is totally a normal human boy. Nothing to see here. They both are all lovey dovey with you... so they fuse by accident once because Peter runs through Tate. Then, they decide to show you their fusion.

The yandere Evans forcing you into an unstable fusion??? Uh, oh. :( Darling, you don't understand. You are precious to them. This is the only way you can be with them in mind, body, and soul. They need this. They need to be one with you.

The wholesome babies being Kit and FrankenKyle. Kit doesn't really understand the entire undead thing but he helps Kyle become more human. You are the witch/warlock/[insert other magical thing] that is currently taking care of Kyle. Kit just adores how sweet and loving you are with him. They both fuse over their mutual attraction to you. The fusion is a bit unstable because Kyle is undead— so his scars show up on the fusion. Imagine those eyes??? Kits look and Kyle's innocent baby expression??? You have an oddly charming, himbo boyfriend now. Sometimes he struggles to speak and maintain eye contact.

Austin Sommers and Mr. Gallant. More giggling. It would be such an odd pair but it'd work. It'd work. You totally know that it would.

Luke Cooper & Colin Zabel. Shh... Lordy, lordy. Give Luke some credit. He never intended to fuse with anyone. He thought the idea was fucking stupid and useless to begin with. Ugh, a detective— so how did they fuse? You work for Michael Scott and therefore with Luke. Someone broke into the office after hours (Michael bribed you into helping teach Luke office skills. It was coming along horribly and Luke just kept flirting with you.) and that person tried to kill both of you. A masked gunperson. Colin comes in to help solve the case. Both Luke and Colin... end up fusing when Luke shows he gives a shit about something. Which is you and your safety.

This is already so long. Anygays, do you want me to expand on this idea:? Genuinely curious. Cause I would love to see what people come up with... and what if there was just an au of Evans fused characters??? (Even non-ahs related— I write a lot of ahs. that is why I am saying this.)

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxv // Aftermath of Nervous

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It’s like nothing he’s ever heard before. Brainless. Unfiltered. Like the guy’s voice splinters, sending ice cold shards through the room. Crawling down his spine, an expected form of arousal creeping its way through a body still sore from running. His elbow aches to the bone. The pool of blood between Davin’s feet steadily expands.

Renee swears that he finds a deep satisfaction in what he sees, but there’s something else, something new. Something he doesn’t entirely understand, mixed as it is with that twitch in his hands, the mark of his desire.

He finds himself struggling with the urge to take a step backwards. Imagines crossing the threshold between kitchen and hallway, retreating into his room, and closing the door behind him.

Instead his eyes are fixed on the arch of Conrad’s back, the strain of his shoulders. The way the ropes dig into his wrists so hard, his hands turn red and swell from a lack of circulation.

That final cut, and Conrad’s near-silent reaction, is what ultimately makes Renee shudder.

In the silence that follows, walls echoing with the memory of violence, Renee becomes mindful of his racing heart, the rush in his ears, contrasted breathing that comes so slow, it’s making him lightheaded. He blinks.

“… holy shit.”

Davin casts him a quick glance, calmly stepping back from the table. His hands drip red at his sides, the dark burgundy of deoxygenated blood interspersed with streaks of a more vibrant vermilion. He cocks his head to the side as he takes a closer look at Conrad’s face. The crease at the corner of his mouth is ambiguous – might be satisfaction, might be dissatisfaction. Nothing else in his expression betrays his state of mind. Eventually, he walks over to the sink and starts the faucet. There’s a soft clank of metal against metal as the scalpel is discarded, and Davin begins to wash his hands.

The wound gapes a good two inches, but so much blood is pooled within it, it’s impossible to tell how deep it goes. Tiny ripples on the surface betray a racing heartbeat. Conrad, otherwise completely limp at this point, occasionally twitches a little, breaths whistling in his throat. Curly hair, drenched in sweat, sticks with a sheen to his skin. Tear-streaked eyes, half-open but unseeing, stare motionless toward the table. He looks far gone.

Renee’s mouth is dry.

Davin returns, hands clean, and begins tending to Conrad, as if something in this carefully balanced dynamic didn’t just dramatically shift. The ropes are loosened. A palm on the forehead, another on the neck, thumb digging into the flesh over the jugular; Conrad doesn’t stir. A syringe is produced from Davin’s medicinal bag, as well as a small vial. He flicks the cap off with his thumb, retracts the plunger to a desired dose, injects air through the vial’s lid, and lets the surplus pressure in the glass fill the syringe with a clear liquid. Casual work. Whatever Davin injects Conrad with, it steadily evens out his breathing, and his eyes drift all the way closed, and the twitching eventually stops.

Despite the broken window, the coldness of the room, the air feels stifled. That tangy, metallic smell that bites with every breath. Renee waits until Davin has gathered his usual stitching kit, the packs of threaded needles, the saline solution, the disposable rags, before he clears his throat. “Do you need me for anything?”

Davin looks up at him. Keeps his gaze for just a moment too long, in that damned curious, contemplative way. “We’ve got quite a few stitches to get through,” he mutters. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt with an extra set of hands.”

Renee lets out an awkward laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t know how to…”

“It’s not complicated,” Davin says.

Renee laughs again, but it falters the moment he sees the hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Davin’s lips. He shifts his weight, eyes flickering to the gaping wound. “Are you serious?”

Raising a brow, Davin picks a latex glove out of a carton full of them. The soft snap of the elastic material as he pulls it on. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting your hands dirty.”

Renee lets out a snort. “I’m not.”

Davin cocks his head to the side. “What’s the problem, then?”

A dry chuckle. The shrug of a shoulder. “Nothing. Sure, whatever.”

Nodding, Davin pulls another glove for himself, and then hands the carton to Renee with a casual smile. It’s only when he turns away that Renee lets himself grit his teeth, swallowing down that strange, revolting feeling.

The first towel Davin sticks into Conrad’s thigh is completely soaked through, dripping, when it resurfaces. The next stains at a slower pace. Davin unscrews the lid of the saline solution, and methodically cleans the wound and the skin immediately surrounding it, pouring and dabbing away, little by little.

Renee slowly walks closer as he pulls the latex gloves on. Five cloths in, with no blood to obscure the view, the sheer depth of the wound is almost enough to make him suck in a breath between his teeth. The gorge must reach halfway through the leg. The yellow-ish bubbly tissue directly under the skin, the neat separation between that and darker flesh. At the bottom of the cut, little bands of something, running from one side to the other. One looks like a reddish purple cord, and it pulses faintly, the color seems to shift in a rhythm. Other bands are lighter, look almost frayed. None are wider than a centimeter.

It looks fake, in a way Renee can’t entirely explain. Like it’s simultaneously there and not there. His gaze flickers briefly to Conrad’s face. Then down to his own arms, skin dotted. Hair raised.

The crinkling of plastic by his side makes his attention snap back up. Davin, opening one of the packets of threaded needles, is watching him, expression unreadable. “We do a row of buried stitches,” he says. “This thread’s gonna dissolve after a few weeks.”

Renee nods a little.

Davin picks up a pair of pliers, carefully positioning the bottom of the curved needle in its grip. “You hold the needle like this,” he says. “You keep a towel in your other hand. When you’re wiping off blood, don’t drag the towel in the wound, that’s just gonna deposit fibers and raise the risk of infection. Dab it instead.”

“Alright.”

Davin sniffs, motioning for Renee to follow as he bends over the wound. “You start from the bottom, like this,” he mutters, driving the needle into flesh without further hesitation, “and curve up right before you hit the junction between… see the difference in layers there?”

“Yeah.”

“The other side, you start parallel to the exit of the last stitch, going down. Don’t worry about pulling the tissue around a bit to make room for it... See how the leading and trailing part of the thread are both at the bottom now? Give it two inches when you cut it, pick up another set of pliers… you wrap it around like this, three times, lead the other one through, tighten… keep some tension on it. Another regular knot to keep it in place, that’ll hold just fine. See?”

“Yeah.”

Davin straightens up, shooting him a look. “Need me to show you again?”

“Uh,” Renee says. “I think I got it.”

With a smirk, Davin hands him the pliers, the threaded needle. The touch is muted under the gloves, but the pliers are still cold enough to discern. Renee catches himself before his eyes can flicker to Conrad’s face again, as he positions himself like Davin did. Feels the other’s keen eyes on his back, his hands. Takes a subdued breath, suppressing urge to stall, and pushes the needle sideways from the bottom of the gorge.

It glides through with little to no resistance, but Renee can still feel that stringy, raw texture of it, little pinpricks of muscle fibers giving way. He feels the aggressive heat of Conrad’s flesh on the back of his hands. The needle does most of the work steering itself back out of the curve, not directly above where he started, but close enough. The other side is harder to get right. He starts too low and has to retract the needle, and then the wound starts seeping blood, not a lot, but enough to obscure the view. He dabs it away, tries again, gets it somewhat right, more blood, he dabs it away. Wonders why his hands feel so difficult to control. Knotting the line isn’t easy, the thread slips out of the grip of the pliers unless you hold it a certain way. Two sides are drawn together as the thread is tightened. How do wounds like this even heal? You’re just slapping meat together, that’s all you’re doing.

There’s a sense in him, once he has cut away the excess of the knot. Relief? Disgust?

“Could’ve been worse,” Davin says, giving him a short nod. He sifts through packets of thread, pulls one out. The needle looks different than the one Renee is using, slightly thicker, and the curve isn’t as sharp. “Thirty more of those, and I’ll let you fuck off.”

Renee nods. Clears his throat. “Sorry for acting weird,” he mutters before he can stop himself, “I just didn’t expect…”

Finessing the plastic cover of the packet, Davin looks up, but doesn’t speak. Instead he waits, patiently, for Renee to continue.

There’s a pause. A shrug. “I took some shit yesterday. I’m still kinda… y’know.” Renee points to his temple, chuckling.

Davin nods. “Got it.”

Renee swallows. Eyes flickering between points in the wall. His emotions seem to flash in his head from microsecond to microsecond, too quickly to differentiate. The anger is there, as it always is, but it’s directionless, confused. Although he’s aware of Davin’s eyes on him, he’s slow to position the needle back in the pliers, slow to lean back over the wound.

Five stitches in, Davin gently pushes him slightly to the side and begins suturing the surface of Conrad’s thigh back together, his hands above Renee’s. Occasionally tells Renee to redo whatever stitches he deems to be too sloppy. Something about being shoulder to shoulder with the guy is unnerving. They both have to occupy a tight space to work, arms rubbing up against each other. It’s like a cursed rendition of the scene from Ghost, except despite Davin’s fucking reptilian nature, he actually gives off body heat.

The faster Renee can get this over with, the faster he can get blasted out of his mind, forget about everything.

Strangely enough, that’s the thought that finally makes him feel normal enough to push through apprehension. Needle in, needle out, cut the thread, tighten the knot, rinse and repeat. It’s not about Conrad, it’s about dead meat. You get used to the smell of blood; it starts to feel as though it was always there. What just happened? Nothing, fuck it. You can get high, you can wipe the slate clean. Rinse and repeat.

“I just want you to see me as human.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[alexzalben]

Shadow and Bone Season 2 premieres March 16, 2023 on Netflix

First look images, followed by quotes from Eric Heisserer, Daegan Fryklind, and Leigh Bardugo, as well as a synopsis and more info on Season 2, which I cannot frickin' wait for.

Eric Heisserer and Daegan Fryklind (Co-Showrunners / Executive Producers / Writers) & Leigh Bardugo (Author / Executive Producer) on what fans can expect this season:

HEISSERER: The most wonderful thing about Season Two is that we get to advance the story of these characters that we'd left in precarious positions at the end of Season One. There's a lot of potential for them this season. They have to face the consequences for their actions, and then they get to meet new people along the way. The Grishaverse also expands in this season, both in mythology and in characters. In doing so, we expand the world, we go to new locations, we visit Novyi Zem and Shu Han, and those are all integral to the narrative.

FRYKLIND: We've also really dug into more of the mythology this season in terms of the amplifiers, but also the creator of the amplifiers, Morozova, who he was, what his backstory is, and how he ties into this world. We go out and we go deeper.

BARDUGO: I think the readers now trust our writers the way that I do. This season I was able to step back and put the show more firmly in their hands. I think when we approached Season One, a lot of people were like, "It's impossible. It can't be done. Why would you bring SHADOW AND BONE and SIX OF CROWS together?" And I think now, we have that trust. And I think it's going to be very, very exciting for them to see the way that trust pays off in Season Two. Every part of the Grishaverse is coming into play. We are going to get to see some incredible new characters. We're going to see characters interacting with each other, questing with each other, fighting and laughing with each other, who we never got to see together in the books. And I think that's a unique thing about this show. Readers are not only going to be surprised by the way that these storylines crash into each other, they're never going to know where the next move is coming from—and that actually was a pleasure for me because I got to be surprised by my own stories.

ABOUT THE SERIES

Co-Showrunners / Executive Producers / Writers: Eric Heisserer (Chronology) and Daegan Fryklind

Author and Executive Producer: Leigh Bardugo

Executive Producers: Shawn Levy, Josh Barry, Dan Levine, and Dan Cohen for 21 Laps Entertainment, Pouya Shahbazian (Loom Studios) and Shelley Meals

Directors: Bola Ogun (Episodes 1 & 2), Laura Belsey (Episodes 3 & 4), Karen Gaviola (Episodes 5 & 6) and Mairzee Almas (Episodes 7 & 8)

Season 2 Format: 8 x 1 Hour Episodes

Cast: Jessie Mei Li (Alina Starkov), Archie Renaux (Malyen Oretsev), Freddy Carter (Kaz Brekker), Amita Suman (Inej Ghafa), Kit Young (Jesper Fahey), Danielle Galligan (Nina Zenik), Daisy Head (Genya Safin), Calahan Skogman (Matthias Helvar), Lewis Tan (Tolya Yul-Bataar), Anna Leong Brophy (Tamar Kir-Bataar), Jack Wolfe (Wylan Hendriks), Patrick Gibson (Nikolai Lantsov) and Ben Barnes (General Kirigan)

Synopsis: Alina Starkov is on the run. A beacon of hope to some and a suspected traitor to others, she's determined to bring down the Shadow Fold and save Ravka from ruin. But General Kirigan has returned to finish what he started. Backed by a terrifying new army of seemingly indestructible shadow monsters and fearsome new Grisha recruits, Kirigan is more dangerous than ever. To stand a fighting chance against him, Alina and Mal rally their own powerful new allies and begin a continent-spanning journey to find two mythical creatures that will amplify her powers. Back in Ketterdam, the Crows must forge new alliances as they contend with old rivals and even older grudges that threaten not only their place in the Barrel, but their very lives. When a chance at a deadly heist comes their way, the Crows will once again find themselves on a collision course with the legendary Sun Summoner. Based on Leigh Bardugo's worldwide bestselling Grishaverse novels, SHADOW AND BONE returns for a second season of new friendships, new romance, bigger battles, epic adventures — and a shocking family secret that could shatter everything.

[bonefall]

While we’re talking changing who appears in places- can we change the cats helping out with Sunbeam’s rock trial? I was so confused why the cats selected to help were selected. Sure Cherryfall because she was going to be the one opposing Sunbeam, why not, anyone can do that though honestly and not who I take issue with being there. But Alderheart was there? The medicine cat? Don’t you think he has better things to be doing than pushing a rock around? Where’s Lionblaze aka “I may as well still have my god given super strength”? He could easily be the cat that gets pissy for Sunbeam “not listening to senior warriors” and maybe with age feels that she doesn’t respect him, head of patrols, enough to warrant her staying this sabotaging her in the third trial. I felt robbed that Plumstone who seemed to be established as another bg strong cat was absent. Sure sending Sunbeam with all the strongest cats would make it easy but it’d also be making it safe considering Ivypool didn’t want the rock to hurt anyone and it’s a pecking rock. Why not send your strongest cats to deal with it?

I feel very strongly about this trial, can you tell?

I'm a bit dissatisfied with certain trials in general. Most of the time I LOVE the new trials they made, I think they've been super creative so far, but some have been so lackluster that I need to shine them up.

Namely Berryheart's active attempts to get challengers killed. Someone has to get ACTUALLY hurt by one of those, instead of them just being generally unfair and no one raises an objection about it. I did not like the spring-powered adder that went BOING out of a log.

I will say that I would like to expand on Plumstone in this arc, plus her whole little family. They're in an interesting place, with Bumblestripe coming back from Ferncloud's Parting while leaving his father with the Tribe, Blossomfall still reeling with emotional abuse she suffered at the paws of the impostor, Stemleaf's death and Spotfur raising his kits, and Shellfur's mateship with Fernstripe.

Plumstone ALSO has some stuff going on. She's besties-maybe-dating Thriftear, Bristlefrost's sister, and yet she's one of the more outspoken cats about how she's getting tired of the ThunderClan nepotism. She's strong, reliable, and a competent warrior-- so HOW is it fair that Nightheart keeps getting all these undeserved "chances to prove himself" when SHE is here, SIGNIFICANTLY more orange, and wants her own chance to shine??

I still see her personality as being "a dear" lmao, she's not mean, but she's also not willing to bite her tongue either. She will say what's on her mind, and point out unfair treatment when she feels it.

Thriftear supports this. Yeah, she's a descendant of Firestar and a great warrior, but she EARNED the respect she gets. Bristlefrost did too. Nightheart doesn't even want his legacy, why is this clumsy humbug still getting special treatment?

Good-cat bad-cat pair type thing going on.

So I'm probably going to let them both act as a unit, since BB's Dewnose isn't in ThunderClan and that was a really random pair-up anyway.

("wait! Elder Bones! Where did Dewnose go?" Probably ShadowClan, here is the BB!ThunderClan family tree. There's been shuffles; the Cloudbright kits are now Whitewing, Foxleap, and Icecloud, 3 "singlet" litters, spaced out over years.)

Quickie thoughts on touching up the trials;

(DISCLAIMER: NOT SOLID. WE DON'T REWORK UNTIL ARCS ARE COMPLETE.)

Berryheart's are going to need serious overhauls. Nightheart's were really cute and I enjoyed them, but BB is supposed to be about how her group is escalating towards violence. I do not want them to stay so "cute" for the story I'm telling.

I also don't want to keep Nightheart failing his last one on purpose. I want his growth to be more based in self-realization than trying to let Sunbeam "save face."

I kinda want Fringewhisker to get injured during one of her own, and then Antfur dies as collateral damage in Nightheart's last. I'd like Nightheart leaving to be half him realizing that his BEHAVIOR is a problem, and half for his own safety.

In ThunderClan, I'd like the boulder one to be more about Sunbeam assembling a team, almost like she's a patrol head.

Since it's her second trial and she displayed some pretty fantastic leadership skills with her first one, I've got an inkling of an idea that Squilf actually talked with Ivy about wanting to legitimately assess her talent.

Like, "We both know that this whole trial-system was just to appease the other Clans. These are meant to be easy because idgaf. But wow, Sunbeam was actually impressive with those kits. What else can she do, if we give her the chance?"

I really like writing Squilf as she's described in Bramblestar's Storm, where her good leadership comes from being attentive of details and making everyone feel useful.

Man... maybe ill save Rosepetal for this arc and let her be deputy during this. Something feels very Rosepetaly about this. Maybe even have Rosepetal be clearly treating her as if she's a Secondary Apprentice, preparing her to take over her reputation of being a prolific mentor... Nightheart comes back from his trip only to find Sunbeam with twice as much respect as status as he ever had.

I can always axe Rose later to get Ivypool in... But I also REALLY love all the Ivypool Deputy Drama with how there's a conflict with ShadowClan... man. why are there so many interesting girls.

Maybe Rose doesn't have to be deputy, but Ivy assigns Rosepetal as the only "mandatory member" of the Boulder Patrol. Like a tutorial tip lmaooo

Sunbeam: "I think I will pick......................" STARES AT ROSEPETAL, "aaalderrr-" Rosepetal frowns "--pluuuuumstone??" Rosepetal nods, "Wise choice."

And lastly. The final Sunbeam trial. Ngl hated it. It felt really boring compared to the previous two, which were super interesting and excellent ways to give some spotlight to background characters.

Riddles don't even feel like a ThunderClan thing. Idk that was a very RiverClan (philosophy) or ShadowClan (trickery) kind of thing.

I think I'll hold off on thinking about it though; I think it would be SUPER cool if I totally overhauled that last trial to make it foreshadow the later books, somehow.

I DO want to keep that disney channel ass Cherryfall being a bitch part though. I love her so much. I'm so glad she's walking in her father's pawsteps and becoming the snot-nosed brat of ThunderClan.

I will definitely be changing how Sunbeam HANDLES it though. Hate the way that the books emphasize never telling anyone anything.

In fact, I kinda want to make Sunbeam approach Sparkpelt for advice, to show she finally has a figure she feels like she can trust.

Explicitly contrast the way that she NEVER felt like she could approach Berryheart, and that so much of her appeasing, avoidant behavior had been because she didn't feel safe or respected.

Here, in ThunderClan, she has family. She begins to realize that even if Nightheart came back and dumped her, Sparkpelt and Finchlight would NEVER kick her to the curb.

So she goes to Sparkpelt about how she is being bullied by Cherryfall, and they TALK ABOUT OPTIONS.

Like, you know,

Spark: "We could go to Squirrelstar or the deputy."

Sun: "I don't want to cause a fuss if I don't have to... besides, idk, I don't want to set the peat on fire, it would be nice if I could be on good terms with Cherryfall later."

Spark: "that's very wise of you, but just remember that Squilst is a very fair person. We can always go to her. Do you want any backup at all or do you want to do this on your own?"

Sun: "I think... I think I actually do need to do this on my own. If I was being confronted, I think I would just double down if I was being attacked in a group. That was right with Brambleclaw because you weren't trying to convince him, but... what do you think?"

Spark: "I think Cherryfall's just like her father and her ego is everything to her, so I think you're right on the mouse with all this. Honestly, I don't even know how much I'm helping here!"

Sun: "Oh but you are helping! You're helping a lot! StarClan... it feels so nice to just... have someone to listen. Thanks, Sparkpelt."

Basically, tweak the trials to bring them more in line with the themes and messages of BB, y'know? And also beef up the Clans themselves, by stressing the various personalities that are at play here. Especially since I quite like how Sunbeam in ThunderClan has some super neat traits she wasn't expressing in ShadowClan.

Like... it feels like it could be a really cool story to tell about how supportive environments can make you really shine. How you can suddenly seem like a brand new person, just by having people who have your back and encourage your autonomy.

[oliveheart-worldbuilding]

RANK: KEEPER. (LIFE OF A KEEPER)

Image description:

Cuckooleaf and Poppytongue, Keepers of Seaclan, help Graystream, Elder of Seaclan, with his rehabilitation. Cuckooleaf is wearing a pleita backpack in which he carries fennel and horsetail meant to aid in Graystream's leg pains. Poppytongue is depicted helping Graystream stretch his hurt leg.

Privetcloud and Cranepaw, Keeper and Keeper apprentice of Seaclan. Privetcloud is teaching Cranepaw where to find and how to use poppy to cure several ailments. Both cats are wearing pleita backpacks and carry diggers with them.

Owlfur and Martenstorm, Keepers of Mountainclan, are spending some time together. Owlfur is trying her best at weaving pleita (she's failing miserably), Martenstorm seems somewhat amused at her tries. Martenstorm is also keeping Owlfur's kits, Nightjar, Deer and Maple, busy.

Apprenticeship

Kits can become Keeper apprentices once they reach the age of 6 moons old. Kits usually speak to a Keeper and communicate wanting to join their rank, it is also quite common for Warrior apprentices to join later on their life. Every Keeper apprentice, once named, is assigned a Keeper mentor although their training is usually done communally by all clan Keepers. A Mentor’s role is to oversee, guide, teach and decide when the apprentice is ready to go through their assessments. All Keeper apprentices receive from their Mentor a newly made mask (named a shrike) when they are named.  

Apprentices are taught the basis of all areas of study within the Keeper role:

-Blood archivist: apprentices must learn the basics of their clan’s genealogy, namely, they must recognize, learn, and memorize all their clanmates family ties to each other up to 3 generations. They are also taught about blasones*, what their shapes mean and how to recognize them in the Wall of Mallows.

-Herbologist: apprentices must learn the basis of herbal medicine, that is, the uses of the most common and important plants present in their territory, their associated risks, where to find them, etc. Similarly, all apprentices are taught how to read and contribute to the Wall of Mallows’ herbal information.

-Healer: apprentices are to learn how to provide rehabilitation and therapy for physical and mental ailments.

-Matron: apprentices are taught about child rearing and bearing and are expected to learn how to help and guide newly pregnant monarchs. These skills are usually learnt with age and experience although the clan always makes sure Keeper apprentices know how to aid during a delivery and how to interact with monarchs and kits alike.

-Builder: apprentices learn how to build and expand dens; how to clean and decorate their camp; how to weave, sculpt and create simple tools, devices, and utensils necessary for everyday clan life. Similarly, they are taught how to produce dyes and paints which will be used by everyone in their clan.  

Finally, all Apprentices, Keepers or otherwise, must learn law, history, and mythology as well as how to hunt. Keeper apprentices aren’t taught how to fight since Keepers are banned by clan law from participating in battles. Brookclan is the only clan to bend this rule, due to their monster fishing traditions, all brookclanners are taught how to stand their ground.

Although training methodologies are similar within all clans, what is considered essential and therefore taught to apprentices varies greatly from clan to clan. For example, Brookclan prides itself on its ability to heal infection effectively while Mountainclan prides itself on its ability to heal physical trauma, thus Brookclan Keeper apprentices will learn more about the bactericide and fungicide qualities of various plants while mountainclanners will learn more about how to correctly set broken bones.

Keeper apprentices only visit the Wall of Mallows once they’ve been training for some time and are previously told the basis of how to understand the knowledge stored within them. Similarly, all Keeper apprentices, like every other Apprentice, are to visit the Cave of Fangs at least once in their apprenticeship where a formal ceremony is held by their clan’s Seers. During this time, Keeper apprentices will be blessed and allowed to receive an Advice*. Keepers and their Apprentices do not attend Gatherings but, rather, attend Colloquiums*. During these, Keeper apprentices are meant to interact only with other Apprentices and their mentor, they should only speak with other Keepers if they are invited into a conversation. Their role during these meeting is to learn, meet new Apprentices and not bother the adults.

Keeper apprentices usually finish their training by the time they are 18-24 moons old (1 cycle and 6 moons to 2 cycles) meaning their training is longer than those of Warrior apprentices but shorter than Seer apprentices.

*Blasones are, in a way, family coat of arms that allow clan cats to recognize their ancestry and better remember their history. They are painted and studied within the Wall of Mallows.

*An Advice is a dream sent from a minor deity that takes the form of a basic prophetic vision. It is received by Apprentices on their first visit to the Cave of Fangs. These dreams usually depict the Apprentices’ future biggest achievement. Although they are easily forgotten, they leave a sweet aftertaste that encourages Apprentices to try their best.

*Colloquiums are peaceful meetings between all the Iberian Clans Keepers and their Apprentices. They are celebrated every new moon. Further information can be found on the pinned post.

Keeperhood

Once Mentors consider their Apprentices ready to become full-fledged Keepers, the rest of the clan’s Keepers prepare assessments for them to go through. Assessments last for 4 or more days and have long periods of resting in between to ensure Apprentices can do their best.

-The first day consists of various question rounds on ‘general knowledge’: These all happen one after the other and are performed by the clan Leader or Deputy (questions about law), the clan Seers (questions about mythology) and the clan Elders and Senior Warriors (questions about history). To continue their assessments, Keepers apprentices must always pass at least two of the proposed tests with history being a mandatory pass.

-The second day, usually referred as the “test of worth”, consists of two different tests. During these, the Apprentices will have to face their greatest challenge, that is, they will have to stand their ground doing whatever it is they proved worst at during their apprenticeship. Since Apprentices are not expected to know everything perfectly, they simply must know the basics, the Keepers assigned to oversee these tests are usually not experts in these matters either. This is done to ensure that examiners are not too harsh on the apprentices they are overseeing.

-During their third day Apprentices are meant to perform normally, as if they were named Keepers. Apprentices will be approached by different clanmates and will have to help them as if they were Keepers, that is, without receiving any help or guidance. This test will be overseen by all the clan Keepers and is usually considered to be the easiest of all tests. The objective of this day is to ensure that the Apprentices know how to deal with their clanmates and can perform their duties as adults.

-During the fourth and possibly last day, Apprentices are to show their prowess. Apprentices are meant to select what topic they would like to have their test be about, once chosen, the clan’s All-parents prepare an according test and choose an ‘specialist’ in the chosen topic that will oversee it. The objective of this day is for the Apprentice to show their peers what their strength is but, also, to gain their clanmates respect and attention. This test usually foretells what role the Apprentice will specialize in once they become a Keeper and allow the cat in question to gain the attention of a possible second mentor.

-Sometimes, when the Apprentice fails one of their tests, a fifth day is needed. During this day, the cat in question will be offered the possibility of redemption by repeating the test they failed at. If they do not succeed, they will have to continue being an Apprentice.

Some of the tests that can be performed during these days are: finding and reading information on the Wall of Mallows; drawing and writing on cork pieces; listing different plants uses and  their location; helping one of their clanmates with their physical rehabilitation; spending time tending to their clan’s monarchs and kits; answering questions on the genealogy of their clanmates; spending a day fixing dens, cleaning their camp or weaving various tools; etc. Apprentices are supervised the entire time by various cats chosen by the clan’s All-parents. While Apprentices are allowed to help each other at times, they are discouraged from seeking adult help. Once the assessments are over, the All-parents of the clan reunite and decide who is ready to graduate. Graduation and Naming Ceremonies are upheld every new moon, during Colloquiums.

All newly named Keepers are to choose an area of study to further their knowledge on, thus entering a role. In order to do this, Keepers search for “second mentors” that is, Keepers considered experts in their field of study that can help expand their knowledge further. Usually, newly named Keepers are first taught by a clanmate. Once their clanmate considers that they can teach them no more, they recommend and introduce them to another expert in the topic from another clan. If the foreign Keeper accepts, the newly named Keeper will become their protegee and they will leave their clan to reside with them. During this time, protegee and second mentor will exchange knowledge furthering relationships between the clans and ensuring the preservation of information. Keepers may also choose to leave the clan’s territories altogether, travelling with the Storytellers, visiting the Deep worshippers, etc. to learn from them too.  This process can last a lifetime so, in a way, a Keeper never quite finishes their apprenticeship.

At this point, Keepers will also stop wearing their first mask (shrike) and create their own, this time giving it a scavenger bird shape of their choosing. Changing areas of study throughout a Keepers’ life is common and accepted, they can also choose multiple, but most cats usually stick to one their entire life. Once a Keeper chooses a role, they inform their clan’s chosen Seer who conducts a special private ceremony. During this ceremony, the Seer will paint the Keeper’s chosen role symbol on their newly made mask grating them a blessing.

During Colloquiums, newly named Keepers can freely start conversations and debates with their peers, although they are mostly expected to remain silent, listen and learn. Experienced individuals within their role wear leaf scarves which tell every cat that their opinion is worthy of being heard. Scarfed individuals usually give speeches or partake in heated debates.

Fully named Keepers can become mentors when they have, at least, been a Keeper for a whole cycle. At times, special requirements may allow a cat to become a mentor earlier in life (for example, receiving the suffix -path) although these rarely occur. Mentors are selected specially so that they complement their Apprentice’s personality.

When a Keeper achieves certain seniority, they are allowed to join the All-parent role. There’s no specific point in which one goes on to be considered an All-parent, but rather it is a matter of being respected by their peers, maturity, and expertise in their role. Becoming an All-parent usually implies acquiring specific politic privileges as well as power over fellow Keepers. New All-parents are always chosen and invited into the role by their seniors. When a new cat joins this role, a small and private ceremony is held at camp and later celebrated by every Keeper during Colloquiums.

Retirement

Cats that are badly hurt or otherwise suffer from a debilitating or chronic illness do not usually retire. These cats are commonly accommodated according to their needs and their workload and role within the clan changes depending on how they feel most comfortable. Predominantly, only the elderly retires and join the Elder rank.

There’s no specific point in which a Keeper becomes an Elder. Those that do stop studying and are no longer expected to act their rank. However, most still help and teach the younger generation. Most of these Elders will continue to attend Colloquiums until they no longer can.

[ezra-finds]

DEFAULTS 

aeonium skinblend by nesurii

redwood eyes by sammi-xox (+ recolor addons by bluubun)

ea teeth be gone by pyxiidis

MOST USED CC

bare skintones by lamatisse

all face overlays by lamatisse

flushed blush by simulationcowboy

all hairlines by rheallsim

SLIDERS

belly slider by hi-land

lips sliders by obscurus-sims

eye width slider by obscurus-sims

esotropia and exotropia slider by obscurus-sims

nose sliders by obscurus-sims

eyebrow sliders n1 by obscurus-sims

eyebrow slider 01 & 02 by miiko

slider 19 (bony nose) by pirumxsim

hip shape slider by luumia

arm thickness + pronunced hips by vibrantpixels

body sliders, for days by vibrantpixels

lip fullness slider by vibrantpixels

horizontal breast position by vibrantpixels

cleft chin slider by vibrantpixels

enhanced butt slider by cmarnyc

shoulder shape slider by bloodmoon

expanded eye scale by marsosims

height slider updated by ghostwitchs-cc

hip shape slider by luumia

finger thickness/hand size slider by luumia

BODY HAIR

all natural body hair set by yooniesim

SKIN DETAILS

maxis match genetics set by obscurus-sims

moles n1 & n2 by helgatisha

moles n1 by cerberus

misc. face details by okruee

little details by nesurii

perfect eyes: shaping pack by northern siberia winds

about face - facekit by pyxiidis

freckles + moles by wms

essentials face-kit by plumb-boop

shine mole kit by vegantrait

sun touched by faaeish

softie eyebrows & sunkissed freckles by miiko

eyebags part two by kismet-sims

eyebags by tamo

EYELASHES

3d lashes by kijiko

mm 3d eyelashes v1, v2, v3, v4 & v5 by mmsims

mm 3d eyelashes set 01 by bedisfull

EYEBROWS

all eyebrows by peachyfaerie

all eyebrows by twistedcat

all eyebrows by rheallsims

TEETH

all teeth by yooniesim

all teeth by simshini

sweet tooth teeth by uxji

more teeth by uxuie

teeth set (2019), teeth set (2017) & vampirica by cerberus

SCARS

transmasc tattoo set by ratboysims

random scars by ayoshi

OTHER CC

vitiligo set by ayoshi

lore occult skintone pack by lamatisse

to the bone - nosemasks by pyxiidis

heartlines - eyes and skintones by pyxiidis

stuck on you - skintones by pyxiidis

of the earth - plantsim stuff by pyxiidis

CAS MODS

more columns in cas by weerbesu

cc wrench override by rheallsim

cas organizer by vyxated

more traits in cas by thepancake

GAMEPLAY

wonderful whims by turbodriver

ui cheats extension by weerbesu

bed cuddle by thepancake1

edit lights in build mode by thepancake1

some of kuttoe’s trait mods

[ohwynne]

TIMING: 22 October , 2023 PARTIES: The Leviathan, Emilio @mortemoppetere, Lil @the-lil-exorcist, Regan @kadavernagh, Teddy @eldritchaccident & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: The Protherian commune base. SUMMARY: The gang goes to kill a demon. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death, sibling death.

Wynne didn’t have a lot of experience with road trips they could compare to this one, but even so they had a feeling this was a bit of a strange one. The people they’d brought together made a strange bunch, and then there was the car itself — some kind of van that one might expect served ice cream. There were cones and ice cream scoops, sure, but the cold substance itself was lacking. In stead, there were just various sizes of jars, tubs and buckets of mayo. For a large chunk of the ride, they had sat on a large bucket of it.

They hadn’t questioned it, as there were more pressing things to question. Like what an exorcist did exactly did, why Regan hadn’t taken off her coat, how Teddy was still alive and if the tension in the front of the car would be resolved when they arrived. Most importantly: whether Wynne was doing something horrible by bringing these people along. Their fear wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it had once been – there seemed to be more room for determination and even rage, now – but it was still there.

They glanced through the back window, the roads behind them growing more and more familiar. Eventually the car slowed and they stretched their legs, standing in the mayo-mobile. Eyes flicked to the Leviathan behind the wheel. They must be there. “Okay. Alright.” Wynne let out a breath of air. In their hand was a strand of paper on which they’d written down the words they were supposed to chant, down the line. Everyone had gotten a similar strand of paper, as well as a rough sketch of the commune with a red dot where the altar stood. “I guess we’re here. And everyone knows what they’re supposed to do, right?” They fiddled with the back door. “I’ll lead us there.” Lead. Maybe that was the strangest thing of all, today. That Wynne was trying to lead.

It had been a long, bumpy road to Moosehead Lake, and Regan was filled with the sickening feeling that there was something about all of this she wasn’t understanding, the only one not on the same wavelength with the others. It was not a new feeling; it had clung to her all her life. But in the cramped, sour-smelling quarters of the mayo mobile, it was an inescapable one. Everyone chanted during the drive. They had become well-practiced but it remained eerie, and Regan had instead spent her time studying the dead bugs pressed against the window. A faun would not care about this chant. At least she was here to talk some sense into them when this failed. 

Regan squirmed under her coat and took inventory of both her supplies and the people she might be using them on for the tenth time. Typical first aid; bandages, sutures, hemostatic agents, dressings of every size and color. Her collection also expanded into shears, a sphygmomanometer, tourniquets, and even epinephrine injections. The others in the van were no less diverse. She trusted Wynne enough to do this for them. But the others? Emilio had helped her with the necklace, Lil had stopped by the morgue asking about her family, and Teddy’s bones were one of the more disturbing things she’d seen in her years as a doctor. But what of Levi? That had to have been who Wynne made a deal with… but he was not fae. So Regan regarded each of them with suspicion, but especially Levi.

When Wynne announced their arrival, Regan jolted to attention. Her hands grew sweaty against the handle of the kit. She noticed and berated herself for it. Nervous was human, and she was better. But maybe it wasn’t nerves… she hesitated for a moment before stumbling out of the van with the others. There was something in the air; it made her skin fizzle like it was under a mass of maggots. She refocused herself on the others, pushing that sensation away. “Yes, I know where I’m needed. Stay with the van with the supplies and be ready for wh– if this fails.” She wanted to say more to Wynne, but it was difficult in front of everyone else. Which was foolish. Why should it be difficult? Regan compromised by letting her eyes soften – a little – as she looked at Wynne. “Stay sharp, Wynne, for you and your brother.” Be careful. “Úsáideann tú do scian féin anois. It means ‘you wield your own knife, now’.” Toward the first few minutes of their journey together, Regan had already decided Lil was the most responsible out of the lot of them, so she turned to her. “No fatalities. Keep everyone alive and get them to me if they’re injured. Watch out for rats.”

Teddy was alive, but the anger Emilio felt towards Levi for endangering them to begin with hadn’t yet faded. It was a strange thing, given how his relationship with Teddy had developed; even now, despite their conversation on the beach, the hunter still found himself doubting that they were friends at all. And still, that anger placed a tension in his shoulders as he sat in front of the van beside Levi, giving curt directions to lead them to where they needed to be.

Had they been going for any other reason, he might have been less cooperative. Emilio wasn’t very good at playing nice when he was angry, and for whatever reason, he was furious with Levi now. Had anyone but Wynne asked him to do this, he might have offered some petty response, might have demanded something impossible and bowed out when it wasn’t provided. Even as it was, he’d spent a great majority of the journey complaining about being in the passenger’s seat instead of the driver’s, insisting that it would have made more sense for him to drive since he knew the way. But this was for Wynne, and for Wynne, he would swallow his pride. Petty complaints were still present, but so were detailed directions that got them to where they needed to be. 

And so were the nerves.

He knew he wasn’t the only one feeling them. Wynne didn’t seem as afraid as they had before, but he could feel the anger radiating from them, the grief. Regan seemed uncertain, Lil nervous. It was hard to get a read on Teddy, because it always was. Emilio kept glancing between the figures in the back seat, eyes darting occasionally to Levi in the front. Whatever they felt, whatever doubts they all had, it wasn’t important now. What was important was Wynne. Their retribution, their prevention. (Their vengeance, he thought, but he wasn’t sure that was what this was about for Wynne. Vengeance drove everything Emilio did, but Wynne was different. He was glad for that.)

He listened to Regan speak as they parked, grunting in quiet agreement with her words. You wield your own knife now. Wynne deserved that much. “Lead the way, kid,” he said to Wynne, offering them a small nod. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Lil didn’t really know many people in the van, and if she was honest she wasn’t quite sure why she had agreed to the plan anyway. Maybe it was because Wynne had asked, and Lil knew damn well that an exorcist was better than no exorcist on something like this. If half of it was true - which to the point it might not be Regan didn’t particularly think that it was a demon and Lil didn’t really have a reason not to trust that - then Lil might not even be enough. Still, there wasn’t time to get someone better here. The only demonologist Lil knew and trusted was missing, and - well she’d rather not call her almost teacher. Chances were Lil would have to make a deal for the help, and honestly she wasn’t really into deals. So she decided to go, sit in a mayonnaise truck with mostly strangers to help out a person that had been nice to her. 

She tried to warn them on everything, figure out details and rituals that might work, but well there wasn’t a whole lot of time for her to be creative and perfect with it. She’d have to hope the others were at least ready for a fall out if it didn’t work. Lil had to be ready to pull it if the ritual wouldn’t work, her hand aching as she remembered -.  Learning from the last time, and before even entering the van she had decided that a slightly open hand wound would make it easier, and having wrapped it up she had declined to comment on what it was instead talking about what it all would look like. She tried to be upbeat, but she was more nervous then she normally was. Still, other than the chanting she had remained mostly quiet letting some of them squabble instead - Emilio in particular seemed very upset that he wasn’t driving. 

As the van pulled into park and without much thought pulled her hair up and went to check that she had everything as the others talked, looking up only when her name was called climbing down from the counter she’d perched herself on. 

“Okay, Doc. I’ll try my best on that one. I’ll at least probably need to be patched up later.  The rats might be tricky though,” Lil said at an attempt of a joke, not saying the quiet part out loud. Sure whatever was there was likely to pick Wynne as their first target, but Lil wouldn’t necessarily be far behind. She was likely one of the squishier people here, although she hadn’t asked. Still, she decided then and there if she had to she’d just grab Wynne and pull them back to the van and come back another day if she had too. 

Tugging at the bandage around her left hand Lil nodded and said softly to Wynne, “ Yeah I’ll start the ritual when it gets to be time - hey If you get scared, just look at one of us okay? You don’t have to look at them for it to work. We got this. No worries.” 

She had a gentle smile on her face to Wynne that turned serious when she looked at the other three going onto the journey, “Like I said before, I’m probably going to be MIA for at least part of this chanting, so you know don’t let me get hit and stumble in the middle of all of this. Move me if you have to, but don’t let the - person who is probably a demon but may not be - manage to cover my mouth,” Lil wanted to say more, saying that they wouldn’t like the consequences of an exorcist failing, but she figured Wynne was already spooked enough. 

The back of the mayomobile wasn't really meant to have passengers while the old beast was in motion. The van chugged along the road bouncing everyone around like physical representations of the nerves that ate at most of their minds. It was kind of hard to actually tell what was actually supposed to go on back here. Scattered boxes with half filled tubs of various types of mayonnaise. Tubes of wafer and sugar cones. Almost reminiscent of an ice cream truck but one step removed. Abstracted. Just like the people inside. From a glance, they could all appear normal. But the details betrayed the strangeness just below. Eyes, much too knowing. Scars of past encounters, each with a completely different context. Each hiding a different story for the one who bore them. Teddy didn't know all of their stories, only that if Wynne trusted each of them enough to bring them along, Ted would trust them too. 

It was a good thing, Teddy thought, that the main task ahead of them was one of linguistics and not physical prowess. They were good at that, confident in it. The exact opposite of how they felt with the massive changes they were still getting used to. Everything from the clothes on their back to the air in their lungs felt heavier. A strange energy buzzed in their chest, they could only guess that it must have had something to do with the outburst of power during the ritual with Levi. Something that surprised both of them. A great feat, considering how hard it was to surprise a being as old as time itself. One that (to Teddy's shock and relief) was trying to show its care and attachment to the kid it took in all those years ago. 

Dark eyes glanced forward. Tinted by the rose colored glasses that Teddy didn't need anymore. (Another peculiarity. Completely human. Whatever that meant.) Emilio sat seething, fidgeting in the way he always did when there was something on his mind that he felt he couldn't say. What he did say was a bunch of nonsense about the demon's driving. Half Spanish rants angrily admonishing the way the driver decided to switch lanes, or how fast or slow it was going. 

Levi was barking right back, between corrections of pronunciation for the chant and addendums to the plan. The back and forth was comforting in a way. Finally something familiar to focus on. From their position in the back, they could comfortably smile while they watched the driver and passenger bicker about meaningless road drama. Watch the others in the back attend to their own anxieties each in their own way. 

Lil, as Teddy had recently learned her name was, was focused. Clearly having the most experience with this kind of thing outside of Levi. It painted her an anxious general. Nervously warning the recruits about the dangers they were to face. Clearly of the "information will keep you alive" variety. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. Teddy liked that. She seemed… roughly about the same age as them or Emilio. Maybe a few years younger, but not as young as Wynne. The fact that she carried herself with this quiet authority, even if it was a front, was impressive. Teddy only hoped they'd all live long enough for them to tell her so. 

Regan, next up in line of how little Teddy knew them, was the pensive type. A seemingly compulsive need to check and recheck her tools. Funny, they thought, or maybe ironic that the person who usually spent her days opening up the dead to find their secrets was likely going to be the one to patch them all up, should shit go sideways. The good doctor was understandably a bit shaken by the results of the x-rays. Something Teddy had to try very hard not to have a little laugh about. The writing on their ribcage (and pretty much everywhere else) was never going to be the thing to kill them. 

Then of course, Wynne. Carrying quite a bit of confidence amongst the worries. It suited them. Teddy wanted more than anything for this to go well. For it to be everything the kid needed, for them to be safe after this. Teddy said they would do anything to help, and they fucking meant it. As the van pulled up, and Wynne spoke, they were ready to follow. Whatever that meant. 

The ritual had been a gamble, but a necessary one. It would not just be the danger that came after this encounter, it was the danger that seemed to surround them in the place they’d chosen as home, and now, well… Leviathan couldn’t ask Teddy to leave. They had formed important bonds with people that were not the greater demon, and as much as it didn’t want to admit it, that was important. That was good. Teddy needed that, they needed people that weren’t quite so detached from the humanity they’d left behind for decades. But it needed to make sure that Teddy would be safe, that something like the mines wouldn’t ever happen again, and so it had. 

It spared a glance toward the rear of the peculiar vehicle at one of the stoplights they came to, ignoring the grumblings of the man sat beside it in favor of offering a small, encouraging smile in Teddy’s direction. Its gaze then quickly danced to Wynne, who it was helping out of some moral obligation to try and redeem itself, maybe, for wanting to sever its connection to Teddy. One last act of selflessness before it ran to let the flames die down. At least it could give Teddy something to be proud of, maybe. 

“Listen, you’ll get to drive back home, sourpuss,” Leviathan chided Emilio as they all climbed out of the van. “So stop behaving like a child about it, will you?” It knew that harassing it for only being shotgun was simply an outlet for a much more serious frustration, but it was one that was,  frankly, resolved. So he could shut up about it already. 

Rounding the side of the van to meet the rest that had piled out of the back, its gaze fell on Lil as she spoke. “Right, well… just make sure you’re targeting the right demon,” it said bluntly, unbothered by the fact that not everyone here knew, or even believed in that sort of thing. They’d see soon enough. Except maybe the one staying behind, but that was inconsequential at this point. “And remember, we’re trying to draw it out, not banish it. If you banish it, you’re going to make it horribly difficult for me to find again.” 

Looking down at the map Wynne had provided, Leviathan fell into step beside them. “How much resistance do you think we’re going to meet? Will they fight or scatter?” 

Regan’s words echoed through them as they stepped out of the van, nodding their head at her before letting their feet hit familiar soil. It was a good sentiment — the idea that they should be something sharp and weaponlike for Iwan, but also themself. To take the blade they’d feared all their life and do something with it in stead. But to think of their brother was hard and so Wynne didn’t linger on the thought. “We’ll be right back.” Eyes flicked to Lil, giving a grateful smile. “Thank you. And if you — or anyone, ever …” They trailed off. “You only have to be here because you want to be.”

It was strange, to stand on the same ground they had once been born on. To return to the place they had barely ever left up until nine or so months ago. Wynne must have left this way then, to the main road — but they weren’t able to remember it in detail. It had been a fearful blur, crashing through those woods knowing that every step they took was what was keeping them alive. That there was no stopping, even if their throat constricted.

They weren’t afraid now. Whenever they tried to find it within them, they found something null and void. At the end of the day, there was just the anger. For their own escaped fate, for the fate that was forced upon their brother and would continue to be given to people like them, time after time after time. 

Wynne looked around the people that moved with them now, and that was their only source of anxiety. It was strange, how these people were coming with them when others – their parents, for one – would never have had their back this way. It was also scary. Iwan had already died because of them — so they weren’t sure what was waiting for them all next.

But they kept walking. It was the same way it was when they’d ran: they had to keep going. The air smelled familiar. They trudged on, attempting to ignore the scents that came with summer ending. 

Eyes flicked up at the sound of the Leviathan’s voice. Wynne thought for a moment. “They’re not … ones to attack outsiders, generally. They usually welcome them, but after Emilio came by, they must be more wary.” Despite all the death that surrounded the Protherian community, they weren’t violent — issues were resolved through other means. And though Llewelyn had taught them how to punch, they’d never needed it until leaving the commune. “Maybe there will be some, but most of them will probably scatter. We— they hunt, so there are weapons that some know how to use. I’m not … sure I can give a conclusive answer.” They pushed their lips together. “I assume they’d want to talk first, but we’re not here to do that.” 

It was no surprise that all of the talk about demons and fighting continued outside of the mayo mobile, and Regan was no less lost than before. All of this fuss over a faun. At least they seemed to know to be careful with their words. Other than that, she didn’t think faun posed much of a threat… but perhaps her opinion of them was skewed by Conor, who… well, actually, he probably would sock someone in the face, but he managed to be delicate all the same.

As the group prepared to depart, Regan hovered by the van, both knowing she would best serve Wynne by being ready here, and… being grateful for it. Something about all of this was sending a surge of incipient dread through her, but she was trying her best to squash it. The gentle pulse of death by her feet was helpful in that regard. Regan gazed down lovingly at the decomposing lump of fur that was once a vole, and then back up to Wynne, the group. “I will be good here. I have business to attend to.” Her fingers itched to reach for the carcass. But she wanted her privacy. Death was for her, not them. Could she send them off? Were they ready? No, they would never be ready. “I’d say don’t do anything foolish, but…” It was, Regan suspected, far too late for that.

Levi was smug and annoying and Emilio was trying not to focus on it lest his temper get the best of him. They were here to go up against one demon, and Emilio would do them no favors by punching the one who was supposedly on their side for the whole ordeal, even if it might make him feel momentarily better. Wynne needed him present, both physically and mentally. He had to do the best he could to provide that for them.

So he focused on the other members of the party instead. He let his mind wander enough to wonder what Dr. Kavanagh thought they were doing there, since she didn’t seem to believe in anything supernatural in spite of her status as (if Emilio’s suspicions weren’t wrong) a banshee. He wondered what Jonas had told his twin about the detective who was looking into their family’s disappearance, wondered if he matched up to what Lil must have thought of him or if she knew too little to have any impression at all. He wondered what Teddy was thinking about, if they were doing any better than they had been the last time he’d seen them. 

But, mostly, he was thinking of Wynne. He wondered if their grief felt anything like his own, if their drive to get rid of the demon that had plagued them their whole life was nobler than his desire to put down every vampire who’d stepped foot in Etla the day his daughter had died. Did they want to burn the whole damn compound to the ground the way he would have in their shoes? Even with less of a connection to the place than they had, part of him still wanted to salt the damn earth it was built on. His fingers twitched, hands clenching into fists as he looked towards the road they would be heading down. He imagined it was the same one Wynne had left when they departed. He tried not to think about how afraid they must have been.

Regan was staying behind, and that was probably for the best. She didn’t strike Emilio as a fighter, and the morality she’d displayed in the past might become… problematic depending on what was necessary here. Already, he was concerned about what protests Lil might have. She was the only unknown factor to him, the only member of their group that he hadn’t spent extensive time with. Levi was an ass, but it would do what it had promised. Teddy’s heart was too goddamn big for their own good, and Emilio was far more worried about them trying to fall on a sword than he was about them protesting any unseemly necessities. Wynne would do what they had to do to avenge their brother and stop what happened to him from happening to anyone else. He wished he knew why Lil had agreed to this, wished he understood a little better what she was prepared to do and how far she was prepared to go. As it was, there was no time for discovery and no room for protest. What they had was what they had.

Which meant all information probably needed to be on the table.

Levi was asking if the compound’s residents would fight back, and Wynne was saying that they were typically peaceful towards outsiders, but… “Might’ve punched a couple of them,” Emilio mumbled, neither regretful nor ashamed. He’d punch them again in a heartbeat. But he recognized that that might make his presence… a little more unwelcome than most, to the Protherians. “Uh, that guy Padrig. And…” He glanced to Wynne, a little sheepish. “Wynne’s dad. They’d recognize me if they saw me, I think. Not sure if that changes anything.”

Lil was used to being an outsider, something that made her comfortable around so many faces she couldn’t quite place. After all, not a lot of people wanted an exorcist to stick around - it was as much of an omen as it was a necessity. So while she saw the stares, she elected to not care too terribly much about them. She was here to help kill a demon and make sure to bring Wynne back alive, and well the rest of it wasn’t of her concern. If they ended up hating her then, well she would be hated by another group of people. She was used to it.

“Bye Doc,” Lil said, waving with her good hand to the medical examiner she’d grown fond of, hoping that she would actually see her again. As she set out though, she didn’t look back slowly, turning her attention to what needed to be done rather than what ifs of things she couldn’t possibly consider. 

Her eyes turned to Levi, who seemed very happy to keep telling Lil that it was a demon. It should have infuriated her to work with it but she had quelled that idea. She was hardly a person that could demand purity in her partnerships and she wasn’t going to be a hypocrite. So instead she sighed and said, “Like I told you, I don’t know your name and could you stop saying you're a demon? - Anyway,  You’ll be fine, and I’m not an idiot. If anything I’m just - putting a shield between you two and us so it can’t escape your attack.” She didn’t point out that even if she wanted to she couldn’t kill the demon. If she did, she was pretty sure the tightrope between exorcist and demonologist would tip - and Lil frankly would rather not. She would rather the Leviathan just forget she actually existed than having to battle an ancient demon.

Catching Wynne’s eye as they considered the possibilities Lil shrugged and said, “That’s fine Wynne. No matter what they do, we can lead them to where they need to go. Bet you it’ll be more simple than we think.” 

At Emilio’s confession, Lil couldn’t help but snort, hiding her laugh behind her good hand as she tried to be serious. It wasn’t her thinking it was silly or stupid, rather she probably would have done the same thing. Still, instead of commenting on it she said, “ See like that. It might work out  if we can get them to realize Emilio is there they might come towards him. How many people can you punch, Bud? In any case there’s a slim chance the demon will recognize I’m an exorcist. ” She honestly didn’t know at this point, she knew Demons were drawn to Jane, but Lil had never experienced that fun quirk. Still, she figured they at least should know. 

“Besides, if the worst case scenario happens, I think between all of us, we can get someone to chase us, yeah?” Lil asked, stretching her arms as she walked. “Well, at least I know I can be annoying enough to get chased.” 

“Oh he can punch sooo many.” Teddy grinned as they trotted forward. Throwing one arm around the grumpy slayer in a way that might have earned them a punch back when the pair had first met. Now there was something between them, and Ted had no idea what, but it sure was something. “Just look at these arms, he’s a punching machine.” Their other arm slipped around Wynne’s shoulders. Giving them just a quick encouraging squeeze before sprinting a few paces ahead. If only so they could catch up with Levi, turn around and start to walk backwards while they talked to the mini crowd behind. 

“If all else fails we can call in the captain of the Mayo-Mobile to swoop in and save the day.” Teddy offered Regan a  very serious salute and then a warm smile. If it got that bad they probably weren’t going to make it out at all. But if there was one thing Teds was still good for, it was keeping things light. Even when they had a storm of self-doubt brewing up inside. Good morale could get you a lot damn farther than you’d ever believe. That and having the be-all end-all sea monster of sea monsters on your side. That helped too. 

Wynne sure picked their avengers well. 

“What do you think pops, am I annoying enough to get chased?” 

“I seem to recall you testing that theory on me when you were… ten?” Leviathan responded slowly, though a small smile did work its way onto the demon’s face. “And as I remember it, the answer was a resounding yes.” It chuckled. Its gaze then slid over to Wynne again, and it nodded. “Sure. I assume you want to let the ones that run escape? It would probably be best.  Once the ritual is underway and Wyvss’Kgorr reveals itself, you will all want to… back up.”

There was the matter of the sacrifice, but that could wait. The first cultist to give them trouble would do just fine, anyway. Though perhaps offering the child a choice would be better… hm. At any rate, it wasn’t time for that yet. 

“Well, if any of them want to go another round with you, I certainly won’t stop them,” it added, looking at Emilio with a smirk. 

They almost stopped in their tracks as Emilio said that, Wynne looking over at the slayer with wide eyes. That was a detail he’d omitted and, in all fairness, a detail they hadn’t asked after. They hadn’t really felt like asking questions after hearing about Iwan. “You … punched Padrig?” He was a respected community member, someone with power, someone Wynne no longer feared. Still, it was easier to worry about the consequences of that act of violence rather than whatever other consequences awaited them. And then their father, well — they’d rather not comment on that. 

Wynne didn’t want to hurt the people at the commune. While they had recently tapped into their anger for their former family and community, it hadn’t turned into something nefarious. They wanted to kill the demon, to maybe chew their parents out, but the quips about punching the people they’d grown up with made them feel somewhat on edge. They were tired of people getting hurt — were they going to contribute to it now, in more ways than one?

They nodded. “We let them escape if they want to. It’s the demon that needs killing. What they do after that …” Wynne trailed off. “Up to them.” But if Siors were to be caught in the fray, they wouldn’t cry.  “Just try to knock them out if they are trouble.”

The walk was shorter than anticipated and Wynne found themself holding their breath a little, peeling away from the small group as they moved further ahead, staring at the lights of what had once been home. What never could have continued to be home, because if they’d stayed, they’d have been bled out and burned. 

They led them past a barn, around a corner and there, revealed, was the start of stretch of estate. The barn held the animals, who must have been locked up by now due to the hour of night. On their right hand was another barn, which held supplies for farming and then, up ahead, was the beginnings of the small community. Residential buildings, varying in size and age. A few parked bicycles. The building where they had school, but where other group sessions were held. Wynne halted, for a moment. “Just up ahead.” 

As they continued walking, two figures popped out of the barn. Collen and Rhys, smelling of manure and milk. They had missed the smell, they realized angrily. The pair both responded with surprise, perhaps even shock, maybe betrayal. They looked at them with an angry determination.

“Wynne? What’s — who are these –?” Collen was first to speak, quickly interjected by Rhys who stormed up to Emilio and jabbed a finger into his chest. 

“That’s the one who —” Something washed over his face, remembering how he had led Emilio to their community. Rhys had paid for it. He jabbed harder, then grabbed Emilio by the collar. “The intruder, the one who got Padrig, you’d better go and tell ‘em, I’ll —” What would he do? Hold them off, when this trouble might as well have started with him? 

“He was pissing me off,” Emilio mumbled, half defensive and half apologetic. If he’d been speaking to anyone but Wynne, the latter emotion wouldn’t have been present at all, but… This was their community. What Padrig had done, he’d done to them. To their brother. It wasn’t up to him to decide what punishments the man was to face for that, wasn’t his duty to deliver a fist to the stranger’s face. But hearing him talk the way he had about Wynne, about Iwan, about all of it… Emilio had never been very good at pushing his anger down. When it bubbled to the surface, it did so with a vengeance he didn’t care to stop.

Teddy’s arm slung itself over his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He shot a look in their direction, but he didn’t take a swing at them the way he might have a few months ago. If anything, the limb lazily draped around him was a comfort rather than an irritation, a tangible reminder that they hadn’t died in that damn ritual. The look he shot in Levi’s direction was a much darker one, of course. “Wouldn’t need you to stop them. I can handle myself.” Then, to Lil, he added, “Can punch as many as I need to punch. Todos son pendejos. I don’t mind.” Another glance to Wynne, and he was back to apologetic. “But only if we have to.” Even if he’d really, really like to either way.

He trailed along behind the group, doing his best to keep up. Adrenaline numbed some of the pain in his leg, but the limb still wasn’t exactly operational and the walk, while short, was longer than would have been ideal. He knew it was a necessary thing. The ‘getaway car’ they’d procured was good for fitting all of them inside, but it wasn’t exactly subtle. He was pretty sure the horn played some sort of a jingle when it was honked. There was no sneaking it past the gates. He could only assume it was Teddy who’d found it, as it seemed a very Teddy thing to do. The thought filled him with an unfamiliar fondness as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, absently fiddling with a knife inside.

The landscape was more familiar now. Emilio had entered the compound through the front rather than the side Wynne had led them through, and while that had made the first part of the trek unfamiliar, he had a good idea of where they were now. It was later in the day, but he knew there’d still be people milling about. He kept a vigilant eye out, tensing as two figures approached. One was familiar. Emilio clocked him right away, and the expression on Rhys’s face said that he, too, recognized Emilio with ease. 

To be expected, he guessed. His last visit to the compound hadn’t been conspicuous. 

Still, there was some surprise as Rhys marched forward, finger poking into Emilio’s chest. The slayer blinked, looking down as Rhys grabbed him by the collar. Was he really so offended that Emilio had punched a man who would have sacrificed Rhys in a heartbeat if he’d convinced himself it was what the demon might want? Did he believe so thoroughly in this ‘greater good’ that served only those of a higher station than himself? 

“You should let go,” he said lowly, in a dangerous tone. “And leave, probably. Not too late to get out, wey.” 

Lil noticed the mix of tensions, a few of them trying to keep it light and the rest being resolute to keep hard truths at the forefront. In either case, it was hardly her business to keep civility or keep secrets. So she just shook her head, a smile still playing on her face as she continued to what seemed to be the gates at least for awhile. 

The area felt weird, and Lil wasn’t certain how to describe it other than a pressure that sat near her heart. Maybe it’s because she knew vaguely what was happening here, or maybe it was a sense she didn’t want creeping in. It felt rather similar to that day Jane had - shaking her head she decided to let hauntings lie away from herself. Gripping her good hand closed she muscled through her eyes focused more on the trail itself and noting how to get back than anything else. She couldn’t stop the fear, but she didn’t have to give it a voice either.

She was hardly a diplomat, normally confusing people to get them to let her do what she needed them to do,  but Lil  figured she probably should at least get ready, her eyes flickering between the two almost automatically moving closer to Wynne and whoever the others were in a flash.  While she didn’t tense up, and probably appeared rather relaxed, her foot moved back to keep herself balanced incase she had to do something stupid. She hadn’t realized the strangers would go after Emilio instead. He must have made an impression, but she figured one of the others could help. 

 With a bark of a laugh, sounding less like genuine laughter and more as a distraction trying to pull eyes away from Emilio, she said,  “I would listen to him if I were you. I have a feeling you’re going to want to be able to run later when I think your version of an apocalypse happens. Anyway lovely to meet you! I’d back off now. - Wynne, where? We should move.”  Lil wanted to get to the area as quickly as possible, knowing that it might be impossible to set up well but wanting to try as the timer started clicking. 

They were addressing them, these two men with whom Wynne had shared bread and mead, who had made them laugh. Rhys didn’t seem as kind now as he accosted Emilio who seemed ready to add him to his Protherians-I-Punched list. Wynne focused on Collen in stead, approaching him. “They’re right, you should just go. We’re going where we need to regardless. So go, go and get Anna and Gwen and just go, to your house or down south or wherever.” 

They looked over their shoulder at Lil, nodding up ahead. Collen stared at them with something strange in his eyes and they didn’t know what to make of it. Whether it was hatred or anger or just confusion. Wynne opened their mouth to say something before he could, then heard a crack and saw Rhys stumbling away from Emilio and his fists. A sign to leave. 

And so the group hurried further, past the barns and some of the houses. A few tried to stop them, a few tried to threaten them, a few tried to grab Wynne but if it wasn’t them who kicked them away, it seemed there was someone else ready to stop their former community from bringing them home. At some point their small knife appeared in their hand, their determination and anger growing with every step. None of it scared them any more. 

When they reached the center of the commune, a small crowd had gathered. Wynne ignored them to the best of their ability, not wanting to put names to the voices and the faces even if their mind was already doing so. They looked at the altar, where some candles still burned and the smell of the night’s dinner hung in the air. “There,” they said to Leviathan, and perhaps all the others. “That’s where they worship It.” There’s where they would’ve killed me, where they killed Iwan, where we will kill It.

They turned to some of the onlookers, who looked like Wynne had so many times. Wide-eyed, fearful, as if they wanted to say something but weren’t sure how to do it. Some did speak, calling their name, but they knew they were stronger now than they had been. “I’m here to end it. We are. So you can go, or you can watch like you always have.” Padrig was inching closer, so was Beca, so was — no, they refused to look at their mother. “Without interfering. Like always.”

Rhys didn’t back up, in spite of Emilio’s warning. His grip on the detective’s collar only tightened, expression determined, and Emilio wondered if he would have grabbed Wynne like this had he caught them as they left the compound the night before their execution. Padrig had thought, with everything in him, that there was nothing wrong with what the community did. He’d seemed almost proud of his decision to sacrifice Wynne’s brother in their place, like he ought to be rewarded for his ability to think on his feet rather than condemned for his willingness to take a blade to a child’s throat. 

Was there any forgiving people like this, he wondered? Most of them had been raised here, had lived this way all their life. They weren’t malicious, really; they were compliant. But compliance in this compound was something akin to manslaughter. Standing by and doing nothing as people died was just as bad as killing them yourself. Emilio thought of Lucio, of the way he hadn’t wanted the massacre to happen but was responsible for it all the same. Emilio thought of himself, of his daughter’s blood under his fingernails and the bodies in the street. Was there any difference between holding the knife and handing it to someone? Was there any difference in watching the slaughter and turning away? The blood spilled all the same.

Rhys twisted his grip in Emilio’s shirt, yanking him forward a little, and Emilio saw red. He didn’t realize he’d taken a swing until his knuckles were aching and that grip in his shirt was gone. Rhys was stumbling backwards, holding his nose, and Emilio knew himself well enough to know it was broken. Breaking things, after all, was what he was good at.

He felt no remorse as he turned away and followed Wynne in the other direction. He felt no shame as he punched anyone who came close to them, kicked the knees out from under anyone who tried to grab them. Compliance was its own special kind of sin. It wasn’t the kind of thing that deserved to be forgiven. Not with Wynne’s brother rotting somewhere, not with the haunted look that would never again leave their eyes.

The altar looked unassuming. If one didn’t know better, they might think the blood that stained it was that of an animal. A lamb or a goat, something with meat that could be consumed and fur that could be used to warm you in the winter. Not a child, who’d been wide-eyed and afraid and begged for his parents to save him as they watched the knife be driven home. 

Emilio stood behind Wynne as they turned to the crowd, eyes burning with the heat of his glare. His eyes met Padrig’s, and he tilted his chin up slightly, expression just as unashamed as Padrig’s had been as he’d talked about murdering children at this altar. He glanced to Wynne’s mother, angry at the desperation in her features, at the way she would defend this, even now. She’d lost both her children to this altar, in one way or another. How could she possibly want to protect it now? He thought of Flora, of how he would have burned the entire fucking world to the ground to keep her safe, of how he’d do the same to avenge her now. Neither he nor Wynne’s parents had successfully protected their children, but at least Emilio would do something about it. At least he was spending the rest of his life trying to make up for his failure rather than fighting for it to be repeated. 

“If anyone tries to stop us,” he warned lowly, eyes darting over the crowd, “I’ll stop them. I can promise you this. Ask Padrig. He knows.”

Lil had nodded at Wynne, bolting with them as she heard a crack of a fist against a face, knowing enough that time wasn’t going to be on her side with all these eyes on her. She doubted that the people here knew what an exorcist was - she hardly thought even an arrogant demon would make it known to its flock that there were humans that could hurt it. Still, she wanted to blend in the misfit group as long as she could, if only to not slow them down. 

Kicking people back was easier for her now, her hand wrapped up, and while she absolutely wasn’t built like Jane she’d taken after her sister enough that the people who weren’t suspecting it fell back, a wheel imprint now on their shin. Still she felt herself clenching her fists together causing a burn that was keeping her here for the moment instead of her normal distance that always kicked in doing work. She felt alive, and presented something she wasn’t sure how to take. 

Rushing past the others Lil didn’t bother to consider the crowd for anything other than to make sure they couldn’t grab her, dodging under their hands and questions. Instead she considered the altar and the floor, quickly pulling out bags of salt  and chalk quickly from her bag  getting to work hoping that the people were distracted. She saw the glint of her father’s knife and pulled that as well, putting it into her bad hand ignoring the sting. “Someone - put out those candles,” Lil said, getting on her knees hurriedly and carefully starting to draw a circle as wide as she could without getting close to the group of onlookers. She couldn’t complete it yet, but damn did she not think she’d be able to do all of it with the demon in it. She didn’t think of the altar, the blood that was clearly shed here. Where Wynne would have died if they hadn’t run. She didn’t let the anger settle into her bones yet. She’d need it later. 

Lil had never been religious, never had a fervor of a God false or otherwise, and maybe it showed as she was hardly careful knocking into things as she moved stuff out of the way trying to get the biggest circle she could. After all, the closest God she knew was death, and it would come for all of them eventually, you hardly needed to pray for its eyes to settle on you. Whatever this was, it was just arrogance in the form of divinity, something grotesquely more human than ethereal.  “Fuck-  I’m ready." Christ this place is bumpy, ” Lil said, not bothering to stand up, leaving about the foot of the circle clear, meaning that anything could get in at any point of the circle.  

Without the demonic strength inside them Teddy felt like they were at quite a loss. Silently walking alongside everyone else, passively letting the sudden bouts of violence take their courses. They couldn't go toe to toe with the people here, they were still acclimating to their fully human body. The aches and pains were familiar. Everything else was dulled. Muted. Lifting themself out of bed was a chore now. Or at least a workout. How did humans live like this? 

Well, the other humans were doing just fine. Wynne and Lil had set to their tasks, figured out exactly what they were meant to do. Emilio, mostly human with a bit of spice added into the mix with his slayer abilities, was taking on the role of bodyguard. Dr. Kavanaugh sat vigil at the mayomobile. Ready to drive them all to safety or at least to dinner after this was all done.

The meadow vole was only the first in a series of treasures, each holding a special place in Regan’s expansive collection because she found them while assisting someone she cared for. She stuffed a fox mandible into her pocket and craned her neck back to check on the van. It was her sense of duty that kept her close to the mayo mobile instead of letting her legs whisk her into the woods, following the pull of… wait, were there endangered bog lemmings here? No, stay focused, Kavanagh. 

For a second, she thought she’d willed herself into detecting a lemming. But as death’s beckoning twisted from a tug into a force of nature swirling inside of her, she knew what was coming. 

Did Wynne?

And now there was the choice. As Regan’s eyes darkened, she looked frantically toward the van again. Her lungs swelled. Her throat burned. It was close. And rapidly growing too late to try to contain. Around her, a crowd only she could see gathered, one of them marked for death, and – she tried to buck it away, the scream burning in her esophagus. She needed to see, she realized; if Wynne and the others were going to die, she needed to see. She was responsible for the health of those who were here. This was not one to battle. Regan sprinted as far away from the van as she could, arching herself away from it in a feeble attempt to spare the windows, and the scream thundered out. 

The one with wheels in her shoes was crafting a ritual circle on the ground, and Leviathan wasted no time, making sure it was standing within the boundaries to remain trapped with the other demon once it was summoned.

It motioned to Teddy to come closer, placing a hand on their shoulder and giving them a brief smile. “I'll especially need your help, my boy. Make sure your voice can be heard above the rest, I know you’ve a knack for exceptional pronunciation.” And, in a moment of affection in spite of its natural avoidance of emotions, Leviathan braced that hand against its child’s neck and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “We’ve got this.” It didn’t know if it would have time to say goodbye, after. Truthfully, it didn’t know if this altercation would kill the both of them. There was no telling, no predicting. It had never fought another greater demon, after all.

Allowing Teddy the space to step back, Leviathan started the chant. It was easy to ignore the voices of the cultists around them, shouting at them to stop or asking what they were doing—just white noise. It was about to turn to Wynne to ask them for something when a horrible, ear-piercing scream sounded from the direction of the van they’d left behind. It flinched, gaze jumping from one person to the next. It knew what that was and what it foretold, but as with all things, there was room for misinterpretation. It just hoped that the good doctor’s scream had been for someone other than the people that had ridden here together in that accursed vehicle to end this cyclical violence on behalf of a demon that cared not for their wellbeing.

Every person here had a distinct role to play, Teddy wasn't a hundred percent on theirs until their father whispered just the right words. If there was one thing Teddy fuckin Jones could do well, it was speak. They leaned into the touch, soaking it up as much as they could before taking a step back. Finding their spot amongst the circle where they joined everyone else in the chant. They kept the pace. Even, steady. Every word pronounced just-so. 

Dark brown eyes trained themselves on the circle, on the energy that it exuded. They could almost see it. See the way it writhed and twisted as the ritual kicked up. Teddy imagined the strands locking together and forming a net, keeping a barrier between the chaos that was happening, and that which had only scarcely begun. It was hard to say why, but something about that felt right. Even if it wasn't explicitly part of the ritual. They just had to do whatever necessary to keep the chant going. Keep the  chanters safe. 

Then they heard it too, the shrill wail. Might very well have mistaken it for a particularly enthusiastic fox or fishercat if not for the look on Leviathan’s face. Banshees were rare, Teddy didn’t know all that much about them, but they knew that. Knew what the scream meant. Their mind flicked briefly to the discussion before. Where the old demon admitted that it didn’t know if it was going to make it out. A flash of fear lit up their eyes, then settled into resolve. More drive to do this thing right. 

They were quick to follow Lil’s request, glad to have a task as easy as blowing out candles.  They needed things to focus on, lest their mind slip and they answer some of those calls, look at some of these people too long. Wynne wanted to shrink inside themself and disappear under their gazes, which felt angry and fearful and disappointed. You’re a symbol of reassurance, Wynne, your role ensures a future for us all. Old lessons from Padrig echoed in their mind as they did the opposite. When the greater demon (the one on their team) started the chant, Wynne was glad to have another task to focus on. It remained hard to, with all those familiar voices calling out, with the knowledge that their mother was here, that their father might be too. But none of them moved closer. They all just watched. As they always had.

They barely got far with the chant before being interrupted. A scream carried from the direction they’d come from, loud in a way that had them searching their immediate surroundings first. Though they found no one who could have produced the sound, they found something more troubling — a look of concern on the Leviathan’s face. One of the last things they perhaps wanted to see, now. 

Wynne looked around, saw that Teddy was continuing the chant and they tried to pick up again, trying to just form those strange words with their mouth and hope that whatever worry seemed to spread around was not too large. Still, their eyes darted towards Emilio for some kind of reassurance.

The words he was chanting felt clunky and unfamiliar on his tongue. English was still difficult for Emilio, still something he struggled with more than he’d care to admit, and the words he was muttering now were something even more unfamiliar than that. He tried to keep his eyes from darting to each of the other members of their little party in turn, tried to keep himself from marveling at how naturally the syllables seemed to come to Teddy and Lil or how easily Wynne seemed to pick up on it. He tried not to think about how, if this failed, it would probably be his fault.

And then a scream pierced the air, and he was thinking about something else entirely.

His voice fell off, gaze shooting out towards the woods where they’d left Regan. She could have been in trouble, could have been letting out a scream to defend herself or fight something off… but Emilio knew the more likely scenario here. Banshees screamed when someone was going to die, and they had a group of people here stupid enough to think they could take out a fucking demon without consequence. Did one scream mean one death? Or were they all doomed to fall here? 

His eyes darted to Leviathan, who doubtlessly knew what the sound meant, but the demon didn’t look entirely concerned. Was it because it didn’t plan to stick around for the aftermath anyway? There was a flash of fear in Teddy’s expression as they looked to their father, and Emilio shifted. His eyes found Wynne’s, and he was a little surprised to see them looking to him. As if he was the one they ought to turn to for this sort of thing, as if he were the rock they felt safest to lean against. Something stirred in his gut, something old and almost forgotten but never gone completely. He swallowed the feeling, steeling himself.

If someone was going to die here, he thought, he’d do everything he could to make sure it wasn’t someone who didn’t deserve it. Wynne hadn’t escaped this altar just to suffer the same fate as their brother who’d bled out atop it. Teddy hadn’t survived the ritual with Leviathan just to perish to another demon. Lil hadn’t spent months with Jonas searching for her family just to die before she found them. If Regan’s scream meant what Emilio suspected it did, he’d make sure it was earned. Even if that meant falling on the blade himself.

Mind made up, he offered Wynne a small nod of reassurance and went back to his clumsy chanting. They hadn’t died on this altar on the day their community had chosen for them, and they wouldn’t die here today, either. Emilio would make sure of it.

Lil didn’t bother moving from the ground, seeing Wynne move to blow out the candles it would be easier for her to do what she needed from the ground. Unwrapping her hand she looked at the fresh cut and accepted it. Taking her father’s knife she ran it across cringing and trying to hide it from Wynne as she put the knife down on the edge of the circle, her blood now tied to the circle. 

She knew even before coming here it was going to be demanded of her. Exorcism rituals were based on will, purely putting your soul against another's, and a part of that was willing to show that you could die. Every ritual was Lil saying that she accepted the fact that she could die, and with Greater Demons that determination was greater. If she was going to keep the son of a bitch in her ritual needed to reflect her willingness to keep.  It’s why now she gripped her father’s knife, something more akin to rage than she ever felt holding onto her mother’s necklace. She wasn’t sure which one was focusing her, but she didn’t need to know.  “I’m ready, when you all are.”  Watching the Leviathan enter she nodded, starting the chant along with the others. 

Hearing a scream Lil cringed fighting the urge to put her hands over her ears. For a moment there was a panic in her heart, remembering the sea and the water surrounding her before she shook her head and gritted her teeth, hands turning into fists reflexively before the pain of it released it.  She didn’t know what it was, or why it seemed like an omen, but she wasn’t going to fear dying. Not again. Instead she pushed out a sigh as she continued the chant, readying for the moment that she’d have to change to trap the demon. Her right hand poised to fill in the circle. Fear be damned she wasn’t going to let the demon out when it finally came out to show itself. Coward. 

“Wynne,” Leviathan called, gaze focused on the altar as it spoke over its shoulder. The rest of them carried on with the chant, Teddy’s voice loud and clear and leading the chorus of alien words. “We will need a sacrifice. You may pick one of these villagers, or I will choose one at random. Select quickly, and bring them to me. The stench of death offered in its name will help lure Wyvss’Kgorr here.” It cast its gaze to Wynne now, who was undoubtedly trying to figure out what to do and who to choose. Eyebrows raised in a silent request to hurry, it resumed the chanting, glancing up at the sky to see it darkening as a sudden storm began to brew overhead. 

Good. It was working. Leviathan could recall what it felt like to be summoned in this manner, and right about now, Wyvss’Kgorr was probably feeling an irritation at the back of its throat, if it had one.

Inevitably, the Leviathan called their name and showed its hand. There was a prize to pay besides that fear they had given it, something that would weigh on their soul rather than make it lighter. Wynne looked at it, with unblinking and wide eyes and a surge of indignation. Emilio had been right. They should have known — demons were treacherous, and would always want more, but they had hoped, foolishly and stupidly and to no avail at all.

Lips parted to answer, but no words followed, not even the chant they were supposed to be doing. Something constricted in them, a strange kind of disbelief at the position they found themself in. The cries of their former community buzzing in their ears the way the locusts must have when the plagues had ravaged the world. It was the same calculation all of them had always made, wasn’t it? Kill one to save the many. But wasn’t it different? This time it would break the cycle. It had to.

One would die, whether they were to be the one to choose them or not. They could not abandon mission now, tell everyone to turn back — some of them wouldn’t. So Wynne looked, searching for one of the guiltiest faces. Siors, they didn’t see, so their eyes fell on Padrig, whose voice echoed in their mind still. Who had suggested they bring Iwan to the altar in stead. Who’d always told them there was no higher honor than dying for others. 

Let him do it, then. Let him fulfill the duty he had always spoken so highly of, when it was them that was bound to die.

And so Wynne pointed to him, with a mixture of shame and rage. “Padrig,” they spoke, and Emilio would know and with that, maybe all of them would. But they couldn’t move, couldn’t drag him up, they could only let their finger drop and look at the demon whose deal demanded a human sacrifice too even if it had once called it lacking in imagination. Maybe it had lied, then. Or maybe these things were simply inevitable, the way death always seemed to be.

Wynne cast their eyes around and swallowed, before trying to join in on the chant again. 

A sacrifice. There it was — the kicker. Emilio had known, hadn’t he? Things couldn’t be as simple as chanting complicated words in a circle. Wanting something wasn’t enough — you had to spill blood for it to mean something. That was how it always was, how things were meant to go. Wynne had trusted Levi, and Levi had hidden a crucial piece of the puzzle from them. Would they have still come, had they known?

Emilio realized with a start that he would have. He didn’t know when it had become the truth, didn’t know when he’d become the kind of person who would sacrifice a human in order to rid the world of a demon. He didn’t think he’d always been this way. Years ago, maybe even months ago, he would have balked at the notion. He would have insisted on finding some other way. But now? 

Wynne wanted their freedom, and they’d earned that. The men and women who surrounded them, the villagers who had done nothing as children were slaughtered, who had put Wynne’s brother on an altar after Wynne themself had the gall to escape a fate that never should have been theirs to carry… What that they earned? Emilio thought he had a pretty good idea.

Wynne’s index finger found Padrig, and their voice sealed his fate. They made no move to step forward, so Emilio did it for them. He set his jaw, he squared his shoulders. He marched into the crowd and grabbed Padrig by the shirt, and no one moved to stop him. Was it fear or relief that froze them where they stood? Did they want it to be over just as much as Wynne did? They’d watched children die here. Watching a grown man meet a fate he deserved should have been so easy in comparison.

Padrig was protesting, was squirming, was wailing, but Emilio could scarcely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. Iwan must have screamed and thrashed, too. Would Wynne have been just as terrified had it been them on the altar? 

(He faltered for a moment, trying not to think of the terrified child whose blood he could never wash out from beneath his nails. Flora was everywhere to him, but she couldn’t be here. He couldn’t do what he needed to do if she was here.)

He brought Padrig into the circle, tossing him in front of Levi and pretending that his hands weren’t shaking as he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “Do what you need to do,” he said lowly, “and end it.”

Padrig squealed and wriggled like a piglet picked up before it knew to trust grabbing hands. Wynne watched, not afraid but only angry, and repeated the sentiment Padrig and all the others had told them, whenever they’d been upset, “You have to be calm, Padrig, so they know it will be alright. They’re all looking to you now, don’t you want to reassure them that it will be alright?” 

It was proud of Wynne in that moment, turning the words they’d undoubtedly heard all their life upon what it could only assume was one of the men that always spoke them. Void below, humans were stupid. Believing a thing like a greater demon was worth their worship and devotion… it was an old story, but one that was never any less grating. And why? Why did it care? 

Because it liked them. Wynne, Teddy, Emilio. Humans, though some of them had a little extra something. Hell, even the girl that’d drawn the ritual circle, though it didn’t know her well. Even the banshee they’d left behind. It wasn’t just humans, Leviathan realized. It was every creature of this dimension. It liked all of them. So much so that it had become like them in many ways, further distancing itself from the kind of demon that would do this—what Wyvss’Kgorr was doing. What many of them did. 

Its gaze moved from Wynne to Emilio, who had dropped the sniveling man in front of it and told it to get on with it. Padrig, as he was known, looked terrified. His eyes kept jumping between Wynne and the demon that stood in front of him, though he knew not whom he faced. “Please,” he begged, moving like he was going to try and run. Leviathan reached out and grabbed him by the throat, looking again at Emilio. “Thank you,” it breathed as it nodded at him, a silent gesture to remove himself from the circle, quickly. It then turned to Lil, and nodded again. “Seal it.”

Once there would be no escape for Wyvss’Kgorr (or itself), Leviathan looked Padrig in the eyes, its own shifting color to their more natural seafoam green. “I want you to know that you’ve done a great disservice to these people. Wyvss’Kgorr, your gythraul, is not a thing to be worshiped. It is an alien, like me, and you mean nothing to it. None of you ever did. This was a game. Entertainment.” It snapped the man’s neck before scanning the crowd, recognizing the anger and horror in their eyes. The body was dragged forward and dumped at the base of the altar, and Leviathan’s form continued to shift. Claws ripped through fingertips, which the demon used to slice Padrig open from collarbone to groin, spilling his blood upon the altar. It resumed the chant that everyone else had been so diligently performing, this time calling out to Wyvss’Kgorr directly. Challenging it. The demon stepped away again, doubling over on itself as its back split in half to make room for the thing inside to get out. It slithered and hoisted itself free from the host, too massive a beast for so small a package, slicked with viscera. A sea monster, augmented to move with ease upon land. Instead of fins or flippers, it had massive clawed feet. A mouth designed for ripping and tearing, long maw serrated with rows of razor sharp teeth, predatory eyes forward-facing and filled with bloodlust. It howled in the foreign language now, gaze turned up at the stormy sky. 

Wyvss’Kgorr felt it. Heard it. And as it conjured itself a portal to see just what the fuck was going on with the commune of humans it had bent to its will, it was met with a surprise. The expected scene was not so typical, and instead of being met with the sight of its loyal followers, the greater demon was met with enormous jaws that reached into its dimension and bit down on its head. 

It screamed, like metal grating on metal, so intensely loud that it shook the earth. Lkrak’Oaazhir wrenched back, dragging the equally huge monstrosity into their dimension and hooking it with its claws. So it began.

Within moments the fight was raging. Each demon banged against the unseen barrier like it was a physical wall rather than a circle of chalk and salt. Teddy's heart raced with every slam, every bite or claw. It was imperative that they kept the chant going, but it was hard not to gasp or scream out as the giant beasts gnawed and gnashed teeth on scales and chitinous plaques. 

All at once the world was going far too fast and in slow motion. The strange demon reared its massive head and went in for a gargantuan bite right on Leviathan's neck. "NO!" Teddy reacted instinctively, raising their arm as an unfamiliar surge of energy welled up and pushed through them like lightning. A shimmering field of teal blue caught the demon's teeth before they could rend into their father's flesh. A shuddered breath rippled through Ted's chest as they stared in disbelief. What the hell was that? Was that… did they do that?! The teal flash certainly matched the glow their monstrous form used to carry, but… it shouldn't have been possible. 

They were supposed to be just human now…right?

She didn’t say anything seeing the man dragged over, and part of her might have been weary of it; she didn’t get the sense that the man had been a bad one. The exorcist, who often straddled the line of life and death, wasn’t one to stop its procession for most part. She had to believe there was a reason for it. 

Lil braced herself as she saw Levi move to the circle and told her to seal it. So she did the chalk in her hand matching the two ends together, the exorcist did the only demonology she’d ever known. Lowly, to not confuse the others, Lil started on the chant her sister had taught her - sealing the circle into a barrier for the two giant demons who were now fighting. Her blood sealing the circle glowing a light red as she started yet another deadly situation. Another fight. One that this was her only part in.

The ritual  was hard. Lil wasn’t used to hearing all the noises happening, and after a moment she closed her eyes knowing that she couldn’t stutter for a moment or relax her grip on her father’s knife. She could handle most things, but seeing demons fight? She didn’t think she needed that vision in her brain for the rest of her life slowly letting the fear settle there. She’d much rather not know. So if she had to hear it she wouldn’t see it. Still, every slam to her walls she felt, although not in a way she could describe to others. She imagined her soul was being bruised, but it was staying together as long as she was. She would stay together ignoring everything but this barrier until it was over. Whatever over might look like.   

They watched in anger as Padrig was held in place by his throat. Fear remained absent in a way that would make them hollow if there weren’t plenty of other emotions to take its place. And now that there was no space within them to fear their seniors any more, what else was there but anger? What else was there but distaste for the plea that slipped past Padrig’s lips? Wynne poured that anger into the words they spoke, foreign on their tongue but an anchor of sorts. 

It was strange, to not be afraid. It seemed only now that they weren’t, they were realizing how much fear had constricted their body before. Its absence was a presence, Wynne aware they didn’t fear the knowledge that their parents saw them, that all of the people watching them must think something of them. It stripped them from the inhibitions that had ruled their life, the very structure they’d grown up in and now there was nothing more they wanted to do besides destroy that structure. Tear it. 

And though it was a gruesome sight, the neck of their former mentor being snapped, and though something in their gut pulled – not out of fear, but something else, something like guilt and two decades of conditioning coming undone – they remained focused. There was no way but through. (That was something Padrig had said too, once, and now he was dead.) They continued to chant as the Leviathan showed its through form and Padrig was bled out like a lamb. Tongue stumbled over the words, but they were like a verbal circle that kept chasing its own tail, repeated and repeated again. 

There It was, the demon who would have taken their corpse as a gift and devoured it. A cacophony of cracking bones and demonic screaming filled the air and Wynne was staring, unable to look away and forgetting themself, the words halting. There It was. The root of the problem. The base on which the structure of their life had been built, the foundation of the place that surrounded them. There It was, challenged. Caught between invisible walls, fighting an entity as strong – or hopefully stronger – than It. 

There It was, the reason their brother was dead. Wynne remembered their newfound purpose, and continued their chant, voice growing louder and more forceful with every syllable.

The snap of Padrig’s neck breaking seemed to reverberate, crawling into Emilio’s bones, too. He should have felt something. Guilt, maybe. Regret. He’d handed a man over to a demon knowing that it would kill him, had stepped out of the circle to let it happen without looking back at all. He’d done something slayers weren’t meant to do, and he should have felt something for it, even briefly. But the only thing he could manage was a numb satisfaction as he remembered how proud Padrig had been of the children he’d killed, how righteous he’d acted. There were people who didn’t deserve saving, and there were people who did. Padrig might have been the former, but Wynne would always be the latter. And this? This ritual, these demons going to war with one another in a circle held together by an exorcist and a prayer he didn’t understand? This was how they could be saved.

There wasn’t much for Emilio to do outside the circle. His chanting was unsteady and uncertain, the words not fitting quite right with his accent, but he spoke them anyway. It was difficult to watch the violence unfolding within the circle and not take place in it. He was so rarely a spectator to violence; all his life, he’d been an active part of it. The sidelines were an uncomfortable place to be. He situated himself between Teddy and Wynne, ensured he could watch them both out of the corner of his eye while keeping his main focus on the action. 

He sucked a breath when it looked like Wynne’s demon (whose name he couldn’t begin to fit into his mind) was going for Leviathan’s throat, but… something stopped it. Teddy yelled, and something stopped it. A familiar blue that left the slayer’s brow furrowed. He glanced to Teddy from the corner of his eye, but they seemed just as confused. A little more, maybe. Emilio kept his eyes on them a moment longer before turning back to the fight, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach. No time for that now; no time for anything but the battle raging on.

Lkrak’Oaazhir had braced itself for the bite, but none came. Its eyes swiveled in its head, body weight pushing back against Wyvss’Kgorr to pin it against the barrier, a vicious hiss snaking past bared fangs as a violent, crackling energy exploded with the demon’s contact with the barrier. That monstrous gaze met Teddy’s for the briefest of moments, then slowly blinked. Excellent work, it complimented them before snapping its head to the side and sinking its fangs into Wyvss’Kgorr’s neck, mirroring what the demon had attempted to do to it only moments before. 

Clawed hands gripped the demon by the shoulders, massive weight pushing it down along the barrier until its back met the earth. Jaws bit down harder, black ichor filling Lkrak’Oaazhir’s mouth and dribbling out the sides. A hind leg of the reptilian beast found purchase on Wyvss’Kgorr’s underside, shredding it with quick but deliberate motions. They were otherworldly creatures, yes. Aliens to this world, powerful beyond measure, and infinite. But they still bled, and they could still die. 

Wyvss’Kgorr howled in agony before trying to do the same with its own hands and feet, kicking and trashing and digging into Lkrak’Oaazhir’s thick hide where it could, drawing similarly dark blood. But the sea demon did not relinquish its grip on the creature’s throat, biting harder still and feeling the other demon wheeze in response. And it knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the tide had only turned this quickly because of the chanting the others were doing that was weakening it. Without that… well, the demon didn’t want to think about it.

Back to the brink with you, it pressed into Wyvss’Kgorr’s mind as its fangs sank as deep as they could go. With that, Lkrak’Oaazhir wrenched its head first one way, then the next, holding the other demon’s body down while pulling away from it with its head, until a massive chunk of flesh ripped free. The meat was cast aside and the sea demon went in for a second bite, jaws finding bone this time and snapping through them with an equally violent shake of its head. 

Wyvss’Kgorr went silent and its body went limp as Lkrak’Oaazhir dropped it back to the earth, turning then to the audience of humans that stared at it. It bared blackened teeth in a snarl before settling its body in the grass, waiting patiently for the barrier to be lifted.

Teddy Jones had seen death enough to know when it took the greater demon. Even before the final blow had been made, there was a reaction. An acceptance, in a way. The demon bent to a force far greater than its own, and it ended the only way it was ever going to end. With Leviathan on top, successful, bloodied, but alive. A half-astonished shock still rooted the chanters in place. Still had them fixated on the words that were no longer necessary. The crowd around them erupted in various forms of panic. Some shouts of despair, some relief, some fury, filled the air. But none made a move to advance on the group. 

Finally, Ted was able to breathe, to catch themself before they fell. There was an energy unlike anything they’d ever felt before coursing through them. Unlocked by the first ritual, fueled by the next. The very same that sent that barrier out just in time to protect their father. To give the advantage where it was needed. Was it luck or something bigger? Something new? Teddy didn’t have time to figure that out right then. They needed to get out of there. They needed to tear down the circle so Levi could get out, and pile everyone back in the mayo mobile and get the fuck to safety. Who knew when one of the court of demonic playthings was liable to attempt something monumentally stupid.  

They rushed silently to Lil’s side, champion demon wrangler and circle drawer of the group. “Hey- hey you’re good. We're good.” Dark eyes scanned the rest of the group with just a huge surge of relief and joy just behind the stress. “We’re done here.” They announced, almost surprised at it themself. A smile twitched at the corners of their lips. Teddy rushed back to where they were before. To Emilio and Wynne, where their grin only grew. Delight blossomed, they threw their arms around their newly liberated friend, lifting them and spinning in a moment of impulsive glee. 

“You’re free, kid. What do you wanna do now?”  

Lil didn’t realize when the fighting was done, the sting of her hand and concentration pointed as she kept the barrier up her soul feeling like it was bouncing around in a small box. It felt like she’d been doing it for hours, her arms shaking ever so slightly from the strain that no one could see. It was hard, and while rituals usually made her feel powerful this one just seemed to drain it. Still she kept it, until she heard one of the others in the group say that it was done. 

Opening her eyes, she confirmed it as Teddy came over saying she was done, dropping the knife to the ground and feeling the lines dissipate as she saw what she had hoped was the Leviathan standing there. The ritual dissipated almost immediately and so did all of the energy Lil had.  Glancing over she nodded to Teddy a light thanks, one  she didn’t speak instead moving to her bag to get more bandages and to put the knife away giving her a moment to breathe. She’d have to hope the Doc could wrap her up better as she staggered up from her position, her body heavy and tired. Free hand now wrapping up the cut again and kicking the chalk. 

“You should be free to move. I’m not going to try and find you again so don’t worry about me, kay? ” Lil muttered at Levi before turning to smile at Wynne and give a rather half assed thumbs up with her right hand. “Yeah, let's go rob a bank - kidding. Well, maybe in a few weeks. We should head out before they get any ideas,” Lil said with a laugh as she moved slowly forward, careful not to fall body still weak. 

It was a gruesome sight, but something about it was righteous, was poetically just. As the Leviathan bit down onto its throat, Wynne thought of how the knife had met Jac’s throat and bled him dry. They imagined, despite their attempt not to, their brother being cut open in a similar spot. And though this blood looked completely dissimilar from the blood that had stained the altar before, it was still blood being spilled. 

But this time, it was deserved. This time the sacrifice was worth something. This time it would end, not just for a few years but for all the time to come.

So why did they not feel glorious when it ended? When that goat-like, massive demon became undone and fell limp? They looked at their former people, at the wide and horrified eyes of those they would have died for, in a former life. Wynne stared at them and wondered if they’d hate them now or thank them. Whether they should even care. They found themself trying to find Evan, the one whose head would be next on the chopping block and when their eyes laid on him they felt a surge of righteousness once more. He’d be able to live, the way they were able to as well. They way their brother never could. Would he ever understand, what was evaded for him tonight? He was so young, so frail, so confused — and they knew they’d once looked like that too. 

Lost in their thoughts, overwhelmed by distant numbness and exhaustion, they were surprised as they were lifted off the ground, spun around by Teddy who radiated a happiness they couldn’t feel yet. Wynne looked at them, blinked at Lil with her ridiculous yet amusing suggestion and was surprised to note that their face was wet with tears. Whether they were from grief or relief, they didn’t know. It didn’t matter. They let them flow.

“I just want to go home,” they hiccuped. Home, which wasn’t here any more and hadn’t been in quite some time. Home, away from these staring eyes and people who they had known all their life but didn’t know at all. They glanced at the Leviathan with wide, wet eyes. “Thank you.” Then, a decisive nod. “Let’s go.”

The thing about death, the thing that made it seem so… strange, so jarring, was that it was over in an instant. Dying could take a while, sure — it stretched on for years, sometimes, drained people slow — but death itself was there and gone in a blink. It was one heartbeat that didn’t give way to another, one breath that emptied out lungs that would never be refilled. The dying could drag, the grief might never end. But death? Death was a split second thing, a simple one. Leviathan’s jaws closed around the other demon’s throat, and that was it. That was all there was to it. Death came and went in the time it took Emilio to force one syllable of the unfamiliar words through his teeth.

It still didn’t feel over. His eyes darted to Teddy, who was seeing to the exorcist, to Levi, still monstrous in the circle, to Wynne, their eyes scanning the crowd. The last one earned his full attention. He watched the way they moved, the way the tension in their shoulders didn’t quite release. Death, he knew, was only ever the end for the thing doing the dying. 

He reached up, put a careful arm around Wynne as the grief overtook them. The gesture was an unfamiliar one, not something that had been in his arsenal for long. It was borrowed from Zane on the couch in his living room, from Arden in her car after she’d been afraid he was dead, from Rhett in the forest floor a few miles away from where their family’s corpses lay in new graves. This wasn’t a comfort Emilio had learned when he was Wynne’s age, but it was one he was unpacking now. Uncertain and a little stiff, but genuine all the same.

“Yeah,” he agreed. His eyes darted up to Leviathan’s, gratitude not spoken but communicated with a look all the same. The same look was passed to Lil, who looked half conscious where she stood. Something else was in his eyes as they moved to Teddy, unreadable and unknown even to him. Then, back to Wynne, and his expression softened. “Yeah,” he said again. “Let’s get you home. Come on, kid.”

Rising to its feet again now that the barrier was down, Leviathan let out an exhausted hiss of breath. The confusion in the eyes of those that stared up at it, the ones it had not come here with, who owed it nothing but fear and perhaps anger, felt oppressive. It could offer them some words of wisdom, but truthfully it didn’t much care what they thought, and had no desire to step up onto any kind of soapbox. They were fools, and they would likely remain so to the ends of whatever they decided to make of their lives now. The only thing it would do was turn on the commune and release a threatening growl, as if warding them away from its companions. It watched them scatter for a few moments before returning its attention to the small group, taking a few lumbering steps towards them.

I must leave you here, it spoke privately to them, looking to Wynne. Enjoy your freedom, young one. For Lil, the demon gave a solemn, respectful nod. Then, its head turned to Teddy. And you… It lowered itself and pressed the tip of its bloodied muzzle against the human’s chest, closing those many eyes. I will find you again, as soon as I am able. The request it had made of Emilio some time ago was on the forefront of its mind as it gave the hunter one final glance, and a tear formed in the air beside it, creating a vacuum for a brief second before balancing out. Beyond the rip, an endless ocean. The Leviathan rose back to its full height and sucked in a deep breath, then stuck its head through the rip. The rest of it followed quickly, floating up from the earth as it passed between dimensions, seawater leaking from the fracture in reality as it stitched itself shut again once the demon was through. 

There was a bright flash of light, and then it was gone, leaving only a puddle behind.

Teddy knew this part was coming. The brightness of the victory had overshadowed it right up until the nose of the great beast pressed into their chest. They felt themself sinking. All of that joy and relief just melting away in a moment of harrowed grief. The concrete weights around their ankles, rooting them in position as they shared their last moments for a long time with their father. 

Perhaps last moments ever, a not-so-small part of their brain nagged. The part that still liked to taunt Teddy with all of their shortcomings, and how everyone around would eventually leave because of them. This wasn’t that. Leviathan promised to find them again. They knew it was temporary, it had to be but– But Teddy wasn’t ever great at goodbyes. 

Their head swiveled around. A ringing in their ears drowning them to all noise except the thrum of their heart in their chest. A distraction, they needed a distraction. And they probably weren’t the only one, either. Dark eyes scanned the horizon, and settled on one of the few things not scattering with the rest of the crowd. A small shaggy lamb, tied to a post nearby. As if it was next on the chopping block. Wordlessly, the ex-demon strode over. Started to untie the thing and picked it up in their arms. It wriggled for a moment but settled when it realized the cradling limbs around it meant no harm. 

“This is ours. We’re taking it. Right Wynne?”  Ted’s ears still droned with the sound of distant waves, but holding the shaking creature was grounding. Offering the choice to Wynne was empowering. Or at least they hoped it was. “We can tell Regan this is Levi now.” 

Lil waited, letting the demon leave, hearing her sister’s voice screaming at her to not. Still, she had chosen a long time ago that demons and the like weren’t on her. So instead she turned to Wynne who was crying. Asking to go home. It struck her for a moment, the other’s age coming into sharp focus. It was something that reminded her of her brother, who was now waiting for her to get back. He would have cried too, Lil thought, sharing with Wynne in the relief and sadness of all this. Lil couldn’t though, she didn’t have that capacity so she just slowly waked and said with a short nod, “Yeah, let's get you home. Wynne. The doc’s expecting us and -.”

She paused for a moment realizing that she was going to probably be in trouble without the demon they had brought - even though they seemed to be fine just gone. She’d just have to explain - until Ted seemed to think of it too, bringing a lamb that seemed as shaken as the youth in front of them.  With that she couldn’t help the tired laugh come out at the solution. She didn’t say anything though, leaving the choice between the two. 

Shaking her head the tired exorcist  said softly, “Uh anyone got an arm I can lean on? I can walk but I’m probably going to take a while. Really not cut out for demonology it seems. Feel like I went through a dryer and a hobble is my fastest speed now.” 

Maybe all of the people of the commune were scared, and that explained why they didn’t reach for Wynne now. Besides, their mother had never reached for them even when they’d been her dutiful child, so why would she know? Still, she looked with wide eyes, trying to grasp the gaze of one of the people she’d called family and saw only cowardice. But that gap left by their unwillingness to move forward was filled. By Teddy lifting them up, Emilio embracing them, even Lil’s determined nod. 

This wasn’t a place for them any more. But there was another one. They swallowed, the flow of tears halting as they watched the ocean appear in a rip through time and space, the scent of the sea filling the air. They blinked their own salty water away, rubbing at an eye before leaning into Emilio some more and watching the Leviathan take leave. 

Eyes looked for Teddy, an apology at the ready but instead there they were, rescuing a lamb. A poorly looking one, one that would never qualify for a large ritual — but a small one, sure. They looked at the small thing, wanted to look for Ewan again and tell him he was free now, wanted to tell them all that they could be free now. But they just nodded. “We’re taking it.” Another soul saved. They even let out a wet laugh. “Yes. The resemblance is uncanny.” 

Wynne looked at Lil with a worried look in their eyes, wondering if maybe they’d asked too much from the exorcist. “Yes, come, you can lean on me.” They stuck an arm under the other’s shoulder, taking some of her weight as they considered asking Emilio to just carry Lil. Instead, they started moving, away from those people and the former home, wondering if they’d return again, some day. For now, though, they just wanted home, for the woman she was helping to be aided and to sit in that sour-smelling car.

—

He ached for Teddy, knowing what was coming. This had always been the plan. The ending was written before they started the story at all, carved into the cement and hardened there. Levi was leaving, because Levi was always going to leave. But Teddy wasn’t alone. Emilio met the massive demon’s eye, remembering the promise it had asked of him in their last conversation. The conversation itself hadn’t gone so well — conversations with Emilio rarely did — but the promise remained. He nodded once, determination coloring his features. He’d keep an eye on Teddy, because somebody had to. Because they might deserve better, but they wanted him. 

He glanced up as the idiot in question moved away from the group, distracted by… a lamb? Emilio rolled his eyes. “I’m not carrying it for you,” he said dryly, but Wynne seemed lighter now, so he didn’t say anything more. Whatever made the two of them happy. Whatever they needed. 

Lil came over, leaning against Wynne who Emilio still had an arm around. The detective grabbed Teddy as they walked, keeping a hand on the small of their back and telling himself it was to keep them from acquiring any more lambs on the journey back to the van. Truthfully, he knew it was something more than that. The remaining group, all gathered like this and leaning on one another, made him feel a little stronger, a little more like they’d done something decent. It felt like a victory, when they were like this. Teddy with their lamb, Wynne free of that ax that had been hanging over their head since birth, Lil successful in her brief stint as a demonologist… It felt like they’d won, even with the blood on the altar and the body on the ground. 

Just for a little while, just for the length of time it took them to walk back to the van, Emilio decided to let himself feel it, too. Let it be a victory. Just once. Just for now.

[xx-vergil-xx]

sanctus dentes/canem dei

okay u know what –– I just answered an anon ask that brought up the old cori fic I talked about writing months ago, so in the spirit of recollection I was excavating some drafts and I found a part I like –– all that to say, here’s the first vignette of sanctus dentes / canem dei for your consumption :) this is the prologue to the whole kit and caboodle, and it’ll probably get edited and expanded before I post it in earnest, but I really truly haven’t posted writing in so long and today I'm on a good wave of productivity and hey, seize the moment ride the urge etc etc

a TW for gore, blood, violence, and body horror (which I'll also put in the post tags)

SANCTUS DENTES / CANEM DEI (draft, WIP)

EPIGRAPH

“Epopteia, completed sight––meaning the sight that brings us beyond initiation (which only ‘understands’) to ‘contemplation,’ a ‘super-sight’ that is a ‘devouring of the eyes’ (the eye devouring its very self), a grasping and finally a touching: the very absolute of touching, touching-the-other- as being-touched, each being absorbed and devoured in the other.” –– Corpus, Jean-Luc Nancy

GENESIS I: THE PARABLE OF THE DINING ROOM FLOOR

“You don’t love me.”

The blood bubbles in tongues between the split lips. The young man has the eyes of a doe, his pupils blown wide enough they swallow the tawny ring of his shivering iris. His terror is so thick from his pores it might be swiped up with a finger, swept against the tongue, tasted in all its viscous splendor. He reeks of panting sweat, the tar and velvet of post-arousal pheromones crashing into summer-lightning adrenaline that crackles in the nose.

The Corinthian hums into the plate of the sternum. He cradles the tender cheek, licks the soft skin of the purpling undereye, where the threads of capillaries have split beneath the epidermis. The taste is not iron –– such a banal simplification, to call blood near-spilling only, reductively, “metallic”. It’s a bouquet of honeysuckle plasma, fatty satin like good gruyere, platelets of sour rhubarb pie and fresh raspberry. When he bites the thin skin, it tears easily, only so much wet tissue under perfected incisors.

“I don’t?”

"You––" The tears season the meat well –– the Corinthian appreciates the gesture. "You said––"

"Baby," the Corinthian murmurs into the open wound, "didn't your momma ever tell you not to trust a stranger?"

Languorous and immovable, the Corinthian pins the young man's wrists above his bleeding head. In the dark, all things become more and less than what they are. The thick cords of the neck pull taut, strung fierce enough that their columns emerge from the dimness as the spine of some deep-sea horror cresting the sea. He scrapes his teeth against the jaw, where the bone runs close to the surface, and prophesies the sponge of marrow under molar. The body shudders –– glorious, isn't it, how the rigid little mind might strive to save itself from that which thrills the flesh.

"Please. Please."

"Little lamb, what're you begging for?" The Corinthian lays a kiss against the mouth. From the man's overlapping palms issues the hilt of a thin blade –– the other is buried, arrow-like, between his second and third rib. The rasp of the voice is laden with lung collapse, breath that no longer fits into smothered struts. In the valley of the tendons, the heart courses, torrential.

“Mercy.  Merciful God, I can’t die like this.”

The Corinthian sinks his teeth into the muscle of the shoulder, at the point it meets the neck. A slobbery gasp surges from the open mouth –– no better music, thinks the Corinthian, as his canines meet the granite edge of the scapula. The heart is racing, ever the traitor. They are all like this. The space between suffering and ecstasy is so minute he could not slide a fingernail into it.

He severs, at last, the tendons, and a slop of meat comes free. The sheets of the hotel bed will be irrecoverable –– mark of a real good night. It's hot and fresh down his throat. He thinks about getting sashimi after he's done here. Though it'll be a long time until the meal has ended.

The man's mind is fading, even while his body yearns after the teeth that destroy it. He babbles, warbling prayers so loose-limbed and slurred they are only a horsehair bow drawn across untuned vocal folds.

"Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, hallowed be thy––"

"Shh, shh shh shh, baby." He chews and swallows, and when he kisses the hollow of the throat it's only to rip the skin loose from the clavicles, to see those nubs of bone glow pearlescent in the night. "Be not afraid."

"––thy king–– thy kingdom come–– thy––"

Once, when he was young, he had eaten only the eyes. He had popped the tart cherries of sight, reveled in the liquor of the vitreous humor, the plasticky chew of the cornea –– he'd gnaw on the lenses for hours, like wads of clear gum. But his life had been long, and his maker had sculpted him from famine, and famine knew no sating. Famine, blooming low in the gut, scaled the spine and hung from the jaw. It grew, and grew, and filled him with gaping mouths. There was no moment he did not hunger. He couldn't satisfy himself on eyes, these days.

"You fear what you don't understand," says the Corinthian. The man's arms are slack enough that when he releases them, they slump limb and immobile. He drags his hands down the flanks, sinks his fingers between two mirrored ribs, and the flesh gives so readily it seems almost eager. "I don't love you?"

With a squelch and groan, the intercostals split apart. The Corinthian curls his grip around the bone, on either side, and grins, threefold.

"––thy will be–– done–– on Earth, as it is–– in Heaven–– give–– give us––"

"Sanctum corpus," he breathes. "Baby, don't be cruel."

"––this day, our daily bread–– forgive–– forgive–– forgive––"

He snaps the ribs apart. The hull of skin and muscle is rent open, and the smell, sacramental wine, bursts forth in heavenly plenitude.

"Hoc est enim corpus meum. Eat of my flesh, and drink of my blood."

The man buckles, chokes. The whites of his eyes shine liquid, pale shells, spilled oil.

"I love you," murmurs the Corinthian. He does.

The Corinthian buries his face in the guts, and takes communion.