#its permanent its tragic and human blood will forever be on his hands

[charrators]

people are theorizing that one of the main cast might be an npc, and tbh i think it’s gangle.

i mean, other characters have physical gimmicks, but they’re just that, physical. why would what mask her avatar wears completely change her personality if she’s a human? she could just be a human with some sorta digital world exclusive disorder but i think if it’s anyone it’s her.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Annular Eclipse ଓ♱˚⋆

A long time ago, I binge-watched The Ancient Magus’ Bride and that decision came back to haunt me in my Church AU…… *evil laugh*

As always, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this piece!! And to my dear mutuals, I hope you all suffer enjoy the sinful story of Cartaphilus! Pierro x Angel! Darling ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

Tw:: yandere, blood, violence, death, suicidal ideation, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 5.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns, with a unique fate reserved for the one who goes by the name of Pierro.

♡ After the Cataclysm, Pierro led a group of survivors to Snezhnaya where they established a new home. For three centuries, it was a peaceful haven hidden from the divine gaze of God and the Church…until it was exposed by a traitor and destroyed with manmade flames. In the ensuing chaos, Pierro was the sole “survivor” in the sense that he managed to escape. The rest were critically wounded, buried alive, and left to suffer for all eternity.

♡ Having lost his second home, Pierro began a search for other Khaenri’ahns, only to be further disillusioned. Many communities had also fallen to ruin, if not from persecution but by their own madness. Others, blinded by dreams of death, had resorted to violence and witchcraft in their fruitless attempts to break the curse. And several individuals had embarked on quests for the Tree of Life, only to disappear far away from their homeland. In two more centuries, Khaenri’ah was reduced to a forgotten myth, and Pierro had lost all hope for his people.

♡ So when he gets into an accident, he sees no point in saving himself. If he were younger, he’d be horrified at the thought of falling off a cliff. At best, he’d end up with more scars albeit another permanent reminder of his tragic fate. As for the worst-case scenario, he’d become paralyzed, trapped below the cliff, doomed to eternity as a living corpse. But now, hanging off the edge by his fingertips, he considers the possibility that his head takes the brunt of the impact. A coma would be the closest thing to a reprieve from his waking hell.

♡ Just as his grip weakens, a hand reaches out and catches his wrist. The action is so sudden, so forceful, that Pierro has no time to think before he is pulled up and his back hits the grass. Above him, eclipsing his view of the sun, is the face of a stranger. A tearful expression. A kind gaze that seems to pierce through his soul.

“Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call for help?! You poor thing, I’m sorry for only seeing you now.”

“I am…” He averts your gaze and instead focuses on the sky. It is the color of twilight—a harmony of blues, oranges, and reds that pale in comparison to the crimson skies of his nightmares. “...fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

♡ Once the shock wears off, Pierro takes a careful look at his savior. You have the appearance of a typical human, roughly the same age as he was when his body stopped aging. Definitely not a Khaenri’ahn, given your lack of cursed marks and star-shaped pupils. Neither are there any religious symbols on your clothing, which is a relief. As for your tears shed on his behalf…he’ll chalk it up to pity.

♡ At your insistence, you treat him to a meal at the nearest inn. When Pierro introduces himself as an ordinary traveler, you make a similar claim and suggest journeying together. It is a tempting offer—the both of you are alone with no destination in mind, and you seem harmless. So against his better judgment, Pierro accepts your proposal.

♡ Over time, he warms up to his new companion. You are kind, competent, a bright presence in his life. Traveling with you is like seeing the world with new eyes—you lead him to bustling cities, picturesque forests, places teeming with life. The only downside is your visits to the Church for prayers and chats with the local priests, but you at least seem to be an open-minded believer. You always tell Pierro that he doesn’t need to follow along but he does so anyway, if only to evade suspicion and admire the religious art with you.

♡ Other than that, you don’t reveal much about yourself. But you aren’t one to pry into Pierro’s past so he gives you the same courtesy. At times, he finds himself looking at you fondly, feeling a spark of physical attraction, dreaming of a happy future with you. But those delusions are always dashed by the fact of your humanity, so he instead resolves to cherish what little time you have left before death claims your soul.

♡ That was his goal until he begins to notice certain…oddities. It’s common for the two of you to share a tent, a room, sometimes even a bed. Neither of you are fazed by it, especially when Pierro’s main concern is concealing his cursed marks with makeup. But a few months into your travels, he makes a quiet realization: In those nights of shared slumber, not once has he fallen asleep without feeling your gaze on him.

♡ At first, he assumes that you merely sleep later and wake up earlier than him. But every time Pierro wakes up in the middle of the night, you immediately sit up and tend to him, acting as energetic as usual. Neither do you appear lethargic after nights when it is difficult to sleep. So he puts it to the test by regularly chatting with you late into the night; you always follow along, not once sounding tired nor in want of sleep. Once, he talks to you all night long and in the morning, while Pierro is plagued with fatigue, you look perfectly awake. And only when he subtly points it out do you yawn and go back to bed.

♡ Other mysteries follow. There is the time the two of you trekked through a barren wasteland and ran out of food. It took you two days to reach civilization and while Pierro was starving, you never complained about hunger. If anything, you still managed to walk and fight off beasts at your usual energy levels. And on the rare chance that Pierro is injured, you are the one who treats his wounds…and they always heal at an unnaturally fast pace.

♡ A year into your travels, he decides to look for answers. One night, he shares a bed with you and feigns sleep. For the next few hours, he just lies there and takes note of your unnatural way of sleeping—no slowed breaths, no involuntary movements, yet the persistent feeling that he is still being watched. Shortly after midnight, he pulls out a dagger from under his pillow and aims it at you.

♡ It was only a test to see if you’d react quickly and reveal your ruse. Which is exactly what you do, eyes fluttering open and your hand catching the dagger before Pierro can stop short of stabbing your chest. The look on your face is calm, utterly devoid of fear, and you make no move to leave the bed. You just stare at him with the same piercing gaze.

“Good morning,” you tell him. “Are you going to explain the sudden wakeup call? I don’t believe this is rooted in any Khaenri’ahn practices.”

At the mention of his homeland, Pierro’s grip on the dagger tightens. “So it appears that my suspicions were not unfounded. Answer me, are you a spy of the Church?”

Your answer is a benevolent smile. A soft light shines from your body as a halo—silver, pierced with nails—appears behind your head, followed by a wispy veil. Luminous wings emerge from your back, caging Pierro in a feathery embrace.

Your hand, marked with a bloodstained scar, wraps around his wrist.

“I’m your guardian angel,” you whisper.

♡ Technically, your statement is untrue. In a calm voice, you explain that Khaenri’ahns can’t be assigned guardian angels due to their immortality. Moreover, most angels harbor contempt for his kind though you are a rare exception, having taken pity on Pierro and chosen to become his unofficial guardian. The last part triggers an offended response—are you mocking him?

♡ As for your true nature, you’re the leader of the Archangels. As an angel of the Third Sphere, you are one of the closest to humanity, a divine messenger with the additional tasks of providing blessings and guiding humans towards the path of righteousness. Only, you’re currently on a ten-year “break;” it just so happened that you noticed Pierro at the start of your sabbatical.

♡ Once he is confident that you won’t smite him in cold blood, he goes to sleep—it’s been a long night and fatigue will only dull his senses. When he wakes up, he can almost believe that last night’s events were a dream…until you loom over him in your true form, wishing him a good morning. After a long conversation, he decides to continue traveling with you. That way, he can keep a close eye on you and gain some useful knowledge.

♡ Thus resumes your journey. In addition to Pierro’s distrust, there are major changes to your dynamic. You still travel in your human guise but you switch to your true form when it’s just the two of you. Since angels don’t need food or sleep to sustain themselves, you stop eating with him unless you’re in public. At night, only one bed is needed and you simply watch over Pierro, wishing him a peaceful slumber. Your gentle gaze is always the last thing he sees each day, though it takes months before he can fall asleep comfortably.

♡ He also learns about your nightly pastimes. As it turns out, while Pierro is asleep, you like to fly around the city to help lost souls. Just small acts of kindness in your human form…and if needed, divine interventions in the Church. It explains why he often wakes up to news about corrupt priests who experienced “visions of an angel” and publicly confessed their sins.

♡ Along your journey, you also stop by the homes of the humans previously assigned to you. At the beginning of each visit, you go to the cemetery and speak to their grave. Afterwards, you bring Pierro to their favorite places and reminisce about their lives. When he asks why you can’t simply see them in Heaven, you give him a sad smile and explain that the deceased reside in a realm beyond the jurisdiction of angels. In a paradise where every soul is purged of sin, what use is there for an angel’s guidance?

♡ You mourn the lives of angels as well. It comes as a shock to Pierro, the idea that even an angel is susceptible to death. To which you explain that many of your divine siblings were killed by demons. And because afterlife does not exist for spiritual beings, both species simply cease to exist once their lives have ended. As for your former brethren, they cut all ties with you after their descent.

♡ Slowly, Pierro grows to trust you again. It helps that you were able to prove yourself a year later by saving him from your own kind. Granted, he could suspect that it was merely an act but the sight of a Principality cowering before you, their cassock staked to the floor by silver nails, is quite convincing. Not to mention your cold gaze overflowing with wrath.

“So tell me. Why exactly did you attack my dear human?”

The room is silent, save for the younger angel’s whimpers. To think that a few minutes ago, Pierro had been sleeping peacefully. Now he stands beside you, blood trickling from a cut under his scarred eye, still gripping his unused sword.

“I…” Despite being a rank above you, his attacker is clearly terrified. “But ______, that man…he is one of the accursed sinners! He—”

“Now, now.” You kneel to their level but all kindness is lost in your tone. More nails appear out of thin air, all pointing towards the angel’s body. “Look me in the eye when I am talking to you.”

♡ In the end, the angel kneels before Pierro and begs for forgiveness. He accepts their apology, but not without harsh words and a swipe of his sword against their face. After they leave, you worriedly turn to Pierro and heal his injuries. Thanks to your powers, all of his wounds close up without a trace. Still, when you take your hand off his face, what he sees in the mirror is not his healed cheek but the cursed marks exclusive to Khaenri’ahns.

*✧･ﾟ

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Despite the nature of the attack, you are the one acting emotional. A tear rolls down your cheek as you trace the cursed side of Pierro’s face.

“You need not apologize on behalf of your brethren,” he mutters. He glances at his right arm, sleeve pulled up to reveal a similar pattern of blue veins and blackened skin. “...or your Heavenly Father. And I believe I’ve told you countless times not to waste your tears on me.”

“Still.” Shaking your head, you look him in the eye. “How can I not cry every time I gaze into your soul? I wish I could save you, put an end to your suffering…but it’s beyond my capability.”

“So why do you still devote yourself to me, ______?”

______. It is the false name you go by in the human realm, spoken by every person who has known you as their guardian angel. As for your true name, it remains a mystery to Pierro.

Still, he’d like to believe that he is the human who knows you best. He knows that you are the First Archangel, one of the oldest beings in existence. He knows that you were opposed to the Cataclysm but powerless in stopping it. He knows that your decade of rest was caused by an accumulation of stress, an endless cycle of giving and saving and sacrificing which will only continue in a few years’ time.

And what then? At the end of your journey, will you still have time for him? Or is he truly cursed to drift aimlessly in eternal solitude?

His half-mask rests on a nearby drawer, a relic from his second home. He picks it up, thumb pressed against a painted gold tear.

“You astound me,” he continues. “You, of all people, know that salvation is forever beyond my grasp. And yet you continue to spare me absolute grace. Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause.”

“That is because I love you.”

At that, Pierro nearly drops his mask. He turns to you, starry eyes wide with wonder. “Can you kindly repeat that?”

But the moment he sees your face, he realizes his folly.

“I love you,” you tell him, a soft look in your eyes, “as I love all humans.”

Has kindness ever sounded so cruel?

“...I understand.” He puts down his mask, pride shattered. “Such is to be expected from a being for whom the love for humanity is inherent.”

A love which he and his compatriots are no longer beholden to.

“But of course.” At that, your countenance turns reverent. Your wings fold inwards, and you place a bloodstained hand over your chest. “An angel’s purpose is to serve God and to save His creations. Beyond that, there is no other point to our existence.”

Silence. This time, Pierro doesn’t bother to hide his judgment.

“Well, that is our initial reason,” you add, noticing his expression. “After all, what’s not to love when your kind is capable of so many wonderful things? Really, you never fail to surprise us.”

“How so?”

“I’ll confess, many of us angels were once in awe of Khaenri’ah,” you admit. “Think of it: Your people found a way to create life, sorcery, powers that were once exclusive to God. Had I met you during your days as a royal mage, I surely would have been impressed.”

Hard to say. Despite his previous status, Pierro hasn’t practiced Khaenri’ahn sorcery in years. It’s likely that his powers have eroded alongside his spirit.

“Then only a century after the Cataclysm, there was the Angel-Killer who performed miracles using our flesh. As a matter of fact…I made the mistake of assigning his first victim to him.”

Your grief isn’t lost on him. The bed creaks as you take a seat next to Pierro, adjusting the chain of mourning lockets around your waist. It bears mementos of both humans and angels.

“Thirteen angels lost their lives to him, including two of my dearest siblings. Needless to say, we were all relieved when Il Dottore finally died, though I had to be given a century’s worth of rest to recover from grief. Sohreh, Pasithea, Oizys…I still think of them to this day.”

Il Dottore. He is an infamous figure in history, a priest whose sins rivaled those of Khaenri’ah. And yet even he was granted the mercy of death.

 “And there are the humans I was blessed to watch over,” you tell him, eyes shining with tears. “I remember all of their names, their smiles, every achievement they made in their short lives. And I’m sure that there will be more in the future.”

That is the final nail in the coffin.

“You are right.” With that, Pierro leaves the bed. “As such, there is no need for you to dwell on how the world is now. I have no doubt that many souls owe their salvation to you, ______, and anyone would be a fool to dismiss your efforts.”

“...Thank you. It means a lot.”

You don’t let him leave, however. A hand around his wrist is all it takes for Pierro to stop, to yield to your embrace. In the dim room, you are the only source of light, an idol of unparalleled benevolence. Divine, beautiful, yet never within his reach.

“Eight more years,” you tell him. In your eyes, his reflection has never looked more hopeful. “That is the amount of time we have left. And until then, I will never leave your side.”

*✧･ﾟ

♡ The next eight years are content. More travels. Deep conversations. Peaceful nights. Another angelic encounter, in which a subordinate merely reported to you and avoided Pierro’s gaze. At one point, you reveal to him that the Tree of Life is no longer in the human realm, eliminating any hope of breaking the curse. His devastation is softened by your comfort, and he can only imagine the reactions of his compatriots if they knew this truth.

♡ Not that he has anyone to share it with. In the Church of Fontaine, Pierro is surprised to recognize the head priest as a Khaenri’ahn. She is only a descendant and thus spared from the curse—a blessing for Arlecchino, a tragedy for her ancestor who likely mourned the generations between them. After their chat, Pierro leaves without divulging her lineage. It’s enough to know that one of his kind is leading a fulfilling life, though he finds it ironic that a Church ended up in a Khaenri’ahn’s hands.

♡ Other than her, there is the familiar face he spotted in Inazuma. Blond hair, blue eyes with star-shaped pupils, a distinctive half-mask…but before Pierro can approach Dainsleif, you grip his wrist and enable him to see the eagle-winged demon clinging to his former comrade. In a fearful whisper, you explain that she is one of Hell’s strongest demons, the slayer of countless angels. And when she turns in your direction, Pierro feels the weight of her crimson-gold glare. In the end, the two of you walk past them, preventing what could have been a bloody reunion.

♡ As your sabbatical reaches its end, Pierro finds himself making the most of your remaining time together. He smiles at you, holds your hand first, asks you more personal questions. Your travels also end in a surprise destination—a forest near Snezhnaya, concealed with divine mist. Leading the way, you explain that it was a meeting place for you and your closest siblings until they all perished, including the Virtue who created it. And when you turn to Pierro, asking if the area suits him…he accepts the gift with full gratitude.

♡ The last year is spent constructing a humble house in the heart of the forest. On the day of your departure, the two of you enjoy a final meal together. It’s bittersweet with recollections of your travels, though the mood dampens when Pierro asks about your angelic duties. With a sad smile, you tell him that you have a lot of work to do. At some point in your journey, you even laid eyes on a young human and applied for a position as their guardian angel.

♡ At midnight, Pierro goes to bed and you wish him good night for the last time. He only closes his eyes when you disappear, when he no longer feels your gaze on him, when the residual warmth of your embrace has been chilled by the night air. When he wakes up in the morning, you are nowhere to be found.

♡ In the following months, Pierro develops a new routine in the forest. Hunting, foraging, visiting the neighboring cities, admiring the aurora-colored sky, even practicing his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. He doesn’t see you again but there are hints of your visits—a luminous white feather, seeds for fauna exclusive to Mondstadt, a wound that healed overnight. Eventually, he gets used to sleeping in solitude again.

♡ One day, he decides to visit his old home. He knows it is futile to seek out his people; after two centuries, their bodies must’ve fully decayed and mixed with the soil. Still, he might as well see what the Church did with the area…and if he can take revenge on the traitor. So he packs his bags, leaves the forest, and travels to the other side of Snezhnaya.

♡ …There’s nothing left. When he reaches his destination, he finds a glorious city built over the mass grave of his people. Only the cold of eternal winter welcomes him back, but the entire city—the devout Snezhnayans, the stories of the city’s origins, the magnificent church in place of his old house—is unfamiliar. Not even the traitor remains. Perhaps they, too, were given a coffin, forever trapped below layers of ice and concrete.

♡ He gets an answer on his way back to the forest. Near the border of Snezhnaya, Pierro is ambushed by a group of heretics…and when he demands an explanation, their leader holds up a preserved eye, the pupil shaped like a four-pointed star. As their fight continues, Pierro deduces their motives—to achieve immortality using the flesh of Khaenri’ahns. It’s pure mockery to hear those fools refer to his curse as a blessing, but his warnings fall on deaf ears as he is outnumbered.

♡ Just as he is about to lose hope, a bright light shines above him. It’s you, in all of your angelic glory, commanding the heretics to let him go. Most of his attackers fall to their knees, in awe of your divine presence, but their leader interprets it as a sign that Pierro is truly the person they’re after. They swing their sword at him…only for their entire group to be impaled by your nails.

♡ It’s a bloody sight. But once your wrath has subsided, you fly down to Pierro and check his condition. You’re incoherent, healing his wounds with trembling hands, apologizing for your late arrival. He assures you that he is fine, only to be interrupted by a sudden ray of light. But this one is blindingly bright, coming from the sky, the same holy light which shone upon Khaenri’ah during the Cataclysm.

♡ It hits him just then: In harming those humans for his sake, you’d violated one of God’s orders. Yet in the midst of His divine wrath, you muster a false smile and tell Pierro to go home. Then you fly up into the sky, disappearing above the clouds along with the holy light. He does as he is told, but not without killing all of the heretics to ensure that they won’t come after him or more Khaenri’ahns. As for the traitor…he doesn’t bother to ask for their location.

♡ The forest is the same when he returns. The next few hours pass by in a blur—unpacking,  checking the animal traps, cooking dinner, and so on. The whole time, he can’t stop worrying about you. He doesn’t know if God would listen to his prayers but he tries, anyway; it’s not like he can help you in any other way.

♡ He goes to bed early, only to jolt awake when a flash of light illuminates the bedroom. When he rushes to the window, it’s just in time to see a falling star. It shoots through the sky, outshining the auroras, a beautiful sight if not for the fact that it seems to be drawing closer to him. It disappears from his range of vision, followed by a deafening sound and a severe earthquake. Then the world falls silent, returning to its tranquil state.

♡ After a few minutes, Pierro leaves his house to investigate. Seeing how the meteor bypassed the divine barrier of the forest, he doubts it was a natural phenomenon. You once told him that the Fourth Order of angels, the Dominions, are in charge of the celestial bodies—could they have been ordered to destroy his third home?

♡ Thankfully, the destruction is limited to a crater at the edge of the forest. But instead of a meteor, he finds you curled up in pain. Fragments of your halo pierce your body. Your right wing is gone; all that remains of it are clipped feathers and sawed bone. Most prominent are the curved horns jutting from your head, covered in a mix of blood and torn skin. You became a demon.

♡ Your half-conscious cries prompt him into action. Carefully, Pierro carries you to his house and treats your wounds. When he notices your hand on your stomach, he remembers what you said about demons needing food and sleep to survive. So he heats up some soup and feeds it to you; and once your hunger has subsided, he tucks you in bed. In your delirium, you can only muster a single sentence before falling asleep.

“Pierro? I’m sorry…it’s my fault, not yours.”

“Silence. We may talk tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.”

♡ That night, you sleep for the first time. Pierro watches you all night, checking your pulse every so often. When you wake up, the sun is high above the sky and Pierro has already cooked lunch. You’re more coherent now, able to feed yourself, though you wince in pain every so often. And when Pierro asks about your descent, your expression darkens.

♡ In a shaky voice, you explain that the heretics’ ambush had been a test from God. It was fated to occur at the same time as an important event in Heaven, the decennial meeting between God and the leaders from all Nine Orders. As soon as Pierro’s name was brought up, you were quick to defend him. And when you were informed of the attack, you stormed out of the meeting to save him, fully aware that it would bring about your downfall.

♡ And despite it all, you’re the one apologizing to him—for your late arrival, for the danger he was put through, for the “burden” of taking care of you. At the last part, Pierro finally finds the words to chastise you, to say that you won’t achieve anything by wasting your tears on Heaven.

“I wish you would not think so lowly of me. After all these years, do you truly believe that I would harbor anything but gratitude towards you?”

♡ That shuts you up. For the next few weeks, you meekly accept Pierro’s care—he cooks for you, dresses your wounds, lets you sleep in his bed. There is only one problem: Your body refuses to heal. Blood continues to seep from your wounds, and you’re in a perpetual state of pain. Still, he faithfully tends to you day and night. It’s the least he can do for you.

♡ One day, he leaves the house to pick fruit and comes back to find a dark silhouette in his bedroom window. He rushes inside, armed with a weapon, to find a demon. Only, they’re kneeling by the bed, holding your hands, shedding tears of joy. That is when he notices the bloodstained scars on their hands, their tattered veil, your kind words for them…they, too, are a fallen Archangel.

♡ All peace, however, is dashed when your former subordinate tells Pierro that they are bringing you “home,” in other words Hell. As for the matter of your health, they claim that while your divine punishment is unheard of, they should be able to find a cure…from Il Dottore of all people. And despite your conflicted expression, it’s clear that you are seriously considering their invitation. Only for Pierro to take that choice away from you.

“And what makes you believe that I would allow ______ to leave our home?”

♡ Prior to you, Pierro never would’ve dared to challenge a spiritual being. But now, after all he’s been through, he takes a step forward and tells the demon to leave. It doesn’t take long for their argument to turn physical. But before the demon can smite him, Pierro defends himself with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. They’re a formidable opponent, however, and the fight continues until he aims a galaxy-like aura at their heart. Quickly, you protect your former subordinate with a shield of rusty nails, only for the element to refract and hit you instead.

♡ Much to everyone’s relief, however, it has a different effect on you. Your feathers take on a black tint and a deep blue iridescence. The same thing happens to your horns. Most importantly, all of your wounds close up, leaving scars identical to Pierro’s cursed marks. And when he rushes to your side, asking if you are all right, you breathily tell him that you feel so much better.

♡ That is what convinces the demon to leave, but not without promising to return once they’ve informed the Devil. With peace restored in your home, the two of you go downstairs for lunch. You still need Pierro to support you, but it’s the first time you’ve managed to walk in your new form. And your appetite is bigger, healthier compared to your previous portions.

♡ After a few days however, the effect wears off. Your body loses its blue luster, your feathers fade to their original color, your pain returns. Once you’ve fully reverted to your original state, Pierro decides to try out his Khaenri’ahn sorcery again. This time, he holds your wrist and carefully channels his power into you…and it produces the same healing effect.

♡ For the sorcery which doomed his nation to save the life of his beloved…the irony leaves him at a loss of words, on the verge of laughing. But it does explain why you landed in Pierro’s home instead of Hell, and why God allowed the two of you to reunite. The knowledge brings a dark smile to his face. You’re at his mercy now, dependent on him for all eternity.

♡ When he faces you, he can tell that you’ve reached the same conclusion. Still, you entertain the thought of moving to Hell—surely, there must be a way for you to live without forcing Pierro to expend his energy on you. That is when he grips your hands, pulls you towards him, and tells you that you aren’t leaving him. If the two of you are truly fated to suffer, then it is only right that he returns all of the love you have given him.

♡ It’s easy to persuade you. After all you’ve experienced, you’re tired so you just nod and lean into his embrace. And in the following days, you slowly adjust to your new life. You help Pierro around the forest. A new bed is built, to fit two people. At night, the two of you engage in your usual bedtime conversations but you’re the one who falls asleep first.

♡ When your former subordinate returns, Pierro stands his ground. With you asleep, he is able to fight them outside and easily subdue them; he even had the wisdom to enhance his weapons with blood from your used bandages. And with his argument that any attempt on his life is equal to risking yours, they have no choice but to accept your situation.

♡ You’re still asleep when he returns to your shared bedroom. Careful not to wake you, he changes out of his bloody clothes and leaves his sword on the table, next to his old mask. Then he takes off his glove and traces your features with his cursed hand. And when you open your eyes, the look he gives you is one of pure hope.

“Pierro? What time is it?” you mumble.

“Far too early,” he replies. “Go back to sleep. I will join you shortly, ______.”

“...All right.” Yawning, you snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes. “Can you wake me up later? I don’t want to oversleep again.”

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “If you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for you to return to the world of dreams. Your sleeping face is truly a wonder to behold—an expression so tranquil, well-rested, vulnerable to his kiss.

“And when you awake, I want you to tell me your true name.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

..…Don’t ask me how Pierro ended up with the highest word count in this AU. All I can say is that it was very cathartic to make him suffer, which is a recurring theme in his fics. If y’all enjoyed his story, do let me know (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Also, soft launch for the next couple + story!! I’m rlly excited to write for Dainsleif, and just know that he’s in for a lot of surprises <3

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @naraven @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @mistymem0ryy @lazyroseart @teabutmakeitazure

[hhoneyglasss]

kill bill

notes: i think our favorite vampiric princess is in order for valentine’s season. hope u enjoy.

pov: alexis solaire — first person limited

pairings: past relationship(?) with alexis/sam, present relationship with darlin’/sam

word count: 2.2k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46534081

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! unhealthy obsession, physical threats, aggressive language, and graphic imagery. please proceed with caution or do not interact with this work if these topics r triggering for u.

reblogs r v much appreciated!

Time is cruel to those who go against its laws, but it's even crueler to those who follow them.

Time has always been something to rival against—a force that dares test the permanency of the Solaire name. Like all things who attempt the same feat, it is crushed into dust, and Solaire blood reigns victorious once again.

It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s one that’s kept us at the top—crimson crowns spilling red onto those beneath it. It can be ugly, even tragic, but it’s worth it. It’s power—indescribable power.

But it’s a lonely game between us, immortality and I. Eternity is kind to no man, to no creature of the night, and I, a Solaire, am no exception. A night of forever endlessly stretches out in front of me, a path I must travel alone.

Or so I thought.

Sam Collins was something more than the immortal night I was damned to. He was the moon, the stars, that lit up the dark blanket of sky who smothered me in its hold. He was always more than immortality or power—he was alive.

Maybe it was the drumming of his heartbeat in his chest or the way his cheeks flushed rose in the summer sun, but Sam Collins exuded life. He was vitality itself, a man who radiated it whenever he walked into a room. He was the true definition of human.

That’s what drew me to him. His humanity reminded me of the life I had lived so many years ago, those memories now forever captured in this perfect man. A gentleman with a heart of gold, but one who let close to none see it.

I was one of the lucky few.

I was falling—drowning in the river that was him. From his warmth to his touch, he invaded every aspect of my being, and I found myself hooked. Suddenly I saw a brighter future ahead, a future where someone would lead me through the night. I found my own northern star—he was Polaris, and I was the once-lost traveler.

But then his light started to dim. Precession began and suddenly the earth wobbled beneath my feet and Polaris was no more. He laid limp in my arms, fallen from the sky into my lap with a car door lodged in his abdomen. My vision stained red, the moon now blurry, and the future I saw now nothing but a faded fantasy.

I thought of the solution—I found a way to restore the life that had once pulsed through his veins. It’d be different, he’d be different, but he’d still be the same Sam. He’d still be my Sam.

My nails in his skin, his eyes locked on mine, and then my teeth in his throat. I hadn’t ever bitten him before—he said he hadn’t wanted that, so I listened. It was different now, though. He needed this, even when he pushed my hands away and begged me to stop.

My blood then dripped into his mouth, and it was complete. The golden glow of Polaris now shone silver, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Sam Collins was alive, even if his heartbeat had slowed to an eternal flatline.

He didn’t understand.

One who had once fallen asleep in my arms now refused to even be in the same room. One who used to kiss me good night and walk me home now couldn’t bear to look at me. One whose heart I thought was mine now claimed I was dead to him.

I thought it was a phase. Bloodlust’s bitterness, or whatever you’d wish to call it. I pictured him coming back to me when it was over—that same crooked smile looking down at me, just with canines a little pointier.

But then the days stretched into weeks, then months, and then sooner than I realized, his bloodlust was over and the silent treatment showed no sign of stopping. He continued to avoid me like some foreign plague, but I still watched him, still thinking about the day he’d come running back to me.

The day hasn’t come.

Not yet, anyway.

That first year turned into two, then five, and ten and then fifteen years had gone by without a single look in my direction. Even if our progeny-maker thread had been cut, I could feel his change in breathing whenever I entered the room. The nervousness in it, the tension.

The pure, unbridled fear.

I was now the creature lurking in the shadows, the monster hiding underneath his childhood bed. The leviathan with fangs dripping crimson.

All hope was not lost, though. The moonlight still shone through the end of the tunnel, and I was patient. He would find his forgiveness eventually—Sam Collins is a good man, and good men know how to forgive.

That hope stood strong until I started to see the beginnings of the oncoming dawn.

This dawn made their grand debut at a monthly clan meeting in the shape of a wolf. A damned creation with scars slashed across their skin, beginning right underneath their jaw and wrapping around their arms, torso, and legs.

One of Sam’s flannels wrapped snug around their frame.

I watched them, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat on the stairs. I watched Sam’s hand rest on the small of their back, and I watched the way they leaned into him. I watched the kiss they placed on his cheek in greeting, and I watched the tilted shy smile he gave in return.

I watched all of it. I saw everything.

Ten minutes after my vigil began, Sam left them with a kiss on their forehead to speak with Vincent and William. They now stood alone on the right side of the room, their hands fiddling with the cuff of Sam’s shirt.

They must’ve detected me watching them when their gaze quickly shifted in my direction. I didn’t stop watching—I simply stared back. Their eyes were wide and curious before they crinkled into a small smile.

They waved.

They had no idea who I was.

All they knew was that someone in this wide room of vampires had done something ‘dreadful’ to their mate, something ‘unforgivable’. As far as they knew right now, everyone was innocent—everyone was a smiling face welcoming them into this clan with open arms.

How wrong they were.

I didn’t smile, nor did I wave back. Their smile faded slowly, and they dropped their arm and turned away.

Good. Pathetic chew toys are to be crushed ‘neath a Solaire’s marble heel, not given allowance to make eye contact, let alone smile.

I stood up from my perch on the stairs and walked away. I went past where Vincent, William, and Sam were speaking to one another, and like the past fifteen wretched years, I noticed the muscles in Sam’s arms tense and I saw his fists clench. His back straightened, and he became terrifically still when I walked by.

I paused, then turned to the mutt. Did they notice how Sam had reacted to my presence? Did they see how his posture changed? Did they notice the half-inch that his brows furrowed inward? Did they see it? Did they see him?

When I examined the expression on their face, I knew that they did.

The small smile that had tugged at their soft features had now completely dissipated—their mouth was pressed into a hard, straight line. Their eyes, once liquid sun in the light of the full moon, had frozen solid.

Resentment was in their eyes.

And protectiveness. As expected from a dog.

All wolves are the same—they bark, they bite, and then they die. One by one, they shrivel up and fall. It’s just nature.

I used to feel a sort of sympathy for them, us both being moonbound. I felt a kindred spirit in a way.

Not anymore.

The thing with the mutt was that they would not last. They had a few measly, troubled decades in this world while I had until the end of time.

I had eternity—they had a ticking clock.

There is no room in this world for immature vagabonds with a pension for death. There is no room for wolves who are fatally tied to their own mortality.

They will die eventually, and the Solaire blood will reign victorious. I will wear my crown again.

I went to stand beside the wall, watching once again when Sam made their way back to them. They jumped up to kiss his cheek again. I gagged.

Over the course of the night, I watched them. I saw when they both sat down for the clan meeting to begin. They never stopped touching for the entire night.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

If his hand wasn’t against their thigh, then his arm wrapped around their shoulder. If they weren’t leaning against him, then their hand closed over his.

Nauseating, disgusting, vile, obscene—there were a million words in the world to describe the scene playing out before me, but none of them quite held the venom I wanted.

The hour-long meeting seemed to drag on into oblivion until William finally dismissed the clan, a good natured smile warming his eyes as he bid us good night. I got up from my seat and began to stalk towards the door, my coat tucked under my arm.

I didn’t get very far when I heard a voice behind me. “Something tells me that staring at Sam’s partner like a tiger about to pounce isn’t gonna make him hate you less.”

Vincent. I stopped and turned around, but I stayed silent. His arms were crossed over his chest, his glare disapproving as it bore into me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vincent.”

“Tch,” he huffed, “I’m not stupid. Do you think I am?”

I didn’t answer that.

Vincent continued, “It wasn’t just me who noticed, Alexis. I heard them whispering to Sam about it during the meeting. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then. It’s making Sam uncomfortable.”

“You’re saying that to get me to care about their feelings.”

“And what if I am?” He asked, “He’s the only thing that gets through to you anymore.”

I paused. “…Does it really make him uncomfortable?”

He nodded. Silence fell over us.

He broke it. “So you’ll stop?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Silence again.

Vincent leaned on the railing of the stairs. “You need to get over him.”

“I don’t need anything,” I growled.

“Yes, you do,” he countered, “It was different when he was single. You could chase after him all you want—he could handle the staring when it was only directed at him—but it’s not like that anymore.”

I braced myself. I knew what was coming.

“He’s with someone now,” he continued, “They’re mates, Alexis, and you know what?”

“What?” I whispered.

“He’s happy,” he said, “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Maybe you would’ve noticed the change in him if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all of the time, but he’s content now. He smiles. A lot. And he laughs. A lot. He didn’t do that much before.”

Another pause. I started to curl into myself.

“He loves them, Alexis.”

There it was.

The arrow through the Achilles’ heel, a wooden stake piercing my stone heart. Sunlight burned through my flesh until nothing was left but a pile of unlovable ash, blown away in the winter wind.

I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping my coat until my fingers stabbed through the fabric.

I looked up at Vincent. “Say that again, and your tongue will be shoved so far down your throat you’ll be dead before you hit the floor.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and swept through the meeting room’s double doors, ignoring his angry shouts. They were static now.

I made my way around the building, hoping to find my car before I shattered my keys when I saw the two of them in the parking lot.

The mutt had a bundle of flowers in their arms, the bouquet tied together neatly with a red ribbon. They held a card decorated with hearts in their left hand.

Valentine’s Day. How could I forget?

They gazed with awe at the card and flowers, and the brightest smile lit their adoring features.

I could almost see the stupid fucking halo.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, a gesture he always did when he was bashful.

It was sickening.

I stared at the bouquet.

There were roses in it.

I looked back up at Sam.

I wondered what I could do with those thorns.

My imagination began to run wild. I imagined snatching the roses from their bouquet and sinking the sharp thorns into Sam’s throat, dragging them through his skin while they tore him open. He’d fall to the ground, his hands around his neck, and his wide, too human-like eyes would beg for help. The dog would scream and scream and scream and I’d scream too, relishing in the noise, and my vision would bleed red just like it did fifteen years ago.

They’d call for help, but no one would come. The hours would tick by and the sun would soon rise. I’d watch from the shadows as Sam’s corpse burned to ash instead. He was the forgotten one now.

The asphalt would bleed red too.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

[talktalktalk]

Penny Polendina: Robot Rep

Robots as representation has seen a lot of use throughout media, to varying degrees of success. Sometimes it is fairly explicit in the narrative, others it is more subtle. Often it is borderline impossible to determine whether intentional or not, such is the popularity of this trope. 

RWBY has made attempts at representing marginalized groups over its run, similarly to varying degrees of success. One character, the focus of this post, is Penny Polendina, a robot girl who, while not explicitly confirmed by the writers of the show, is seen by some fandom members as a source of representation, most commonly as neurodivergent or transgender (usually nonbinary), but also as aro-spec or a-spec. 

This post will be a collection of my thoughts, as a member of multiple of the above mentioned demographics, against Penny as a source of representation, as well as a few reasons behind these thoughts. 

Contents

Who is Penny Polendina? (a summary of her story from Volumes 1-7)

Robots as Representation (in general)

Case-specific Additions (for Penny in particular)

Closing Thoughts

Who is Penny Polendina?

Penny is introduced fairly late in Volume 1 when Team RWBY quite literally runs into her. The group exchange greetings and names, though not before Yang asks her if she’s “sure she didn’t hit her head.” As they leave, Ruby offhandedly calls her “friend,” leading Penny to ask her curiously if she truly is a friend. Ruby agrees (to her teammates’ dismay) and Penny grows very excited at the confirmation.

Subsequent meetings with Penny, many of them by pure coincidence, reveal more about her character. She states that she doesn’t have a lot of friends, that she has never been to another kingdom before, and that her father, worried for her safety, did not want her to venture out too much during her time in Vale. Perhaps most notably, she tells Ruby in confidence that she is “not a real girl,” but rather a synthetic person built by her father (later revealed to be named Pietro Polendina). Ruby insists that she has both a heart and a soul, to which Penny becomes overjoyed and hugs her tightly.

In Volume 3, Penny is competing against Pyrrha in the Vytal Tournament when tragedy strikes. Emerald uses her semblance to trick Pyrrha into destroying Penny, slicing her into pieces with her own weapon, killing her and revealing her secret to the whole world. The villains use Penny’s death to incite panic and fear, and the Fall of Beacon ensues.

Penny is not seen for a long time following her death, but in Volume 7 she has been brought back, her robotic core recovered and a new body built. Her chassis and weapons are upgraded, and, remarkably, she shows little initial change in personality from her brutal death in Amity Arena. Penny remains largely the same earnest, slightly-naive girl who she was before the events of the Fall, still just as curious and excitable as ever.

Penny continues to play a part of multiple major events in Volume 7, namely the Council Election and Winter Maiden plotlines. 

The former sees her framed for murder by Tyrian and Watts, and subsequent scenes reveal new things about the nature of her construction. When Ruby asks why Pietro is concerned for Penny’s safety, stating that “[e]ven if the worst does happen, [he] can always reactivate her,” Pietro reveals that her aura is actually given from his own reserves, and as such, with every reconstruction she grows more difficult to rebuild. 

The latter plotline features her in relation to Winter, who is slated to take on the Maiden powers after the current holder, Fria. Winter states in previous scenes that she dislikes how she allows her emotions to get the better of her, at first stating that Penny wouldn’t understand but then attempting to apologize and clarify her poor wording. Later, during a battle with Cinder, the Winter Maiden surrounds herself in a whirlwind of freezing air, fast enough to rip Winter’s gloves from her hands and cold enough to leave ice burns on her fingers. Penny, seeing this, decides to dive in, relying on her leg-mounted rockets and synthetic skin to soldier through the dangerous conditions. This, combined with Winter’s efforts to hold back Cinder, allow Penny to secure the Maiden powers, taking them up herself.

Robots as Representation

Robots are a powerful tool for tropes because they are in most cases created as imitations of life, most commonly humanity. Combined with sentience or even simply heightened degrees of knowledge/adaptability compared to real world robots, this allows for many philosophical questions to build off for subplots (what is a person, what is emotion, etc.) However, the same factor that makes a robot such a good exploration into what defines humanity simultaneously makes them such a poor allegory for marginalized groups. 

Real world bigotry is between humans, from one group of humans to another based on superficial differences. All parties involved are the same species with the same key makeup. Bigots often insist that groups are different in some fundamental way that makes them the enemy or the outsider, a strategy to rationalize their bigotry when in reality, no such fundamental differences exist. All people are all human, all people deserve the respect and dignity of a human being.

With a robot, however, the definition of “human” can get blurry. Robots are, at their core, imitations. Depending on the media, this could mean, for instance, operating on different logical principles, or that possessing physical traits, internal or external, that mark them as definedly not human. This blurring of the lines is good thing for “what is humanity” plotline, but an incredibly bad one for representation. This is in especially poor taste when the groups that said robot is often supposed to be representing (a-spec, aro-spec, neurodivergent, and/or nonbinary) are frequently referred to as “robotic” as an insult. It is used to dehumanize us, to insinuate we are lacking in something that would otherwise make us more. 

There is also the issue of context. This trope being as widespread as it is, some traits in a robot are markedly “human” while others are markedly not. Generally, these traits include the ability to articulate emotion, the ability to take things figuratively, feelings of attraction (platonic, romantic, sexual), and others. These, coincidentally, all line up with the very same groups robots are most often coded to represent. Some neurodivergent people have difficulty articulating their emotions or understanding subtext. Some aro-spec or a-spec people do not feel romantic or sexual attraction, respectively. Robots like the Terminator, who shows little emotion and frequently takes things too literally, are generally seen as less “human” than a robot who clearly articulates their emotion (i.e. Transformers, the Iron Giant, Wall-E, etc.)

Allegories, for all their versatility, always go both ways. Comparing a real-world minority to a definedly inhuman character may grant said group some much-needed spotlight in media, but it can just as easily lead to the audience drawing conclusions that said minority can be likened to robots, or at the very least that the author/showrunners believe said minority can be likened to robots.

Case-Specific Additions

Penny Polendina’s plotlines lend themselves to some specific facets of the allegory for marginalized groups. Firstly, her arc is primarily about what makes a “real girl.” This is a point in her direction, as it puts the idea that she is a person front and center. 

Unfortunately, this is likely the only point in her favor. Starting from her very first outing, Yang refers to her as “weird,” Weiss voices skepticism about her ability, and Ruby is urged by all of her teammates to deny that Penny is a friend. The issue here is, first and foremost, that none of these reactions are framed as bad by the story. If anything, they are barely acknowledged at all. This lends itself to the notion that it is okay to treat people who are different than you in such a way, which is not a good message for representation.

In Volume 3, perhaps the most egregious instance, she is quite literally ripped apart on live television, her secret revealed to the world against her will. This not only results in her death, but in the deaths of many others due to the Fall of Beacon. Beyond the brutality of this scene and the message it sends through the lens of representation (being unwillingly “outed,” violently murdered, and used as a tool for further violence and death), it also created the Volume 7 conundrum of her being brought back to life.

Morbid as it sounds, mortality is one of the things that ties all humans together. Death is permanent and tragic, but one could argue it is integral to the human experience. Penny, however, defies this with her resurrection, not by magic nor miracle, but by virtue of her robotic core being retrieved and a body being rebuilt around it. The story tries to rectify this by saying that Pietro can’t restore her forever, but this does not actually put a hard limit on the number of times she can be brought back. It simply puts a limit on the number of times Pietro alone can bring her back; anyone with a reserve could theoretically donate the needed aura to rebuild Penny should she be destroyed again (provided her core is retrievable).

Finally, the end of Volume 7 sees her claim the Maiden powers. While it seems the narrative attempts to frame this as a confirmation that she is a real girl, the context surrounding that same scene shows otherwise. The howling vortex of freezing wind was shown to be too strong and too dangerous for a flesh-and-blood human to reach through, tearing apart Winter’s gloves and freezer-burning her fingers when she attempted. Penny’s ability to penetrate this whirlwind was not thanks to her supposed humanity, but thanks to the upgrades to her chassis that included both strengthened synthetic skin and rocket boosters on her legs. Both were only added during her reconstruction, which was only possible due to her robotic nature. Penny’s storyline in Volume 7 renders the foundations of her humanity-based plotline shaky at best, contradictory at worst. Unfortunately, this leaves her with more negatives than positives.

Closing Thoughts

In summary, robotic characters are generally a good way to explore what it means to be a person, but due to the dual-edged nature of allegory, they often make poor allegories for marginalized groups. Ways to rectify this would be making an explicitly human character also a member of the demographic(s) the robotic character is a part of, though that requires at the very least some form of confirmation from the writers, which as of now, has not been given.

Of course, these are just my opinions on the matter, but if you have not scrolled past or clicked away already I hope that you take my points into consideration when making your own opinions and/or headcanons. Please also note that my thoughts on Penny as poor representation do not reflect my thoughts on her as a character, nor are they intended as an attack on those who like her. Finally, please remember that Penny is not (as of yet) canonically confirmed to be a member of any of these groups.

As much as I would like to see myself and my demographics represented in the show, I simply believe that Penny Polendina is not the best way to go about it. 

[demonologist-in-denim]

TV Tropes and Crowley

There are plenty of narrative and character development tropes which could be ascribed to Crowley, especially after the cure-than-wasn’t at the end of the eight season of Supernatural.

During the final hours of the cure, with his soul on the verge of mending and his humanity being restored, Crowley experiences a Personal Horror (a trope in which a character is forced to see the horror of themselves and suffers from an alienation of self). His speech about deserving to be loved is its own variant on the Villainous Black Screen of Death (the heroes force a conscience on the villain and he suffers from the sudden overload of emotion and imposed morality). Though Crowley’s Oh God, What Have I Done (realizing the extent of the damage done) moment happens in between scenes, there is no doubt that it occurs, considering his questions to Sam about seeking forgiveness.

He might have had something resembling a Heel Realization (in which a character realizes they are a villain). Before the cure, Crowley was Neutral Evil (evil that serves only their own self-interests), and wasn’t interested in moral labels or concepts, only his own survival and advancement. The shock of the cure and sudden empathy – which requires some sense of the common good and thus morality – might have therefore led him to a version of a Heel Realization. It certainly resulted in Tears of Remorse in the form of a patented Winchester Single Man-Tear.

After the cure, Crowley was never again a typical Villain (surely no explanation needed), but rather found a balance between being an Anti-Villain (a character whose end goals are good – saving the world – but whose methods are monstrous or a character who is ultimately selfish, but will still do the right thing from time to time) and a Noble Demon (a villain who is noble, possesses a code of honor, fears being perceived as having “gone soft,” will save the hero from time to time, but still does monstrous things for their own ends).

It is increasingly obvious in the later seasons that Crowley no longer relishes his role as King of Hell, in the acquisition and torture of souls, or even in being a demon. He becomes a Tragic Villain (a villain that is aware that they are evil, but does not take – or no longer takes – pleasure in their evil deeds, even resenting being forced into the role of the villain). Damned to a hell of his own making by his past misdeeds and blood-born conscience, Crowley is also Trapped in Villainy (in which a reformed villain is unable to break away from the darkness due to external forces) out of fear that all of Hell will come after him should he abdicate. He also fears the loss of his amassed demonic power through Redemption Demotion (the lessening of the reformed villain’s powers to avoid ousting the heroes.)

Crowley suppressed his growing desire for human connection and redemption by considering himself beyond saving, declaring in his own way I’ve Come Too Far for there to be a way out of the dark. He may have felt this way both in that he was Beyond Redemption (where the hero – hello, Winchesters – declared the villain not worth saving), and succumbed to Sunk Cost Fallacy, believing that having damned himself and amassed all this power, he might as well use it for some semblance of good by keeping the demons in line and the world from ending - or else it’s all been for nothing.

And he certainly made (discreet) attempts at playing the role of the Noble Demon. In Season 9, Even though Crowley had self-interested reasons for turning Dean into a demon (other than, you know, saving him from death), he still empathized with Dean’s exhibited self-hatred as a demon. Demon!Dean avoids his own What Have I Become? moment (a post-human panic when a character is made less than human by becoming a monster or supernatural being), but Crowley surely knew Dean was suffering in becoming the thing the Winchesters had always hated and hunted. Saving Castiel in Season 9, attempting to stop Ramiel, hunting the Hellhound with the boys, fighting Lucifer – over and over throughout the later seasons, Crowley proved himself when there was A Friend In Need (in this case, the anti-villain or noble demon helps the hero, even though it might cost them).

Crowley’s relationship with his mother, Rowena, was understandably fraught with tension and complicated emotions. Had she not been so manipulative and self-serving in the beginning, it might have been a case of Even Bad Men Love Their Mamas (villains having a soft spot for their mothers), considering how desperate Crowley was for human connection and affection. Rowena’s abusive ways instead resulted in a Villainous Mother-Son Duo (a villainous mother uses her son as a pawn to further her own ambitions, is often verbally abusive, and the son often plots his mother’s demise). 

What Crowley ultimately develops with the Winchesters and their angel is the relationship of True Companions (a found family of characters that may not like each other  initially, but come to rely upon each other, with a bond deeper than friendship but not necessarily romantic). Teeth-Clenched Teamwork (enemies or former enemies being forced to team up for a common goal) eventually gave way to a Fire-Forged Friendship (enemies or strangers becoming fast friends through a shared experience of strife), particularly with Dean. By the end of Season 12, Crowley was on the verge of becoming One Of The Boys. 

At the core of Crowley’s struggle was the reality that Hope is Scary (a character’s emotional numbness dissolves, allowing hope to be restored, but with it, the fear of loss and pain). What Crowley wanted – human connection, emotional depth, a fulfilling purpose – were all possibilities. Perhaps he could have made amends. Perhaps the Winchesters would have accepted him as one of them, given Crowley their trust and friendship. Perhaps he didn’t have to be a monster any longer. He could strive to be a better version of himself. But there was also the very real possibility that he would be rejected by the Winchesters, that he couldn’t become that better version. Crowley feared he might attempt redemption, only to realize he would never be worthy of it.

His fear of never being worthy or forgiven were confirmed by Sam’s Heel-Face Door-Slam (the villain attempts or openly desires redemption, only to be brutally rejected by the hero) in Season 10. In the face of this rejection, Crowley chose Then Let Me Be Evil (after being ascribed the label of evil by the hero, a character defiantly embraces that fate). And that might have been the end of Crowley’s road to redemption.

Instead, Crowley became the Friendly Enemy (a villain who shares significant emotional experiences with a hero, forming a lasting and profound connection that surpasses their initial hostilities). Crowley and the Winchesters often employed Enemy Mine (previous enemies or lesser rivals join forces against a greater threat) as a rational for this arrangement, and Crowley often got the shaft as The Friend Nobody Likes (just what it says; Crowley falls into the “Care” subset of this trope). Crowley’s continued involvement with the Winchesters could have be due to a Villainous Crush (a villain has secret romantic feelings for a hero). He hid his growing admiration and affection for the Winchesters and their angel through Insults of Endearment (Moose and Squirrel, respectively), and was unequivocally on the verge of a Face Realization (a character realizes they are no longer the villain they had been) and committing to a full Heel-Face Turn (a former villain openly joining the heroes).

So why didn’t that happen for Crowley? Because for some characters, Redemption Equals Death (redemption comes at the cost of one’s life). To make amends for his actions, save the world, spit in the eye of Lucifer, and finally earn the respect of the Winchesters, Crowley sacrificed himself at the end of Season 12. In an unusual pairing, Redemption Equals Death for Crowley was also paired with Death Equals Redemption (a character’s death redeems them in the eyes of other characters), in that the Winchesters spoke well of Crowley after his death, even including him in a prayer for restoration.

Crowley’s death was characterized by the Villain’s Dying Grace (a dying villain choses to commit a final good act, often saving the hero or the world), in that he died believing he was saving the world, protecting the Winchesters, sealing the rift, and locking Lucifer away forever in an apocalyptical alternative universe. He Faced Death With Dignity (a character takes control over their own death, faces it with dignity, and gives meaning to their final moments), even offering the Winchesters and Lucifer a final Dying Smirk (proving to have the upper hand even in dying) – even when I lose, I win.

Redemption Equals Death is a lousy trope. And lazy writing. Actual redemption is a long, hard road that involves emotionally difficult work, repairing relationships, shifting personal values, making amends. Living with what one has done, and attempting to be a better version of one’s self, is much more difficult – and much more fulfilling – than making a grand gesture and then escaping into death.  Supernatural surely had its reasons for Crowley’s character arch culminating in Redemption Equals Death – Seasons 14 and 15 could be used to make the argument that Chuck was already having a hard time with Castiel being one of the boys, and didn’t want to add Crowley to the Band of Brothers (a group of people dedicated to each other before all other considerations). Death, however, wasn’t the only option for this reformed Villain. 

Working with the Winchesters to close the Gates of Hell and join Team Free Will on a more open, permanent basis, Crowley could have transitioned from a Friendly Enemy into the Token Evil Teammate (serves as an amoral balance to the heroes, willing to perform unpleasant-if-practical tasks to save the world, and often employs snarkiness). In saving souls rather than damning them, and through the Power of Friendship (having friends makes you stronger than you are alone), Crowley might have discovered that being Good Feels Good (acting morally has its own emotional and social benefits). And he could have actively prevented the Winchesters from falling further into the trap of He Who Fights Monsters (a hero becoming the monster they seek to destroy through close association or behavior). Given his massive reserves of influence, expertise, finances and resources, Crowley most likely would have received a Redemption Promotion (an ineffectual villain discovers they are an extremely effective hero), earning his place among the Winchester’s Band of Brothers and reinforcing Good Feels Good.

That’s not to say that it would have been easy, or without complications. There would certainly have been some cases of Reformed, But Rejected (heroes refuse to believe the sincerity of a villain’s redemption arc). There may have been a case of the Enemy Within (a hero carries evil within themselves, which can rise up to control or influence them), as Crowley’s demonic nature clashed with his developing humanity. He might have worried about reverting to his more demonic self, and given Dean instructions to end him before that happens, as he would be better off Dying As Yourself (a final moment of control or being the good self before the corruption or evil takes over) - which Dean would gruffly refuse with Don’t Say Such Stupid Things (harsh reassurance of worth and affection). Crowley might have perceived his increasing humanity, and potentially the necessity of completing the cure, as Redemption Equals Affliction (villain is redeemed but suffers a meaningful loss to earn that redemption). After all, every one of the Winchester’s Band of Brothers suffer from some emotional anguish. In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered if Crowley became human or stayed a demon, so long as he was family, receiving the time-honored You Are Better Than You Think You Are (reassurance from other characters that one is good and making a significant attempt to be or remain good) from his True Companions - preferably in a Winchester-esque Chick Flick Moment.

As One of the Boys, Crowley could have been a gruff, snarky Atoner (a reformed Villain on a path of redemption, motivated by guilt and the desire to make the world – and themselves – better, and to utilize their powers and resources for good), combined with The Snark Knight (the world-weary, embittered, overly-intelligent and anti-social hero). Crowley may have chosen the path of the Ascended Demon (a reformed demon seeking the restoration of humanity) in obtaining the full restoration of his soul or his human nature. As an Ascended Demon (I prefer the term “risen” for Supernatural, to counterbalance angels “falling”), Crowley might even have decided to hunt down and kill – or cure – other demons. Regardless of how Crowley himself would have eventually come to define his own redemption and his place among the Winchesters, he would have stumbled headlong into being counted among The Fettered (those that believe in and serve a certain set of ideals or a moral code), committed to The Family Business of saving people and hunting things – if on his own terms and with the requisite amount of snark.

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Gonna post an old ask i had from another blog as a text file hence why Dominic is asking Flug these questions.

Also This contains gore

And the mention of a character called lust hat who I've named Nickodemus.

Btw even Nickodemus hates his hat title XD but anyway.

It's old and unedited

Final warning it does have gore and torture in it.

Dominic hesitated at the basement door, Acylius was working down there, no doubt on a project involving a human subject, well she'd seen blood and horrors before so that would not faze her.

Opening the heavy door with minimal effort, she looked down the stone stairs, zaps of blue light glinting in foreboding shadows as screams echoed throughout his laboratory

"I hope you are enjoying your stay here, I am doing all that I can to make sure you are most comfortable."

She couldn't help but laugh at his joyous tone, the sarcasm heavy within his voice, so the doctor was in a good mood, that eased her greatly, doing down the rest of  the way Dominic peeked around the corner and watched. Flug sparked the cables and flecks of light danced upon charred skin, his patient screaming, body arching against the bonds.

"Good evening Miss Dominic, this one was kindly donated by Lust Hat, you know he is all about the fun times, but he runs a place of mutual consent and well..."

 Acylius smirked and prodded his victims head

 "You did not follow those rules now did you, silly man."

 The dragoness, currently in the form of a woman paused, considering this group was made of villains, they certainly had standards she could approve of.

 "Good evening to you as well Mr Flug, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?"

 The Doctor stared at her in thought, fingers drumming over the whimpering mans body.

 "I suppose you can, though are you sure you will not faint at my work? I will leave you on the ground until I am done if you do."

Pausing at first at that response she then smiled, a  claw extending at her finger tip as she slowly sliced across the patient's cheek and crimson spilled , dripping down onto marked metal.

"I have a feeling I will be just fine." 

Acylius smiled a little , that had reminded him far too much of Amadeus that he was left with a tinge of colour in his cheeks.

"Well then, ask away."

He returned, going over to a fire he had burning to help keep his tea warm and poured her a cup, handed it over and sat beside his test subject.

"What is your most irrational fear?”

Acylius hesitated on that, making shallow incisions in whining flesh.

 "That Amadeus will just leave me...I mean if there is good reason to or in the one in an infinity chance I fall for someone else I understand..."

Falling quiet for a moment, he looked over his surgical tools, an excuse to calm him self if anything

 "What I fear is just being left, to wonder what I did wrong or why...oh that would leave me to worry about any future connections and keep others away in fear they would do the same."

 Oh...that came from never understanding what he'd done to make his mother hate him other than being born, Dominic looked down into her tea, it was not an irrational fear but more psychological , but she had not the heart to tell him. 

"That is understandable...what is your favorite gemstone?"

Doctor Flug was grateful for the change of subject  and offered a smile in gratitude, lightly scratching behind his ear he answered

 "Well you would think I  would prefer something of a blue colouration considering my home is furnished in dark oaks and a multitude of blues...I actually have a preference of salmon pink aura quartz...I am most attracted to the reflective hues it gives off."

Reaching out to a draw behind him , he opened it and took a piece of the gemstone out and showed her, its varying tones of pink with shimmering pale yellows and greens over its surfaces, reflecting in lighting that did not yet exist along with electricity or those jumper cables.

 Acylius only had these things to hand thanks  to Amadeus and despite being a hybrid between demon and human Flug still preferred using mortal means to torture.

She had once asked him about that and his answer had been it was more barbaric and only those worthy of his true skills and a more intricate death would be sliced apart by his demon claws and far more sinister means.

Dominic agreed hat the crystal formations were quite beautiful, he'd placed it in her hand before taking hold of the meat tenderizer and smashing his patients fingers, crushing them until they were nothing more than a bloody pulp, she nearly dropped the gemstone as she jumped but managed to keep a hold on it.

"Acylius...heh please a little warning next time."

 She stated running her thumb over some of the smooth surfaces, those screams nor the sound of bones breaking bothered her in the slightest, they were from someone who deserved their fate.

Looking over this bound monster, seeing those blood stained tears in their eyes, streaks of blood everywhere and merely chuckled at the sight

 "The doctor is right you know, you really did bring this on yourself."

 Setting down the salmon pink crystal, Dominic picked up a scalpel and started carving little drawings into Flugs test subject.

 "So Acylius, what do you do when it rains?"

"Hmmm well now that can vary, on some days I enjoy watching the world pass by, especially at night when all the street lights seem to have a fantasy like quality about them...and others I will stand outside wings spread and look up into the heavens.”

He sounded distant, clearly lost in thought of such days, rainy ones were his favorite after all.

 "Speaking of fantasy Doctor, do you like fairy tales?"

Dominic asked, pushing her small blade into the trembling body on  the table.

 "I love them...I am sure you know real fairy tales, not those romanticized ones are more nightmarish...tragic even...I have a fondness for the little mermaid..."

 "Oh, any particular reason?"

 Her curiosity was piqued now, of all the stories he could have a fondness for, this one was one of the most heart breaking.

 "I am a man swimming in the ocean of darkness, amongst the demons and the ghouls, I am only fortunate my prince found me....she knew of sacrifice and pain, she gave her life despite her love for her prince who married another...that is what love is..."

 Acylius looked down, brow furrowed and hands clasping at the metal slab

 "All she had to do was stab him in the heart and have his blood fall upon her feet to return home as what she had once been, but love had changed her and she knew...that she had already been permanently transformed by love for she could not steal away his happiness for her own needs..."

 Dominic was listening in closely, this was by  far one of the most interesting  questionings she'd had with him and if not the most revealing and waited for him to continue

 "And so sacrificed her self upon the waves to forever be lost to the oceans surface, lost between worlds as foam upon a universe that would never measure to what tormented tears lay within her broken form."

 Clearing his throat after momentary silence the expression on his face was warm

"I understood her reasons explicitly as I would have done the same for Amadeus...after all he is my fairy tale night mare with a happy ending."

Flug was finding himself tired with his patient and gave the final blow with extended claws, tearing into the mans chest, blood splattering over both of them, making Dominic wince and wipe some from her cheek as the doctor held the still heart in his hand.

"Yes...wonderfully tragic, you can really be quite romantic when you want to be ...I do not meet many villains with such capabilities , it is indeed refreshing...one more question, what is the craziest thing you have ever done?"

The way his face split into a manic grin, exposing a plethora of fangs leaving her a little unsettled

 "Oh you really should have asked Black Hat that, his answer would have been me, but as you asked me, I will have to answer you with Black Hat if you heh catch my meaning."

 As he took a bite from the heart in his hand, fangs sinking in with a thick squelching sound she nodded. Oh yes she understood, he'd twisted her last question so that the craziest thing he'd done was now the craziest thing he had fucked. Heh what a mischievous little group they were.

[gaysparklepires]

8. Waiting For the Damn Fight to Start Already

Read on AO3

BOOK TWO

Jacob

And yet, to say the truth,

Reason and love keep little company together nowadays.

William Shakespeare

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Act III, scene i

PREFACE

Life sucks, and then you die.

Yeah, I should be so lucky.

“Jeez, Paul, don’t you freaking have a home of your own?”

Paul, lounging across mywhole couch, watching some stupid baseball game on mycrappy TV, just grinned at me and then—real slow—he lifted one Dorito from the bag in his lap and wedged it into his mouth in one piece.

“You better’ve brought those with you.”

Crunch. “Nope,” he said while chewing. “Your sister said to go ahead and help myself to anything I wanted.”

I tried to make my voice sound like I wasn’t about to punch him. “Is Rachel here now?”

It didn’t work. He heard where I was going and shoved the bag behind his back. The bag crackled as he smashed it into the cushion. The chips crunched into pieces. Paul’s hands came up in fists, close to his face like a boxer.

“Bring it, kid. I don’t need Rachel to protect me.”

I snorted. “Right. Like you wouldn’t go crying to her first chance.”

He laughed and relaxed into the sofa, dropping his hands. “I’m not going to tattle to your sister. If you got in a lucky hit, that would be just between the two of us. And vice versa, right?”

Nice of him to give me an invitation. I made my body slump like I’d given up. “Right.”

His eyes shifted to the TV.

I lunged.

His nose made a satisfying crunching sound of its own when my fist connected. He tried to grab me, but I danced out of the way before he could find a hold, the ruined bag of Doritos in my left hand.

“You broke my nose, idiot.”

“Just between us, right Paul?”

I went to put the chips away. When I turned around, Paul was repositioning his nose before it could set crooked. The blood had already stopped; it looked like it had no source as it tricked down his lips and off his chin. He cussed, wincing as he pulled at the cartilage.

“You are such a pain, Jacob. I swear, I’d rather hang out with Liam.”

“Ouch. Wow, I bet Liam’s really going to love to hear that you want to spend some quality time with him. It’ll just warm the cockles of his heart.”

“You’re going to forget I said that.”

“Of course. I’m sure it won’t slip out.”

“Ugh,” he grunted, and then settled back into the couch, wiping the leftover blood on the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re fast, kid, I’ll give you that.” He turned his attention back to the fuzzy game.

I stood there for a second, and then I stalked off to my room, muttering about alien abductions.

Back in the day, you could count on Paul for a fight pretty much whenever. You didn’t have to hit him then—any mild insult would do. It didn’t take a lot to flip him out of control. Now, of course, when I really wanteda good snarling, ripping, break-the-trees-down math, he had to be all mellow.

Wasn’t it bad enough that yet another member of the pack had found someone—because, really, that made four of ten now! When would it stop? It’s like they were falling in love on purpose just to kick me when I was already down!

And did it have to be mysister? Did it have to be Paul?

When Rachel’d come home from Washington State at the end of the summer semester—graduated early, the nerd—my biggest worry’d been that it would be hard keeping the secret around her. I wasn’t used to covering things up in my own home. It made me real sympathetic to guys like Embry and Collin, whose parents didn’t know they were werewolves.Embry’s mom thought he was going through some kind of rebellious stage. He was permanently grounded for constantly sneaking out, but, of course, there wasn’t much he could do about that. She’d check his room every night, and every night it would be empty again. She’d yell and he’d take it in silence, and then go through it all again the next day. We’d tried to talk Sam into giving Embry a break and letting his mom in on the gig, but Embry’d said he didn’t mind. The secret was too important.

So I’d been all geared up to be keeping that secret. And then, two days after Rachel got home, Paul ran into her on the beach, they got to talking, laughing and bada bing, bada boom—true love! No secrets necessary when you found your other half, right? They’d hit it off so well that I swear they were already thinking about marriage—marriage!Stupid.

Rachel got the whole story. And I got Paul as a potential brother-in-law someday. I knew Billy wasn’t much thrilled about it, either. But he handled it better than I did. ’Course, he did escape to the Clearwaters’ more often than usual these days. I didn’t see where that was so much better. No Paul, but plenty of Liam.

I wondered—would a bullet through my temple actually kill me or just leave a really big mess for me to clean up?

I threw myself down on the bed. I was tired—hadn’t slept since my last patrol—but I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. My head was too crazy. The thoughts bounced around inside my skull like a disoriented swarm of bees. Noisy. Now and then they stung. Must be hornets, not bees. Bees died after one sting. And the same thoughts were stinging me again and again.

This waiting was driving me insane. It had been almost four weeks. I’d expected, one way or another, the news would have come by now. I’d sat up nights imagining what form it would take.

Charlie sobbing on the phone—Beau and his new husband lost in an accident. A plane crash? That would be hard to fake. Unless the leeches didn’t mind killing a bunch of bystanders to authenticate it, and why would they? Maybe a small plane instead. They probably had one of those to spare.

Or would the murderer come home alone, unsuccessful in his attempt to make Beau one of them? Or not even getting that far. Maybe he’d smashed him like a bag of chips in his drive to get some? Because Beau’s life was less important to him than his own pleasure...

I shook my head, trying not to think about that. I still felt bad about that night at the wedding. It hadn’t been any of my business, ‘course. But I just couldn’t even imagine Beau would wantthat? Who wants to slide into bed with an ice-cold rock? I’d over reacted, I’d been an idiot. Obviously, I was worried about Beau’s safety, sure. But there was the other side of it. I couldn’t stop myself from being jealous about it—about Beau beingwith that bloodsucker like that… I needed to stop thinking about it.

The story would be so tragic—Beau lost in a horrible accident. Victim of a mugging gone wrong. Choking to death at dinner. A car accident, like my mom. So common. Happened all the time.

Would the leech bring Beau home? Bury him here for Charlie? Closed-casket ceremony, of course. My mom’s coffin had been nailed shut....

I could only hope that the bloodsucker would come back here, within my reach.

Maybe there would be no story at all. Maybe Charlie would call to ask my dad if he’d heard anything from Dr. Cullen, who just didn’t show up to work one day. The house abandoned. No answer on any of the Cullens’ phones. The mystery picked up by some second-rate news program, foul play suspected...

Maybe the big white house would burn to the ground, everyone trapped inside. Of course, they’d need bodies for that one. Eight humans of roughly the right size. Burned beyond recognition—beyond the help of dental records.

Either of those would be tricky—for me, that is. It would be hard to find them if they didn’t want to be found. Of course, I had forever to look. If you had forever, you could check out every single piece of straw in the haystack, one by one, to see if it was the needle.

Right now, I wouldn’t mind dismantling a haystack. At least that would be something to do. I hated knowing that I could be losing my chance. Giving the bloodsuckers the time to escape, if that was their plan.

We could go tonight. We could kill every one of them that we could find.

I liked that plan because I knew Edward well enough to know that, if I killed any one of his coven, I would get my chance at him, too. He’d come for revenge. And I’d give it to him—I wouldn’t let my brothers take him down as a pack. It would be just him and me. May the better man win.

But Sam wouldn’t hear of it. We’re not going to break the treaty. Let them make the first breach.Just because we had no proof that the Cullens had done anything wrong. Yet. You had to add the yet, because we all knew it was inevitable. Even though Beau said he had no plans on becoming a bloodsucker, we knew. Beau was either coming back one of them, or not coming back. Either way, a human life would be lost. And that meant game on.

In the other room, Paul brayed like a mule. Maybe he’d switched to a comedy. Maybe the commercial was funny. Whatever. It grated on my nerves.

I thought about breaking his nose again. But it wasn’t Paul I wanted to fight with. Not really.

I tried to listen to other sounds, the wind in the trees. It wasn’t the same, not through human ears. There were a million voices in the wind that I couldn’t hear in this body.

But these ears were sensitive enough. I could hear past the trees, to the road, the sounds of the cars coming around that last bend where you could finally see the beach—the vista of the islands and the rocks and the big blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The La Push cops liked to hang out right around there. Tourists never noticed the reduced speed limit sign on the other side of the road.

I could hear the voices outside the souvenir shop on the beach. I could hear the cowbell clanging as the door opened and closed. I could hear Embry’s mom at the cash register, printing out a receipt.

I could hear the tide raking across the beach rocks. I could hear the kids squeal as the icy water rushed in too fast for them to get out of the way. I could hear the moms complain about the wet clothes. And I could hear a familiar voice....

I was listening so hard that the sudden burst of Paul’s donkey laugh made me jump half off the bed.

“Get out of my house,” I grumbled. Knowing he wouldn’t pay any attention, I followed my own advice. I wrenched open my window and climbed out the back way so that I wouldn’t see Paul again. It would be too tempting. I knew I would hit him again, and Rachel was going to be pissed enough already. She’d see the blood on his shirt, and she’d blame me right away without waiting for proof. Of course, she’d be right, but still.

I paced down to the shore, my fists in my pockets. Nobody looked at me twice when I went through the dirt lot by First Beach. That was one nice thing about summer—no one cared if you wore nothing but shorts.

I followed the familiar voice I’d heard and found Quil easy enough. He was on the south end of the crescent, avoiding the bigger part of the tourist crowd. He kept up a constant stream of warnings.

“Keep out of the water, Claire. C’mon. No, don’t. Oh! Nice, kid. Seriously, do you want Elise to yell at me? I’m not bringing you back to the beach again if you don’t—Oh, yeah? Don’t—ugh. You think that’s funny, do you? Hah! Who’s laughing now, huh?”

He had the giggling toddler by the ankle when I reached them. She had a bucket in one hand, and her jeans were drenched. He had a huge wet mart down the front of his t-shirt.

“Five bucks on the baby girl,” I said.

“Hey, Jake.”

Claire squealed and threw her bucket at Quil’s knees. “Down, down!”

He set her carefully on her feet and she ran to me. She wrapped her arms around my leg.

“Uncle Jay!”

“How’s it going, Claire?”

She giggled. “Quil aaaaall wet now.”

“I can see that. Where’s your mama?”

“Gone, gone, gone,” Claire sang, “Gonna play with Quil all day. Never gonna go home!” She let go of me and ran to Quil. He scooped her up and slung her onto his shoulders.

“Sounds like somebody’s hit the terrible twos.”

“Threes actually,” Quil corrected. “You missed the party. Princess theme. She made me wear a crown, and then Elise and Emily suggested they all try out her new play makeup on me.”

“Wow, I’mreallysorry I wasn’t around to see that.”

“Don’t worry, Emily has pictures. Actually, I look pretty hot.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

Quil shrugged. “Claire had a great time. That was the point.”

I rolled my eyes. It was hard being around such happy people. No matter what stage they were in—about to tie the knot like Sam or just teen-werewolf-turned-future-stepdad like Quil—the peace and contentedness they always radiated was downright puke-inducing.

Claire squealed on his shoulders and pointed at the ground. “Pretty rock, Quil! For me, for me!”

“Which one kiddo? The red one?”

“No red!”

Quil dropped to his knees—Claire screamed and pulled his hair like a horse’s reigns.

“This blue one?”

“No, no, no….,” the little girl sang, thrilled with her new game.

The weird part was, Quil was having just as much fun as she was. He didn’t have that face on that so many of the tourist dads and moms were wearing—the when-is-nap-time? Face. You never saw a real parent so jazzed to play whatever stupid kiddie sport their rugrat could think up. I’d seen Quil play peekaboo for an hour straight without getting bored.

And I couldn’t even make fun of him for it—I envied him too much.

Emily’s sister, Elise, had moved to La Push from the Makah reservation to stay with her older sister pretty recently. Elise had gotten pregnant by her high school boyfriend and he immediately skipped out on her, so Emily took her in. Elise had Claire, and everyone sort of pitched in to help raise her since Elise was so young. She and Quil are about the same age so they got along pretty well. One thing led to another, and, well, here we are.

I didn’t envy the idea of being a teenage werewolf dad, but Quil couldn’t have been happier. He had Elise and they had Claire. One big happy family before high school graduation, I guess.

“Quil, you ever think maybe it’s all too much?”

“Huh?”

“No, no yellow!” Claire crowed.

“You know. I mean, Elise is cool, but a kid? Already? Don’t you ever want to just… not have that responsibility? Try dating someone else?”

Quil just stared at me.

“Pretty rock! Pretty rock!” Claire screamed when he didn’t offer her another choice. She smacked him on the head with her little fist.

“Sorry, Claire-bear. How about this purple one?”

“No,” she giggled. “No purple.”

“Give me a clue. I’m begging, kid.”

Claire thought it over. “Green,” she finally said.

Quil stared at the rocks, studying them. He picked four rocks in different shades of green and offered them to her.

“Did I get it?”

“Yay!”

“Which one?”

“All of them!”

She cupped her hands and he poured the small rocks into them. She laughed and immediately clunked him on the head with them. He winced theatrically and then got to his feet and started walking back up toward the parking lot. Probably worried about her getting cold in her wet clothes. He was worse than any paranoid, overprotective parent.

“Sorry if I was being a jerk, man, about the whole dating thing,” I said.

“Naw, that’s cool,” Quil said. “I get what you mean. Who would have guessed I’d be the one to be a dad so soon, right?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jake.” He shrugged. “Me and Elise, we just clicked. You know? And Claire is great. I’m happy, man. I don’t even notice any other girls anymore, you know. I don’t see their faces.”

“If you say so,” I sighed. “Though, put that together with the tiara and the makeup, and maybe Elise will have a different kind of competition to worry about.”

Quil laughed and made kissing noises at me. “You available this Friday, Jacob?”

“You wish,” I said, and then I made a face. “Yeah, guess I am, though.”

He hesitated a second then said, “You ever think about… moving on? Dating?”

I sighed. I guess I’d opened myself up for that one.

“You know, Jake, maybe you should think about getting a life.”

He didn’t say it like a joke. His voice was sympathetic. That made it worse.

“I don’t see anyone else, either, Quil. I don’t see their faces.”

Quil sighed, too. “At some point, man, you just gotta grow up a little and embrace the life you’ve got.”

I stared at him, annoyed. That was the last thing I wanted. This life sucked. I’d trade it for just about anything.

He continued, “Because, and I might be wrong, but I think there’s happiness waiting right under your nose. You just gotta see it, you know?”

I shrugged, and turned away. He sighed again.

Far away, too low for anyone but just us two to hear it over the waves, a howl rose out of the forest.

“Dang, that’s Sam,” Quil said. His hands flew up to touch Claire, as if to make sure she was still there. “I don’t know where Elise’s at!”

“I’ll see what it is. If we need you, I’ll let you know.” I raced through the words. They came out all slurred together. “Hey, why don’t you take Claire up to the Clearwaters’? Sue and Billy can keep an eye on her if they need to. They might know what’s going on, anyway.”

“Okay—get outta here, Jake!”

I took off running, not for the dirt path through the weedy hedge, but in the shortest line toward the forest. I hurdled the first line of driftwood and then ripped my way through the briars, still running. I felt the little tears as the thorns cut into my skin, but I ignored them. Their sting would be healed before I made the trees.

I cut behind the store and darted across the highway. Somebody honked at me. Once in the safety of the trees, I ran faster, taking longer strides. People would stare if I was out in the open. Normal people couldn’t run like this. Sometimes I thought it might be fun to enter a race—you know, like the Olympic trials or something. It would be cool to watch the expressions on those star athletes’ faces when I blew by them. Only I was pretty sure the testing they did to make sure you weren’t on steroids would probably turn up some really freaky crap in my blood.

As soon as I was in the true forest, unbound by roads or houses, I skidded to a stop and kicked my shorts off. With quick, practiced moves, I rolled them up and tied them to the leather cord around my ankle. As I was still pulling the ends tight, I started shifting. The fire trembled down my spine, throwing tight spasms out along my arms and legs. It only took a second. The heat flooded through me, and I felt the silent shimmer that made me something else. I threw my heavy paws against the matted earth and stretched my back in one long, rolling extension.

Phasing was very easy when I was centered like this. I didn’t have issues with my temper anymore. Except when it got in the way.

For one half second, I again remembered the awful moment at the wedding. I’d been so insane with fury that I couldn’t make my body work right. I’d been trapped, shaking and burning, unable to make the change but unable to calm down. It had been so confusing. Dying to kill him. Afraid to hurt Beau. My friends in the way. And then, when I was finally able to shift, the order from my leader. The edict from the Alpha. If it had been just Embry and Quil there that night without Sam... would I have attacked that bloodsucker then and there?

I hated it when Sam laid down the law like that. I hated the feeling of having no choice. Of having to obey.

And then I was conscious of an audience. I was not alone in my thoughts.

So self-abosrbed all the time, Liam thought.

Yeah, no hypocrisy there, Liam,I thought back.

Can it, guys,Same told us.

We fell silent, and I felt Liam’s wince at Sam’s words. Touchy, like always.

Sam pretended no to notice. Where’s Quil and Jared?

Quil’s got Claire. He’s taking her to the Clearwaters’.

Good. Sue will take her.

Jared was going to Kim’s, Embry thought, Good chance he didn’t hear you.

There was a low grumble through the pack. I moaned along with them. When Jared finally showed up, no doubt he’d still be thinking about Kim. And nobody wanted a replay of what they were up to right now.

Sam sat back on his haunches and let another howl rip into the air. It was a signal and an order in one.

The pack was gathered a few miles east of where I was. I loped through the thick forest toward them. Liam, Embry, and Paul all were working in toward them, too. Liam was close—soon I could hear his footfalls not far into the woods. We continued in a parallel line, choosing not to run together.

Well, we’re not waiting all day for him. He’ll just have to catch up later.

’Sup, boss? Paul wanted to know.

We need to talk. Something’s happened.

I felt Sam’s thoughts flicker to me—and not just Sam’s, but Seth’s and Collin’s and Brady’s as well. Collin and Brady—the new kids—had been running patrol with Sam today, so they would know whatever he knew. I didn’t know why Seth was already out here, and in the know. It wasn’t his turn.

Seth, tell them what you heard.

I sped up, wanting to be there. I heard Liam move faster, too. He hated being outrun. Being the fastest was the only edge he claimed.

Claim this, moron, he hissed, and then he really kicked it into gear. I dug my nails into the loam and shot myself forward.

Sam didn’t seem in the mood to put up with our usual crap. Jake, Liam, give it a rest.

Neither of us slowed.

Sam growled, but let it go. Seth?

Charlie called around till he found Billy at my house.

Yeah, I talked to him, Paul added.

I felt a jolt go through me as Seth thought Charlie’s name. This was it. The waiting was over. I ran faster, forcing myself to breathe, though my lungs felt kinda stiff all of a sudden.

Which story would it be?

So he’s all flipped out. Guess Edward and Beau got home last week, and...

My chest eased up.

Beau was alive. Or he wasn’t dead dead, at least.

I hadn’t realized how much difference it would make to me. I’d been thinking of him as dead this whole time, and I only saw that now. I saw that I’d never believed that he would bring Beau back alive. It shouldn’t matter, because I knew what was coming next.

Yeah, bro, and here’s the bad news. Charlie talked to Beau, said he sounded bad. he told Charlie’s he’s sick. Carlisle got on and told Charlie that Beau picked up some rare disease in South America. Said he’s quarantined. Charlie’s going crazy, ’cause even he’s not allowed to see Beau. Charlie says he doesn’t care if he gets sick, but Carlisle wouldn’t bend. No visitors. Told Charlie it was pretty serious, but that he’s doing everything he can. Charlie’s been stewing about it for days, but he only called Billy now. He said Beau sounded worse today.

The mental silence when Seth finished was profound. We all understood.

So he would die of this disease, as far as Charlie knew. Would they let him view the corpse? The pale, perfectly still, unbreathing white body? They couldn’t let him touch the cold skin—he might notice how hard it was. They’d have to wait until Beau could hold still, could keep from killing Charlie and the other mourners. How long would that take?

Would they bury him? Would he dig himself out, or would the bloodsuckers come for him?

The others listened to my speculating in silence. I’d put a lot more thought into this than any of them.

Liam and I entered the clearing at nearly the same time. He was sure his nose led the way, though. He dropped onto his haunches beside his brother while I trotted forward to stand at Sam’s right hand. Paul circled and made room for me in my place.

Beat’cha again, Liam thought, but I barely heard him.

I wondered why I was the only one on my feet. My fur stood up on my shoulders, bristling with impatience.

Well, what are we waiting for? I asked.

No one said anything, but I heard their feelings of hesitation.

Oh, come on! The treaty’s broken!

We have no proof—maybe he is sick....

OH, PLEASE!

Okay, so the circumstantial evidence is pretty strong. Still... Jacob. Sam’s thought came slow, hesitant. Are you sure this is what you want? Is it really the right thing? We all know what he wanted.

The treaty doesn’t mention anything about victim preferences, Sam!

Is he really a victim? Would you label him that way?

Yes! Besides, Beau wanted to stay human! He told me so!

Sam considered this for a moment. We can’t attack the Cullens without proof that the treaty has been violated. We don’t know if this illness is a ruse or not.

It’s totally a lie!

Enough, Jacob!Sam snapped.

Jake, Seth thought, they aren’t our enemies.

Shut up, kid! Just ’cause you’ve got some kind of sick hero worship thing going on with that bloodsucker, it doesn’t change the law. They are our enemies. They are in our territory. We take them out. I don’t care if you had fun fighting alongside Edward Cullen once upon a time.

You’re upset, man. You’re not thinking clearly and you’re going to do something stupid.

I’m not going to do anything stupid, Seth.

Sure you won’t. You’re not ready for this fight, Jacob.

Instinct took over and I crouched forward, snarling at the gangly sand-colored wolf across the circle.

Jacob! Sam cautioned. Seth, shut up for a second. Seth nodded his big head.

Dang, what’d I miss? Quil thought. He was running for the gathering place full-out. Heard about Charlie’s call....

We’re getting ready to go, I told him. Why don’t you swing by Kim’s and drag Jared out with your teeth? We’re going to need everyone.

Come straight here, Quil, Sam ordered. We’ve decided nothing yet.

I growled.

We need to find out if the treaty has been broken before we make any decision. I have to think about what’s best for this pack. I have to choose the course that protects you all best.

This is B.S., and you know it. I growled.

Enough, Jacob. You’re overruled. Sam’s mental voice changed, took on that strange double timbre that we could not disobey. The voice of the Alpha. He met the gaze of every wolf in the circle.

The pack is not attacking the Cullens without provocation. We will determine if the treaty has been broken—well and truly violated—before we attack our former allies.

Hear, hear, Seth thought enthusiastically.

I thought I told you to shut it, Seth.

Oops. Sorry, Sam.

Jacob, where do you think you’re going?

I left the circle, moving toward the west so that I could turn my back on him. I’m going to find out what we already know—that they’re going to turn Beau into one of them. I’m going to get this damn fight started.

Aw, Jake—Come on!

Shut up, Seth, several voices thought together.

Jacob, we understand this is difficult for you, we don’t want this to be any more difficult than it already is, Sam told me, his thought softer than before.

So force me to stay, Sam. Take away my will. Make me a slave.

You know I won’t do that.

Then I’m going.

Fine, Jacob. But if you find out Beau is still human, once you determine that the treaty hasn’t been broken, you come straight back.

No, after I find out I’m leaving again.

I ran away from them, trying very hard not to think about what was next. Instead, I concentrated on my memories of the long wolf months, of letting the humanity bleed out of me until I was more animal than man. Living in the moment, eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, drinking when thirsty, and running—running just to run. Simple desires, simple answers to those desires. Pain came in easily managed forms. The pain of hunger. The pain of cold ice under your paws. The pain of cutting claws when dinner got feisty. Each pain had a simple answer, a clear action to end that pain.

Not like being human.

Yet, as soon as I was in jogging distance of my house, I shifted back into my human body. I needed to be able to think in privacy.

I untied my shorts and yanked them on, already running for the house.

I’d done it. I’d hidden what I was thinking and now it was too late for Sam to stop me. He couldn’t hear me now.

Sam had made a very clear ruling. We would determine if the treaty had been broken. The pack would not attack the Cullens. Okay.

He hadn’t mentioned an individual acting alone.

Nope, the pack wasn’t attacking anyone today.

But I was.