#bi sunbeam

[spagcatstack]

u have no idea how hard i was stimming making these. i love them so much

[the-owl-tree]

HEADCANON: Sunbeam has this strange ability to attract the queerest cats in the clans even though she is straight.

sunbeam joining thunderclan like

[tangletallon]

Sunbeam x Nightheart

[sageokami]

I like them

[nightly-ruse]

Asc should’ve been women arc I get sad every time I think about it. Either have it be like tpb with just Frostpaw as the protagonist or have Frost, Sun and Finch as the protags they would be sooooo much more interesting. And keep the love plot point. Finch and Sun both hate each others guts but somehow keep finding their way together. At Berryheart’s meetings, on the quest, at border patrols. Their just so gay for each toehr but both thinks their straight.

Just some gal pals right here!!! It’s completely straight to want to kiss your girl enemy and cuddle with her, bring her prey and then lay on sun warmed stones together.

[warriors-pride]

hii!! could we pls get icons for transmasc genderfluid lesboy lightleap, enbyflux grayrose bi sunbeam, and transmasc pan polyamorous rosboy blazefire? ty!!

[amberberrystar]

spoilers for asc shadow

headcanoning sunbeam/nightheart as an ace4ace marriage of convenience/couple for my own mental health because My God the romantic chemistry between them is nonexistent. they literally read as We're Such Good Friends, So Now We Should Become Mates Because That's What We're Supposed To Do. like,,,, they literally show no signs of being in love other than saying they're in love or seeing the love in the other's eyes. that's IT. literally none of the other romance tropes we've gotten from any of the other protags. even jayfeather/half moon was more romantic than night/sun. i'm all for the night/sun marriage of convenience to escape from their shitty families (and hell yeah with sun getting tf away from her racist mom) but they are ace coded as fuck

[amethyst-halo]

I just saw someone call Sunbeam “straight-coded” and I realized they were right, canon Sunbeam is the most heterosexual thing possible.

the idea of calling them straight coded is so funny to me bc like they are. most if not all of the cats are supposed to be straight in the books

[hawkfrosting]

THIS IS WHAT I THOUGHT READING THE PREVIEW

pov myrtlebloom and finchlight steal ur girl

[bookofthegear]

Sunflowers! Sunflowers growing underground, a whole apparent field of them, the flowers a good eight inches across, with bright yellow petals and a central orange disk. Looking down, you see empty striped hulls littering the ground. No, the floor. The plants are growing out of more waffle-style indentations, one stalk per depression, with dark earth surrounded by shallow concrete walls.

You are not a biologist, but you spent enough time on Grandma’s cabbage farm to know that this is impossible.

Sunflowers don’t grow in the dark! It’s in the name! And plants that do grow in the dark are pale and spindly and turn weird colors! They’re certainly not dark green and lush, as if they’re growing in a personal sunbeam that just happens to be invisible to anyone else.

Honestly, it makes you a little angry. This place keeps doing just slightly impossible things, and you accepted that. You kept cool. You’re an adventurer. Now it feels like the labyrinth is just flaunting its unreality at you, like it broke some unspoken bargain.

As you stand there, seething for what you know is no good reason, the leaves rustle. You take a step back, worried that there’s something in the dense stand of plants—but no, it’s the sound of wind moving through the field, each plant bowing slightly, the leaves rippling until the breeze reaches you and…

Nothing.

Whatever wind is moving the sunflowers, it’s not happening here, like the light. Or maybe it’s the sunflowers that are somewhere else? You reach out, cautiously, and touch one.

It certainly feels like it’s here. The leaves are big and coarse and slightly rough. And the room smells like there are plants in it, an earthy greenhouse sort of smell. But it’s obvious that in some very real sense, these plants aren’t here. Or aren’t just here.

It’s enough to make your head hurt.

As you watch, still somewhat annoyed, you see movement out of the corner of your eye. A clockwork bee is perched on one of the flowers, busily collecting pollen.

[exocynraku]

nonbinary bisexual spottedleaf 😮

genderqueer ravenpaw for @peeners agender lesbian leafpool, lesbian sunbeam, agender icewing, lesbian ferncloud for @hangingferns bi tawnypelt for @catchthattherian lesbian bugeater, trans bigteeth for @tacobelle404

[bonefall]

Can we hear about the Guardians too? I forget if you've already talked about them, but what about their afterlife? Where'd they come from? What're their ideas about gender, culturally?

Anon you got me feeling like an elder telling stories to kits again lmao. All righty. Elder Bones gonna teach you a bit about the Guardians.

Troutfur and I are building out a rough draft for their language too so I'll give you a preview of that, too. Let's start there, in fact.

GUARDMEW

Is an SVO order language, just like English. We Cultivate Roses. Subject, Verb, Object. This is going to come up a lot in BB!ASC when Berryheart, the Evil Educator, critiques a ton of Sunbeam's grammar.

Unlike Clanmew with each verb morpheme being used in full to describe a past action and shortened for present tense (pabrpabrpabr vs pabrpabr) Guardmew uses suffixes, also just like English. Sunbeam picked up the habit from her mentor, and Berryheart HATES that she will say "Pabrpabryr" instead of "Pabrpabrpabr."

But anyway, forget the setup we've got going for ASC. Let's just talk a little more about Guardmew.

It is in the same lingustic family as Clanmew, descending from Lakemew. Of all the living languages, Guardmew is closest to the ancestral form, since it was born directly from refugees fleeing eastward, from the tyranny of Holly Leaves.

They also have the concept of Threat Level, with pronouns built around skill for people, and benignness for everything else. That means, they have completely separate pronouns for cats, but classify plants and animals based on how they act on the environment.

For examples, their leader Spiresight shares the same pronouns as their "elders" and most experienced craftsmen. The building they live in will use the "respected object" pronoun. A plant with an infectious mold, or an invasive weed, will have a "malignant" pronoun.

CULTIVATION CULTURE

While Tribe cats encourage traveling, Guardians are the opposite. They believe in the value of setting down roots, and cultivating your homespace. If you go somewhere, they expect you to take care of it well.

The Church that Dovewing found is not the only place where Guardians live in that geographic region. They tend to name their groups after a major landmark-- she found the Guardians of the Spire.

They manage their land in a way that attracts wild animals, and then attempt to selectively hunt the animals that live on that range. In a way, it's like a carnivore's approach to agriculture.

If the Clans have a specialty in combat, and the Tribe has a specialty in hunting, Guardians can be considered to have a specialty in construction.

AFTERLIFE SYSTEM

If they have a Hell, it was made by Sol. But I'm not sure if they have one of those.

They DO have a heaven though-- they call it The Firmament.

The Firmament is the ground, but it's specifically your home soil. To Guardians, the more people who are buried somewhere, the more power that ground has. They believe that buried bones are proof that the soul still remains within the Firmament, and remains are NEVER to be disturbed.

They try to avoid the graveyards of humans and bury their prey neatly in "mass graves," pits dug neatly and only totally covered bi-weekly. Because there's such a strong taboo against disturbing remains, they are VERY careful about where Guardians are buried, and try to cover them with carefully arranged stones and woody plants so these graves are not disturbed.

After death, the flesh of the body must rot away into soil. They believe that this allows you to experience The Firmament TRULY, as a mole or an earthworm does. It becomes a new world, and you no longer see dirt, but the connections between everything.

You could describe this as "Monotheistic." They believe that when your flesh melts away, you join The Firmament. Your bones are like a conduit of the wishes you have for your loved ones still above the ground... but, these too will someday melt away! That's part of it too!

The Sky, in contrast, is a terrible, almost evil thing. In English we may say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." A Guardian would say, "When the sky rains, the firmament grows mushrooms." Weather is something to be anticipated and handled, ESPECIALLY storms.

New spirits are made from what the mother eats of the Firmament. Berries feed the mice, mice feed the cats, cats return to the Firmament. A cycle, forever.

LEADER POWER

NOTE: I should rename this BB concept, "leader power." Not all cats with these unique abilities, given by an Afterlife System are political leaders-- they're spiritual ones.

One example of this is the Groundskeeper of the Guardians. They are thought to fully reincarnate, taking new bodies over and over. When a Groundskeeper dies, they are put into the same grave as their previous incarnation, and it is believed they gain more power with each death and rebirth.

But, they are not given political authority. They have CONSTRUCTIVE authority-- advising new projects and acting as a liasion between the Firmament and the living.

Cats who are identified as Groundskeeper change their name to their old incarnation. Spiresight is the leader of the Guardians of the Spire. They're identified on their birthday, so all Groundskeepers begin at exactly 1 year old, at least 1 year after the death of the old incarnation.

Spiresight is able to "see" the world as an interred skeleton does, he is in a permanent state between life and death in their eyes.

He can "feel" when something new enters his Firmament, gage it based on its paws, weight, movement. He can can tell when a plant is sick based on how strong its roots are, or if something is being pulled up. He knows where all the skeletons are, feels the worms in the dirt, and can tell the weather from the sway of the plants above.

He can tell if a plant is sick, but not animals. Because of this, the Groundskeeper is NOT INCLUDED IN MEDICAL PROCEDURES. He may point a doctor in the way of good herbs, but all Guardians are expected to know medical knowledge significantly beyond first aid.

The Groundskeeper leads religious ceremonies, funerals, and new projects. He is socially expected to not leave the center of the territory too often, especially during storms. That aside, the Groundskeeper is allowed to have a life and family of their own, including adopting kits and having mates.

OTHER THINGS

Time for a closing list of random facts.

An adult member of the Guardians, fully trained, is called a Gardener.

They have an extreme and severe taboo against other supernatural entities. They believe that they are "of the sky" and harshly reject anything "unnatural."

This is likely because of Holly Leaves, who tried to force a star-based religion upon their ancestors.

The Guardians, like all societies, have their problems too. They don't welcome cats who return after a wander and heavily discourage leaving.

If you're going to leave, leave permanently. A dandelion seed does not return on the wind.

So returning cats, traders, and repeat visitors are treated more coldly on subsequent visits. Not always hostile-- but the welcome is not gracious.

Cats who do have to leave on a quest or for some reason have a "quarantine" period when they return. A cleansing ritual.

Kittens are named by their families, usually after consulting with the Groundskeeper. Names are often reused through generations.

A name carries association with whoever had it last; it's not quite a reincarnation so much as it is a "continuation"

Because of this, there's very rarely any new names. A cat who enters the Guardians keeps their old name, and it is entered into their "list" after they die.

This is how they get some weird ones, like Boots and Cinnamon.

When a Guardian does something awful, they're buried beyond the Firmament and their name is no longer used.

I haven't worked out their gender systems yet.

[esoteric-terror]

listen i love bi sunbeam as much as the next guy, but i cant deny she has this energy

[bruciemilf]

Haunted by Kuai Liang and Reiko thoughts. One thing bout me? If there's no lore between two blorbos I want to see together, I'll simply Frankenstein that shit.

Kuai Liang is raised for honour. Reiko is raised for pride. One is destined for a throne he doesn’t want, the other thinks kneeling is a privilege. Sunshine brother, war son.

Some headcanons because I am SOO unwell about their potential:

Reiko can't bring himself to fancy anyone who can't kick his ass. Kuai Liang can. Embarrassingly fast. At first, Reiko confuses his steadfast but fierce attraction to Bi-Han's younger brother as admiration. Just respect between warriors

Kuai Liang? Looked at this 6'4 bull of a man, turned to Tomas, and said, " My ancestors would be ashamed of what I'd let this man do to me" "what the fuck man"

Don't get me wrong, I adore chaste, shy Kuai; Watching his cheeks warm up in ripe peaches and listening to his words stutter when he's embarassed is the BEST

But we seriously need to acknowledge Reiko Is STUNNING.

His eyes are winter fire and his hands, hardened by combat, are big, and his laughter is deep and addicting and infectious

Reiko has no idea why the Lin Kuei's pretty boy even bothers sparing him two looks. He's not a man, he's a soldier. People don't look at him as something worth caring about

"...I like the origami swans you do for children, when they flock to you in markets," Kuai sounds softer than song when he says it. It makes Reiko's heartbeat climb up his throat.

"...If you tell anybody, I'll have your tongue on a plate."

Obligatory younger brother Reiko going to Mileena for these confusing emotions

He rants about Kuai Liang's eyes for a few hours (how many metaphors does he HAVE)

He gets diagnosed with "accute faggotry" and cries for an hour

After he gets over it, he's actually really passionate and wants to begin courting immediately;

Mf dead ass walked up to Kuai, just trying to enjoy some tea at Madam's Bo's, and goes "marriage rn" "what"

NO THOUGHTS ONLY REIKO CALLING KUAI LIANG "sunshine" "sunbird" "sunbeam" "little flame" "little Phoenix" AND KUAI LIANG EATS IT UPPPPPP

[seventeenpins]

west

prologue

pairing: Joel Miller x nb!character

word count: 2.7k

genre: period western/horror

summary: Dakota Territory, 1879. Joel Miller, a widower, lives on the outskirts of Deadwood with his brother and daughter. After travelling north from Texas two years earlier, they've put down roots in the community. Tommy came for the gold rush, and Joel came to keep an eye on Tommy. The end of the world arrives piece by piece, and then all at once.

warnings: glaring historical inaccuracies, canon typical violence, allusions to a suicide attempt, essentially just the opening of the show/game but set in 1879 with some bits adjusted, the horrors of being a person in the 1800s, nb love interest is essentially a reader self-insert but is named (tho won't appear till the next chapter), it will be a slowwwww burn.

a/n: Ok, a funny thing that didn't come up in my research till I was ninety percent thru the outline and halfway thru the chapter but had independently decided on 1879 as the setting -- Deadwood actually burned down on September 26, 1879. Figured it was serendipitous. Happy Birthday, Joel! 🫠

The day the world ended, the sun rose bright across the valley. Autumn was just starting to emerge and dust motes appeared suspended in the bright sunbeams, forested wilderness surrounding the town of Deadwood. The leaves weren't changed, not fully, but here and there you could find a red tree amongst the green ones, and you knew they'd follow soon.

Joel was exhausted. His head ached. His bones ached. He could already feel the stiffness in his muscles from yesterday's work, and today would be no better.

The first few cries of the rooster hadn't done so much as stir him, but now as morning truly broke, he could smell mouth-watering aromas wafting up from below, heard the bustling in his kitchen and his belly rumbled, waking him up right quick.

He scrunched his face up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and went over to the basin to splash cool water on his face. He stared at his reflection in his glass. Another year older. Another strand of silver in his hair. Thirty six. He'd made it to thirty six.

He pulled a shirt from his drawer and frowned. It was soft, cotton, and one of his favorites, but he was sure this one was torn at the shoulder, left to waste away in the oft forgotten mending basket. He shook it out and peered at it–sure enough, it had been torn, but now it was mended with fine, careful stitches.

Sarah. It must've been.

That girl was busy herself, but it warmed him, that she'd taken the time to mend her old pa's shirts without him ever having to ask.

He dresses quickly, tucking in his mended shirt, buttoning his trousers, adjusting his suspenders. He wasn't a vain man, but he takes pride in his work, and his mama always told him "It ain't about vanity, Joel. You take yourself and your appearance serious, others will too."

He grew up with little, but his mama was an accomplished seamstress. Her mending was impeccable, and any time she found a discarded bit of fabric, she'd bring it back to life and make it twice as pretty as she found it. Joel reckoned she was the best dressed woman in all of Texas. She collected issues of Good Housekeeping and Harper's, taking account of all the latest fashions. She built corsets and cages and all the ladies would flock to her to do them up just as pretty.

Joel combed back his hair. Stared in the mirror for just a moment longer, lost in his memories. Nodded, and stepped downstairs.

"Pa!" Sarah grinned at him as he entered the kitchen, "Lookin' mighty fine this morning."

She pulled him in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, baby girl," he grinned back, "You makin' us breakfast?"

"Yep!" She nods, and hands him a plate. Drop biscuits, a little burnt, swimming in gravy, a cup of wild berries on the side, and a hot cup of coffee.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the spiraling tendrils of coffee vapour and let out a delighted hum. "You spoil me, kiddo."

"'Course," she nodded, and took a big bite of her own biscuit.

"Uncle Tommy home?" Joel asked, and Sarah shook her head, a couple of biscuit crumbs scattering around her, "Nah, he went out early today. Said he wanted to get done with his work early so he can celebrate your birthday."

Joel raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate my birthday?" he scoffs, "Stop by the saloon or lose all his money at cards and still make it on time to dinner is more like it."

He took one last gulp of his coffee and placed the mug down.

"We'll have a nice night," Sarah assured him, "An' I told Uncle Tommy he best be here in time for supper or else. And I'm makin' you a cake."

"Okay, baby. You'd best be off to school, now. I'll get these dishes taken care of."

"You sure?" She asked.

"Positive."

Sarah nodded, pulled off her apron, tossed a few of her favorite books in her satchel and tore out the door.

Joel went off for his work. Only two years they'd been in the Black Hills, Joel, Sarah and Tommy, but they'd made a nice little home. They came up after Sarah's mama passed, and Tommy heard about the gold rush. He insisted it was all because of the rush he wanted to come, but Sarah always suspected he came because he knew Joel would follow, and her pa needed a change of scenery. He'd almost faded into a ghost himself, sitting round their empty old house, nearly lost in memories. Grief had a way of consuming him.

So they'd traveled North, left Texas behind for good, and made a new life for themselves.

The schoolhouse had been around since before the Millers arrived in Deadwood, but there hadn't been a teacher till Spring of this year. Joel was glad Sarah finally had a chance for a proper education. Smart as a whip, that one, and hungry for knowledge. He couldn't wait to see what she was gonna do.

There weren't a lot of kids, or even that many women in the community outside of the brothels, but the Millers had established themselves. Tommy was something of a wild card, getting into bar fights more often than Joel would prefer, but he'd never gotten on the wrong side of a quick draw, and he had enough charm he managed to get out of most of the trouble he found himself in. And Joel–Joel was reliable. Whether he was fixing someone's step, or making sure to haul that extra meat back after a hunt to ensure one of Sarah's friends would have enough to eat, he could be depended on.

The day the world ended, Joel saddled up Delphine, his dapple grey, and mounted her, tools packed neatly in her panniers. Today, he'd be working on repairs at the general store. They rode from their home at the outskirts towards town.

As he approached, he slowed to a walk. Something felt off, like there was a tension about to snap. But no one was bleeding, and some days on the frontier that felt like a high enough bar to clear.

Along Main Street, he could hear strained voices.

"The telegraphs stopped coming-" He heard one man say.

"Problem with the wire?" Another asked.

The first man shook his head. "Naw, had some of my guys inspect it. Everything should be workin'. It just- it ain't."

"How long's it been going on?"

"Been five days now. Never seen it like this before."

"Ain't seen any coaches for weeks now, too. It's like the route just stopped altogether. Don't know how to get word to my folks back east about the new baby if we've got no mail and no telegraphs."

The day the world ended, Joel made it home by sunset, just in time to find Sarah plating up their dinner.

"Good day?" She asked, and he nodded.

"Yeah, got lots done. Next time you go by the general store, you'll see a door that swings smoothly on its hinges and brand new windowpanes."

"That's great, Pa!" she smiled. It warmed her to see his pride in his work.

"Uncle Tommy home yet?" Joel asked.

"No," Sarah frowned, "Thought he'd be back a couple hours ago, too. Guess you're right."

"Reckon he's lost track of time. Though- Huh, I didn't see him at the saloon when I rode by."

"There's always the cathouse?" Sarah suggested, and Joel snorted and shook his head. It wasn't an impossibility.

"Well-," Sarah paused, "There'll be cake waiting for him, but at least have your supper before it gets cold."

"Thank you baby," Joel smiled, took his plate from her, and dug in.

The night felt heavy, something in the atmosphere pressing like a weight through the world. All the food was eaten (besides a small plate left for Tommy) and the cake was cut, when the gunshots started outside.

Sarah started and Joel bolted upright, swinging around to grab the rifle by the door without a second thought.

"What's happening?" she asked.

Joel shook his head, crouching down by the window, pushing the curtains aside and peering through.

"I don't know, baby. Just stay calm, stay low. We're gonna be okay."

There was no one directly outside, but the gunshots continued, and the more Joel stared, the more he could see smoke rising from town.

"Looks like a fire," he told her, "Don't know what the shootin's about, though. And–" His eyes narrowed, heartbeat pounded. "We gotta block the door, baby, there's someone coming."

"Is it Uncle Tommy?" She asked, eyes wide and voice small.

"No, I don't think–" Joel had grabbed the heavy mahogany table by the legs and started tugging, but did a double take out the window. "Wait, you're right!"

It was Tommy, galloping towards their home on a mount Joel didn't recognize. Before Tommy was even a hundred feet away, Joel could hear him call out his name.

"Joel!" Tommy bellowed, "We gotta get outta here!"

Joel swung the door open and Tommy stumbled in.

"Somethin's happening," he wheezed, breaths coming quickly, panic etched across his face, running to the cabinet and filling his pack with ammo. A knife. Another revolver. "We gotta pack up anythin' we can't afford to lose. The town's on fire. There are these people, fuck, Joel, it's like they're the Devil's got 'em."

"Like the Devil's got 'em?" Joel asked, pulling two bags from pegs by the door. "The fuck you mean? You been on the shine again?" He turned to Sarah. "Start packin', baby. Clothes, medicine. Cash, too, you know the drawer?"

She nodded and ran upstairs, and Joel turned back to Tommy, fumbling through papers and photos, knowing he had no time for sentiment but couldn't bear to leave without trying to think of everything.

"They're fuckin' possessed," Tommy explained, "Won't listen to reason. It's a fuckin' mess in town. A few coaches came through today and there were men on it raving, saying some kinda devilry was coming through. They seemed crazy, so we just laughed. Didn't think much of it."

He shook his head and ran a palm down his face. That's when Joel noticed the blood on his sleeve.

"Jesus," Joel said, "You hurt?"

Tommy shook his head, confused, and then looked where Joel was looking and exhaled. "Naw," he exhaled, "That blood ain't mine."

"So what happened?"

"Well," Tommy continued, "An hour or so later we heard screaming. Turns out a couple folks who'd come in by train from down South a day or so ago, who weren't feelin' all that well, they'd been to the doctor and went crazy. Started twitchin'. Bitin'. Proper bitin' people. They got these things in their mouths, these weird fuckin' tendrils-"

Joel stared at him, a muscle in his jaw tensing.

"I know it sounds crazy, Joel, but something bad is fuckin' happening. Don't know what it is. All I know is people are tearing each other up. And we gotta get outta here."

Joel was silent a minute and then nodded, solemn.

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "We're gonna get outta here."

"We are," Tommy agreed, "But we both know the only way out is through town, and it's a shit show right now."

"Fuck," Joel hissed and looked out the window again, "Looks like the whole town is on fire."

"It is," Tommy nodded, "But we can avoid Main Street. Go to the outside, and around to the thoroughfare."

"Fine." Then Joel called upstairs, "We gotta go, baby!"

Sarah re-emerged, two bags packed full. "I got clothes for both of us. Money. Few other things."

"Thank you, baby."

They saddled up their horses, Tommy on his stolen mare, Joel and Sarah on Delphine.

Joel hated this, hated that they had to pass through town to pass by Deadwood and across into the Black Hills, but they were at the edge of the gulch. No way to go but through.

Before they rode, Joel cupped the back of Sarah's head with one hand, closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He nearly didn't, worried her pa would be embarrassing her. But he did. For the rest of his life, he was always glad that he did.

As they rode through flames, they saw the foundations of the place they called home begin to crumble. It was chaos. It was worse than Joel ever could have imagined. The town was engulfed in madness, men eating one another toppled over onto the dusty ground. Smoke choked them and made their eyes water as they rode through with cloths pressed to their mouths, trying to avoid the worst of it. There were a few folks who had built barricades and stood beyond them, guns aimed, trying to take down the most violent of the possessed. It was horrifying, their friends, colleagues, and neighbors engaged in a fight to the death. It was wrong wrong wrong and by God it was the end of the world.

They saw the younger Adlers torn to pieces, and the elder running on all fours as she tried to rip apart someone else.

"Hold onto me, baby," Joel said, pulling her in in an attempt to shield her from the bodies. She'd already gotten a glimpse and couldn't help but stare, and she stared for a moment before she felt nauseous. Then, she screwed up her eyes and held on tight.

They saw Jimmy's place in flames. The baker's. The saloon. There were women running from the brothel, still rouged and bright as they aimed their guns at the monsters around them.

Through side paths and shortcuts, down alleyways and in the gaps between houses, they rode desperately through Deadwood. The buildings Joel had helped erect and the repairs he'd completed in the past few years had given him an intricate knowledge of the settlement. They rode fast and sure, evading the devils that clutched at the air, reaching for their ankles as they rode by.

Makeshift barricades had been put up all along the outskirts of town. Each way they turned, there was no way through. They rode back and forth, crisscrossing the streets as they tried their best to pull away from the writhing bodies in the dirt.

It wasn't till they passed the very last buildings down Main Street, right by the edge of town, that they slowed.

The sheriff lay dead, a bullet right between his eyes, bleeding out on the dusty street corner. A circuit rider loomed ahead of him on his mount, hands resting on his shotgun that, slung over his shoulder. Blood drenched his forearms, spattered against his coat, so soaked it shone visible even against the heavy wool. There was a fear in his eyes, a terror that unsettled them.

When he saw the Millers, he straightened and raised the weapon.

"Preacher, let us through," Tommy said, and the homilist darted his eyes between the men.

"Can't let anyone past," the man said, "This here's the reckoning. No one's gonna escape the inevitable."

Tommy raised his revolver. "I ain't askin' again. Let us through."

The preacher steadied his shaking hands and aimed his shotgun "But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up-"

It's hard to say who fired first.

In a split second, two gunshots rang out, fragmented echos of one another. The preacher fell. So did Joel and Sarah.

The bullet grazed through Joel's side, and he clutched at his abdomen, holding the wound.

"Joel-!" Tommy cried as he flung himself from his mount, the preacher dead and already forgotten.

Joel rolled over and crawled towards where Sarah lay. The bullet that had gone through Joel pierced her belly and she shook, blood spurting and pooling from the wound.

He tried to apply pressure, tried to slow the bleeding, but her screams and sobs stilled him.

"I'm sorry, baby," he cried, and she shook, eyes darting around, trying to focus and failing.

"Pa-," she croaked.

"It's okay, baby girl," he lied, "You're gonna be okay."

She exhaled in a final gurgling puff, blood spattering across her perfect face, and Joel howled.

She was gone, he knew it, but still he cradled her.

Tommy stroked her hair and wiped the blood off her cheek. Joel pressed his head to her chest and wept, horrible strangled heaves caught in each exhale.

The day the world ended, Joel's world ended, too.

They carried her body with them for miles, Joel holding her close even as he felt her begin to cool and stiffen. Time escaped them as they rode, and around sunrise, they found a creek with wildflowers blanketing the banks. A small herd of pronghorns leaped along the water.

Tommy dug a hole and Joel told her stories, rocking her back and forth in his arms. All the ones he could remember, that she loved so much when she was little. Told her to rest easy now, baby.

They lowered her into the ground, and Joel wept. Tommy assembled a small cairn at the head of her grave. Joel looked down at his mended shirt and realised it was ruined with blood. The last gift from his daughter, and he'd ruined it.

Joel embraced Tommy. Held his brother close and told him he loved him. Muttered something about needing a moment to himself and wandered off.

The day his world ended, Joel tried to follow her into the darkness. A gunshot rang out, echoing through the hills.

Tommy ran to the sound and found him, crumpled but very much alive. He held his big brother close, cloth pressed hard to his bleeding temple, brushing away his streaming tears as he cried himself, terrified to lose all of his remaining family in a single day.

The day the world ended, the last two Millers were covered in blood and filth and tears. All they had was each other, their horror and their fear.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: implied past sa references, ptsd references, gambling addiction references, imprisonment references, implied slavery references (similar to Kerch indenture contracts)

AO3 link:

Chapter 8 - Kaz

“Now not everybody gets to be a god, and don’t forget that times are hard”

- Road to Hell, Hadestown

By the time Kaz returned to the Slat over an hour after dawn, his constant companion of exhaustion beginning to tug at the edges of his tapestry in a threat to pull him under, he was expecting Inej to be long gone. It hadn’t seemed, when they’d last spoken, that she’d be all too eager to stick around. Instead, he found her lying on her side in the attic, still deep beneath the surface of sleep. She was crowned by a wreath of braids, curled on her side with her knees pulled high and her hands tucked into her, as though she were tending to some precious, secret something held close against her chest. For a moment, and it was only brief, Kaz watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. This was perhaps the only time he’d seen her without perfect posture, and her angular shoulders leaned into each other like they were trying to hide her collar bone, slightly visible where the fabric of her blouse had been tugged downwards in sleep, out of sight from the world. Her arm was looped around the strap of her bag, and from its proximity Kaz thought that she might have been holding the satchel next to her on the mattress, but that it had slipped away from her when she fell asleep. He paused. 

You can stay here tonight. 

Where… What about you? 

Inej’s hesitancy had been a quaver in her voice, her dark, endless eyes flitting from Kaz to the door behind him. Now she lay on top of the blanket, despite the chill in the air, with Kaz’s pillow pushed aside and what looked like it might have been a shirt folded up beneath her head. A set of brass knuckles, which hadn’t really been what Kaz meant when he’d said she needed a weapon but he supposed wasn’t a bad start, had slid down her fingers when her hand relaxed and now lay half against the mattress and half over her fingertips. There was something else metal glinting on the bed, just slightly; something lying motionless beneath the cuff of Inej’s sleeve, catching a weak sunbeam leaking through the window making a valiant attempt at glimmering. Kaz didn’t dare to step any closer to the partitioning wall across the room, but only to lean slightly until his eyeline had shifted enough that the reflection dimmer and he could make out the shape of a key discarded on the mattress. The key to his window. 

He left the room as quietly as he could manage, thinking to but paused at the top of the stairs. He definitely shouldn’t lock the door, he knew that. But what if Haskell came prying? It wasn’t unreasonable to expect it. Kaz doubted more than two days ever went by without the old man rummaging around, though what he was hoping to find he wasn’t actually sure. Probably just loose cash, or anything incriminating Kaz had left lying around that he might be able to extort him for. Kaz had never been concerned about this; he was too careful, nothing of his side business with the contracts ever reached the attic of the Slat, and anything that was worth keeping hidden was hidden well. Haskell was yet to try tearing up the floorboards, but Kaz had a backup plan lay in wait in case he ever decided to give it a go. 

But if Haskell walked up and found Inej, asleep on top of Kaz’s mattress? He couldn't imagine it would end well for anyone involved, but least of all Inej.

Kaz had spent the night working in the upper room at Lexi’s long after Nina had to return to the Barrel, and walked back through the Warehouse District under the golden bleach of dawn. Well, golden was perhaps to kind a word for what the last rays of the sunrise had been; the sun was a watered down beam of sickly yellow, pooling in the cracks beneath the cobblestones without any warmth of brightness to it, no real beauty to find in its pitiful reflections. The shadows were still long, as they would most likely remain until midday began to draw near, and the front of the Slat had been cast in ghostly grey as he approached. Not that sunshine falling on its crumbling facade had ever made the building feel much more inviting. 

The building had been sleepy enough when Kaz crossed the threshold, other than maybe the early afternoon these were the slowest hours for the house’s boarders to be out on the old man’s business, but it was never exactly quiet. Kaz lingered at the top of the stairs, listening through his door for any movement from Inej - though it was unlikely he’d be able to tell if she woke, wasn’t it? She would most likely leave in silence, leaving no-one any the wiser. He couldn’t trust the possibility of her absence though, nor the possibility that Haskell wasn’t home, or wouldn’t happen to wander his way upstairs before she left. Downstairs he could hear voices, creaking floorboards, what might have been a mug or plate falling and smashing on the boards. 

Kaz beckoned Jesper across the room as soon as he’d stepped foot back onto the ground floor of the Slat, where the front space opened into a vaguely larger area that was used as a communal space for - well, mostly for drinking as far as Kaz could tell. He didn’t enjoy the closeness of the space, nor the oppressive heat that seemed to come with it from so many bodies so tightly slotted together, and so spent very little of his time there, but always it seemed that people were drinking, and probably partaking in less legal pastimes as well. Jesper gandered across the room, slipping his way around crowds and mismatched tables that had been rather squashed into place, 

“I need you to keep an eye out for the old man,” Kaz told him, keeping his voice low and trusting that the sound of the crowds would do the rest for him, “Keep him out of my room,”

“Why-?” Jesper broke off as he caught Kaz’s gaze, “Yeah, alright, fine. Where are you going?”

Kaz wasn’t entirely confident in that. He probably shouldn’t go back to Lexi’s when he’d been there all night; it was good of her to give him the space, but she didn’t owe him anything and her patience was bound to wear thin at some point. Kaz happened to be an excellently sharp knife when it came to fraying people’s patience. 

“I shouldn’t be longer than a few hours,” was what he settled on saying, after a brief pause, “When are you leaving?”

“Why do you assume I’m leaving?”

It took nothing more than Kaz raising a single eyebrow for Jesper to relent. He spent the vast majority of his time in the gambling parlours on the edge of the Warehouse District, where the buildings began to give way into the pleasure district that was the Barrel; if he wasn’t on his way back from one, he was probably on his way to it. Most of the city’s gambling dens were deep in the Barrel, glittering things festooned in gaudy baubles and studding East Stave like ill-set, glass gems in an ugly piece of costume jewellery. Jesper had never been stupid enough to venture farther than the seedy dens on the south of the Warehouse District, but Kaz didn’t entirely trust that he never would. 

“I can wait a few hours,”

“Good. If you see Anika tell her to take her report to Lexi’s; I’ll pick it up from there,”

Jesper nodded, but if he was planning on saying anything in response then Kaz didn’t find out; he was already on his way out of the building. He flexed his fingers in his gloves, stretching them back and forth over the head of his cane. Pain was radiating from his bad leg, always worse in the cold as it was, and he knew that it would soon put up further protest at his refusing to rest for so long. But Kaz had already decided where he was going, and the walk would be worth it. 

On the border between the Barrel and the Warehouse District, farther North than the shanty towns and the border stone he usually met Nina at, the factories and storage facilities began to give way to sleazy bars, the gambling parlours that Jesper disappeared into so often, and even a few small brothels tucked into hidden spaces. It was the edge of both of them, towing the line between the pleasure district and the slums, doing its level best to cater to them both. And there, around two thirds down the road, an abandoned building with a black and crimson facade. 

It had been boarded up by the city, barricaded and blocked off with enough purple stadwatch signs and warnings to keep most squatters at bay, but nowhere in Ketterdam stayed empty for long. There wasn’t the space to waste. If no-one bought the lot then it would soon be torn down, something new and governmentally owned quickly erected to replace it. But not if Kaz had anything to do with it. He stood before the battered old door, staring up at the sign above it - a massive crow wrought in black metal, a watchful, oxidised silver eye gleaming as it peered out into the street below. How much more money did he need? How much longer could he keep the wrecking ball at bay?

This club would be his. He would make it so. His house, his business. He could separate from Haskell, probably even take half his boarders with him in the process, and start his own operation. He could get Jordie his revenge at last.

From the right angle, in the distance, Kaz could just about see the colourful outline of the Emerald Palace on the horizon, the canals and the Staves of the Barrel nothing but a blurry haze laid out at its feet. The Emerald Palace was the crown of Pekka Rollins’ kingdom. Some day Kaz would be its end, and this building could be the start of it. This building, and the intelligence Inej brought him, the jobs that only Jesper could pull off, everything Nina could do on the inside. And, he thought, slipping a hand into his pocket and finding the envelope tucked in quiet, cosy secrecy, the key to bringing a city to its knees might have very recently wandered straight into his path. 

“Kaz, I’m telling you,” Nina had emphasised last night, settling deeper into her chair, “You know everything that I know. You know I can’t stay; what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to give me something useful,” he’d insisted, “There has to be something we’re missing,”

Nina sighed. 

“Probably. Definitely. But we aren’t going to figure it out by saying the same thing back and forth to each other. We know Wylan is alive, we know his parents are still claiming that he’s dead, and we know that he’s left the Geldin District-”

“But why?”

Nina looked like she was about ten seconds away from banging her head repeatedly against the table, but Kaz was used to having that effect on people and he was all out of sympathy. 

“I. Don’t. Know,” she’d enunciated for the hundredth time, “For Saints’ sakes, Kaz, just go and ask him at this point. I’m tired, and I need to get back,”

Kaz had irritatedly let her go and continued working alone. He knew that she was right - not only that they were going round in circles but also that she couldn’t stay any longer; it was running a close enough risk for her to leave the Barrel in the first place. Nina spent as little time in the Barrel as she could reasonably get away with, but no matter how malleable her boundaries were they still had to have a breaking point; Kaz would not recommend trying to find it. 

He very much doubted that Nina had actually expected him to find the boy and do exactly as she had suggested. But the boarding house he was staying in was just a few streets from here, and Kaz did just so happen to have a letter addressed to Wylan Van Eck sitting in his pocket. 

The kid did not look thrilled to open the door and see Kaz on the other side of it, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. He frowned, already pushing the door shut again, as he said: 

“I gave you an answer. Leave me alone,”

Kaz’s foot found a comfortable spot between the door and its frame. 

“I’m not here to offer you a job,” he said, “Though it is still open if you change your mind,”

Wylan glared unhappily at Kaz’s shoe blocking the door and for a moment Kaz thought he would neglect to answer. His voice was impatient when he finally sighed: 

“What do you want, then?” 

Kaz flicked his wrist so the letter, Wylan’s real surname in black ink on creamy paper, a seemingly unbroken red wax seal embossed with a laurel holding it closed, appeared between his black gloved fingers. 

“I believe I have something of yours. And I believe we may have something to discuss, Van Eck,”

The colour had drained so thoroughly from Wylan’s cheeks that someone might have been physically wringing him dry. His jaw ticked, his eyes unmoving from the envelope in Kaz’s hand. 

“So you took it,”

Kaz shrugged.

“I was starting to hope I’d just imagined it,”

“Unfortunately not,” Kaz replied, “Hope never gets you far round here. But a name as good as – what? Thirty million kruge, maybe? That should get you pretty far,”

Wylan’s lips twisted, his gaze finally returning to Kaz’s - frightened eyes hiding behind a hard stare. 

“What do you want?”

“I told you,” Kaz smiled, slipping the letter back into his pocket and watching as Wylan’s eyes flicked to trace the movement, “I just want to talk,”

There was a brief pause; Wylan glanced furtively down the empty corridor, then over his own shoulder, and then furiously beckoned Kaz through the door. Kaz smiled again, straightening out his shirt cuffs and stepping over the threshold. 

“Much obliged,”