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thebackseatofjimsblazer · 2 years

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Pairing: PlusSize!Fem!Reader x Billy Hargrove

Rating: E - MINORS!DNI

CW & WC: 5.4k — body image but like, you take it like a champ for the most part. Slightly jealous billy? Reader teases tf out of him. Smut! Oral (f & m receiving), dirty talk, p in v. can i get an amen for friends to lovers trope? OOC for billy. (Cross posted from my ao3)

Summary: You saw Billy for who he really was… a boy who was severely damaged and just needed to feel like he was loved somehow, even if that love was in the form of fake friendships from the majority of the student population and easy girls looking to know what California tasted like. Or the one where you are Billy’s only real friend and you guys fall in love once he finally sees how hot you can look.

When Billy moved to Hawkins with the rest of his dysfunctional family, it wasn’t hard to notice how unamused he was with all of it. Disdain was shown by Billy when it had become apparent that he would have to drive Max to and from school everyday. Billy was disturbed by how many hicks openly walked around this shit hole town. Furthermore, he was impassioned with how much pressure he put himself under, day in and day out, to make himself seem macho to everyone else who would never see what happens behind his front door.

Then he met you. You had been able to create amusement in the dull evenings in this shit hole town, around all these hicks, without being bothered by how much he projected his own insecurities that he had never admitted. All the while making driving Max around worth it because you chipped in a few bucks for gas here and there just because you could. You saw Billy for who he really was… a boy who was severely damaged and just needed to feel like he was loved somehow, even if that love was in the form of fake friendships from the majority of the student population and easy girls looking to know what California tasted like.

Neither one of you really remembers how your friendship was formed. If it had been like the movies you’ve watched, he would have never given you the time of day to begin with. Because if your life was one of those movies, it would be like that one scene when the least desired girl walks past the lead role with heart eyes while he’s walking to his insanely hot girlfriend. The same girlfriend that’s using cigarettes and dick as meal replacements. Because that’s not you… and it's not hard to see. You’ve always been the heavy girl and you’ve come to accept that.

“Hey Billy…” You start to say, flipping through a magazine while he wrenches on something under the hood of his car. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, just grunts as a way to acknowledge that he’s listening. “Cassidy Wymen, ya’know the only sophomore in advanced bio this year? She was crying in the bathroom today because she said you had turned her down on account of her boobs being too small.” A chuckle leaves your lips as you recount looking right at her chest when she had said what Billy allegedly told her. When you look up, Billy meets your eyes and wipes his hands on the grease rag.

“Yeah? Well, tough tits.” You both laughed at his joke, but Billy continued on with what he needed to say. “I don’t know Y/N… I mean, we’re seniors now. I guess my tastes are changing a little bit. I’m feeling more like a grown man - like a real grown ass man - so it feels eh… weird… to be feeling on tits a boy would be feelin’ up on.” Billy’s nonchalant nature of his explanation stirred more questions than you had anticipated. When you brought it up, it was because you wanted to tell Billy to at least be nicer to the girls he knew are less experienced in the art of awkward high school hookup culture. It’s not even like you knew from first hand experience… Billy had just explained everything to you so that you wouldn’t get your heart broken.

“Wait, so you’re saying that a rack like Regan Convery’s is now more your speed?” You asked. It was no secret that Regan was working with less than a D-cup, but her waist and rib cage to breast ratio definitely made them look bigger than they actually were. Billy just shrugged and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean she’s, like, probably the only one at our school that’s gonna be sizing up a cup size before the second coming.” Billy jokes. You both chuckle at his joke. Yeah, but I know mine are bigger, You think to yourself. Having to attend gym class and get dressed in front of some of the student body, you may or may not have compared your body to your peers’. They always had thinner arms, flatter stomachs, and narrower thighs… but you always had bigger boobs.

“Aye, when you find out who has bigger boobs than Regan, make sure she doesn’t have braces. You don’t need a repeat of the Amanda incident.” You say as you start walking towards your house. On the days Billy works on his car, you’re glad that you live on the same street as him because you know there’s no way in hell he’d drive his baby anywhere in such a trying time.

As you’re about to open your front door to your house, you hear Billy holler back, “Dear lord, Y/N.” And you close the door with a chuckle.

A few days later, you and Billy decided to sneak into your parent’s alcohol cabinet late in the evening. To be fair, it was a Saturday night where he didn’t need to take Max anywhere and your parents were out of town on an impromptu honeymoon redo. It was clearly the only logical thing to do.

“Alright, Y/N… I can’t be the only one getting action around here. I mean, your parents are probably even boning more than you are.” Billy half yells, passing the bottle to you . A fake gagging noise from him making that comment about your parents makes him wholeheartedly laugh. You take a swig from the bottle and lean back, letting your arm support your new position.

“First of all, gross. Second of all, I probably would be fucking someone if there was someone to fuck. I mean, c’mon Billy… get real. I don’t know a single person who wants to have sex with me.” You shake your head at the last few words and pass the bottle back to Billy.

“I know someone…” Your ears perk up. “Daniel Williams said he’d totally bang you if- ah, don’t worry. Never mind… he was being a dick about it.” Billy stammered. He busied himself from your stare by crawling over to your record player and starting up one of the vinyls he brought over.

“What the fuck, Billy. You can’t just say shit like ‘Ah, don’t worry… Nevermind..’ and expect me to just be content.” You said while mocking him with a funny voice.

“Y/N, I don't sound like that.” He said. You gave him a look that could only be translated as ‘Hurry up and tell me already’. Billy sighed, sat back in front of you on the floor, and handed you the bottle before he started talking again. “Look, he was seriously being a dick about it and I already told him that if he ever said this to you, we’d both knock his teeth in… but he had said that he’d be totally down to fuck if you’d be down to keep it in secret…” You were confused at first, because that’s what Billy did with more than half the girls he slept with. So you didn’t understand why he was so upset with Daniel for saying the same thing, until you heard the next thing he said, “… because you’re shaped like the icebox in his basement.”

Billy fully anticipated for you to be hurt by this, so he was nervous when you started to cackle. Tears were forming in your eyes from how hard you were laughing at this point and Billy was starting to look uncomfortable. “Oh Billy, that is the funniest thing I’ve heard since you told me you were going to stop smoking.” You sighed once your laughing fit calmed itself down.

“How’s that funny to you? I swear, if you were any other girl, you’d probably cry from how fucked up that was.” Billy shakes his head, unable to wrap his head around the thought of a girl laughing at being made fun of.

“Well, duh, because it’s not true. It just looks true because I wear baggy shirts.” You explain. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t normally wear clothes that show my figure because old fucks can’t mind their business.” You get up, walk to your closet, and start looking for that one dress you had bought for your trip to Texas last summer. Walking into the hallway for privacy, you quickly change into it. It fits a little bit tighter than it did last year, but this will just help prove your point more. Your boobs fill it in more, even having a little overflow. The dress does wonders to camouflage your stomach pouch and accentuate the inward curve of your waist that leads to the outward curves of your hips and ass.

Before walking back into your room, you peek your head through the door to Billy who had now moved to sit on your bed. “Alright dude, close your eyes and then I’ll tell you when to open them,” You say. Billy rolls his eyes, but complies. Walking into your room slowly, you start to feel a little nervous. Billy has never seen you dressed like this. It’s not like you’re hoping he’d find you attractive or anything, but you definitely would be pissed if he said something fucked up. At the end of the day, he really is the only person you value the opinion of. When you’re finally standing right in front of him, you poke him right in the forehead and he opens his eyes.

“Goddamn, Y/N…” He stammers. Billy sits up straight and shifts his eyes around your body, quickly scanning over the many parts that appeal to him. You turn around to your vanity to find the bottle. Grabbing it, you catch the reflection of Billy behind you staring right at your ass. The dress was just barely long enough to cover everything. You cough a little after taking a swig, causing you and Billy to lock eyes through the mirror. “I mean, uh, you look very nice.” Billy says, then clears his throat.

Turning around to walk back to him, you ask, “Do you think I look like Daniel’s fucking icebox?” The nervous part of you doesn’t want to know what his answer is, but the part that values his opinion - and tipsy part - needs to hear what he thinks. He just shakes his head and grabs the bottle from your grasp. Taking a sip, then placing it on the floor by his feet, Billy just stares you right in the eyes.

“Nah, Y/N… I’d have to say you look like… like…” The intensity of his eyes on you becomes too much to handle, so you turn away with heat rushing to your face. He quickly grabs you by the hand to stop you from walking away from him, and says, “You look, like, really hot. I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to just say it. Y/N, c’mon just look at me for a second.” He coaxes and then continues, “As your friend, that happens to be a guy, I’d totally bang you if you didn’t already know I was a man-whore.” Laughter filled the room from both of you. The feeling of the alcohol started to become more prominent in your body and you grabbed onto Billy’s shoulders to maintain your balance. Billy’s hand instinctively went to your waist to support your swaying. Taking the opportunity, Billy looked where his hand had landed and soaked in the way it looked around your curves. As if his feet had a mind of their own, he stepped closer to you so that now the both of you had the opportunity to smell the alcohol radiating off of yourselves.

“Hey Y/N, I think I found out who has bigger tits than Regan. Can you just do me a favor and smile?” He asks. You chuckle and push at his chest to gain distance. Walking back to your closet, you say over your shoulder, “You already know I don’t have braces, you fuckhead.” You start skimming through your clothes in your closet to keep yourself busy. There’s no way you’re about to let Billy see how much he has you blushing from his little joke.

“You should wear something nice and tight to school on Monday and make Daniel cream his pants.” Billy suggested. You pondered that scenario for a few seconds, but shook your head.

“If I’m going to wear something like that, it's not going to be for Daniel.” You turn around and see Billy had taken a seat on your bed again, but this time he had made himself more comfortable with your pillows. Even taking one to put on his lap so that he could rest his arms more comfortably. Your brain is fuzzy from the alcohol and from seeing Billy so comfortable, so you cross your arms and rest your weight on one leg - cocking your hip to that side in the process - to be able to give yourself time to think of what you were going to say next. But as you watch Billy’s eyes scan the way your tits squeeze closer to each other, and the way he shifts the pillow in his lap, the lightbulb in your head lights up. No, it doesn’t just light up, it bursts. Your plan forms so quickly in your head, you barely have time to process it before Billy can meet your eyes again. You’re not going to wear something nice and tight for Daniel, no. Not at all. You’re going to wear something nice and tight for Billy and he’s not gonna know what hit him.

You give yourself one last one over in front of the hallway mirror before heading out the front door. It’s Monday morning and Billy should be waiting outside with Max at his car. You’re following your plan, fully hoping it would work, but also feeling like it might fail. You’re wearing a denim skirt you know is long enough to not get you dress coded, but short enough to catch Billy’s attention and one of his shirts that you tied in a knot at your waist to show off your hips. Walking out to the car, Max and Billy look up at you.

“Holy shit Y/N, you look hot!” Max says in disbelief. She climbs into the backseat as you patiently wait to get into the passenger. You thank her as you close the door. Billy takes a second, but he finally gets into the car and roars it to life. Being dressed like this, Billy can’t help but notice the way your boobs jiggle at every bump and pothole in the roads. When you’re too distracted talking to Max, he tilts his rear view mirror to align with your chest so he has a better view of them. Within no time, he’s pulling into the middle school’s side of the parking lot. Knowing that you’d have to get out for Max, you deliberately put on a show of arching your back while climbing out the car.

“Bye Max, I’ll see you later” You say as she skates away. Climbing back into the car, you look over to him already staring right at you. “What? Is something the matter?” You ask Billy.

“No, I just thought you weren’t going to do this. Ya’know, I thought you weren’t going to fuck with Daniel like this.” He said, his eyes shifting back to the front of the car so that he could drive the both of you to his parking space.

“Oh, I’m not. I just thought it would be a cool idea to see who else would be totally down to fuck me and not want to keep it in secret.” You replied right as he was parking. You quickly get out of the car and start walking to the building, leaving him scrambling to get out of the car. You holler over your shoulder at him, “If you hear anything, tell me. I want names and specifics!” Saying this, you hope it would make Billy get in his head. But there’s only one way to find out… and you’d have to wait until the end of the day when school was out to see if it worked.

The whole ride back to your neighborhood was quiet. Well, except for Max. “I don’t know how, but there were kids in my school that heard about you Y/N. The first rumor was that you were a new kid, then the next rumor was that you had plastic surgery over the weekend. Ah, you should have heard it.” She said as she leaned forward so that she could be between you and Billy. You just chuckled and left her to her thoughts. Billy stayed quiet… Getting out of the car, you ask Billy if he had gotten the notes during the part of history class that you ‘totally spaced out’ during. “Yeah, here’s my notebook. Just make sure to grab it and bring it in the morning.”

“Wait no, just come over really quickly. I can just jot it down and hand it right over.” You counter. He stares at you for a second before walking in the direction of your house with you.

“Thank you, Billy.” You say, drawing out the end of his name. The both of you walk up the stairs with you leading the way. You make it a point to sway your hips with every step.

“So… Do I have any admirers?” You ask once you sit down at your desk. You won't tell Billy this, but you have all the notes you needed from today’s lesson. In fact, you have more than he does. You just wanted to get him alone. He lays down on your bed with a grunt. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t want you to ask that question at all. In frustration, he closes his eyes as he lays.

“Yeah, you do.” He says. His short answer doesn't satisfy you, so you hum in encouragement for him to continue while you pretend to copy his notes. “I fucking caught Steve Harrington catching flies with his mouth during second period. Then in third period, in history, I saw our teacher fix his pants about a gazillion times. I mean, what a pervert…” He huffs. He’s clearly getting irritated recalling how your history teacher reacted. “…And then in the locker room, oh god they wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Tommy and Derek kept going on and on about how they’d just love to ‘taste that sweetness’ and watch your boobs boun- ya’know what? Forget it. They were saying very distasteful things about you.” He sighed. Hearing Billy say distasteful and boobs in the same sentence was unheard of so, naturally, you turn to him in a questioning nature.

“You’re mad at them for being distasteful? Billy, I’m almost certain you’ve said something along those lines about many girls.” You say. Standing up and walking over to your bed, Billy continues to rest his eyes. He doesn't notice your presence until you sit on the edge next to him. “Why are you mad about it, Billy?” You ask.

“Am not. My head just hurts from idiots.” He replies. But he won’t meet your eyes, so you know he’s lying. “Nuh uh, Billy. You’re full of shit right now. Why’re you so bothered about it?” You continue to nudge him with your hand and encourage him to tell you what’s got him so pissed. “Oh, come on Billy. Just tell me!” You push on his chest and nudge his side with your hips. Your smile drops when he snaps and finally spills.

“I’m just- ugh! I just don't know how to feel because when they were saying how they’d just love to see how your big tits bounced as you ride their cocks, I couldn’t help but think the same thing… and it's too much. I’ve never thought about you that way…” You stand up from where you had been sitting and fully turn your body to look at him. “… Y/N, I’m sorry.” He sits up to the edge of the bed so that he could meet you eye to eye more easily. Billy dons the look of shame as he bows his head. But you don't let him look that way for long. Slowly, mustering up every ounce of courage you had, you placed your hand on the back of his head and guide it so that he was looking back up at you.

“What if I wanted you to think of me like that?” You asked. Confused, Billy cocks his head to the side. You ask again, “What if I wore this outfit, specifically with your shirt, so that you would think of me like that? I know how you were looking at me when I showed you my dress…” Pushing him backwards by his shoulders, you crawled onto your bed so that your legs sat on either side of his hips. Out of instinct, Billy placed his hands on your hips. Billy was too stunned by what you were doing and saying to answer you. Leaning down to get closer, you whisper, “I know you were hiding a boner that night. You totally want to bone me, huh?”

“So what if I do?” He counters in a defensive tone. You lean back up, shifting your weight around to find a more comfortable angle for your hips, and ask, “So why don’t you?” Within a matter of seconds, Billy’s grip on your hips tighten and he flips the both of you over so that he is now hovering over you. Your legs find a comfortable position around his hips as he balances most of his weight on his right arm with his other hand still grabbing your hip.

“Do you actually want this, Y/N?” You nod your head and let out a quiet ‘yes’, not trusting your voice. Being able to feel the weight of his hips pressed against your groin was intoxicating, so you roll your hips up to gain more pleasure. Billy groans and drops his face to the crook of your neck, placing sloppy kisses and lightly nipping at the skin. “All day, I’ve been thinking about how fucking oblivious I’ve been to what you look like… how much time I’ve wasted not being able to know what your curves feel like… not knowing what this juicy cunt tastes like…” He trails off as the hand he had on your hip moves under your skirt, not stopping his attention to your neck. A breathy moan falls from your lips when you feel the palm of his hand press against where your clit would be, but your puffy lips hide it from him.

“Y/N, you’re my only real friend - my best friend - so I��m not going to bullshit you here.” A lump starts to form in your throat, thinking Billy was going to tell you that he couldn’t do this because of your friendship. Or how he couldn’t do this because he wouldn't want it getting out that you two had done this. So what he said next surprised you, “I don't think I can do this if you want to keep it a secret. In fact, I won't do this if I’m not allowed to walk you into school tomorrow and show everyone that you’re my girl… so just tell me now to stop if that’s not something you want from me.”

Instead of saying anything, you grab Billy’s face and kiss him. Taking the kiss as permission to go farther, he dipped his finger under the side of your panties. Dipping into your wetness, Billy trailed his finger up through your folds to your clit and started pleasing you with a slow side to side movement. You broke the kiss, moaning his name, and looked down to where his hand was hidden under your skirt. When you look back at him, he’s already looking right at you; studying the way your eyebrows furrow and mouth hangs open from the pleasure he’s giving you. Billy stops his motions and slowly pops his finger into his mouth, never breaking eye contact. “Damn, Y/N… With a pussy that sweet, I don't think I’ll need to have a piece of candy for the rest of my life.” And with that, Billy was moving off the bed to kneel between your legs.

Delicately, Billy removed your panties. This confused you, so you went to unbutton your skirt so that you would be completely bare for him, but he stopped your movements, “No way, Y/N… I’ve been thinking all day about how much I wanted to hide my head under this damn skirt and make you squirm. It’s staying on.” And with that, Billy moved your hands to the side of your body, shifted the skirt up slightly to give you some slack, and picked your legs up so that they were supported on his shoulders. He gave you a devious smile and a wink before disappearing under the skirt. Billy didn’t ease his way into pleasuring you, he just drove straight in.

“Oh my God, Billy! Fuck…” You draw out. Your back arches off of your bed as pornographic moans leave your lips. Billy kept your hips as steady as he could, but you were still able to get little bucks in here and there. You felt his tongue go wide at your hole, lapping up all of your juices, before returning back to your clit. Burrowing his lips and tongue between your puffy lips to find your clit again, Billy began sucking steadily on it. The intense pleasure he was giving you made you produce high pitched moans, each one coming out with each exhale. You knew you weren’t going to last long if he stayed at this speed, but you were adamant on wanting to cum from him fucking you.

“Billy, stop…” You grabbed him by his head and yanked him off your clit with a satisfying pop. He looked at you like he did something wrong, but you spoke before he could ask, “I wanna cum on your cock.” Billy groans and bites his lip at hearing this. You both start stripping away at your clothes, throwing them into a mixed pile on the ground. Before Billy knows it, you’re pushing him down so that he was then sitting on the bed and you were the one kneeling before him this time.

“Aw, fuck yeah. You gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?” He asks with a smirk. Looking up at Billy, you nod your head and make it a point to put on a little show for him. You start by slowly rubbing your hands up and down the inside of his thighs, barely letting the tips of your fingernails lightly drag across his skin. All while maintaining eye contact with him, you grab him and guide his tip to your mouth. Little by little, you allow most of his member to slip into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. Billy’s eyes fluttered shut, “Fuck, just like that.” He moaned out.

Picking up the speed, loud wet sounds filled the room alongside Billy’s moans and whimpers. You shouldn’t be so surprised with how thick his cock is, but you are. Especially since your jaw is already starting to feel uncomfortable after such a little amount of time of blowing him. Even if Billy hadn’t eaten you out, you know that seeing him and hearing him like this would have gotten you just as wet. He doesn't let you continue for too long before he's pulling your mouth off of his cock and guiding you to lay down on the bed.

“I thought you wanted me to ride your cock so you could see my tits bounce.”

“Oh trust me Y/N, I’ll get my chance to see that next time. Just lay back and relax.” He replied. Grabbing the base of his cock, Billy dragged his tip through your folds. Teasing you, he tapped your clit causing both of you to whimper in anticipation. He looked at you for a second to see if there was any hesitation showing in your face. And when he didn’t see any, he started to press the tip in. Billy takes his time pushing himself all the way in, giving you enough time in between shallow thrusts to adjust to his size. You never ever thought in a million years that you would actually be under your best friend, waiting for him to fuck the daylights out of you. But when you thought about it, which was more times than youd like to admit, you didn’t account for how potentially thick he could be. So when he fully bottoms out, you cannot help but think how incredibly full and stretched out you feel.

“Y/N… uh- baby…” Billy moans, continuing his slow and shallow thrusts. “Your pussy feels so good, I dont know how long I’m going to last.” With a strained look on his face, you watch through fluttering lashes as he changes the pace to slow and long thrusts. With Billy fucking you at this pace, you can feel him hit your sweet spot every time he goes to the hilt.

“Me neither. Fuck me, Billy. Make me cum on your thick, strong cock.” You moan out. The way you spoke to Billy was not something he’d ever expect from you, but it was also not something he’d ever get tired of. Your words did something to him and it was soon thereafter that he began pounding you into your bed. Loud, wet smacks of skin, with a mixture of both of your moans, filled the room. Snaking your hand down to rub your clit, you focused on aiding yourself in reaching your own climax. Billy noticed what you were doing and reached out to roll one of your nipples between his fingers before leaning down to latch onto the other one with his mouth. The same mouth that latched onto your clit in a similar way. Just thinking about what his lips and tongue were doing to you earlier, and what they were doing to you now, pushed you right to your climax.

Screaming his name, you cum hard. Billy’s hips stutter in rhythm when he feels how your walls squeeze him almost impossibly tight. “Where? Hurry baby, tell me where…” he pants. You could tell him to pull out and cum anywhere he aimed like you told previous partners, but you didn’t want to. Billy was different… Billy meant something to you. So you said, “In me. Fill me up, Billy.”

Billy leaned down and began pounding you at a speed you weren’t aware he was capable of. Billy was pure animalistic with his thrusts, growling out, “Fuck, taking my cock like a good girl.” His words and the way he was pounding you started to push you towards another climax. Nipping at your earlobe, he asked, “Are you going to milk my balls with your tight pussy?” You nod your head frantically and let out high pitched moans with every breath. Billy grabbed a fistful of hair for purchase , causing a delightful amount of pain for you. Feeling like Billy was there to keep you in that position, making you take his cock, you began unraveling. Your walls clenched down on his cock, fluttering with every thrust he made.

With only a few more thrust left in him, Billy pushed himself all the way into you and held himself there. When you thought Billy was done cumming, and working on slipping himself out, he roughly pounded himself into your overstimulated pussy a few more times accompanied by deep grunts that punctuated each one. When he had finally rolled off of you and was laying by your side, you both looked at each other and let out a few chuckles. Billy grabbed you and rolled you onto your side so that both of you could look at each other. Neither one of you did say anything for a beat; just stared and drank each other in.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him.

“Don't worry about it sweetheart…” He trailed off. He brought his hand up to the side of your face and ghosted his thumb in soft circles.

Did Billy hate Hawkins? Absolutely. But he knew that as long as you were by his side, his life here would be more bearable until he left. And now that being just friends was no longer an option, he knew that he would do anything to get you to leave this shit hole, hick infested town with him. But until then, he was perfectly content with laying with you on your bed

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elden-hicks · 14 days

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the second gen capp and monty headcanon dump

as much as i like the local teens, i think the adults deserve the love too. some of them were created through a collaboration with my dear friend push. i'll add the read more link after goneril's headcanons, so if someone doesn't want to read the full post could scroll through more easily.

the capp sibs

goneril capp:

the middle child with an inferior complex: was convinced that she can't be beautiful as cordelia and smart as regan, and is clearly unfavored by both of her parents. despite her cold and strict façade, goneril's a very emotional person.

a massive people pleaser, especially when it comes to her parents. only had that much kids in hopes that contessa would've chosen her kid as an heir. dropped that idea only after she passed, seemingly regretting even doing so. nowadays, after contessa's death, she's truly trying to be a better mother, even though she thinks it's a little too late in miranda's case.

used to date claudio in the past and was almost ready to abandon her home just to be with him, until she learnt that he only dated her as "a dare". he had also publicly broke up with her, making her look like a desperate. she'd never forgave him for that stunt, of course. years after she's still thinking whether she was in love with him or the idea of him. the idea of being free, to be particular.

one of the best dressed people in the town, always knows how to present herself.

is keen on cooking, though, she's not as skillful as kent, she really enjoys the process of preparing the food

regan capp:

the youngest daughter, so she had not as much pressure from her parents compared as her older sisters. it suits them fine, since they enjoy doing the things on their own. tends to be very independent and stubborn in her descision making as a result.

consort's favorite kid, undoubtedly, since she was named after his prime caretaker (his grandma) and resembles contessa A LOT, both by appearance and character (the list also includes her eyesight problems and difficulties with showing emotions). however, due to her resemblance to their mother, they're often targeted by isabella monty, whenever they cross paths.

is a staunch childfree, she had enough of watching her parents and sisters raising kids to be permanently dissuaded from having them in her life.

is heavily into sports, does a lot of activities like jogging, swimming, playing tennis and football and skiing. they are also a master fencer in the family, tybalt swears one day he will prevail and take over the title from his aunt.

astronomy is her non-sport passion. they enjoy spending their time at the veronaville observatory and fighting with antonio monty over that territory

a bisexual, who also kind of questioned her gender before, has some tendencies towards non-binarity but she's still isn't so sure about it. a she/they pronoun user.

kent capp:

is an accident kid, also the youngest one and the only son - truly a misfortunate fate to have, once you had born in the capp family. contessa had a trouble with birthing him, so consort still (subconsciously) blames kent for contessa's declined health after that. he's the only kid who vastly prefers contessa to consort as a parental figure.

as a result, he hides his unique eyes with the blue lenses in order to have less similarities with that man. would rather die than call consort a father.

has a super fancy STEM degree, never worked a day in his actual work field, instead had changed like 10 to 15 low-paying jobs. from a cashier to a delivery guy to a stripper - you name it!

despite being against the feud, he still takes offence on his sisters' and niblings' behalf. once claudio referred goneril's dress as a "hoe sack", and the next day his car's tires were suspiciously slashed.

has passion for cooking and is darn great at it. once pranked the montys by hiring himself into their restaurant as a cook, they only figured it out after almost a month of his work.

probably one day would open his own gay bar with some cool appetizers and cocktails of his own creating

has a long-lost twin brother in strangetown named vidcund

cordelia capp:

the eldest. the heiress. contessa's favourite. a true capp woman. was very beautiful and charismatic

wasn't as goody-two-shoes person as she initially appeared, though she wasn't necessarily evil or nasty but she had her downsides.

cordelia was very, VERY headstrong and was not afraid to show her teeth when she couldn't have her thing "in a nice way".

yes, she was against the feud, that is correct, but she'd also been driven by the potential financial profit. after all, feuding can be pretty expensive both on money and lives. wasn't above of idea of eloping juliette with one of the claudio's sons, if it could seal the peace deal.

had this surprising ruthlessness when it came to managing stuff in business, yet she lacked regan's foresight in some ways.

still, despite not being the greatest mother on earth, treated her children equally, compared to her parents, each of whom had their own favorite.

the monty sibs

antonio monty:

a middle child, he's meek and overempathetic compared to much bolder bianca and claudio. he's also very easy person to manipulate or guiltrip

had always been on chubby side, since his early childhood, the only time when he was fit was his late teens-early adulthood years

the most skilfull monty in the cooking field (besides isabella) but he had always wanted to be an astronaut instead. still to this day has a passion for astronomy and, of course, out of all people in veronaville, the other person who's into that as much as him is that goddamn capp woman

he likes cooking in general, but he doesn't like do it for life, yet he feels obliged to do so, since his siblings and niblings are quite unhelpful. he personally peaked as a chef with that prize-winning wedding cake of his

used to be a punk in his teen/college student years, looking back, he's not really proud of who he was back then due to some questionable stuff he had done, but those were his golden years for sure

before hero came into the picture, the rest of the family speculated whether antonio was gay or not

he's either insomniac or sleeps like a rock, there's no in between

bianca monty:

the youngest child, also a daughter. unlike kent, she wasn't as screwed being the youngest monty and a girl

is an accountant at the restaurant, won't even come closer to a working stove for more than five meters. she also works as a freelance comic artist and the interior designer (has a degree in it, actually)

is vegan, which sometimes can be exhausting, cause the rest of the family are avid meat-eaters, but antonio usually accommodates to his lil' sis by making her favorite vegan dishes for the family gatherings

is an aroace, doesn't really want a romantic relationship, but still wants a child. seriously considered an option of kent being her sperm donor

she's terrible at handling the alcohol. does a lot of weird shit whenever she's wasted.

claudio monty:

was the eldest son. a proud, self-assured man. patrizio was hoping that he'd take over the restaurant after he retires. unfortunately for him, he outlived his own son.

was an asshole, to be precise. yes, he was very competitive, very determined, was an "efficient business manager", but an asshole nevertheless.

dreamed of becoming a famous musician and even had his own band in his teens. wrote a lot of songs about his exes, lol. most of them are kind of mid, though there was the one which made it to the local veronaville radio station and became a hit. this one he wrote about goneril in particular. even till his later years, he wasn't sure whether he actually loved her or not.

was rumored to be involved with antonio's late wife, hero. no one truly knows whether the rumors were true. he was also named as a main reason for her passing, shortly after his own death, though antonio prefers to believe it was the capps' deed.

romeo was his favorite one, since mercutio was the one who made him tie a knot with his mother

#ts2 #the sims 2 #veronaville #cordelia capp #goneril capp #regan capp #kent capp #claudio monty #antonio monty #bianca monty #seth's ramblings

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eternal-smiles · 2 months

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Fanart is finally done!! @twistedtowers here is your evil boi! :D

I did some of the colors during a car ride back home, and I forgot how painful that was ;-; I hope you like it!

And omg Regan you truly are evil to sketch out x~x; but he was fun. ;u;👍🏻

“Mr. Foster, with all do respect and as my fellow Colleague, always be wise to NOT raise my temper… you aware of WHAT I am as well… So please do not call me Pup again, sir.”

A soft growl escaped out from the she-wolf, Otsana was true to her words. Even she felt her beastly self growling from within…

#the smiler #the smiler oc #the smiler alton towers #alton towers #ministry of joy #the ministry of joy #alton towers oc #other’s ocs #fanart goes YEET!

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denimbex1986 · 5 months

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'Saving Kylie Minogue from a bridge was not in Colum Sanson-Regan's plans when he turned up as a Doctor Who extra.

But David Tennant was not around, so someone had to do it, and producers thought Colum looked like the doctor.

"I've saved Kylie, flown the Tardis, held the screwdriver and had Billie Piper look deep into my eyes and tell me how much she loved me," joked Colum.

"I asked the producer 'Why am I putting on the doctor's suit? They replied 'Well, David Tennant isn't in'.

Now a father of two, Colum was earning some extra cash before his first child was born.

"I didn't know what was going on," recalled Colum of when he arrived on the set but was ushered past the "cold bus" where the extras usually hang around and was shown to a posh trailer.

The 10th Doctor had to leave the set for the 2007 Christmas special Voyage of the Damned, and producers needed a Tennant-alike for some extra shots showing his back.

So they improvised and Colum, then 31, stepped in to the suit synonymous with the Doctor since the world's longest running sci-fi TV show rebooted on the BBC in 2005.

Colum, now 46, had been asked by producers to be on set early but he had no inkling that his time (lord) had come.

"All of a sudden I was standing with the suit there, and I was handed a script and told 'You're gonna need this'," recalled Colum. "I was thinking pinch me, what's going on?

"Then I went for a haircut and a little Australian lady passed me dressed in a French maid outfit and said hello. I did a double take and realised I was there with Kylie Minogue."

The Australian singer and actor was a Doctor Who superfan and had asked for a part, which was humanoid waitress Astrid Peth, a one-off companion of the doctor.

"I was a bit star struck, for sure," he admitted.

His first work in Voyage of the Damned - where a starship replica of the Titanic is on collision course with Earth - was an action-packed scene where killer robot angels launched a deadly attack.

"There was a bridge, and the killer robot angels were trying to shoot, so I had to stop Kylie from falling over," recalled Colum.

"I had to hang on to her and pull her back from a precipice. That was the first thing I had to do in the morning."

The author and musician had a gig with his band that weekend in Leicester. As Kylie almost sang, he couldn't get it out of his head that he had worked with her - and we should all be so lucky.

"We got in the car and I said to my bandmates, guess who I've been working with this week?" said Colum, who lives near Cardiff.

"We'd been driving for almost two hours and had nearly hit Birmingham and they still hadn't guessed. I had to tell them! They're like 'absolutely no way'. It was so bizarre."

To Colum's pleasant surprise, producers were so happy with his work and lookalike skills, they asked him to play the Doctor again in the 2008 episode Journey's End - this time as his clone in the final episode of the fourth series.

That meant he had to be in the same scenes with Tennant, Billie Piper, John Barrowman and Catherine Tate, making her final appearance as a regular.

"I got to fly the Tardis in Journey's End," recalled Colum, who is originally from the Republic of Ireland.

"Everybody was gathered around the central console of the Tardis. We all had to have our hands on the machine and flying controls. Everybody was on that episode. There was a real buzz.

"I got to hold the screwdriver - they were very protective and kept taking it off me."

Colum was then involved in an emotional scene where Rose Tyler, played by Piper, had to say her final goodbyes to the doctor.

"It was an amazing and surreal experience.

"The nicest thing I have to take away was getting to work near David Tennant. I loved it. He was a thoroughly lovely, lovely guy and so professional. I think that was my favourite thing about the whole crazy time."

This weekend sees Tennant and Tate back together for Doctor Who, reprising their roles as the Doctor and Donna Noble in The Star Beast on BBC One on Saturday evening - but Colum will be back on his sofa with his family at home.

Husband to Kerry, singer and guitarist of band Goose, a creative writing lecturer and author of books like The Fly Guy, The Tall Owl and Other Stories, Colum has limited time for more extra work - especially after having his own trailer as the doctor's double.

"I'm looking forward to the show on Saturday with the return of some fantastic actors," added Colum.

"As a fan, working on the show was incredible and it's only strengthened my love for Doctor Who."'

#Doctor Who #Voyage of the Damned #60th Anniversary #Kylie Minogue #David Tennant #Billie Piper #Rose Tyler #Journey's End #Colum Sanson-Regan #Astrid Peth #John Barrowman #Jack Harkness #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #The Fly Guy #The Tall Owl and Other Stories

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unknowntoyou2205 · 1 year

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In which inevitable becomes reality 2/3

Info: Y/n Regan is held hostage in the school where she works, and her family wait outside to have her safe.

Warnings: Mention of school shooting

Series masterlist

Frank's leg shook with fear of unknown as his car pulled up to the scene, the police force moving to allow the commissioners car to enter. Tape outlined the perimeter and crowds of onlookers and parents watched despite the forces attempts to get them to evacuate the area. As the car came to a stop Frank jumped out before his protection officers got to open the door for him, heading towards the scene.

Danny stood by his car, talking to the head of the case about what was happening when he heard another car pull up, and looked towards it to see his father. He watched as his dad got out of the car and moved towards him, his security quick to follow. Fear was present in both Reagan men as they nodded at each other.

“Commissioner, why are you here?” The head police asked in confusion. “Well, when family is involved I will be there.” Frank stated, causing the heads confusion to increase. “There’s a Reagan in there?” “Yes, there is. So, can you tell me what is going on and how long you plan to wait before entering that building to find the shooter.” Frank ordered. “They can’t find him dad, they have spotters watching out for someone who holds anything like a gun.” Danny stated, indicating to the guards with excess protection moving to evaluate the school. “And how long will that take?” “We’re trying as fast as we can sir.” The head spoke up, trying to keep the Reagans calm. “Well maybe you should be helping them instead of standing around here.” Frank spoke out of character, letting his worry show. “With all due respect sir, you and I both know that we have as many forces as we can circling the perimeter and preparing to enter when we get the go ahead.” The head spoke, warning the commissioner that he was showing feelings, a no no in the work force they were in. “Your right, sorry, continue on.” Frank dismissed the police who nodded and left the father son duo alone.

“Dad, Danny.”

The named men turned their attention to the voice that called out to them to see the Reagans youngest son hopping out of a barely stopped police car. Jamie jumped out of the car and rushed towards his family, not bothering to wait for his partner.

“Jamie.” Frank acknowledged his youngest son before turning towards the school building. “How long you reckon it will take.” Danny asked his father, putting his hands on his hips. “Could take hours, less than an hour. These situations are hard to tell, too many hostages that could get harmed with one slip up, we need to be sensitive of the situation and make sure that we get as many people out as possible, unharmed.” Frank answered, not moving his eyes from the building that held his daughter. “Has anyone heard from y/n?” Jamie asked, watching his dad and brother shake their heads. “I messaged her, she’s doing the right thing not answering, we don’t know anything, for all we know the shooter could have someone tracking any outside communication.” “She’ll be okay right?” Jamie asked, knowing that no one could answer honestly with the situation at hand. “She’s a Reagan.” Danny stated, eyeing his dad before heading towards Jackie, hoping to keep his mind from his sister.

“She’ll be okay Danny.” Jackie stated as her partner rubbed his face in frustration. “Yeah, tell me that when I see her.” Danny stated, opening the door to the car before getting into it, allowing his emotions to get the better of him for a minute.

“How you holding up dad, honestly.” Jamie asked after watching Danny walk away. “I just want my daughter back in safe grounds Jamie, she shouldn’t have to deal with this in her work force, no teacher should.” Frank stated, shaking his head to get rid of emotions present. “We’ll get her out dad, and be there for her like she has been for us.” Jamie stated. “She’ll need us if she gets out.” “When she get’s out.” Jamie corrected her dad, patting his shoulder before leaving to help his partner with the crowds of concerned parents.

-------------------------------------

2hrs later and y/n still sat at the same position near the door, listening outside for any sound of movement as students sat in fear. They heard the occasional bands and each one caused everyone to flinch, afraid of what was to come. Despite her best efforts to keep her students calm, both her and them feared for the unknown. Still, she knew her dad and brothers were outside or close by rom the message her father has sent her. She was afraid to answer him incase they could be tracked via phones.

Once a month the new normal was to practice drills on what to do and how to handle situations like this, but never had she thought she would become involved in an active shooting and hostage situation. Y/n was scared and felt like she let down her students. Reality was that if it came to it, she would rather take a bullet for her students than watch the bullet engrave them, but even then she wouldn't be able to save them if the shooter found where they were. She would be the one to live with her students death, the kids would have to live with having watched their fellow student die from the hand of a bullet. Students would be terrified to come to school after this, hell, she wouldn't be able to walk into the school building without thinking of the lives that were inevitable lost, lives that should still be with them.

Y/n's thoughts were interrupted when she heard a piercing bank outside the door. Students gasped and screamed at how close the sound was, causing y/n to scramble to her knees and move closer to the group of kids, shushing them. Footsteps were heard outside and she placed her finger to her lips, pleading with the students to stay quiet. Closing her eyes, y/n prayed as a tear fell from her eyes, allowing emotions to come through. Hearing the door handle being fiddled with, y/n moved back towards the door and held her breath, not knowing who was on the other side.

“Police, open up.” A gruff voice was heard and y/n’s eyes widened, not knowing what to do.

The voice coming from behind the door was not the police, that was not how police alerted them of being there, teachers were told they would be told the officers name, badge number and institute of residence. The students in y/n's care watched her as she shook her head not to say anything as she bent down, avoiding the small window that was covered in case there was a gap. She breathed out shakily, coaching the students to follow her lead in hopes of calming them down. The room remained silent as they listened, wondering if the man was still outside and y/n prayed they would make it out okay.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny and Jamie stood at the perimeter of the school where crowds were present, keeping concerned parents and on lookers calm and away from the active shooting area. Five shots were heard and everyone screamed, hoping and praying it wasn't their loved ones. Frank had been forced to move towards his car for safety, but he refused to get into it and now stood beside it. Everyone flinched hearing another bang from inside, some parents screamed and police indicated for them to quiet down to avoid major disturbance. Frank looked to the car as the radio came to life and Jamie and Danny eyes each other as they brought their radios closer to their ears.

“We got sight of the shooter, young man, early 20’s, heading into gym area. Enter with caution.” The voice came through. “Okay you heard him, I want people in groups of 6 moving through the main building, evacuating the building. Remain vigilant for sound and any possible movement. You know the drill, check bathrooms, offices, all rooms present. Announce name, badge number and institute of resident to alert teachers you are police, understood?” The chief asked into his radio as Frank walked towards him.

A chorus of 'understood' came through and the armed forces began to enter the building, splitting into smaller groups upon entrance. Danny and Jamie moved closer to their father, fear present on the three men's faces. They knew they couldn't go in but all they wanted to do was get y/n and bring her to safety. Frank nodded at his two boys, watching the crowds of armed forces enter.

“A step closer to getting her out.” Frank stated, not taking his eyes away from the school building. “A step closer to knowing she’s okay.” Danny agreed, hoping this would be over soon.

#blue bloods #reagan daughter #reagan sister #danny reagan #erin reagan #jamie reagan #frank reagan #linda reagan #henry reagan

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candyredmusings · 1 year

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Drag Race Quotes That I Think About Constantly

Random assortment of things said in RPDR

“Whores get paid ... I was a slut.”

“Your tone seems very pointed right now.”

“Oh y’all wanted a twist, eh? Let’s get SICKENING!”

“I WAS HIT BY A FUCKING CAR!”

“Tiny tops ... They crack me up! It’s like watching a four year old try to push a couch on their own.”

“IT DOESN’T GET BETTER. IT GETS WORSE.”

“You don’t have any talent.”

“You should not be here.”

“Let me ask you a very fair question. What do you do successfully?”

“Girl you’re a JOKE.”

“And I’m about to punch somebody in the face.”

“There’s ALWAYS time for a cocktail!”

“IT WAS RIGOR MORRIS GIRL!”

“LOOK OVER THERE!”

“I don’t have a sugar daddy. I never had a sugar daddy. If I wanted a sugar daddy, yes, I could go out and get one because I am WHAT? SICKENING! You could NEVER have a sugar daddy because you are not that kind of girl -- Baby everything I’ve had I’ve worked for and gotten myself I built myself from the ground up BITCH--”

“I don’t have a sugar daddy.”

“Baby everything I’ve had I’ve worked for and gotten myself I built myself from the ground up BITCH!”

“About five minutes ago, I looked over at [NAME] and realized they were ugly. And I’m at peace with that.”

“I didn’t mind I was just happy for the air time.”

“AAH! HAAA! I’m acting.”

“What the fuck is going on here on this day?”

“Jesus christ, white people scare me.”

“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING BITCH?”

“That’s a question.”

“I’m serving you an adequate dress made of materials that is on my body.”

“We all make choices ... But that was a choice.”

“Her catchphrase is ‘you’re not my real dad and you never will be.’”

“If you hate it fake it make it into something less vile.”

“The planet’s dying - thoughts and prayers.”

“I’ve had it with you go the fuck home! I’ve had it, OFFICIALLY!”

“You wanted crazy? Well you got it now.”

“It was in all the magazines at the time.”

“JESUS CHRIST, the stress is just really getting to me.”

[NAME] YOU CAN FUCK ME IN THE ASS!”

“These are my summer diamonds ... Some are diamonds, some are not.”

“Not today, Satan. Not today.”

“I FEEL VERY ATTACKED!”

“Okay, public school, calm down.”

“[NAME]’s penis was so big, when I was doing a line of coke off of it I had to stop midway to catch my breath.”

“I feel sexy in anything, even a bodybag.”

“I tend to think that emotions are for ugly people.”

“You are so full of shit, the toilet’s jealous.”

“Act a fool girl. Act a fool.”

“She looks like Nancy Regan doing a magic show”

“Let me explain to you what a bitch is: Being In Total Control of Herself“

"You'll never be glamour."

“I'm pretty impressed... but not that impressed“

“Your outside is GORGEOUS, but your insides are dark and nasty. And I don’t like you.”

“Your outside is GORGEOUS, but your insides are dark and nasty.”

“You don’t love me.”

“HA! GET HER [NAME]!”

“SIT YOUR ASS DOWN AND SHUT THE HELL UP BITCH!”

“Did you or did you not come for me today?”

“I’ve had it. You know what I’ve had? It.”

“The level of unprofessionalism ... FAR too much.”

“Y’all told her on the internet it was funny. I blame y’all.”

“No you’re done and I’m gonna tell you why you’re done.”

“I don’t know what I think about that girl ...”

“What you wanna do isn’t exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“I’m a fucking legend! Bring me a Dr. Pepper and another lover, shit!”

“I love the way you think, but that didn’t make any god damn sense.”

“Quite the scandal actually. With my cousin-in-law, really. It was in all the magazines at the time.”

“She bonked so many boys down at the boogie down bronx they named a free clinic after her.”

“You know, I’m still a petty bitch, so from that day forward I said I would never utter the name, [NAME], again.”

“I may be old, baby, but I’m WISE.”

“She’s everything I wanna be when I’m 57.”

“I would CLIMB HIM LIKE A TREE -- I would need a ladder.”

#txt #rp meme #rp memes #inbox memes #inbox prompts #sentence starters #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #rp prompts #ask prompts #might add more but #here we go #candyredtext

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vanoincidence · 22 hours

Text

Z for Zinnia! || Van & Thea

TIMING: april 18. LOCATION: the common. PARTIES: @notstinky & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van runs into thea after buying zinnias (and leaving her message on read), which most definitely are not for her! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

It was easier to pretend that her whole life hadn’t exploded upon impact rather than to let the feelings and thoughts about it fester. She wasn’t sure if going out was a great idea considering the cabin had acted as a safe haven, but she was beginning to grow stir crazy, and she wasn’t sure how many more card games she could play with Snickers (and lose) before she’d totally go off the rails. So against her better judgment, Van left the cabin and made her way into town. A couple of days after the situation, she had gone to pick up her car from Regan’s apartment, but not before inspecting it carefully for any tracking devices. It didn’t seem like the banshees were technologically advanced enough for something like that, luckily enough.

Work was still off the table, and surprisingly enough, Rocky was kind about it in regards to both herself and Jade. Van still felt guilty, and her money was burning a hole through her pocket, but what she went on to do today was worth it, wasn’t it?

She stared down at the carriage of flowers, a myriad of colors to create a rainbow. The greens and yellows stared up at her with the promise that these were the right ones. After purchasing a small bouquet, Van weighed it out in her hand suddenly feeling silly. Thea had left because she needed to, and Van was going to apologize (for nothing– okay, maybe the ghosting) with flowers? To a friend? The idea that Thea was just a friend was fleeting, and the heat that rose to her cheeks as she noticed that Thea was there across from her in the common now with somebody… else?

Oh god, this wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening, actually! Because this only happened in stupid movies where the girl always got the guy, but Van didn’t care about getting the guy, and there was no guy in this equation, there was just the star seeker Thea with her smile and round head, and–

“Thea! Um, hi– I– my house blew up. I’m sorry I’ve been like, MIA.” That was smooth, totally smooth.

She didn’t smell like marinara; it was more like wood, sweat, and something tangential to Dr. Kavanagh though less dead-body overall. Thea could pick Van out of an ocean of people—her scent had a way of pricking her. She’d lived with her long enough—just a few months, but it was enough—to know Van like her own asterism (she’d liken her to The Summer Triangle but maybe that was just her fondness for those stars). Van was more like a galaxy, anyway; too far away and too great and there was no way Thea would ever get the chance to look at all of it. Van had left her on read, which in this climate, meant that she totally hated her. So, she smelled her first, down the length of the common. Her body reacted by sweating and her legs felt numb and her throat dry and her friend (it was one of those one-sided friendships) did not want to turn around. They kept walking and the scent drew closer and closer until the Van-shape (not like the car) on the horizon was right in front of her. With flowers!

“Are those zinnias?” Thea asked first, completely glossing over the thing with the house. Gardening was more her dad’s hobby, but she still recognized a few things. “Oh, sorry, this is…” Thea gestured to her side, to her friend. The woman with waves of fire-red hair and grass-green eyes was older than them both by several years. Pollenina, Polly to her friends and Thea, was exactly Van’s height and when she looked at her, she was unimpressed. Then her gaze fell to the bouquet and she scoffed. “Sorry,” Thea apologized for her, “Polly thinks cutting flowers is murdering them. Which it is! Technically.” Polly scoffed again and moved on, but Thea stood there, nervously picking at the threads on her sleeve.

She should move on; that was the sort of thing a person did when their friend kept walking and the friend who didn’t like them much was there and she had flowers but they couldn’t have been for Thea, because Van didn’t like her enough to read her messages so she couldn’t have liked her enough to get flowers. The sweet floral notes of the green and yellow zinnias lifted into the air; Thea’s nose twitched. Did Van have some other friend? Some other friend that she called cute? Some other friend that she would be buying flowers for? Some other friend that watched her gamble on her phone for anime girls? Some other friend that she was playing Halo with even though she said she would play it with Thea but no, of course that was a lie. “Sorry, your house? That’s…” Terrible, obviously. Something similar happened to hers and that was terrible too, but Thea couldn’t stop herself from smiling. God, the blown up house was probably code for ‘and I was hanging out with my cool other friends who aren’t sad and don’t make weird metaphors’. Or maybe: ‘I was playing Halo with my new best friend who isn’t you and never would be you’.

Thea sniffled, she didn’t feel good; it must have been allergies. “…great,” she said, “it’s great about your house. I mean, terrible. I mean, what are the flowers for?”

It didn’t seem like Thea’s company was keen on sticking around, because after her gaze bore into the bouquet that she held, she was walking off, leaving behind the real reason that Van had left the cabin to begin with. “I guess.. I mean, it is, yeah.” She suddenly felt bad for buying the bouquet to begin with. Maybe she should’ve gotten Thea an actual plant. Then again, she wasn’t trying to impress Polly, and Polly didn’t matter. At all. Thea mattered here, and she thought that Thea liked flowers. Did she? Van hoped she did.

Specifically, Van hoped that Thea liked the flowers she got her. Did Polly get her other things? Things that weren’t dead, or reminded her of the way that people just took and took? Van didn’t want to take things from the world for Thea, but she’d capture the stars for her in an instant if asked. It wasn’t possible, she knew, and so she would need to get the glow in the dark stars, maybe the pink ones, or green.

“Um.. yeah, it was…” Now was probably not the time to tell Thea that there were banshees after them, or maybe it was. Maybe secrets weren’t good anymore, and maybe she was cruel for wanting to keep this one from Thea considering the banshee in Regan’s apartment had mentioned Thea, too. But Thea was safe now that she was no longer staying with Van, right? There was a disconnect there, and Van hoped that it would keep Thea safe. “Out of nowhere, I guess.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. Van hadn’t anticipated that her house would be blown up, either thanks to the monster she dragged from the depths of the earth, or the banshees’ screams.

Van’s brows furrowed as Thea seemingly stumbled over her words. “Great…?” Maybe it was great. Maybe Thea knew that deep down, Van had wanted to get rid of that house for as long as her grandmother had left back to New York. Maybe Thea could tell that every time Van spoke about her house, there was a thick layer of contempt in her voice. Maybe Thea could see things that Van couldn’t. Then again, maybe Thea had just said the wrong thing.

“The… flowers?” She looked down at the green and yellow bouquet, realizing it suddenly felt heavier than before. Like it might exhaust every muscle in her hand to keep it upright. Would Thea even want them now that she was out with somebody else? Van shrugged, “I… just thought they were nice, you know? Um, got myself flowers because my house got blown up and stuff. A consolation… or whatever.” That would make sense, right? She could skate by on that lie, because obviously Thea didn’t want her stupid flowers. She was here with the pretty redhead and Van was here alone buying flowers for… well, the girl with stars in her eyes. “Do you um… want to smell them?”

Relief sparked through Thea; the flowers were just for Van. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Clearly, a lot of things were wrong with her, but in this particular instance, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Van was a friend, Van should be allowed to have other friends. Shouldn’t she have been happy that Van had other friends? Instead, she was happy in some strange, giggly way, like she’d just had one glass of wine, but emotion felt distinctly artificial. It had to be; Thea was rarely happy at all. But she had been—the place her mind went now when it chased the emotion were the innocuous moments with Van: the anime girls, the half-asleep conversations, the ease she felt in following Van’s wild trains of thought just as Van followed hers. “Right. The house. I heard a house got…” Thea choked on her words; the flowers were oddly pungent. She cleared her throat. “I heard about something like that. I was worried but I didn’t think…I thought if it was something like that…” Van would have told her. Was it her fault for not checking in first? Thea made it all the way to Sly Slice before the marinara overwhelmed her and the only thing she could really do was try to accept the fact that Van wasn’t all that interested in her.

“Smell them?” Thea pushed up on her toes, trying to look over Van. Polly was gone, so far down The Common that Thea knew she’d never catch up. She frowned; Polly was her ride. Was she just going to walk back to Winter’s? Thea sighed. “Sorry, the flowers?” She finally turned her attention back on to them. “They are really pretty.” But she didn’t need to lean in to smell them. Her gaze darted between Van and the flowers and a fist curled in her stomach, punching up her throat; she swallowed uselessly over the lump. She pulled her hat from her head and held it tightly. Her hair was growing in nicely though she thought she looked like a fuzzy peach. Habitually, she tucked away a strand of hair that didn’t exist and leaned in. The flowers were awfully close to Van’s face, she thought—soft, pink features, full moon eyes and ocean wave lips. She was awfully close to Van’s face. Thea closed her eyes and took in a nose-full of green and yellow zinnias.

Up close, Thea realized the zinnias themselves smelt like nothing much, instead, the smell was overwhelmingly of cut grass; the floral notes she’d picked up seemed to come from around the flowers: the paper they were wrapped in and clinging to Van’s clothes. How long had Van spent looking at flowers? If they were just for her, would she have cared so much? Those flowers had smelled so strong just a moment ago when her attention was on Van. Did it matter? She was so happy Van was here! And that Van was okay! Even if she was a liar who totally had a new, cute friend that she was going to see. Thea pulled her head out of the flowers, opening her eyes slowly. “These aren’t actually for you, are they?” she asked, her voice hard as the lump crushed into her throat. Then, as though she hadn’t been so serious seconds ago, she broke into a wide smile. “You were staying with someone else while your house was blown up, right? Are these for them? That’s so…” Thea swallowed, perking up. “…great! Who were you with when your house blew up? It’s so wonderful that you’re getting them flowers! The sun’s so nice today. It would be such a beautiful day to walk with someone cute! Like, oh, I don’t know…a new friend.” Was Van going to meet them? Van was totally going to meet them. Who was it? Did Thea know them? Why didn’t Van tell her that she’d been replaced?

Was Thea disappointed that she hadn’t told her what happened? Van had a lot going on, between the almost getting murdered and the fact that her childhood home had blown up while she and Jade rode the motorcycle away like some kind of low budget spy flick. However, was that any excuse to leave her (totally cute) friend on read? She wasn’t sure. Van had read Thea’s last message over and over again, committing the fact that Thea never wanted to be called anything but Thea to memory— though, the reasoning made Van’s stomach churn. She wanted Thea to be Cynthia again if she wanted, but knew it was harder to accept the fact that things had changed if she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Van wanted Thea to love Maine because Van loved Maine, and Van wanted Thea to love the things she loved, in her own way. It was selfish, for sure, and maybe love was too strong a word, but as she looked at Thea standing in front of her, all Van could feel was relief that she hadn’t been in the apartment that night; that Thea hadn’t been in any kind of danger, as it didn’t seem like the twins had tried to seek her out after the fact.

“I was going to tell you, but then… the news article released.” In Van’s defense, she hadn’t told anyone before the article released. Well, besides those in Ireland. She felt like they needed to know, because obviously this was all connected, especially if the twins had named Regan specifically. But Thea didn’t need to know all of that— she could be kept out of harm’s way if Van didn’t breathe a word of it, right? Still, it felt wrong to keep it from her. Thea deserved to know the truth just as Nora or Wynne did. Cass was an outlier here, too focused on keeping her at arm’s length; something that Van still hadn’t forgiven her for. Maybe that was selfish, too. Maybe Van was just incredibly selfish, but as she looked at Thea, she wanted to grow out of that. She wanted to share these things with her.

“Smell them,” Van echoed, pushing the flowers forward. They could’ve been prettier, Van thought. She could’ve gotten something better, but now that Thea had caught her in the act (while on somebody’s arm who, in Van’s opinion seemed totally jealous in the way she sauntered away), it felt like these were the right kinds of flowers to get. Van waited for Thea to move in, and when she did, she realized that it was like, really close. She could see the light dusting of freckles that ran themselves over Thea’s nose— could see the depth to her irises. Had her eyes always been so pretty? Van was pretty sure they always had looked like that, but this close it felt different. She nearly said something about them— nearly told Thea that she had beautiful eyes, but she was closing them and Van was left to stare at her (totally cute) friend as she smelled the flowers that were totally not for her. Van wanted them to be, though. She wanted to find the courage to tell Thea that these had been purchased because she felt bad, and because she wanted to give Thea something nice because it’d been fairly obvious she was stressed about things, right? That was what was going on?

Van waited a moment, mouth forming the words, but they were taken from her the moment Thea’s eyes snapped open and her accusations poured between them. “What?” Had Thea pinpointed that they’d been for her? Was Thea about to make fun of her for not being honest?

No, that wasn’t what was happening. Thea thought they were for somebody else. For… Jade? Right, Thea didn’t know that it’d been Jade who she’d been with. “Um— at Regan’s apartment, and then we went to my house.”

Thea was acting weird, and Van wasn’t sure why. She’d never seen her like this. She seemed insistent that Van was spending her time elsewhere, when in reality, all Van wanted to do was spend her time with the girl ahead of her. “What? No! I was with Jade, and she’s like, pretty much my sister at this point, but I’m not sure if that’s true because I’m an only child so I don’t even know what having a sister feels like, but I think that’s what it feels like, being friends with Jade.” The words came out in a slur as she pulled the flowers back. She wanted so badly to close some distance, to take Thea’s hand and put the bouquet into them, to insist that these were for her, because they were. Van wanted to be honest— wanted to be true to herself and her feelings she wasn’t sure she was allowed to have. Because what if what happened to Diana happened to Thea? What if Van wasn’t strong enough to endure another heartbreak and it all fell apart because she couldn’t control the magic?

“They were for you,” Van snapped, after a moment, overwhelmed by the feeling that she was being misinterpreted. “I got them for you. I felt bad for like, leaving you on read, but there were things happening, and I wanted to get you something nice, but you’re here with—“ She looked in the direction Polly had taken off in, but Van couldn’t even see her anymore. “They were for you.” She tightened her grip around the paper, the sound of it crinkling and snapping the delicate stems making her feel even more guilty about what was transpiring. “They are for you.” Heat rose to the back of her neck as she looked away from Thea. “My house blew up, and all I wanted to do was get you flowers. How stupid does that make me?”

It all came back to Jade. Thea knew there was something fishy about her. Jade (the gem) was beautiful and Jade (the person) was also kinda pretty but deep inside there clearly lurked an ugliness. The kind of ugliness that would usurp Thea’s spot as Van’s…friend. Her very normal friend. Jade, the friend usurper, was close enough with Van to be a sister. And where did that leave Thea? As not a sister—which did fill her with peculiar relief, she didn’t want to be Van’s sister. Sisters couldn’t…hold hands! Which was exactly what Thea had been thinking about and absolutely nothing else, nevermind her rather intense gaze localized exclusively on Van’s lips; she was a mouth reader! But despite the assurance that she could still…hold Van’s hand…she couldn’t excuse Jade completely. Thea never considered herself to be a possessive person, she liked when things were hers as much as the next anxiety-ridden human being, but she had never felt a longing desire to be the only thing that mattered to someone. Not like she did now. If only she could be sure that Van’s eyes were for her only, in a normal platonic way. She wanted Van to see her, beyond her skin and bones and inside to her spinning black hole heart—but, like, in the normal way that regular friends would look into each other’s souls. Somehow, this was all Jade’s fault; maybe it was because Jade had hair and she was bald.

Her thoughts were tangled like the overlapping braids of a cable. For as long as Thea had any awareness of herself, her mind had always been that way: one thing knotted into the next, tied to something else, bent at all the wrong angles, shot into space and gaining a mass big enough to have its own gravitational spin. If she’d been someone else, she might have asked herself what she was so jealous of. If she had ever learned how to untie one thread from the next, she would’ve realized that Van and her were talking around the same thing. Unfortunately, she was only Thea, the girl who had been a coward for much of her life and couldn’t change now. She’d told Van that she wanted to be done with pretending things were normal and okay and done with inventing new realities to soothe herself, but she wasn’t. Quietly, in the darkest place of her skull, she knew she’d never be done with that. It was always easier to run away. It was always easier to pull a new thread instead of detangling the one she had. This one said that all she was feeling were completely normal and rational platonic feelings for her cute friend Van and Thea held it tight and knew that anything else would terrify her. She was happy pretending like no other thoughts existed.

And so, it was like that that Jade really did seem like some gargantuan threat to their friendship, as if Van couldn’t have more than one friend. Despite Thea’s smile, her eye twitched. She’d have to eat Jade for this. She needed the friendship competition to be as thin as possible because she didn’t offer much. And then Van said they were for her; Thea almost missed it. With the blood rushing to her face and her heart pounding in her ears, she almost missed it. “What?” Thea’s shoulders slackened; the fog that had settled over her yarn-ball thoughts cleared out like a blown out candle. “What?” Asking again didn’t clear anything up. She blinked rapidly. Her breath turned heavy. She was happy in that way that made her sick to her stomach, in that way she felt when she watched Van get excited when her gambling on anime girls paid off (paid off in the sense that she finally got the anime girl she wanted, not that Van was actually getting any value back). Or when she smelled marinara coming from under the door and knew Van would be walking through any minute now. It was the kind of happiness she didn’t know what to do with; the running in circles, rolling in the grass kind.

“I..” Thea trailed off. “Not..” She swallowed. “Not stupid at all.” And she’d been the one being so weird that Van couldn’t even look at her. And she’d been the one so worried about Jade usurping her slot on Van’s friendship roster that she hadn’t bothered to comfort her friend at all after the loss of her house. Which she knew, more than anyone else, really fucking sucked. “Hey.” Thea slipped her hat back on her head and moved her hands over Van’s, trying to relax her tight grip. “Thank you. Really, thank you. You’re so…” Sweet? Nice? Kind? Cool? Amazing? Cute? Pretty? “So…much…a good friend.” She wasn’t even sure that made grammatical sense. Thea moved closer, closing her eyes and she leaned in and pressed her lips to Van’s temple, in what she was sure was a very platonic gesture, despite how she lingered. When she finally pulled back, she grinned brilliantly again. “I can’t believe you didn’t get purple flowers, for anime-girl-Grimace.”

It seemed like Thea’s mind was working against something, and suddenly Van wished she’d been born with mind reading abilities. Then again, she would then have to hear all of the terrible things people definitely thought of her, and how would that make living life? Not well, really. So after a moment about fantasizing about being able to figure out exactly what Thea was thinking, Van was glad that she couldn’t. What if Thea thought she was stupid for getting her the flowers? The mind panned to the redhead and her long, flowing hair. Van was almost positive that if Thea had hair, she’d want Polly’s and not hers. Van didn’t really want to give up her hair, but she’d definitely be offended if Thea took Polly’s hair over hers.

But something shifted, and it was like everything fell into place. The stupidity that she felt melted away (the ground was stable beneath her for once, so this was just a feeling and not an action— wow!)

Van watched from the corner of her eye as surprise dotted the edges of Thea’s features, watched as her earlier snarl had dissipated, replaced by something kinder. Something that stirred the butterflies in the pit of her own stomach. Her skin was vibrating as Thea seemingly heard what Van had said. It was all out in the open now, and there was no taking it back. If she pretended, if she acted like it was a joke, then what good would that do? It’d do nothing, and they’d be back where they were moments ago. She shouldn’t have been here, begging for Thea to take the flowers she had purchased. She should’ve been talking to the bank about her house, or calling her grandmother (who definitely wouldn’t pick up), or something that mattered in the moment, but all Van wanted to do was be with and near Thea. To give her something after so much had been taken from the both of them.

She had thought about how being in public after being hunted by the banshees could’ve been considered dangerous, but Jade wasn’t confined to the cabin, so she refused to be. Van stood across from Thea, gaze moving slowly over the other girl’s hand as it came to close over top of hers. The tension she’d been holding in both her shoulders and jaw relaxed as soon as the pads of Thea’s fingers smoothed over the back of her hand. Van loosened the grip on the bouquet, not enough to let them fall to the ground, but to keep from crushing them any further. The embarrassment she felt morphed into something else— or maybe it was still embarrassment, just a different flavor. This one felt like kicking sand on a playground during the send off from a swing set and not making the landing on your feet. It was better than the embarrassment of the black hole sucking her to the depths of the earth, that was for sure.

Thea moved closer before Van could process it. The feeling of the other girl’s lips at her temple sent static cascading over her skin. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end in anticipation for what might come next, but it was nothing— so much a good friend. It made perfect sense. Van could decipher it. That was Thea telling her she was a good friend, and that was what she was. Was Polly looking at them now? Would Polly yell at Thea after this? Tell her that she was giving Van too much hope? Hope for what, though? Van couldn’t rationalize what she wanted from Thea, just that she wanted the bald girl who talked about stars and constellations to take her stupid flowers and look at her like she was worth something. But that’s what was happening, right?

Disappointment colored Van’s features as soon as Thea moved away, only to be replaced by minor annoyance. “You know why I didn’t. It’s because of that.” She pointed at Thea with her free hand, swallowing down the embarrassment as it rose in her again (black hole style). Her heart hadn’t quite calmed down, and Van was almost positive that she could still feel Thea’s lips at her temple; could commit it to memory. Wanted to, even. She desperately clung to the feeling and the thoughts it brought with it, warding off the black hole embarrassment and vying for the kind that would make her squeal into her pillow later.

It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t said much else, and Van was left to clear her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears that burned bright red. “So do you um, do you— want them? Or…” She looked down at the flowers that had lost their weight— all of the weight from the situation had gone to her head, causing the right side of her face to grow numb. It was like her skin was trying to absorb what had happened. “If you don’t, I—“ Would Polly make her throw them out? “Who’s Polly? Is she…” Van looked past Thea to where Polly had disappeared to. “Is she waiting for you?” Couldn’t I be waiting for you instead, Van didn’t finish, holding the words like a capsizing boat at the back of her tongue.

Something strange happened then: Thea didn’t want to stop touching Van. Though she should have moved her hands away, she kept them on Van’s. And though she’d just touched her lips to Van’s head—she wasn’t going to use the k-word, it was too heavy—she wanted to do it again. She felt like she’d just crawled out of a blanket on a cold night, every muscle told her to go back in. She couldn’t lip-touch her forehead again—don’t say it, don’t say it—so she lined up an array of other gestures that were almost it, almost the thing she was thinking about. Thea nudged Van’s bicep with her elbow—don’t let go of her hands, you won’t be able to take them again. “Teasing is my love-language, Van. You should know that by now,” Thea said, coating her words with the lightness she felt in her chest. Then that word—the L one—sunk down into her throat and tightened like a hungry snake. Love-languages were bullshit anyway, and whatever, so what? She didn’t mean anything by it. But it also wasn’t entirely true; teasing had been Cynthia’s love language.

Cynthia was the one that teased her friends, because expressions of affection felt wrong on her tongue and she was always too awkward to make them work anyway. It was that bite no one expected from her; the thumbs thrust into an orange, juice spilling out. Peel back the skin and there’s the girl who liked a good joke when she wasn’t worried about being annoying, who could demonstrate how well she knew someone by their mundanities—pithy and fleshy. Thea didn’t have a love language; that would have implied she was deserving of the big L thing. Maybe Cynthia would’ve had something else to say, but Thea didn’t. And whatever, she really didn’t mean anything by it; it was another dumb thing in the galaxy of dumb things Thea said. Pay no attention to the dumb words behind the curtain, or something. Forget the tangled web of Cynthia that sat inside Thea’s writhing one. Though Van had already done it, Thea reached out and tucked phantom hair bachind Van’s burning red ears. Spring allergies were a real menace! They certainly made Van blush a lot. Her hands returned to their place on top of Van’s.

“Polly?” The mention of the red-head jerked Thea; she glanced over Van’s head. No, Polly was well and truly gone. She knew it was generous to say she was Polly’s friend, and in the interest of being honest, she couldn’t tell Van that she was. “Polly’s a…” But it was kinda embarrassing to say that Polly definitely hated her, and tolerated her for some unknown reasons. She regularly said things like ‘I’m going to turn you into plant food’ and ‘humans are temporary, plants will be forever’ and ‘to be clear when I say I’m going to turn you into plant food I mean I’m going to kill you’ in that quirky, Polly way of hers; Thea didn’t exactly get her sense of humor. “Just someone I know.” She shrugged. “We, uh, hang out sometimes. Y’know, do…things.” But she also couldn’t tell Van that Polly mostly just drove her around, because then Van would offer her car and sweat trickled down her back at the idea of being in a tight space with Van. “A-adult things.” What she meant was that she did Polly’s taxes and laundry and helped her pay bills, as though these were all things that were completely new to her, but in the interest of honest dishonesty, Thea didn’t consider what it sounded like.

“I do want the flowers,” Thea said. But if she took them, then she’d have no reason to keep holding Van’s hands—don’t let go. So despite saying she wanted them, she kept them in Van’s hands. “She’s not waiting for…” But if she said that, what would they do? Would Van stay with her? Could they take the day and turn it into something good? Or could she, for once in her stupid life, be actually responsible? She’d had a reason for thinking moving out of the apartment was a good idea and it wasn’t so she could be selfish now. She’d been given a very reasonable escape; yes, Polly was waiting for her—say it, say it. The tiny black hole inside of her, always spinning, was getting hungry. One year since the bite and she knew well enough what happened once it grew. All she had to do was say it and shouldn’t it have been so easy? A coward was her default classification. But she was happy, and it was hard to turn away from something so rare.

Releasing one hand from its place on Van’s, Thea brought it to Van’s face again. This time, she rested her palm against Van’s warm cheek. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed down a different conversation. “She is,” she said, “and she’s not very patient.” That part, at least, was true. “So, I should probably…” Thea dropped her hand from Van’s face and scooped the flowers into her arms. “It was nice seeing you and I’m so glad that you’re okay and…” Her throat bobbed again. She lifted the zinnias up. “Thank you for these, and thank you for…” How many times was she going to shove different words away? “I think I like it more like this,” she said, “flowers and wood and honey and amber—when you come back from a shift, the marinara is overpowering. I think I like it more when it’s mostly Van. When it’s all Van.” She held the flowers tighter to her chest. “I think I like Van. I think I like Van a lot.” She swallowed. “The smell, I mean.”

What did that really mean, though? What did a love language mean when it came from Thea? Van stared at her, not quite sure what to say back. She wanted to say something. Knew she should say something, but no words came out of her mouth. Maybe she should have teased Thea back, should’ve told her it was hers, too, and this was all a big joke. The cherry on top would’ve been the flowers that both her’s and Thea’s hands were closed around. Why wasn’t Thea letting go? Maybe she felt guilty about being upset by the idea that they’d been for somebody else, and maybe Thea just felt bad that her house blew up. Van wasn’t sure why Thea wasn’t letting go, but she really didn’t want her to. She wanted to feel Thea’s hand on hers, didn’t want her to let go, but knew that she should– knew that she would, because Thea had finally understood her as a person and decided to leave. That was what happened, right? It had been her? It had to have been. “Okay,” Van stammered out, the words slipping like oil over her tongue. It wasn’t what she had wanted to say at all, but it was all that’d come out when in a reflection to Thea’s love language. Maybe it wasn’t that serious, and maybe Van was thinking too much into it.

Thea touched her again in a way that mattered, and Van felt the blush deepen, could feel it scatter over the bridge of her nose. Her breath got stuck in her throat, and it wasn’t until she looked away from Thea’s eyes could she remember how to do so. Why was she acting like this? Thea was just a cute friend who paid attention to her and nothing more. There was nothing here, not in the way she wanted. However, Van wasn’t certain that she deserved to want to feel anything, especially within proximity of Thea. The last time she had cared for somebody like this (which she wasn’t even sure was real!), an argument had drawn that person to the depths of whatever hellish creature she had reimagined. Would the same happen to Thea? God, she was so toxic; pulling up demons to take care of her problems for her. She really needed to learn how to control it. Not just for Thea, but for everyone who might succumb to the power she held within. The last thing she wanted to do was open up another portal on people who didn’t deserve it.

Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly? Polly?

Van took care to listen now, to pick apart the cadence of Thea’s voice as she spoke about the redhead who hadn’t cast a second glance back after leaving the two of them to argue over the (unjustly) murdered flowers. Van still felt bad about that— that she had killed something (again), even if she hadn’t pulled them from the ground herself. She’d be more mindful about flowers from now on, that was for sure. As soon as Thea began to explain who Polly was to her, the wires crossed themselves, tangling into an unrecognizable, festering snake. Y’know, do things. What did that mean? Did Polly play Honkai, too? Did Thea watch over Polly’s shoulder as she tried for her favorite characters that came back into rotation? Would Thea cheer her on, too? Adult things? Van’s mind could’ve gone to something slightly less safe for work, but it sprang over to the idea that they got meals together; cooked together— even cleaned the apartment while blasting Olivia Rodrigo together. Was this who Thea was staying with? Had she been so easily replaced? Of course she had been. Her grandmother probably found some new grandchild, too, that she hadn’t even known about. One who didn’t cry and didn’t have magic and didn’t talk back. Of course Thea would do the same. Of course.

She hadn’t realized it, but she was holding her breath again. “Oh, she sounds… nice.” That was the opposite of what she wanted to say. Horrible, she sounds horrible. But Van didn’t want to be mean, didn’t want to be the jealous— jealous, what? They were just friends. Good friends! Cute friends! She definitely didn’t feel anything for Thea. No way! This was all just a weird friendly misunderstanding, interwoven with jealousy and… something else. Embarrassment, most definitely. “I’m glad you get to um, do adult things together.” She thought of Olivia Rodrigo blasting through Regan’s apartment as she knelt down with the dustpan as Thea navigated the broken bottle of vanilla into it. She bit the inside of her cheek, pushing the thoughts away. What did they clean up together? Polly looked like the kind of girl who liked kale shakes. It was probably that. Did Thea hate that? Or did she like it? Maybe Van should drink kale shakes.

Her mind snapped from the make believe kitchen to Thea who was speaking again. She needed to talk more, too, didn’t she? God, Thea must’ve been so bored standing in front of her. She was probably thinking of all the conversations she could be having with Polly right now, and instead she was stuck here.

Suddenly, the flowers held a weight of their own and Van felt her hand sinking slightly, Thea’s still enclosed around it. She’d help support it, wouldn’t she? Even if the embarrassment engrained itself in her muscles and made her incapable of doing these kinds of things— like holding up a bouquet of flowers for the pretty girl with the pretty smile and the peach fuzz hair. Did Thea know she looked good bald? Van wanted to tell her. “You can take them, I already um— I already said that they are yours.” The words came out naturally, surprisingly enough. They didn’t slur together, mixed messages splintered across each single vowel. Instead, it was what she actually meant! She wanted Thea to have the flowers! God, she was so good at this talking thing.

Thea’s hand came to plant itself against her cheek, and Van’s mind scrambled again. Could Thea feel the heat that was radiating off of the side of her face? Would Thea think that she was sick? Would Thea try and take care of her? Thea couldn’t come to the cabin, no way— it was full of weapons, and Snickers, and Jade was still hurt. I’m not sick, by the way. The words didn’t manage to slip from between her lips, because Thea was talking again, and the way she spoke made it seem like Thea was going to leave her. That was okay! Friends left each other all of the time, didn’t they? Cass had left her, too, standing outside of her cave with an arm full of comics. Well, she hadn’t left her, but it felt like it that day.

Van was almost positive that even after Thea had dropped her hand, she’d still be able to memorize the way she pressed each pad of her finger into her skin. She’d try to recreate it with her own hand once she was home, but her hands were much smaller and stubbier than Thea’s and she knew it wouldn’t feel the same. But that’d be weird to do, anyway, because they were friends, and friends didn’t do that kind of stuff. But, at least Thea took the flowers. Thea took the flowers, and Van watched her do it— and in that moment, she realized she looked a lot more beautiful with them than she had imagined she would. Would Polly make her throw them out? Probably. But at least Thea had taken them! That was a win for her, wasn’t it? Her friend had taken her flowers, even after the misunderstanding. Only her flowers, and nothing else! Not her heart along with it!

“Yeah, you should totally go and catch up with her.” Van’s throat felt scratchy and she tried to get the words out in a way that wouldn’t allude to the jealousy or embarrassment she felt. The flowers were gone from her hands, though, and the feeling was dimming down. Maybe because Thea had finally taken them, and that was a signal to something. “You’re totally welcome!” She was saying totally too much, but it was sort of her catchphrase at this point, wasn’t it? “I’m glad I’m— you’re okay, too.” She smiled, and this time it felt real— less like she was being pulled at by a fishing hook, but that the muscles in her own face had cooperated into giving her something real. Thea kept speaking even though she should’ve been leaving, and Van was left frozen with what the words could’ve actually meant. Surely she meant the smell! Yeah, that made more sense. Thea liked to smell things— always talked about it! Liked to talk about all of the soaps she had, and Van could always see the soaps she had in the bathroom at Regan’s.

(She was always careful not to use Thea’s soaps, because she wanted to smell Thea when Thea was using them, not—)

“Yeah, I mean, they like, most definitely make um, car air fresheners in Van scent, I’m almost positive of it.” At that moment, she had referred to herself like the car, but it didn’t matter. Thea told her she smelled good, and she liked it better without the marinara, and Van was glad. Van was happy! She stood across from Thea, marionette strings pulling her to put a hand on Thea’s shoulders. “I hope you enjoy Polly, and the flowers!” That wasn’t what she meant. She only wanted Thea to enjoy the flowers.

“But um, I’ve gotta— there are insurance people I gotta talk to. Gotta get my bag, you know? So I’ll uh, see you around, Thea!” With that, Van turned around, red in the face to saunter off to anywhere but the insurance people.

#para: z for zinnia!#para: thea #wickedswriting

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kadavernagh · 22 days

Text

Paddington in Ireland || Regan & Hamstring

TIMING: Current, shortly after Regan reunites with her grandmother LOCATION: Saol Eile PARTIES: Regan & Hamstring SUMMARY: Regan finds that she's not as alone in Saol Eile as she expected she'd be. CONTENT: Domestic abuse

“Fuck,” Regan spat, pressing her hand to her forehead. “You were supposed to just let me leave!”

The cream of bone soup did not go down easy. Regan felt it clawing up her esophagus. But even that was nothing compared to surviving her first dinner back with her grandmother, staring at her from across the table with dark, knowing eyes and not a hint of a smile. Regan had never seen two banshees be so silent in each other’s presence (fine, except for maybe the miserable drive here with Siobhan). It was like those first nights. The displacement, confusion, the whole world feeling wrong because she became something wrong. It did change, given time. Her mind had been so fractured, her heart so desperate for answers and help, that there had been no room for bitterness. Now, warm from those she left behind and against her best interests, bitterness was almost all she had for Cliodhna. But her grandmother knew her. All she had to do was wait. Regan would break. And so she was dismissed for the night.

Regan drifted into her old bedroom like a ghost. It looked practically the same as how she’d left it a year ago. Cliodhna knew she would be back, and what was a few years, even a decade, when your lifespan ranged for centuries? Her bed was made and the room looked adequately dusted, but the same books sat on her nightstand, the same knives gleamed from the rack, and the same clot formed in her throat the second she shuffled inside. She knew from experience that it would dissipate over time. Eventually her body would stop flying into shock whenever she stepped anywhere. For now, though, she wanted to curl up in this bed – her bed, she supposed – and pretend to be one of her decedents, now in the hands of Dr. Rickers (no, actually, she refused to think about that part). But there was so much to do. And if anything could keep Regan upright and mobile, it was a list of tasks.

Unpacking came first. The boxes she had shipped to Dublin – mostly full of dead mice owing to Jade and Van – were still in the car, and she’d need some help getting them moved into the house. Those would come later. She didn’t want to think about that now (as if she wouldn’t anyway every time she saw that flash of jade on her hand). For now, she had suitcases to address. Twelve of them. Normally she preferred a more systematic approach, but her skeleton (the one inside of her) felt heavy, and her skin was jolted practically into numbness from the presence of so many fae. She just tackled the nearest suitcase first.

She froze over the zipper. There was something off. This suitcase should have been full of some of her favorite bones – the cow femur from Elias, the bird from Van – but she couldn’t feel that gentle hum against her skin when she neared it. It felt empty. Or at least devoid of death. How was that possible? Was she robbed? Was it Alana? Alana probably robbed her. Damn it. She shouldn’t have let her help with the bags. Regan unzipped it expecting emptiness (the word of the night), and stumbled backwards when she saw a person curled up inside – and not even a dead one. A familiar one. Her hands flew over her mouth to muffle the screech. Thankfully, there was nothing in here that was shatter-ready. Her grandmother heard it, though. “Leanbh? Cad atá mícheart leat?” Cliodhna’s raised voice traveled easily from the floor below. Not are you okay, or what was that. What is wrong with you, she had asked. Regan called back immediately, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. “Ní dhéanfaidh aon ní! Tá sé ceart go leor. Díphacáil. Thit rud éigin.” Saying that something fell was not really a lie, when her stomach was still plummeting inside her.

She rounded on the ham child. “Cén fáth–” Fates, this was bad. Regan hissed, keeping her voice low. Her hands gestured wildly. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here. What were you thinking? Did you even –” She flared with panic, but at least had the sense to toe the door shut. She was a little louder now, with that extra layer of sound-proofing the closed door provided (and banshees were experts at sound-proofing). “We have to get you out of here. You can’t be here. And no one can know you’re here. You can’t be here! And my grandmother would – I don’t even know what she would do with you. She can’t know.” Regan’s eyes grew even larger. “I don’t know how to smuggle you out. And I can’t contact anyone to get you. And do not use the bear.” A realization shook her, bear viscera splattering against the walls of her imagination. How novel the others would find it, to see a bear they could warm their cords with. “They’ll – just trust me, don’t.” Regan paced, dazed. There was a child here. And she couldn’t get her back home. And the banshees would probably kill her. “Fuck,” Regan spat, pressing her hand to her forehead. “You were supposed to just let me leave!”

---------

There was a section on YouTube dedicated to people tricking airport security so they could take prankster trips in their friend’s luggage. Nora did extensive research on the topic, slumped over her desk at Axis, Robbyn Banks, professional YouTube analyst. There were two things Nora walked away knowing. One; it was going to be long and cramped. That was probably okay. Nora wasn’t that big, a good-sized suitcase wouldn’t be roomy but she’d never been claustrophobic before. Then again, now every time she sat in the dark, thoughts of the mines would cross her mind. The calling, the yearning, the loss of herself… That wouldn’t be an issue, Nora decided, shoving those thoughts deep away in the vault of memories she pretended she didn’t have. The air was a lot different than the ground.

Two; it was going to be cold. To save money airlines, apparently, do not temperature-regulate their luggage area. This was also okay because she had recently been given her favorite gift of all time. A big thank you to Ray for the giant bear sleep suit. The only thing that would have made it better was if it had been designed for someone normal-sized and not a giant. The extra space, Nora decided, was okay because she could use it to store her snacks.

"I'm not running away," Nora told Babadook the night before. Babadook looked back at her with his big mournful eyes. Nora could only assume it was because he knew her history of walking away and not telling anyone. Her past was full of walking outdoors and never looking back. "This is going to be different. I'm not telling them because I don't want them to worry. I'm coming back. This is my home and Regan's home. We both stay."

The suitcase was easily vacated of the dead creatures inside and filled with Nora, her laptop, a few extra clothes, some snacks, and Van's switch. On the switch, Nora had preloaded Bear and Breakfast, a game she had chosen specifically because there had been bear in the title. To her dismay, the game did not involve a bear stealing other people's breakfasts and terrorizing them, instead, the bear helped people. She managed twenty-three minutes of gameplay before switching to Fatal Frame. The laptop also came preloaded with all episodes of Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Nora liked how dumb the main characters were, but there was something familiar about Charlie. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but left her the impression of a sniveling crying little man.

The flight went on for hours. First, the laptop died. Then the switch. Eventually, Nora powered down, entering a very peaceful slumber. The peaceful slumber was interrupted by someone screaming. Nora groaned, covering her ears and attempting to roll over, away from the sound. The restrictive nature of her enclosure made the maneuver difficult, leaving her in an uncomfortable half-twist. The accompanying beratement from Regan only served to double the discomfort, causing Nora to admit defeat on her battle to stay asleep. "You know I was never going to let you leave," Nora mumbled through a yawn, plying herself into a sitting position. "It isn't right. I'll tell your grandma myself." Nora rubbed at her eyes, crusted with sleep. The bear suit had retained warmth so well, she felt like a cozy bear waking up from hibernation.

"What's wrong with my bear?" Consciousness was fully taking over, and Nora's brain was playing catch up on everything Regan had just told her. "I have a really cool bear. I think." She didn't know any other bugbears, she was aware, so the assumption had no basis to go off of. "I don't mind if they know I'm here. I was only hiding from you." Of course, Regan was freaking out. Freaking out appeared to be one of her specialties. Freaking out and giving up on herself. Nora wondered how she'd managed to get a medical degree. Nora forced herself to her feet, her body popping and groaning from being in one position for so long. She forced her tight muscles into stretches. "Do you have a bathroom? I really have to go." Nora started moving to a closed door, hoping to see relief behind it. Hours in a suitcase was not for the weak of bladder.

---------

Her heart pounded harder and faster, the child’s presence never quite sinking in. “You will not say a single word to my grandmother. She would cut out your tongue at the first display of insolence.” Regan’s eyes habitually roved over to the knives. None of hers had cut out a tongue before, but Cliodhna had one expressly for that purpose. Regan’s were still being whetted on flesh, usually her own.

“Banshees would jump at the opportunity to blow up a bear.” The child knew almost nothing about banshees. And whose fault was that? Regan hadn’t exactly anticipated this. She didn’t prepare her. Maybe she should have. Maybe if the child knew how dangerous this place was, she would have stayed behind where she belonged. “I am the only one you do not need to hide from. You have it backwards. You – these are not people, the ones who live here. You won’t win them over. They are not like me.” The truth soured her mouth even more than the cream of bone soup. Her grandmother. Was she still down there? She couldn’t hear any of this, could she? Fearg an chinniúint.

“You certainly do have to go.” Having a bathroom attached to the bedroom was a blessing right now. She pointed to the door. “There.” While the child was in there, Regan practically paced a trench into the floorboards. Was it better to just come clean, tell Cliodhna? It was a mistake. She doubted her grandmother would lift a finger to see the ham child out, but safe passage was all that was needed. Someone could collect the child from there. But then there was the worst case scenario: the child being used as a ragdoll for training purposes, or thrown into the tar pit. Just another gift Regan brought, in addition to the mice and the blender and the pressed flowers. No. She needed to find some way to contact Emilio. He wouldn’t stand for this. He would bring the ham child home, somehow. And until then, what was she going to fecking feed the kid? This was bad.

The child emerged again.

“Here… here is how this will work. I will be up at sunrise every day. I will leave. You stay here. You don’t leave the house. Don’t leave the bedroom. When I come back at night, you don’t ask any questions at all. You do not attempt to make conversation with me. You eat the food you’re given, you evade detection, and when I am able to arrange for an opportunity for you to leave, you take it without complaint.” She looked crossly at the child, uncompromising. “This is not a vacation.”

---------

Fear wafted off Regan, a gentle scent trying to warn Nora that her brave and smart idea to bring Regan home and remind her that she didn't need to give herself to her grandmother out of duty was a bad idea. Unfortunately for the pair of them, Nora was bad at reading signs. As Regan let word after word slip, a spew of nervous energy, Nora just stood there. A picture of generational youth, one hand shoved deep in her pocket, the other scrolling her phone. No signal. No update on her apps. She came prepared for something like that. She wasn't a detective for nothing. A satellite phone was tucked into Regan's bag, stolen from an avid hitcher she'd followed home one day. He'd been left crying in a locked closet thinking his world was going to end while Nora took the device with her. Handy, she had thought at the time. In case of emergencies. Getting Regan home was an emergency, to her.

Nora was just tucking away the satellite phone in one of her pockets when she realized that Regan had said the banshees wanted to blow up a bear. "I didn't know they were chill like that," Nora responded. Apart from the whole - if you blow up you die - aspect, explosions were cool. Despite the spew of emotion emanating off of Regan, Nora wasn't worried. "I'm not a person either." Nora reminded Regan as if that was a simple solution. A Bridge that would gap the otherness of banshee and bear. "If you don't want me here so badly, you should have never left. I'll get back in that suitcase right now if you promise you'll get on an airplane and go home." Perhaps that could be taken as a lie, because of waiting for an answer Nora disappeared into the bathroom.

Regan was ready to talk once more as the door opened again and a freshly relieved Nora reentered the argument. "That sounds boring." Nora pointed out. "I've never been to Ireland without a busy schedule before." The bear, despite the countless warnings she had just endured from Regan, moved over to the window, flipping the curtain aside and gazing out. "I think I'd at least like to take a walk.” A pause. A silence. Then an added confession. “I don't think you're capable of not talking. You talk a lot." To be fair to Regan, since Nora most definitely was not, the bugbear assumed anyone who put more than three sentences together in a single conversation was a big talker and often resented that other people made her put that effort into her replies.

"This isn't a vacation to me." Nora turned from the window, staring Regan in the face. "It never has been. This is a rescue mission. I told you I wasn't going to let you throw your life away because you think you need to. You don't need to. You deserve a life of your choice, not one hoisted upon you by others who think they know better. And I know you don't believe me because we've talked this circle over and over again. But I'm here because in a few days when you wake up and realize how miserable you are, I'll be here to remind you that you can go back. That there is a life waiting for you in Wicked's Rest. But until then? Maybe I deserve a little vacation. Do they have ham here?"

---------

“You listen to me.” Regan’s already-thin patience had worn like the last of the skin sloughing off a body, and she turned to the ham child with every bit of menace she could muster (which wasn’t much, anymore). “You are in so far over your head and you don’t even know it. I don’t even think you will get out of here alive. You have turned this into a rescue mission, but it’s not one for me. Did you consider Emilio? He should be grieving you already. That dog of yours may as well be at the shelter.” Regan’s eyes glanced up at the ceiling, half-expecting lights to be shattering, but of course there weren’t any to break. And, okay, she wasn’t screaming for the child’s death. Yet. “Your ears may be small but I need you to–”

The wood groaned. “Leanbh?” Cliodhna. Right outside the door. Expectant, awaiting a soldier’s response, not a hair concerned.

Even as her grandmother approached her fifth century of life, her hearing was as sharp as ever. Regan had known it would only be a matter of time before she would be stirred by something – if not the muffled tangle of voices, then the creaking of the floorboards of this old place, one of the few things that soundproofing did little to ameliorate. It probably was the floorboards. But even knowing that, when the door opened behind her, it was her own foul temper she blamed, one that the coming days would need to carve out of her.

Privacy was never between two banshees – rather, it was between banshees and the rest of the world. Her grandmother’s presence could hardly be called an intrusion, and Regan knew better than to treat it as one. She parted to the side of the room, giving Cliodhna a clear view of the child, her guilty eyes darting away from both of them. Her grandmother’s presence filled the room as it always did – she was in every way a perfect image of what Regan should have been, the steep angles of her face accentuated by age – barely – but even more so the sharpness of her tongue. “Cé hé seo?” Cliodhna stepped in like she belonged there (she did) and immediately skewered the ham child with her gaze.

“She doesn’t know Gaeilge,” Regan cut in, just barely daring to, eyes fixed on the floor, earning a dark glance (but it was a glare without being one, really, wasn’t it?) from her grandmother. Her disappointment was plain if you knew where it lived, and somehow, it was directed at Regan and not the child. Cliodhna could look in any direction, speak to anyone else; her criticism always met its mark on Regan. But Cliodhna had no choice but to accommodate, her distaste both annoyingly subtle yet thicker than her accent. With a mix of concern and morbid curiosity, Regan’s eyes finally flickered back up to the child. There was no screaming yet, no blood on the walls. Perhaps this could be salvaged. What they needed was time so Regan could get the child out of here. Cliodhna took a step closer to the girl, thin fingers outstretched toward her, but she did not touch yet, lest she soil herself with a potential human’s skin. “No? Why is that? I sense only one other under this roof, and she owes her grandmother an explanation.” Cliodhna had already supplied an explanation of her own, though, and she was not entirely off the mark. She turned to Regan. “One flick of the wings and you fall in love with some neamh-roghnaithe and bring her here. It was obvious. You reeked of it. The stench would have stripped that rabbit of its fur had I not.”

Regan’s gaze dropped again, shamed for her love, for the first time by someone else. She was pretty sure her grandmother had seen more of the top of her head than of her face since she’d arrived back... in the moments Regan had even been honored with a glance. Cliodhna wasn’t exactly right, but Regan would not contradict the parts that were true. So her grandmother waited, still as the dead. Always like the dead. Enviously like the dead. She was far better at waiting than Regan. Perhaps that was the message she was sending now, along with her suspicion that the ham child was a human Regan dragged here from overseas. A lover, a friend. Something with an expiration date.

Regan knew then, the child would be just another tool. Cliodhna was already thinking of her various uses. Regan was familiar with that focused look on her grandmother's face because it was the same one she had just before instructing Regan to try something new, something that might hurt her in just the right way, for just the right length of time, for her to stop feeling and failing. Cliodhna's inventive streak was narrow in its scope, limited to things that cut and gutted and brought others to their knees.

And that was for banshees. For humans–

At some point, Regan had made a decision without realizing it. Had she thought it through, maybe she would spilled the truth to her grandmother along with her guts, exposed like a flayed animal on the skinning table. It was not her brain she listened to. The brain was too slow. Regan's stomach was going to be red and raw for days, but this was perhaps the most important lie she’d ever tell in her life – and without a doubt the most important for the ham child. “This is… Hamstring. She’s a banshee, not yet dhúisigh. Duine caillte. I found her in Maine. She did not know her parents, and did not know what she was. She’s here to request tutelage and begin her service.” Her grandmother studied Regan. No, not studied. Waited. Again the expert. Regan’s stomach was in a vice, twisted by her own words, but she kept her expression placid as bile chewed her up from the inside and she bit down hard on her tongue. It was harder than it used to be, like her grandmother's skinning knife running down her belly. The pain did not pass, but the urge to double over did. Cliodhna seemed satisfied now – either it was the truth, or Regan had withstood the lie as she ought to (but still not good enough, Regan thought).

She came closer yet, and Cliodhna’s darkness-filled eyes gave the ham child a long, scanning look; most would find it impossible to tell whether she was pleased or displeased. At the very least, she had to be wondering how a child snuck in here, escaping her notice. Finally, she stroked her chin with one of those long fingers of hers, and spoke decisively. She always did. She addressed the child for the first time. “No harm will come to you while you are here, provided you’re obedient. If you truly intend to live in service, then you will not attempt to disturb us.” Regan struggled to keep her relief in. Her grandmother continued. “You are our guest, Hamstring.” Both an invitation and a pointed reminder of her place. “My granddaughter will set a room for you and you may board here. Tomorrow, we will discuss the matter of your an chéad scread. You look younger than my granddaughter was when she had hers, so there is reason for optimism if you have some degree of natural aptitude. She does not. Do you know of your lineage at all? Your pedigree may extend here. You’ll find soup prepared downstairs.”

This time, Regan truly couldn’t keep it in. Cliodhna heard Regan’s sharp exhale of relief, and snapped toward her; she was the only woman who perfected snapping without any shift in voice nor expression. “Do not make a liar of me. The guest room.” Regan jolted like she’d been kicked, and flashed Hamstring a look of grave warning as she passed out the bedroom door. Do not screw this up for both of us.

---------

Emilio would not mourn her. There would be nothing to miss, because this would not be the end of her story, just like how she wouldn't let this be the end of Regan's. Babadook would not go to a shelter, if anything he would continue his life as a solitary creature terrorizing playgrounds inducing terrors beyond children's comprehension on them, and traumatizing them for the rest of their lives. It was honestly insulting to him that he would need to find someone to care for him. There was also no time for Nora to defend her perfectly normal ear size. Or bring up the statistics that the majority of people from Wicked's Rest liked the size of bear ears. Nora's mouth opened and closed as the door swung open and she got her first look at the dreaded and terrifying woman Regan had been warning her about for months now.

She was just a woman.

Disappointment seeped into every corner of Nora's being, even as Regan's fear expanded. From the way Regan had talked about this woman, she was a terrifying monster. A beast whose hold over others had no rival. The epitome of fear incarnate. Shadows maybe trailing her every move to remind people that there was no light and they would be under her forever. This was just a woman, in a perfectly tailored outfit without a hair out of place. A perpetual look of disappointment etched across her features. Nora had seen this woman before. Not this exact one, but she was the mother of her fellow students who got in trouble and dishonored their families. She was the momager who yelled at her child for not landing the role when the child should know better. She was a matriarch. Something that Nora never had and could never fully comprehend the grasp they held over a family.

To Nora, the most interesting thing about her was the wings coming out of her back. That was cool.

"S-" Nora was about to do her customary greeting, but Regan was talking. Introducing Nora as Hamstring - fine with her she was never one to give our her real name - and calling her caillte or something. Gaelige, or Nora assumed it to be Gaelige since that was what Regan had called it, kept flitting in and out of the conversation, leaving Nora without half the context. Was the conversation about her? Yes. Was there important information that Nora thought she was supposed to be going along with? Yes. Did Nora know what it was? No. Because saying that she was duine caillte, not yet dhúisigh meant nothing to Nora. It was a twisting of vowels and symbols into words that held no context in her mind. If only they had gone to Mexico. Her Spanish was getting really good.

Regan was spurred out of the room, and Nora found herself as the center of the woman's attention. Regan had obviously been pleading that Nora play along, but with what? What could she play along with when she didn't even know the lies being told? "Uh." Nora blinked once. Then twice. "I was raised by humans who got me through an adoption agency. I was left at a firehouse as a baby. I don't know anything about their lineage." Not a lie, but hopefully not harmful to say. "Regan has been helping me find my family, she-" Nora paused, thinking this through. Whatever Regan had told her grandmother had worked, she was now here to work in service and was welcomed. But why? Regan was being drawn back to be trained as a banshee. Was Nora pretending she was training as a banshee too or was she a fae-stolen human serving them? Whatever. Nora hoped this would work. "Regan told me she found something out but I had to come here before she would tell me. I guess it was that I'm caillte." The word was butchered by the combination of Nora's inexpertise and the fact that she'd only heard it spoken once before.

"I, uh, look forward to working in service. I heard that banshees like to explode things and I think that's sick." Nora fished in her pocket, pulling out one of the lighters she always kept tucked away. With a quick and practiced gesture, she lit it. "I'm a big fan of causing explosions. It'd be sick to be able to do it with a scream." Deciding she was all in on this, whatever this was, Nora added. "Regan doesn't love me, by the way. She barely tolerates me. I'm always like let's go scream together and she's like no I have work to do stop trying to set my house on fire. Not that I'll set these houses on fire. I'm a guest." There. That should cover all her bases, Nora Hamstring thought proudly.

---------

This room, unlike her own, was full of dust, and Regan had to stifle a sneeze that would have come out a screech. The only thing that was perfectly maintained was an articulated raven skeleton that stood proudly on the nightstand, watching over the bed. How long had it been since Cliodhna had entertained guests here? Decades, probably. Regan couldn’t recall any visitors in the time she had lived here, and even among banshees, her grandmother was not known for her hospitality. She tried to work quickly, cleaning what she could and opening the thick, opaque window to let some fresh air in.

Regan twisted her ring nervously around her finger, like she could summon counsel (for the love of death help) from a specific someone much smarter than her if she turned it enough times. No such reality. What was the ham child doing in there? She understood, right? The importance of the lie, of upholding it? It was difficult to convince the stubborn child of anything, but perhaps some small thing Regan had said had gotten through to her. She doubted Hamstring feared her grandmother enough to listen on the basis of her authority. That would come later. Feces. She stopped fidgeting with her finger and did as she was told. Regan swapped the dusty sheets for new linens and nudged the door open a little more so she could peek from down the hall. Now was not the time to disrupt them. Her grandmother had intended to speak to the child alone.

But she could hear.

“Duine caillte,” Cliodhna corrected. She was not so easily bothered as her granddaughter, and did not show her displeasure in any tangible way; you simply knew it was there. “We will teach you. It means you’re a banshee who was raised outside of your heritage. It puts you at a disadvantage, a steep one, but there are those who have overcome such faults. You’ll have to undergo your rites here, of course…” She grew thoughtful, licking her thin lips, tongue clicking, “We will acquire someone from Maine, or find you a suitable candidate here. I believe Donna has a spare, but sons are so often cowards, and the blood of a coward stains more than just the carpet.” She flicked her hand, dismissing the subject. “No matter. Few are more witless than my son was.”

Regan crept a little closer, trying to get a view of the child, at least. She couldn’t see her grandmother’s face, but it would be expressionless anyway. Hamstring seemed to be trying her best, but her best was still… Hamstring’s best. And she spoke like a child, not a banshee of any kind. Regan’s heart winced.

“Banshees,” Cliodhna said firmly, practiced, “do not like. We do what is necessary, and nothing more. My granddaughter used to write down everything I say. I expect you to commit it to memory instead. So remember this, and discard what knowledge you’ve received from my granddaughter; she has led you astray, and there is already a great deal to fix.” And at the top of the list… Cliodhna pried the lighter from Hamstring’s hands, accustomed to the lack of resistance she was met with. She closed her fist around it, and the burst of sound that came from her mouth was so quick and sharp, the lighter shattered in an instant. She opened her hand, metal and plastic collecting on the floor. She didn’t need to say anything on the matter.

She swept toward the door, but stopped before it. “Mínigh an chéad scread di,” Cliodhna said quietly, perfectly aware that Regan was close, watching, listening. Then she continued out, finding Regan exactly where she knew her to be, and Regan looked away as her grandmother attempted to meet her gaze. She looked away... her grandmother was finally searching for her eyes, and Regan looked away, the coward she was.

She could not scurry back into the bedroom quickly enough – but she forced herself to be slow, to pace herself accordingly for each whine of the stairs her grandmother descended, so her scrambling was not heard, so she did not try to outpace her grandmother's authority. She would not speak of what just happened, or what her grandmother told her to explain. “The room is down there.” Regan said, pointing, her hand as shaky as her grandmother’s were effortlessly still. “I am going to bed.”

#writing #c nora #domestic abuse tw

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mortemoppetere · 22 days

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During a tearful goodbye at the airport, Regan mentions that she left a bag in Jade’s car, and it’s critical Jade delivers it to Emilio. She says he’ll know what it’s for. While it’s unclear if Jade understands the importance of this final request, she agrees, and leaves the paper bag at Emilio’s place where it awaits for him to find it. The bag is unmarked, and Emilio may be relieved to find dirt inside the bag and not worms. However, the worms are in the dirt.

When Jade shows up at his door on the day her not-girlfriend leaves to permanently relocate to another country and rejoin her family cult with a brown paper bag, Emilio naturally assumes said bag will hold liquor. He wordlessly heads to Teddy’s kitchen to retrieve some glasses, which he brings back to Jade. But when he takes the bag, it doesn’t feel like liquor. There’s a strange weight to it. When he’s informed the bag is actually from Regan, suspicion settles in. He has a feeling he knows where this is going.

Still, he can’t toss the bag in front of Jade, with her sad abandoned not-girlfriend face, so he’s kind of stuck. He sighs and resigns himself to his fate in a way that would make any banshee proud, slowly unfolding the top of the bag and opening it. He sees the dirt, but he knows better than to assume that’s all there is. He’s played this game too many times before. He stares into the dirt until, slowly, the surface begins to wiggle. Then, out from beneath the dirt, a little creature wriggles out. A worm.

Emilio considers hijacking a plane to Ireland just to throw the bag at Regan’s head.

#highoctanegem #kadavernagh #regan: the final worm #jade: the final worm #gifts

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ohwynne · 6 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so were the nerves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wynne sure picked their avengers well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did Wynne?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were supposed to be just human now…right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

#the final sacrifice.#emilio.#chuck.#lil.#teddy.#regan.#threads.#MUCH. SO MUCH LOVE TO EVERYONE WHO WENT ON THIS TRIP W ME

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letsbenditlikebennett · 6 months

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TIMING: After this PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup @kadavernagh @magmahearts & @letsbenditlikebennett LOCATION: Office of the Medical Examiner SUMMARY: After Rhett attacks Cass and leaves her in a bad state, Alex gets her out of the woods and calls Kaden for a ride to the morgue as soon as she has cell reception. Or Regan, again, receives unexpected live patients at the morgue and Marcy needs a raise.

The time between when she hung up the phone with Kaden and when he actually arrived had felt like an eternity. Alex was certain that the warden wouldn't be moving again, at least for a little while, but the blood that clung to her wasn't just Rhett's. As if instinctively, it she gripped onto Cass tighter, desperately trying to keep them both upright until her cousin got there which was a far too grim reminder that too much of the blood that caked her skin was Cass's. She had to actively fight the sick feeling growing in her stomach. Even on a good day, she wasn't good with blood and now she was covered in it. Not even the spare giant t-shirt that went down to her knees was safe from it as her girlfriend continued to bleed and Alex tried to try pressure to the myriad of different wounds that covered the oread.

“I just need you to stay with me a little longer, ok,” Alex practically pleaded though she tried to give her a voice a reassuring tone. She wasn't sure how much it covered up her own fear. She doubted it did at all. “Kaden'll be here any minute, it's going to be okay.”

She wasn't sure who she was reassuring, but when she saw headlights coming up the road and the familiar sound of Kaden's engine. Alex had never been so relieved to hear him approaching. She was pretty sure she could actually cry, but she wouldn't. Cass was hurt and she needed to be brave for Cass. Or at least try.

When the car rolled to a stop, she waited for Kaden to rush to her side. “Thank you,” she huffed, “She's heavier than she looks... rock and all. I think I've been applying pressure to the worst of it. I can sit in the back with her on the way to the morgue.”

She had her suspicions about Regan being a nymph herself, but they were just that. Suspicions. Alex had no actual clue if the medical examiner would be able to work with... well, a girl made of rocks. “Dr. Kavanagh should be able to help her, right?“ Regan had to be able to help her because the alternative was too difficult to stomach.

—

The keys were in Kaden’s hand and he was hopping into his truck before he’d even hung up with Alex. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, just that it was an emergency, in the woods, hurt. Cass. He considered using the work truck and flipping on the lights to get there even faster but he figured, whatever it was that had actually happened, he would want the space of his normal truck. He dared someone to pull him over on the way there. He’d run them over.

He saw their small figures across the way long before he was close enough to stop the car. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw it in park and sprint to them the second his eyes were on Alex and her girlfriend but he managed and pulled up as close as he possibly could, tires skidding into place.

“Putain,” he said, throwing himself out of the car. His eyes swept over Alex, trying to assess her wounds. She was roughed up but alright. His eyes fell over Cass and it was clear that she was far from okay. “Alex what the hell happened to her?” He knew she mentioned a hunter but he hadn’t assumed Cass was this injured. Crouching down beside her, it was hard to believe this was the same kid who had no trouble facing off with a pinball whirling towards her. She was beaten down, broken. The sparks of life she was filled to the brim with before were fading away.

Kaden nodded at Alex’s words and reached under the nymph to carefully scoop her up. He didn’t have any plan on how to help her but he knew they had to do something. Fast. First step was to get her into the truck and away from here.

Kavanagh? His brow furrowed at the mention of the medical examiner. Made sense. Was as good a plan as any. “Maybe. I think so.” He couldn’t think about anything beyond the immediate. “Fae. She knows about fae. And she’s a doctor.” He wasn’t sure if he was telling Alex or reminding himself. “We’ll get her there. Keep pressure and support her while I lift her. On three.”

—

There was no room to do anything but push forward. It brought a certain sense of clarity with it. There wasn't room for panic or acknowledging the multitude of sensations that would make Alex sick to her stomach under less dire circumstances. If her head had been more clear maybe she would have thought of the miracle that was adrenaline, but all she could think of was making sure Cass was okay. So when she answered Kaden, the weight of her answer didn't fully register.

“A warden... We met him before but didn't know he was— I heard her scream when I was hiking toward the cave and he had already grabbed her. He was going to kill her so I stopped him,” Alex said flatly, ”If he didn't bleed out already, he knows what I am.“ Whether or not Rhett was dead wasn't something she could think about when Cass was barely hanging on. Hell, she was barely hanging on in the strength department which became harder to ignore when Kaden lifted Cass into the truck and she realized her own legs were shaking.

The weight Kaden lifted was more than a physical one as Alex felt some hint of relief once Cass was being lifted into the truck. Her left arm carefully kept the oread's neck upright as the other hand kept pressure against the wound on her shoulder. She was quick to follow into the truck once they got Cass inside; she knew she'd have to keep applying pressure to the wound in Cass's shoulder which looked so much worse than it ought to, even for an iron blade. Her already blood-caked hand found the wound and pressed down on it. ”I think she is fae,“ she added, ”But that's... She can help. She'll be able to make sure Cass is okay.“

There was an unspoken desperation in her words. Alex wasn't sure if that was part of what pushed Kaden to drive at such a rapid pace, but she found she didn't care even if the way the trees whipped by them was dizzying. ”It's going to be okay,“ she reassured quietly as she looked down at Cass. She wasn't sure entirely who she was trying to convince, but Cass being okay felt like the only option. ”I've got you,“ she whispered. She'd promise as much if Cass would let her.

Trees kept zipping by through the window as Alex remained still as could be. She was afraid to move, to shift Cass in a way that might make things worse, but the stillness of it all let the events catch up to her a bit. ”We'll need to go back and check that he's,“ she trailed off, unable to fully let herself acknowledge that she very well may have killed Rhett— or worse, that some small part of her hoped he was dead.

—

A warden. Knew what Alex was. Nearly killed Cass. Was probably bleeding out. Kaden tried to process the information but there was too much happening all at once. He had to focus on the task at hand: save the nymph in the back of the truck. The rest he would file away for later, figure it out then. Like if there was a dead body they had to worry about. And if they should inform the medical examiner during this visit.

None of that mattered as much as driving as fast and as carefully as he could directly to the morgue. As soon as he closed the door on Alex, he rushed to the driver’s seat and tore out of there and back onto the road. Hopefully he wasn’t bringing Regan another dead body. A pit dropped in his stomach at the thought. No. His grip tightened on the wheel. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Worry about that later,” he said to her, eyes pinned forward, not even allowing himself to look back at her through the rearview mirror. If he looked back, he’d lose focus, start worrying about what else they could do. He had to stay single minded, focus on the mission. It wasn’t a hunt but for once his training might save someone instead of hurting them.

Kaden wove his truck through traffic, barely stopped at any signs or lights, and raced through town to get them to the morgue. He didn’t bother finding a spot, instead throwing the truck into park right along the curb outside the glass doors. It briefly occurred to him that it would be hard enough to explain why they were carrying someone alive into the morgue to see the medical examiner and even harder to explain what Cass was to the front desk. Putain de merde.

He hadn’t come up with any sort of plan or anything at all by the time he was helping pull the fae out of the truck. “I’ve got her,” he told Alex. “Get the door, call for Regan. Maybe, I don’t know, tell the front desk to leave.” He winced once the full weight of Cass’s rock covered body was in his arms. It was strange that someone so small and who looked so fragile just then could be so heavy. It wouldn’t slow him down, he wouldn’t falter, he wouldn’t let himself.

—

It was a small kindness that Kaden was willing to talk about the warden aspect of things later. Alex wasn’t sure she could rely on herself to really recount the details when Cass felt so cold in her arms. The blood was pooling in the hands that were desperately pressing down on the wound in her shoulder. It took a concentrated effort to keep her hands from shaking, surprisingly not because of the slick feeling of blood against her skin, but because she was terrified. Even when that ranger had a gun pointed in her direction, she couldn’t remember feeling this frightened. Cass was too quiet in her arms, her features too pained and contorted. All she could think of was how much the oread meant to her and the fact it felt like she was slipping away right there in her arms.

The fact Kaden hadn’t bothered with parking etiquette was more than a relief to Alex. Every second between them and getting Cass proper help felt like an eternity. The truck was practically pulled up to the glass doors and Kaden was carefully extracting Cass from the truck. She hopped out following and nodded diligently as Kaden spoke. “Ok,” she answered, “I’ll get Marcy… to not be there. And get Dr. Kavanagh. Just… I’ll be quick.” Her eyes fell to Cass, “Hang in there, okay?”

She wasn’t sure the oread could hear her so Alex simply ran off and into the fluorescent lighting of the morgue. She remembered Marcy from before and she seemed to be typing away on her computer. What was the best way to ensure Marcy didn’t follow Regan back to her desk? “Hi, Marcy,” she greeted more frantically than she would have liked, “I need to see Dr. Kavanagh… it’s important medical examiner business. Tell her it’s Alex Bennett. I… uh I have Animal Control Officer Langley outside, too. You should probably… I think you look like you totally deserve to take your lunch break like right after grabbing Dr. Kavanagh.”

—

“Fiddlesticks, fudge, no, figh can’t be right…” Marcy glanced up from her phone as the doors opened and… oh, this had Dr. Kavanagh all over it. She remembered Alex Bennett, one of the doc’s oddball visitors, and apparently she brought company. Another person. No, wait, two other – oh. Oh, fiddlesticks. This seemed urgent enough to call the doctor instead of shooting her a text. She did so immediately. “Regan, we have a code ‘what the fuck’ up here.” Marcy looked nervously at the three mostly-strangers who had interrupted her game of Connections (today’s theme of f-expletives seemed appropriate, suddenly), her eyes wide with confusion and perhaps some degree of understanding. Her fingers danced across the tabletop and finally Regan picked up.

“Can this wait?” the doctor asked, sounding exasperated, “I’m in the middle of a–”

Marcy cut her off. “Please don’t tell me what body part your hand is in. This is, like, really ‘what the fuck’. Come now, okay?”

Regan simply hung up, and Marcy stared blankly at Alex, trying not to look at the company she’d walked in with. Marcy usually lived for gossip (and both Regan and Morty were the perfect fodder) but this was something else. Regan couldn’t come fast enough.

The last time they’d had a code ‘what the fuck,’ it had been because a horde of crabs came scuttling in and nearly carried Marcy away with them. The crabs seemed to be gone, but Regan reasonably expected something else quite serious. She rushed out and up, barreling through the doors. Oh, how she wished it were crabs.

Kaden. Alex. Some lump in his arms. This cinniúint-amú family. Treating her morgue like a – She halted, midstep, feeling the presence of something, someone else. The lump was more than a lump. More than human, even. Regan raced to get closer, immediately setting her hands on the fae’s strange skin (was it part of what was wrong?). A girl, barely more than a child. Unconscious, or near it.

Regan’s first instinct was to shout, break some lights, remind Kaden that this was not the emergency department and serious injuries needed to be attended to elsewhere. But the injured being fae changed the equation significantly. She could not go to a hospital, and especially not looking like this. And where better was there, really? Before Regan had arrived in Saol Eile, they had relied upon inexperienced hands and anecdotes reeking of homeopathy. Regan understood the lack of options. She just didn’t like it. “Langley. Why are you always involved in these things?” She narrowed her eyes at Kaden, who was too easy to blame, but really, Alex had been equally involved in her own injury and possibly what was happening right now. Kaden was older, though, and his shoulders were adequately-muscled for carrying blame.

Right now she needed him to carry their injured. “Hurry it up,” she said, carding the doors open and pointing; Kaden probably remembered where her office was, but they might need the space and tools the autopsy suite would afford them today. What a screaming mess this was. She wasn’t even sure the two of them knew the girl was fae. Regan waved a curt but grateful goodbye to Marcy, who needed no instruction on what to do next (stall Rickers). “Continue past my office and into the autopsy room. Give me as much medical history as you have and tell me what happened. And tell me what’s wrong with her skin.” Regan paused, feeling confident in her words, which seemed worth delivering. “She will not die here.”

In the autopsy suite, she did not waste a second. There were rarely emergencies here; the dead did not mind waiting for their procedures. But now she was filled with an energy and urgency she hadn’t felt in a long time. “On the table. Now.” There was a decedent lying on the adjacent autopsy table. Regan had just managed to stuff his organs back into him and stitch him up, but he needed to be put back in the fridge. She did not like the idea of anyone else touching her patients. She was even stingy when it came to Rickers and the techs. But… her eyes flicked between the dead and the living, and with a defeated sigh, she then looked over at Kaden. “He goes in 8F. If you drop him I will place you in there instead.” She turned to the girl, pulled open her eyelids. The pupils responded automatically to the harsh overhead light. Good. “Round, equal, and reactive.”

Her skin was hard, craggy like stone, and it defied anything Regan had ever seen before. Had the circumstances been different, she could have spent hours looking at it under a microscope and her scalpel. But the circumstances were what they were, and what could have been exciting and full of wonder was currently a hindrance, obscuring what she needed to see. She decided to take a gamble with their knowledge. “You need to get her to glamour.” Regan said, meeting Alex’s eyes with a deadly serious intensity. “She may not be able to hold it in place, but she must, even if it’s only around her injuries. I cannot see what’s going on under this… material. And would not know how to treat it like this.” There was one thing she could see plainly, though: a deep, smoking wound across her left shoulder, like a flaming blade had been plunged through muscle. It was open, exposing something underneath that glowed with orange, pulsing energy, but no blood. “I believe this is from cold iron. Quickly. If you cannot wake her, I can, but it will hurt.”

—

Kaden didn’t know Cass as well as he’d like but he knew enough. He knew was going to do every goddamn thing he could to keep her alive. He knew he was going to find that warden and— He didn’t know what came after that. Because first thing was carrying Cass into the morgue and forgetting that this building housed dead bodies. She wasn’t going to be one of them. “I’ve got you,” he said as his arms cradled her rock covered body. The edges and rough surface dug and pinched into his skin, likely leaving marks and bruises. If there was pain, he didn’t notice, just held on tighter. “Stay with me. Alex is inside.” His words came out like gasps and he couldn’t be sure if that was due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins or the fact that she was heavy in his arms. He was shuffling to the door as fast as he could, very aware of the fact that with Alex going ahead, no one was able to put pressure on the wounds. “Magma’s not going to go down like this, alright?”

If there was anyone working the front desk, Kaden didn’t notice her. His eyes were searching for one person and one person only. He was already headed directly to her office when his eyes locked on hers, a tiny flick of hope lighting up in him. Apparently she wasn’t as thankful to see him. Right now, he didn’t give a shit if she wanted him there or not, she was going to help with the kid. “You can scream at me later, Kavanagh. Help her.” He barely had to pause as the doors slid open. Relief was a second away when she said to go to the autopsy suite instead. His head shot around to face her, his brows knit together and worry written across his face. She will not die here. He didn’t know if that was a wish or a fact, but Regan’s tone seemed to write it in stone. He was going to cling to them as tightly as he held Cass.

Once they were inside the suite, Kaden did his best to set her down gently on the table, but it was difficult to rest rock on metal without any clashing. He winced at the sounds, hoping he hadn’t made anything worse, silently apologizing to her as he laid her down. Kaden backed away and thought that, for the time being, the extent of his ability to help was spent. He was shocked to hear that wasn’t the case. His eyes fell on the dead body next to Cass, sutures laced all the way down from his chest. He wasn’t a stranger to dead bodies, but he never saw them like this. His stomach churned and he could feel bile churning up to his throat. “He goes in… 8F?” he repeated, hoping that it might buy him the time to steady himself as he went pale.

Putain de merde. This was stupid, he had dealt with much worse, scenes that were far more gruesome and had caused worse than that. In here, in this setting, surrounded by the cold and sterile medical supplies, it felt completely different. He took a deep breath before he nodded, grit his teeth, and decided to rip off the metaphorical band aid. Just pretend they’re alive, he thought as he rolled the body towards the right drawer. Fucking hell, he was putting a body in a drawer. Right. Easier said than done. Just had to make sure he didn’t vomit or pass out in the process.

—

She will not die here.

There was no way those words could be spoken with absolute certainty, but Alex clung onto them like they were a liferaft. Her mind sunk its claws into them as if they were some tangible string she could tangle and keep in her grip. The alternative wasn’t something she could consider. The alternative terrified her.

Though a small part of her felt guilty that Regan seemed to think Kaden was somehow involved in what happened to Cass or could have been the cause. Alex shook her head. “It’s not Kaden’s fault,” she explained, “I couldn’t carry her all the way– I needed a ride.” Given the bone nymph was straight on to business, which wasn’t at all surprising, she stopped herself from overexplaining because the truth of it was simple, wasn’t it? No matter how good Cass was, no matter how many people she helped during her patrols as Magma, there would always be a warden out there like Rhett who didn’t care and wanted her dead anyway.

“This is my girlfriend, Cass,” Alex explained, looking at the oread in Kaden’s arms somewhat helplessly, “I was meeting her for a picnic and I found her being attacked by a warden. She probably… we met him before but didn’t know he was a warden. She probably…” The words caught in her throat. “He didn’t follow us, I promise,” she quickly added, hoping it answered enough that Regan and let her know there wasn’t an immediate threat following.

Whatever Dr. Kavanagh asked of her, Alex would do it happily. Already, the medical examiner was taking control of the situation in a way that seemed practiced. It probably was practiced. Even if most of Regan’s patients were already dead, she was still a medical doctor. Emergency training was part of the education and well, Regan also seemed inclined to let the stray non-dead patient into her morgue too. If she wasn’t so damn scared that her girlfriend was about to be knocking death’s door, she may have watched Regan work with more admiration. As it was, she was quick to follow instructions. Any directive the doctor gave her was meant to help Cass, so aptly paid attention and followed into the autopsy room.

The dead body on the table next to Cass hadn’t even fully registered until Regan was directing Kaden to put it in… a drawer. Alex knew how morgues worked in theory, but the normally unsettling idea was completely overlooked as she carefully looked over Cass. Regan mentioned a glamour and it made Alex positive that coming to the bone nymph was the right call… even if the doctor wouldn’t call herself a bone nymph. There was a weight in Regan’s gaze that made Alex immediately nod dutifully.

“I’ll do what I can,” Alex agreed, “I don’t… she’s already in enough pain.”

Her attention shifted to Cass and Alex leaned closer to the table as she looked the oread over. Neither arm looked too good, so she wasn’t sure hand was the right way to get Cass’s attention. Instead, her hand found Cass’s cheek and softly cupped it in her hand. “Cass,” she breathed out. No, she had to speak up. Her voice couldn’t be as small and scared as she felt. “Cass,” she spoke louder, “Babe, I need you to concentrate for a little while. I know it hurts… but we have help, ok? Dr. Kavanagh just needs you to put up your glamour, at least around your injuries so she can start taking care of them.”

Cass stirred under her touch and Alex let out a breath she hadn’t realized she held in. “You can hold my hand as tight as you need, if it helps,” she added, “But you got this, ok? You’re like the bravest and strongest person I know… if anyone can throw on the ‘ol razzle dazzle in a time like this, it’s you. I think… focus on getting it on for your shoulder first?” She gave Regan an inquisitive look, hoping that she gave the right directive there.

—

There were flashes, after the woods. She remembered walking with Alex, her feet so much heavier than they usually felt. Alex’s voice, talking first to her and then to someone else, their responses tinny and far away as they came through the speaker of a phone. Then Kaden was there, too, in the blink-of-an-eye kind of way that meant she was definitely losing time. Another blink, and she was laying across Alex’s lap in the backseat of an unfamiliar car. Another, and they were somewhere else. She heard Alex and Kaden talking, but she couldn’t track the conversation. Alex vanished for a moment, and Cass let out a low whine, feeling more like a child than she had in such a long time.

Another flash. Someone was holding her. They were moving, and she felt the vibrations but they were stilted, dull. Everything was, the world narrowed to the pain in her shoulder where Rhett’s knife had gone in. That hurt more than the broken arm, and there was something almost funny about that, wasn’t there? You’d think the broken thing would hurt more. You’d think.

Kaden said something to her, and it took longer than it should have for it to register. Called her Magma, and she let out a quiet sound that was almost a laugh. Had she told him? She didn’t remember. Maybe he’d known all the while, the whole time. Or maybe she was Magma not Cass to him at the moment. Did Spider-Man have this problem? She swore she knew, but she couldn’t remember.

Another flash, and there was something solid under her back. It was cold; everything was cold. There was a flutter in her gut that was familiar, but felt as far away as the rest of it. Another fae? For a moment, some childish, outlandish part of her wondered if it was her father or someone from that long-forgotten aos si in Hawai’i. If one of them cared enough, somehow, to know she was in trouble and just… appear. But when her eyes were forced open and a flash of light shone into them, she caught a glimpse of white hair and pale skin that couldn’t belong to anyone with family ties with her. Her eyes fluttered shut again. Alone. She was alone.

But… that wasn’t true, was it? There was a presence at her side, worried and hovering. Alex’s voice cut through the haze, and it sounded like music. Concentrate. Glamour. “Anything for you, babe,” she murmured, and it came out more slurred than she’d wanted it to be. It was supposed to be smooth. Impressive. But she wasn’t either of those right now, was she?

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, glamour flickering. It was hard to concentrate through the pain, but Alex asked her to do it so she would. The glamour was visibly unsteady, flickering on and off like a faulty lightbulb. Skin one moment, stone the next. She concentrated hard on her injured shoulder, letting out a low groan. “It hurts,” she whispered. “Is it — Am I doing it?”

—

As Kaden struggled with the decedent (but, fine, ultimately did an acceptable job stowing him away), Regan dedicated herself fully to her new patient as information poured out. Girlfriend. Alex had mentioned dating a fae. The pieces snapped together like dislocated bones popping into place. And a warden did this. Her teeth clenched as her jaw tightened around them. “I am not concerned about you being followed.” Normally she would have chastised the promise, but it was not the time. Nor was it the time to mention involving the authorities. Sure, they could not know what Cass was, but this was an unprovoked attack on a near-child. How could someone get away with such a thing, without an effort even being made to stop them? She thought of Teagan, whose assailant was still out there, as far as anyone knew. It could have been the same individual behind both attacks, but they had distinctly different flavors. Discussion for later.

Alex did an admirable job keeping herself together for Cass’s sake. When this was through, she would tell the child that. For now, though, Regan did not want to distract her – especially when her words of encouragement to her girlfriend seemed to be working to stir the patient. “Shoulder first. That is the most pressing concern.” If Regan was correct. It would be the most painful, too. The other incised wounds surely hurt, but they weren’t as deep or putrid. Alex was succeeding – and for that matter, so was Cass. Mostly. The tough material flickered away, replaced by skin, only to transform itself back again. “Keep it steady,” Regan said, “I can only be as steady as you are.” She left providing any comfort to Alex and dove right in, her hands carefully navigating the margins of the wound now that she could see clearly; they were semi-cauterized but still smoldered, and seemed to be almost expanding. If Regan was capable of paling, she might have.

Seeing the injury seared through Cass’s flesh only confirmed Regan’s suspicions. “This is a cold iron injury. Do you know what that is?” She truly did not know the knowledge base of her audience anymore. “It won’t heal by itself. And I cannot improve it. But I can stop it from getting worse, and permit it to heal on its own, given time.” Her palms stung with their own reminder. She had one cold iron blade, and even Cliodhna did not permit its use under typical circumstances. “Kaden,” she turned to him and was pleased to find her own seriousness reflected back at her. “Here is my ID. Card into my office and go into the bottom right drawer of my desk. There is a jar – small, plastic, red top. Bring it here.”

–

Instructions. Those were good. Kaden could follow those. It was better, even. Otherwise the best he could do was pace and wonder if he was in anyone’s way or distracting Regan. He took the ID card and ran off. Once he was out of the door, he hesitated, trying to remember the direction they came in. It was all a blur since they got there and he’d been carrying Cass, he hadn’t paid attention.

Deep breath. He was pretty sure it was that way and soon enough he was sure once he saw the familiar door to Regan’s office. He fumbled with the card and slammed it against the reader a few different ways, but he didn’t need to put in all the effort, one tap was enough. He nearly pulled the door off its hinges and dove into the office.

Putain, what was it she said? Drawer, something about a drawer. He glanced around and saw a lot of those. Which fucking one? Desk, right, she’d mentioned that, too. Desk drawer. Narrowed it down but not completely. Kaden shut his eyes and tried to repeat the words over in his mind. Bottom drawer. Desk. Red top. That’s what he got. Yanking open the left drawer, all he saw were skulls. That was actually a pretty nice raccoon one but– Right. Task at hand. Better try the drawer on the right before digging around the bones. Sure enough, in the second drawer there was a flash of red. He leaned over and pulled a book out of the way. “How to Flirt Without Sounding like a Serial Killer.” Right. Good luck to her on that one. He set it aside and saw a jar, but reaching for it, it was clear it was just mayonnaise. Which brought some more questions. Either way, next to it was a second jar and there it was, just like she said: red lid, plastic jar. Kaden didn’t know what was in it, all he knew was they needed it and so he grabbed it, sprinting out of the office as fast as he’d gotten there.

“Here,” he said, practically shoving the jar into Regan’s hands. He was out of breath from running but hadn’t noticed until he’d had to speak. Lungs heaving, he backed away and watched. That was all that was left for him to do, wasn’t it? Just watch, hope, and try not to get in the way, wait for any more instructions, but otherwise watch and wonder.

–

Kaden made haste and Regan was left with the two children. Something squirmed inside of her, seeing their pain. Fortunately for all of them, he wasn’t gone long. There it was: the red jar. She accepted it with a nod of approval, and hovered over Cass’s injury as she uncapped it. “This is for… these kinds of injuries. It is likely to work, but I can’t say for certain. It might not be to her specifications, though.” Regan opened the small jar and breathed in the scent of old bone marrow mixed with something floral. It was the last of what she’d brought from Saol Eile. If this happened again, she would need to figure something else out. Somewhere in her cabin was a book with instructions on making more of the salve, and though the ingredient list made a strange kind of sense, it filled her with unease. Still, she did know it worked… on banshees. She had seen it. “I’m going to put this in her wounds. It might sting a little at first, but it will function as an analgesic when it sets in. Most importantly, it will prevent the necrosis of her… flesh.” If it could be called flesh. “Know that there may be other effects. If you have objections, voice them now.”

—

Somewhere in the background, Kaden had returned to her side after getting the descendent where Regan had directed. A distant part of Alex knew that it couldn’t have been an easy task for him, but everything else seemed like a blur as she focused on Cass. It needed to be a blur. If she let her mind drift to the feeling of blood caked to her skin or linger on the fact she was absolutely terrified, there’s no way she’d be able to keep helping. Cass needed her to be strong right now, so she had to be strong. She gently held the oread’s hand and smiled down at her. “You’re doing so good, babe,” she reassured, her voice coming out much more gravelly than she would have liked, “Just keep it up and steady around your shoulder, ok? You got this.”

She stayed close to Cass as Dr. Kavanagh looked over her shoulder. Every so often, Alex offered whispered reassurances to the oread. Her shoulder looked so much worse with the glamour up. It was so easy to see where the iron had seared her skin and how it seemed to be worse than when they’d first left the forest. Given, the lighting now was much clearer and the werewolf knew she should look away. Her stomach practically begged her to, but she couldn’t scare Cass more. It was her turn to be the brave one and she gripped onto Cass’s hand enough to mask the tremor in her own fingers.

Her attention turned to Dr. Kavanagh as she spoke of cold iron. None of it made any sense to Alex. How was cold iron any different from regular iron? She didn’t think werewolves were more sensitive to cold silver. That would have been somewhere in the ranger family playbook. She shook her head. “I know iron hurts her. Most of what I know about fae… she didn’t grow up with other fae. I told her that iron hurts her. Is cold iron worse,” she asked though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer.

It wasn’t something that could heal on its own. Alex wasn’t sure if that made her more angry or afraid. There was some strange haze of both that hung over her as she practically squeaked out, “Please.” Cass was already in terrible shape. She wasn’t sure how much worse the oread could handle before she— She quickly shook her head. She couldn’t think like that. Regan said Cass wouldn’t die here and she wouldn’t. She offered Kaden a quick grateful look as he made off to fetch what Regan needed.

By the sound of his footsteps, Alex could tell he was moving quickly, but time still seemed to move too slowly. Somewhere she could hear a wall clock and the detail seemed deafening, more so than her own heart hammering away so erratically she swore she could feel it in her throat. Kaden was back and she tuned into Dr. Kavanagh’s instructions. It was likely to work and the emphasis on specifications wasn’t lost on Alex. “So it was made with a different type of fae in mind,” she said lowly, not really speaking to anyone so much as thinking aloud. It was a sure deal, but it was their only chance. While medicine was hardly something she knew about, she sure as hell knew enough that necrosis of the flesh was not good. And since it wasn’t made for Cass, she was fairly certain that meant it was hard to know what the other effects would be.

“Use it,” Alex decided quickly as she glanced down the wound that already looked worse, “Whatever the effects are can’t be worse than the pacman of stab wounds over here.” If Cass was listening, she’d appreciate the arcade game reference. Alex smiled weakly as she remembered Cass showing her how to play the game and she knelt back down by Cass. “Hey, rockstar,” she grinned weakly, “You’re doing great. I just need you to hold out a little longer. Dr. Kavanagh is going to put something that’ll help on your wounds, but it might sting first… There may be some side effects, but I got you, ok? I’ll be right here.”

—

She was out of it. It was difficult to follow the conversation, so she stopped trying. Alex would pick up on the important parts and tell her later… if there was a later. The thought rose up without her permission, inky black and heavy. Cass wasn’t a pessimist. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d been called naive in her optimism, but she clung to it all the same because what was the alternative? The world fucking sucked. If you didn’t hold on to the bright side, you’d lose yourself to the darkness.

But Cass couldn’t find the bright side here. She couldn’t work out the positives of the situation, couldn’t unpack the good. Everything hurt, and she’d never died before but she was pretty sure this was what it felt like. The way her shoulder seemed to be spreading pain to the rest of her, the shivers she couldn’t stop from wracking her frame, the way Alex and Dr. Kavanagh spoke about her like she wasn’t there and the way she might as well have not been there for how well she could listen to them. Alex was saying things to her occasionally, and Cass clung to her voice like a lifeline even if she couldn’t make out the words.

Alex was beside her, then, and Cass tried with everything she had to listen. Her glamour flickered as he concentration shifted, but she understood what Alex was saying. The doctor was going to do something. It was going to hurt. But it would help her, too. She closed her eyes, nodding her head. “Do it,” she agreed. “Do whatever. I don’t — I don’t want to die.” She looked to Dr. Kavanagh as she said it, eyes feeling wet. “I don’t want to die, okay? Do what you need to do, but don’t let me die.”

—

Cass’s informed consent was, Regan thought, as good as it would get. “No questions or concerns, then. We proceed.” There was something almost familiar about Cass’s voice when she spoke, and as the glamour flickered off her face for a moment, Regan recognized her. Oh, that was too strange to even think of right now. She focused instead on the weak, unevenness of Cass’s plea, the mortal fear, and was determined to be the unmoving force she was required to be. Regan’s voice had an edge of authority and certainty. “You’re not going to die here, today.”

She was in the rhythm of urgency now, and Alex and Kaden cleared the way for what needed to be done. Cass was still having trouble with her glamour, but she seemed to be able to muster enough resolve to hold it steady now. Whatever that strange, tough material Cass’s skin truly consisted of, it would have been impossible for Regan to access for application. “Good work.” She offered the rare praise, a reminder to hang on as long as she could. With careful hands, Regan dabbed the cream around the wound. What remained went into the other injuries, just in case those were from the same blade, though they didn’t look so malignant. It would help either way. And then that was it. The last of what she had brought from Saol Eile, exhausted. Traded for Cass. Please let it work.

The wound pulsed with a strange darkness for a moment like the salve had stained it, then sizzled, the searing heat of the iron abating. It still gaped with toothy, jagged edges but now, given the time and proper care, Regan was confident that it would heal. At least until it happened again. These people… this town… it was at times more rotten than anything in her morgue, and she ought to be grateful she would soon be leaving it. Her eyes ticked from Alex to Kaden, who were probably full of complicated emotions right now. Hope. Fear. Confusion. Her own concern gnawed at her but she set it on ice like her cadavers. Regan watched as the wound seemed to soak up the remaining darkness and waited. For what, she did not know.

—

Good work. It was stupid, she knew. The way those two words somehow meant more than the promise that she wouldn’t die here today, the way they sent a thrill of newfound energy surging through her veins that allowed her the concentration she needed to hold that glamour in place. The doctor, the fae doctor said good work, and Cass was eleven years old again, trying with everything she had to win the approval of nymphs who saw her as more of a bother than a person. Back then, she’d never earned anything resembling praise. But now? She was doing good work. Her smile was small and pained and tight, but it was still there. It was still real.

The doctor’s hands were at the injury on her shoulder, the one that burned and ached and felt hot and cold at the same time. She touched it with something cool, and it was like someone had injected darkness into her veins. The effect felt so instantaneous. The room dimmed. The temperature dropped. Cass blinked, and when she dragged her eyes back open, the morgue was full of strangers. A man with his chest hanging open, staples ripped out. A woman with goat’s legs and a darkening bruise around her throat. A teenager with a crown of blood encircling their head, eyes curious and sad. In the middle of them all, partially blocked off by their bodies, stood Rhett. Staring down at her with an expression of mild curiosity, like she was an animal in the zoo. The scratches Alex’s claws had left in his face were there, blood dry now.

Were these ghosts, she wondered? A sea of the dead, beckoning for Cass to join them? Her eyes darted to Alex and Kaden and the doctor. There was a wound in Kaden’s side, freely bleeding. His shirt was so covered in blood that the fabric was hard to make out beneath it — had he been wearing red flannel, or did it just look that way now? Alex’s hair was the wrong shade of red, shining dully in the overhead lights of the morgue. It was wet. Not water. It wasn’t water soaking her head. The doctor was in black and white (was that why she looked familiar?), but there were spots of red slowly staining through, swirls of color that didn’t belong. Cass’s breath hitched, eyes darting between them all until something behind them caught her attention.

Kuma stood a few feet from Rhett, arms crossed over her chest. Debbie was beside her, the injuries that led to her death prevalent and obvious in the morgue. They both looked rotted. Everything ached.

And then, Cass blinked again, and it was all gone. It was just as it had been before. There was no blood in Alex’s hair. Kaden’s shirt was clean. The doctor wasn’t exactly colorful, still, white coat and all, but there was no red to be seen. And her shoulder didn’t burn, and she didn’t feel quite as cold, but the exhaustion that clung to her was hard to fight.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the doctor, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they darted around for a moment before meeting Alex’s. Clear and blue and alive, like they were supposed to be. She offered the werewolf a small smile and let her consciousness flee. Safe. She was safe now.

—

Desperation had a way of making time seem slower. Alex knew the clock ticked at the same rhythm somewhere off in the distance, but it felt distorted as she gave the doctor room to take care of Cass’s wounds. It wasn’t the first time that Regan assured the oread wouldn’t die here. Fae couldn’t lie. Cass had told her that. Sure, the truth was subjective, but Dr. Kavanagh was a bone nymph. If she said Cass wasn’t going to die here that had to be the truth. At least, it alleviated some of her own fear so she could be the steady presence her girlfriend needed. Not that she would consider herself steady. The only thing that felt steady was the gaze she kept trained on Cass. Even blinking felt like a gamble that she only took when her eyes felt like they were burning.

The salve seemed to create a cloud of darkness around it and Alex found herself having to cover her mouth and nose as the wound seared. It was strange. The autopsy suite didn’t smell like burning. The bite of medical grade cleaners was the predominant scent in the air, but underneath she could smell him. His blood still coated her body and she didn’t dare look down to find it drying on her skin. Just focus on Cass.

It seemed like the remedy Dr. Kavanagh had given her was working though Alex couldn’t explain how. There had to be some supernatural fae aspect to it. She could hear the rapid pounding of Cass’s heart, but it was hard to discern anything wrong besides the obvious. Her eyes were darting around the morgue and the werewolf wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She could only hope it wasn’t anything too bad, but if it meant Cass would live, she guessed whatever it was had to be worth it.

After what felt like an eternity, Cass thanked the doctor and locked eyes with Alex. It was the briefest glance before she watched the oread fully slump onto the table. The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding came out as a small gasp and she felt everything she’d been compartmentalizing threatening to spill over with it. She took in a slow breath before looking up to Regan. “Dr. Kavanagh,” she started hesitantly. She wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. All she could think was to express her gratitude, even if Regan would tell her it was foolish. “Thank you,” she said finally, “Really. You saved her. I–”

The words ‘almost lost her’ found themselves trapped in her throat and came out as a strangled sound. It was a floodgate that Alex couldn’t allow herself to open just yet so she shook her head. “I just appreciate it and I’m glad you’re still here.” Aside from the fact Cass would have likely literally died in her arms, she did like Regan. “Anything I need to do for her as far as healing and taking care of her goes, I’m all ears.”

—

There wasn’t anything left for Kaden to do to help Cass. He was just as helpless as she was to fix her at that moment. He stood back and tried not to be in the way. Alex was there to comfort her girlfriend, Regan was there to heal her, and as much as he wanted to peer over her shoulder and see what was going on, check if it was working, he knew better. Hovering could only make it worse if anything at all.

Now that his part was done, his mind drifted to the cause of her wounds, the blood covering Alex’s clothes. A warden. Another hunter. Kaden had to wonder if it was someone he knew. His stomach dropped as the face of the hunter dying at Andy’s hand flashed into his memory. Would he see that same look all over again? Would it be at his hands this time? Or Alex’s? Had she already killed him? He didn’t know. He didn’t want this to keep happening. Death. Over and over again. A snake eating its tail. And Kaden didn’t know how to stop it when all he knew how to do was how to slice it in half.

The gasp from the fae on the table pulled his focus back to the present. His own breath stopped as he waited to see what would happen next – would she pull through or would she pass out again? He reached out and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, hoping to give some comfort to her while she was giving all hers away to Cass.

The words ‘thank you’ felt like a sigh of relief, a sign that the course had corrected itself. For now. “Good work,” he said to Regan. “See, way better than a hospital.” He had no idea what it was she did, but he knew it worked. That was enough for him. But now that they were in the clear, thoughts of the hunter and the potentially dead body in the woods lingered. Putain. His eyes darted to Alex, then back to the medical examiner. He opened his mouth to speak. “I, uh, when you have a second I need to talk to–” He knew what he should do, he should report the potential dead body. Alex wouldn’t be implicated. She couldn’t. Right? It’s not like she was human when she did it. Actually, he didn’t know. He just assumed.

He owed it to the hunter to say something, owed it to his family, but he owed Alex more. He couldn’t risk it. “Nevermind,” he said, waving it off. “Thanks again. Hopefully you won’t see me here again anytime soon.” He glanced back to Alex and gave her a nod. “Come on, let’s get her back home so she can rest.”

—

Something was happening to Cass – her eyes went wide and scanned the room as if she was looking for something or seeing something, and Regan watched in silence for a moment. Whatever it was seemed to pass, but that didn’t mean it was the last of it. She glanced down to the empty jar, the remnants of the cream clinging to the neck of it. Do not let it be a mistake. The child was increasingly lucid, though, which had to be a good sign. Her other injuries were minor in comparison, and Regan bandaged them up, confident they needed no further attention from her. Cass was certainly benefiting from the diligent attention of her girlfriend, though. Probably an ill-advised relationship, if Cass’s lifespan was anything like that of a banshee’s. But happiness was a rare and often hard-won thing, and she would not spoil theirs, however useless she felt the emotion to be. Yes. Useless. Of course it was. She suppressed the trickle of doubt.

As Cass roused herself up and the two of them thanked her, Regan shook her head. Their gratitude was less than ideal – or at least the language used to express it, was. She let the thank yous linger, not accepting them nor chastising right now. “It’s not over yet. You have a lot of healing to do, and there may be lingering effects from the wound and what I applied to it. Monitor it closely and come to me if anything unexpected occurs.” Her voice lowered, something soft squirming through her that she barely recognized and did not particularly like. “I didn’t save her. I think you did that. Or perhaps she saved herself.”

And then there was Kaden. “I do not need your ‘good job’.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Demeaning. And what followed pulled at her temper, however much she tried to deny it. “Or your jokes. You come here instead of the hospital and you tell me good job.” Regan wrinkled her nose at him, but Cass was too much a priority for her aggravation at the remark to persist. Did Kaden have something to tell her? Or was he trying to tell something to Alex or Cass? She wasn’t going to figure it out now, apparently, as he seemed to cut himself off. Later, then. Maybe he was trying to tell her there was something to discuss later. She turned to address all three of them. “Not that you chose poorly, in this very specific instance. But we are not done here. Today, right now, we are, because… well, she is asleep.” Regan motioned toward Cass, whose eyes were shut and who looked entirely like a rock again. “But we will need to discuss this attempted murder. I don’t need another victim in here.”

—

Adrenaline was a funny thing. In the absence of an immediate threat and the knowledge Cass would be okay, the rush that had been pushing her forward had melted into lead. Or maybe peridotite would be more accurate. The metaphorical density of her bones was hardly the point, but Alex knew they felt heavy. So did the blood and flakes of rock on her skin. And her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the firm kick from Rhett or the weight of what had just happened catching up to her somehow, but now it was sinking.

Then the hand on her shoulder reminded Alex she didn’t have to carry this alone. Even as Kaden spoke again, there was something decisive in his tone. He knew as well as she did that Regan would have questions. She didn’t mind that so much. Even if Regan seemed to follow the letter of the law, she knew about this stuff. She was part of this stuff. She’d seen firsthand what Rhett had done to Cass. Even if the medical examiner did insist on going the official route, she doubted claw marks could truly be traced back to her. Plus, she was pretty sure some logic or law of self defense was on her side. There was a chance she killed him, but he’d been the one to lift the knife. She’s given him every chance. Her gaze drifted to her sleeping girlfriend and she couldn’t help but think maybe she’d given him too many chances.

That thought hurt to linger on so Alex instead aptly listened to the doctor’s instructions. She’d need to monitor Cass closely. She could do that. Hell, she wasn’t sure it’d be so much a choice on her part. As tired as she was, she didn’t think she’d find sleep in the coming hours. She’d nodded diligently and had been prepared to accept the instructions as they were, but then there was something there again. It was the tiniest glimpse of something less cold in her eyes. It was brief and if the doctor’s words hadn’t matched that slight etch of something warmer in her features, she would have doubted she saw it all. “Oh,” she uttered with wide eyes. She hadn’t expected that. Dr. Kavanagh had called her a good child once, but this held something more. She saved someone. She saved Cass. She wasn’t too soft. She was soft and she’d protected those parts of herself by protecting the person who brought them out the most. And Cass saved herself too. She was proud of her for pushing through that pain so Dr. Kavanagh could treat her wounds even if the oread never should have experienced that pain in the first place.

If the creeping exhaustion hadn’t fully made itself at home in her body, Alex would have nudged her cousin. It wasn’t lost on her that jokes in the face of traumatic incidents was a shared family trait. Pointing it now wouldn’t hold the same satisfaction, especially not when there was something so comfortable in it for her. Dr. Kavanagh didn’t seem to appreciate it though. That wasn’t entirely surprising and if she wasn’t so tired, she’d feel bad that Kaden seemed to be taking the brunt of her frustration when all he did was drive the car. “We’ll get her home,” she assured, “Once she’s settled, I’ll answer anything you want to know. He won’t do this again.”

Alex didn’t know if he was dead, but some part of her knew he probably should be. That spark of hatred in his eyes was too familiar. She knew the only thing that put it out was blood. Or at least, if there had been some other answer, she wasn’t privy to it. If love had been enough, she had to think it would have made a difference with her parents. It didn’t matter anyway. She gave Cass’s hand one final squeeze before she moved aside to let Kaden pick her back up so they could go home. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered to the oread she knew couldn’t hear her, “I got you. We got you.”

Because even if she couldn’t hear it, Alex still felt it was important to remind Cass she wasn’t alone in the world. Not anymore.

#wr cass #wr kaden #wr regan #threads; with cass #threads; with kaden #threads; with regan #threads; with cass; emorguency room #threads; with kaden; emorguency room #threads; with regan; emorguency room #(never been a natural all i do is try try try) ;; writing #(the moonlight is blinding) ;; season 1 writing

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rickbisexualgrimes · 1 year

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it's not me, it's you

note: here's a throwback regan ficlet that i originally wrote for my 2k19 summer challenge (in which flopped)!

originally published on: 2019-07-16

It was broad fucking daylight and Negan wasn’t even holding back with casual touching. Truth be told he gave less fucks than usual at this point because Rick wanted him back. That in itself made Negan feel like he was young all over again. When he used to fuck girls and boys on the hood of his car in the summertime. The type of carefree that had him grinning like a child with an ice cream cone.

Fuck what any of the Alexandrians or his people thought for that matter. They didn’t have a say in what he did with or about Rick. Not even his most trusted soldiers. Negan slipped his hand into Rick’s back pocket which made Rick jolt with embarrassment. From a distance Negan could see Carl glaring at him for touching his dad. He waved at the kid who responded with a middle finger and it only made Negan prouder. Future serial killer.

With much aggression Rick moved away from Negan and told him to get the hell inside so they could talk. Something about Rick’s tone didn’t sit right with Negan. The game hadn’t fucking changed last time he checked. Just because they were fucking didn’t mean Rick could be any type of way.

Once Negan opened his mouth he was interrupted by Rick scoffing at him. “Are you outta your mind?”

Negan feigned being hurt and held a hand against his heart. “That really fucking hurts, baby. Of course I’m outta my fucking mind but so are you. It’s why we work so goddamn well.”

“I haven’t said we’re together or that you can just act like I’m your property -”

“Hold the fucking phone, Rick. In case you haven’t forgotten - you are mine. Whether you wanna think of yourself as my property is up to you. “

Rick got in really close like he usually did and looked Negan dead in the eye. “Get outta my house.”

In order to hold back his laughter, Negan had to bite down on his lip and that only made Rick angry at him. “Baby, don’t fuck around. We both know you want me to bend you over and fuck you against the counter - again.”

“Fuck you. Fuck off. Go back to your whores. Since they’re the only ones who will be fuckin’ you for a nice long while.”

“Rick - “

“While you’re driving back home I want you to think about how it’s not me, it’s you. You’re the one who can’t think before speaking. Now get out.”

With a sigh Negan turned around and left Rick’s house, feeling really goddamn empty.

#rick x negan #regan #rick grimes #negan #i miss them so much #my fics #twd

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banisheed · 8 months

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Deersprings PARTIES: Regan (@kadavernagh) and Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Regan finds a raccoon! Siobhan finds a Regis.

Sometimes – really, almost always – the inert lump of mangled animal remains in the middle of the road was worth pulling the car over. It was prime roadkill. The intestines were exposed and tangled like a beautifully tied red ribbon, the stomach and its half-digested contents stained the road, and a black and white tail poked out from the mess, practically untouched and unharmed. It had been a week since her last raccoon, and this one was worth the wait. Regan hurried back to her car to grab a plastic bag (always ready for such an occasion), and stretched her gloves onto her hands.

It was a hot night, and doubly so while she was stuffed inside of her winter coat. She ached to get back the cabin and shed it, but this was important enough to deny her wings their freedom for a while longer. So she started scooping. Rolling the organs and fur and skin inside of the bag as they drooped between her fingers.

The crickets chirped incessantly, a reminder of the soaring temperature. Had they been quieter, and her mind in less of a distracted trance, maybe she would have heard someone approach. But instead, she felt them. Fae. Her stomach steeled itself, and she tried to tether her thoughts down so they wouldn’t race away with possibilities. She had met other fae here. None of them were banshees. This one would be no different. Cautiously, she turned, actually seeing the woman now – heavy, dark eyes, not a hair out of place. Her skin chilled despite the coat. Regan felt a wave of protectiveness surge through her, her body tensing as if guarding a precious resource. She stood up, placing herself between the woman and the raccoon, subconsciously blocking the view. “I suggest you leave,” Regan said, her tone firm and unyielding.

What Siobhan called Fate, someone with a smaller mind might have called chaos. She went where she pleased, said whatever arose to her mind, dressed the way she liked, followed the tides of her desires with just enough sense not to be swept under them. It would be insulting to compare herself to an animal, but the philosophy was all the same: instincts were merely the Fate of the body. As Siobhan’s mother explained to her, most instincts were meant to be ignored— a banshee ought to possess the will to resist unbecoming temptations. Some instincts, however, could be indulged by good, experienced banshees. When Death pulled her, it was in her nature to follow. It wasn’t always right to take Death away from its resting place— not all carcasses needed to be plucked and not all bones needed to be displayed. Only a child would think to take every bit of roadkill they saw for themselves.

It wasn’t fair to call the woman standing in front of her, with her sagging plastic bag, a child. She was an adult as plainly as Siobhan could see but child was her mother's gentle way of calling someone an idiot. It was fair to call the woman an idiot but Siobhan wanted to be polite. “And I suggest you rethink your fashion choices.” Polite in her mind, at least. “Were you going for a greasy cocoon look or more of a seasonally confused serial killer?” The instinct to insult was one she probably could have done better to quell, but the once familiar trickle down her spine set her on edge. It was strange how a feeling could turn from comforting to as if someone had hammered her ulnar nerve. Unlike her fashion-challenged counterpart, Siobhan was dressed in sleek all-black: a turtleneck to accentuate her chunky crow skull necklace, gloves, hiking boots meant for looks rather than function, and her own seasonally inappropriate leather pants. Siobhan’s desire to cover her skin, save for her beautiful (according to her humble opinion) face, was logical. The woman’s desire to preheat her body as if she planned on roasting a turkey in her coat seemed... childish.

“What have you got in the bag, love?” She tried with a kinder tone despite the sharp, lopsided smile that hadn’t budged since she first strolled up to the road. “Snacks?” It didn’t occur to her that the woman might have been a banshee taken to Fate just like her; that reality would have been too kind and her world rarely was. “A more flattering jacket?”

Regan’s face tightened at the snarky remarks. The insult had teeth only because the woman was dressed in a turtleneck; clearly she knew something about sensible outfit choices. In addition to the unpleasant prickling along her skin signifying the presence of another fae, she now burned with self-consciousness, too. Regan frowned down at her coat. Her sweltering skin complained from underneath it. “The jacket is none of your concern. Besides, you’re also dressed awfully warm for this weather.” She couldn’t even begin to imagine what barbs the woman might have for her if she knew it was because Regan had never been able to utilize a glamour, and had relied on a necklace, now lost. Cliodhna always had plenty to say on the matter. And even Conor had managed to figure it out. Why couldn’t she?

The woman was still there, despite Regan’s suggestion to leave. Perhaps it should have been more than a suggestion. “Why are you still here? I’m very busy.” A lump of viscera squished out of her hand and splatted on the pavement. Regan looked down at it, her mouth tense. She was dropping things now; that was how distracting this woman’s presence was. All because she was fae. No other reason. “You know,” Regan said, trying to keep irritation out of her voice, “There are other places for you to be. A strange bar downtown, the woods, the beach, wherever it is that you…” She studied the woman from bottom to top, but couldn’t glean anything of what sort she was. “...Wherever your type spends time. For me, that is right here. Alone. As in, without anyone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but only one of us looks like we’re not hiding an entire roast turkey under our arms.” Fae loved to find other fae; it was the one unifying factor between them. Occasionally a pixie took offense or a gnome didn’t like that it had been trampled, but to be fae meant that regardless of how many tiny mushrooms you crushed, you were a friend. For Siobhan, the friendship didn’t last long; once her lack of wings became obvious, the truth didn’t need to be said. Any fae could figure it out…even the pixies. Had she been so obvious here? Did this woman already know her face and her legacy? Siobhan frowned, at once shriveling into herself. Her gaze dropped to the floor and from the top of her vision she watched a glob of viscera splatter on the ground. For a moment, she didn’t regard it, and then, it was the only thing she could look at.

Between the tickle of faeness, the warm air and buzz of insects, was the gentle tug against her heart— a little string pulling her body right into the woman’s bag. What sort of fae picked at roadside viscera and put it in a plastic bag? A banshee would never be so childish as to put something in a plastic bag. Was this some avant garde art project? But the muses didn’t make the art. Was this a nymph with a roadside dominion? Strange. “Wherever my type…” Siobhan trailed off. “Is this your home then?” No, Siobhan was pretty sure that was a car parked at the side of the road and nymphs didn’t usually drive cars on account of the pollution and requirement to speak to a human amicably for several minutes in order to obtain one— most did also have a very vocal objection to plastic. Was the car stolen? What use did a spriggan have for carrion? Something wasn’t right. “You’re getting mad at me? You’re the one selfishly hoarding the…” Siobhan gestured to the splattered viscera and the plastic bag. “Yes, very busy hunched over the side of the road oh my apologies. I think if you explain what alone means again, I might get the picture.” Would a faun be interested in dead flesh? Maybe it was a new party craze— certainly, Siobhan would attend whatever rager had viscera being waved around. “Is being clumsy and unfashionable a trait of your type?” Siobhan stepped closer, hoping to get a peek into the plastic bag. “My type likes to go where we are called. I was called here, for the…. What is it? It’s a little too large to be a squirrel or rat. Coyote? Raccoon? Fat skunk? A fatter Opposum— those ones are cute; they’ve got that long mandible.”

The coat wasn’t that bad, was it? No, it didn’t matter. Even if the woman was wearing a turtleneck. And if Regan was so objectionable, then why wasn’t she leaving her alone yet? “Yes, I live in town…” Regan trailed off, too distracted by the post-raccoon in her hands to dissect the strange question or the manner in which it was asked. But the woman seemed curious, inching closer, eyes scrutinizing, and expression achingly familiar in a way that she couldn’t place. Regan paused in her scooping to actually give the woman her attention now. Her body practically demanded it, every hair prickled upward like another fae was more important than this lovely raccoon. Or… more of a threat.

“I am not getting mad.” A declaration through grit teeth. “And I am not clumsy.” Unfashionable, well, she couldn’t really deny that. Especially right now. Her lungs pressed their reminder that actually, maybe, she was getting a little bit angry. What happened? Only months ago something like this never would have rankled her. It was this place. And Regan’s ever diminishing sense of restraint. She had much to work on, and every time she failed or faltered, she knew she needed to redouble her efforts. This would be an interaction to ruminate on later; the sharp edge of discipline would be waiting for her. For now, she needed to shed the woman as quickly as the raccoon was shedding sloughed off skin.

“If you must know, it’s a raccoon. And before you ask, no, you cannot have it.” She probably wouldn’t want it, anyway. Most people found roadkill revolting, as she was coming to re-learn since moving here. “I don’t even know why you’re out here talking to me. I’m not interested. I’ve met enough of you.” She didn’t like how this woman was talking to her, but more than that, the feel of her being so close sent shockwaves through her. It was time to go. Regan hastily pushed the rest of the carcass into the bag and lifted it up triumphantly, a fine find. “I think I’ll be on my way now.”

Bits of information hit Siobhan’s mind like darts against a board. Yes, I live in town… 20 points. I am not getting mad and I am not clumsy… 1 point. Tragic. If you must know, it’s a raccoon… 50 points; bullseye. Good things didn’t happen to Siobhan; good things stopped happening to her 40 years ago. She was wrong to be so cynical. After all, she was still Fate’s beloved servant. There was an obvious answer for the sort of fae that picked at roadkill. “Oh.” Siobhan’s lips curled upwards, and her white teeth glistened underneath. “I assure you, you’ve never met anyone like me.”

Banshees were so uncommon, the likelihood of any two banshees being connected in some way was… well, Siobhan wasn’t good at math but she assumed it was high. Regis C. didn’t know her, but Siobhan was born off the coast of Ireland just before a war. Her mother said that was a good omen, her mother said she was full of them. They had both lived in Saol Eile and they had both left. One day, they would both return— probably together. Regis didn’t know it yet, but she was talking to a woman who would become her next best friend. Siobhan was nothing but a good omen, after all. “Regis?” she called after her sister. She had to be careful; these days, kidnapping someone internationally was a lot harder. And, anyway, it wasn’t a kidnapping, more like a gentle reminder that better things lived in Ireland. Regis didn’t know it, but she was everything Siobhan needed.

“Death shares with all of us,” the Irish Gaelic rolled easily from Siobhan’stongue. “You have found a lovely raccoon.” She stepped closer. “Can’t I at least see it? Surely you understand, sister to sister, how I might like to appreciate Death with you.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Regan said, already turned away from the woman and her smug, shining grin and holier than thou air about her and beautiful Irish acc– wait. Her arms went limp and she stared ahead at her parked car. A suspicion took form and wormed its way up in her brain, ready to break through the dura mater topsoil. Woman. Interested in the raccoon. Fae. Irish accent. Interested in the raccoon. Her lungs felt as though they were flipping over inside of her and ready to dump a screech out in the process. She needed to tighten her nerves, steel them. No. No way. Sure, Regan had feared something like this, checking around every corner and weaving cautiously around places where fae gathered. But now, faced with the very thing she had been dreading, she was willing to nurture her doubt. There was no unmistakable evidence. She hadn’t heard a scream or seen the woman’s eyes flash black. “I’m leaving.” Regan said, her voice a wall of ice – one full of cracks.

It was all too easy to break it.

Regis? The name made Regan freeze in her tracks, as still as the raccoon she’d just shoveled up, a wicked cadaveric spasm. It wasn’t her name. But it was close, too close. Her grip tightened around the bag, knuckles turning white. Regan wanted to flee, to leave this unsettling encounter behind, but something kept her rooted to the spot. Some tie between them, unspooling in the dark, a thread gently tugged that wanted to pull her closer instead of setting her free. “W-What did you just call me?” She turned slowly, each moment feeling like a strobing snapshot. “What did you just call me?” More firm, more insistent. What the woman said next didn’t even matter, didn’t register. Her thoughts were chasing themselves like a mad dog after its tail, looping around the same, the only conclusion.

And suddenly, it was enough. She knew. This woman was a banshee. She was a banshee, and she was, presumably, looking for or at least knew of “Regis”. That meant she had ties to Saol Eile. Which meant…

Regan’s lungs reacted far before her brain even had time to process everything, let alone prevent it. The bag hit the ground with a wet splat. It was immediately dwarfed by the wail that blasted out of her mouth, frenzied and raw, void of the control she’d worked so hard for so long to exert over it. Cliodhna would have called it disgraceful. The scream, this entire situation. But next to her lungs she could feel her heart pulsing with blind panic, and she couldn’t stop. The windows shattered from the frames of her car, the streetlights were punched out, bathing them in darkness, and a couple of people pushed open their doors and looked to the street, palms pressed against their ears. But Regan barely noticed. All she felt was the heavy hoofbeats of her heart, like death itself riding in and finally catching up to her.

Saol Eile was never quiet; screams tore up the air like the songs of birds and every bit just as beautiful. Siobhan liked to think she could tell them apart, listen to the hanging notes of magical anguish and decode a message; she could tell her mother, shrill and sharp, apart from her great-grandmother, all gravel and husk. Leaving Saol Eile meant confronting silence and every harrowing thought it brought along. When Regis screamed, it wasn’t just an astonishing display of divine power but the ushering of hope. She thought the sky burned behind her, she saw the dark stalks of pine trees transform into the rolling pasture of Ireland and their asphalt road felt just like the winding cobbled pathways of Saol Eile. Siobhan held her hands out, palms up, taking glory into her. Bathed in the sound of Regis, Siobhan grinned.

Regis glistened, shining like the key she was. Glass rained from the sky in shards of white and blue, bursting free like the fluttering of a thousand moths awoken by the splendor of Regis. Admirers swung doors open, gazing into the darkness for their chance to see true divinity but they didn’t deserve it; humans couldn’t withstand the sound of Death. Siobhan was chosen by Fate to bear witness to the sacrament. She strode through the distance separating them, glass crunching beneath her boots. As Regis screamed, Siobhan pressed her palm to her cheek; an act no other creature could follow in. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered under the screech of Regis’s voice. Siobhan drew her hand away, taking a strand of Regis’s nearly-white hair between her fingers until it was time to allow it to slip free. She watched the strands fall back, not quite where they had been, now changed by Siobhan’s act against them.

Siobhan watched Regis, waiting patiently for the screaming to cease. It didn’t matter how long it would take, now that she had found the banshee, there was no measure of time that mattered to her. She had lived for a hundred years, she could live for a hundred more waiting to take Regis to their home. When the air only rang with the memory of Regis’s scream, she spoke again: “I’m Siobhan and we’re going to be very good friends.”

The scream at last came sputtering to a stop, but Regan still had fuel to keep it burning. The problem was the woman, the banshee. She stood firm against the wail, her eyes glistening brighter than the stars above, now visible with no light to pollute the sky. Regan knew banshees could not be harmed by each other’s screams. Many cherished them. But emotion had made logic unravel; fear had soiled her fortified control; the sound of her failure rang through the streets.

Her skull vibrated. There was nothing else quite like the silence following a scream. Like it had consumed all available decibels and the world had peeled itself back, its tender, raw center exposed. But she could hear her own heart, louder and faster than ever; and she could hear the woman’s sharp, pleased intake of breath. And then a name. And a declaration like a storm-thrown wave.

Siobhan had come here to collect. Of that, Regan had no doubt. She had met more than one steel-willed banshee. Siobhan would not give up. Not ever. Sound exploded out of Regan once more, this time a short, gunshot of a screech. “No!” She yanked herself back, nearly tripping over the raccoon bag. “I know what you want. We will not. I will not go back there! I won’t!” Her breaths came in short, rapid gasps, the few remaining panes of glass around them bursting with each one, as she backed away further, her eyes wide with terror. There was more she could say, so much more, but the screaming obliterated her words. Fear seeped deep into her skeleton. There were few things that could provoke such a reaction. The creature at the museum had not. The giant rat in the alleyway had not. The pink being named Teagan had not. But the thought of leaving Reilly again, of being thrown back under the great thumb of her grandmother, of abandoning her work, of having what she was beginning to think of as some semblance of freedom ripped away like a tearing tendon – Regan fumbled for her car keys, her hands shaking so violently that she nearly dropped them on the ground.

Regan threw herself toward her car with desperation. The only thing faster than the door flying open was her foot hitting the pedal; she didn’t even notice that she was driving on the wrong side of the street, sitting on a mat of broken glass, and going 80 miles per hour on a pedestrian road, and that, perhaps most tragically, she had forfeited the raccoon. Her mind, turned bleak and black as the street and the night, flushed out the only horror worse than Siobhan: her grandmother’s crooning voice, a whisper inside of her skull cutting beneath the scream still squeezing her chest. “Fate has her way, leanbh. She always does.”

#having to reply to casey's beautiful writing with siobhan thinking “regis” took me out every time #you must also imagine regan in the coat the whole time #c: regan #s1 #finders wheepers #writing

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canis-or-cannotis-lycaon · 8 months

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TIMING: Current [After This Conversation] LOCATION: Gael's House PARTIES: Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f and Siobhan (@banisheed SUMMARY: Wanting to keep Regan from getting abducted, Gael tells her to give whoever's giving out seemingly free bones his address. Siobhan shows up. CONTENT WARNINGS: self harm, Siobhan keeps calling Gael's coffee pot a bong

Siobhan remembered when boneios were first introduced to Saol Eile; it was the forties and she didn’t think anyone would like them. But, when she poured it for herself, watching little oat grain femurs and skulls and sternums tumble into her paper bowl, she knew it was something special. Not just because it was leagues better than the cream of bone soup, which had been introduced by the end of the nineteenth century, but because it was something so distinctly banshee. It was home. It was them. It was unmistakable and undeniable and even far away from Ireland, Siobhan needed to have them. Her convoluted trade system to get herself some boxes had served her well and as soon as Regis was stuffed into the back of her car, she’d treat them both to a fresh box. For now, she shook the box she’d brought, turned stale as she’d already opened to fish out the free-born-in-every-box, as she knocked on Gael Córdova’s door—whom she was sure was just a strangely specific alias for Regis, who would be on the other side of the painted wood. Who else would want Boneios?

In her other hand, Siobhan held a large velvet box which housed one vertebrae of a sauropod—the “free bone” of “free bone giveaway” fame. It wasn’t the most impressive dinosaur bone she had, but if Regis wanted nicer bones, she’d have to agree to be kidnapped first. It was decorated with a red bow but the prettiest thing was, of course, Siobhan herself. She knocked again, then remembered that doorbells existed, and rang that. Before the door was even open, her practiced speech was leaving her lips: “Hello, I’m a representative of Free Bone Giveaway here to deliver your lonely bone and complimentary box of Boneios.”

—

He was sore and he was anxious. Those were two things that never worked well together and one of them wasn’t often in Gael’s mind at all. Ever since Regan had told him of her going back to Ireland, especially if she didn’t seem like she wanted to and it was implied that it wasn’t even her choice, he’d been particularly on edge and astute when it came to her online interactions. Granted, Regan wasn’t a child but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a child and yet she reminded him so much of one sometimes; her childish competitiveness, her childish frustration when he had an emotion or an experience that she didn’t like. The way she carried herself and gave him looks when she was upset without telling him that she was upset. And those were all reasons why he felt the need to increase his vigil over her. He couldn’t keep her from leaving, he knew that but at the same time, he could watch over her to the best of his abilities short of insisting that he stay with her until that time came. Gael wasn’t her guard dog but he was a guard dog of sorts; Ren, Van (though she hated it), Felix, even Wynne, Ariadne and Cass. Regan was just another on his list of people he wanted to protect, make sure they were happy or at least fulfilled. And Regan was special to him, though he smothered anything that could’ve threatened to blossom into something more than ‘unwitting friend’. Everyone had someone. He just didn’t have his. And he didn’t think he would find it with Regan; she was ascended. She was a banshee. So he smothered the bud, didn’t want it to grow or breathe even if he told Alex that it was healthy to do so.

Nonetheless, despite being tired and sore and anxious, Gael sat uncomfortable on the edge of his couch, which was a far cry from how he normally sat when he was expecting company. His dark eyes stared at the door, wondering who would appear on the other side of it wanting someone like Regan. As per usual and perhaps more obviously than normal given his alertness, he heard footsteps before the knocking– then the knocking again. Then the doorbell. He exhaled, recognizing the steps as heels which… he didn’t want to say helped but he thought maybe he didn’t need the bat that leaned casually against the arm of the couch. “Coming,” He called as he limped to the door. When he opened the door, he certainly wasn’t expecting a statuesque woman, taller than him and with striking features from her dark eyes, porcelain skin and thick locks that tumbled over her shoulder that was covered in black material. Gael blinked, clearly taken aback and his own eyes danced over her. “Hi.” He said before clearing his throat and registering what she’d been saying partially through the closed door. “...Hi, sorry; what did you say your name was?” He asked before adding “is there– anything I should sign?”

—

Regis didn’t greet her. Siobhan couldn’t hide the way her face fell, features dropping as if her skin was melting off her face. She blinked, she stammered nonsensically, she spun around once just in case this was some fun trick. He was still there when she turned back around. He was shorter than her with messy salt-and-pepper hair and a purple ring around one of his sunken eyes. He looked familiar, the way a face often met in passing did. She swallowed. “I didn't say my name.” Her fingers curled tightly into her palm and her frown, in a flash, transformed into a tight grin. Somewhere, maybe inside the house, was a woman who didn’t realize how much she meant. How careless could one person be to leave someone chasing their shadow? “Gael?” She asked despite knowing the answer. What did Regis mean to him? Did he chase her too? She knew the answer to this too: if he appeared somewhere that Regis was meant to be, then he possessed something that Siobhan did not. The knife she carried inside of her jacket suddenly felt a little heavier. “Lovely home.” Siobhan used his weakened state to her advantage and shoved herself between him and the door, inviting herself inside.

The interior was as plain as the man: whites, beiges and browns, minimal and clean. She could have mistaken it for a showroom if not for the tail that slinked behind a corner. Siobhan turned her hot gaze on him, trying to sear flesh with each dart of her pupils. She noted his uneven stance and thought about how funny he’d look tumbling down a flight of stairs. “You can do me a favor, actually. I need a little deal from you.” She grinned with her jaw clenched tightly. “You see, we can’t just send these lonely bones off to live with just anyone. I need to make sure they go to a good home--the right home. I need you to answer a few questions for me…” Her words dissolved as her eyes continued to trace the edges of his house. She strolled into the kitchen, staring at the cupboards and drawers and… “Bong?” She pointed to a device of glass jars and gold pipes. It looked like a titration set, the likes of which she saw in old laboratories, but no one just has those laying around. A bong was more probable.

—

If Gael didn’t know any better, and he did, he’d think that whoever this person was standing at his door certainly wasn’t expecting a middle-aged, masculine guy to be there in the place of the female, pale-haired medical examiner. The stammer and surprised expression certainly helped and for a moment, as the woman spun on the spot as though to see if it would magic the professor away, Gael found a sense of accomplishment. She didn’t say her name, duh, but as her frown turned into a teeth-clenching smile, her frustration nonverbally evident to him, she did say his. “Yeah, that’s me.” They both knew that, but what Gael didn’t know was how willing this stranger was to push past him into his house. He was put on edge as he allowed himself to stumble back, giving himself the presentation of being someone too weak to fight back if a fight occurred - he was sore, for sure, but he knew that he’d be able to put up a fight just as well as he knew that she could. “It IS a lovely home.” He agreed instead as she looked around it, then over to him. He could tell she was glaring daggers, perhaps in an attempt to throw him off or get him to wither but as far as he could tell, he was the barrier between this woman and Regan, the barrier between Regan staying there and being forced to go back to Ireland.

He returned her piercing glare with his own narrowed gaze, thick eyebrows furrowed but with a half-smile on his angled face. It wasn’t going to work. The guard dog had its hackles raised but it wasn’t going to attack unless provoked. “Questions? I can do questions.” Gael said in a friendly enough manner, though how much of it was a farce was something of a mystery to him. “I don’t do deals, though.” Indeed, as she wandered around his house, he listened carefully and found that her heartbeat was very similar to Regan’s; slow, a murmur almost as though threatening to simply stop. He wasn’t sure what she was but part of him wanted to guess ‘banshee’ just to be safe. In any case, he wasn’t a dealmaker anyway, let alone to strangers who shouldered into his house looking for the people he cared about. “What? No, it’s a coffee maker.” He scoffed. “Why would I have a bong sitting on my counter?” He shook his head and took unsteady steps towards the island. “Okay, what are your questions? Since apparently my house doesn’t look well-kept enough to warrant taking care of those… incredible bones you’re so generously offering to the right person.” Gael thought his house looked perfect for some bones, if only through coincidence. Apparently she might need more convincing.

—

“You don’t do deals?” Siobhan scoffed, a sharp smile crawling its way over her lips. Wise humans knew better than to announce so plainly that they knew—that someone had told them that making deals with a certain group of people was bad. There was no other explanation for the sentiment; humans made deals all the time, for food, for money, or nauseatingly mundane decorating choices. “Then, just a question: as long as I am in this house asking you questions, can you provide completely honest answers to my questions? Will you agree to do just that?” She didn’t need to say it was a deal to make it work, she’d lived enough years as a fae to make do with less obvious phrases. She pulled her leather gloves off her hands, one finger at a time, and set them down on Gael’s kitchen island, outfitted with a marble countertop that did impress her. Some things hadn’t changed much over the years: marble still implied wealth. The box of Boneios followed her gloves but she kept the vertebrae tucked safely under her arm.

“Well.” She shrugged. “Where else would you keep your bongs?” Siobhan pressed her palm to the cold counter, staring at the thick webbing of pale scars across her knuckles and those new ones, gifted upon her disgrace, down the back of her hand. She squeezed her hand into a fist and set the velvet box holding the bone down finally. “You aren’t who…” She tilted her head from side to side, as if there was water in her ears she wanted to dislodge. “…who I spoke to online, we both know that. Bones are very sensitive, they don’t enjoy being lied to and they get scared when they change hands too often. All they want is a stable, loving home.” The lie bubbled in her stomach, quickly awash by her years of practice saying nonsense. With a delicate finger, she lifted the lid of the box open. The hinges squealed and the lid snapped into place like the jaw of an alligator and there, on blue silk, was the bone. She spun it around to face him. “Can you tell me what this is? What bone? From where? From when? Don’t touch it.” The thought of his human filth getting on to the fossil set her skin on fire. Where was Regis? All of this was meant for Regis.

She thought she felt something clicking in her head, like gears refusing to lock into place or a lighter trying to spark. What purpose did a banshee have for this layer of security? Click, click, click. Siobhan stared at him again, hoping the answer would come to her. How close did a man have to be to a banshee to be entrusted with bone delivery? Click, click, click. “Are you two fucking?” She asked plainly as though it had been just another question. “You and…” Click, click, click. “…the woman I spoke to online.”

—

She circled the area still, slow and methodical and Gael crossed his arms at the followup question. He wasn’t stupid. Foolish, maybe. Emotional, definitely but he didn’t accumulate two PhDs for not thinking critically. That being said, the question gave him pause. Before moving to that town, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it so… he applied the question to outside the town. He pictured his sister or a friend in place of Regan - if he were approached by a stranger, who then barged into his home looking for one of them and wanted completely honest answers from him, would he oblige even if there wasn’t some form of magic involved? “...I will answer your questions to the best of my ability.” After Beau, after Ren, after Regan, after losing his name and that chunk of time that was supposed to be a date, he was apprehensive. Gael didn’t want to get caught by something and as he recalled the recent conversation with Regan, accompanied with how he felt in the forest the day they went to get the femur, he was reminded again that fae - or at least banshees - weren’t human. “Also I wouldn’t keep a bong anywhere,” He replied as his eyes found her scarred hands, immediately curious about what had happened to warrant them. He had a scar twisting around his own hand from a night he could only remember in chunks. He could only assume hers weren’t; she seemed too… meticulous. It wasn’t about his coffee maker but he couldn’t be sure if she was trying to get under his skin with the comment. And as she spoke about bones in the same possessive, understanding way that Regan did, Gael felt whatever uneasiness that had bubbled in his stomach solidify into a stone. And yet, at the end of her micro-speech, he wanted to look her in the eye and say ‘they’re just bones’. Speaking of, after removing her gloves and setting the box of cereal down (much to his surprise that they actually existed), eventually the velvet box came after. She opened it, the unexpected noise from the hinges causing his brow to twitch in discomfort, and he was presented with a bone, very large indeed and not what he expected. At least it was a bone… he thought. “It’s a bone, obviously.” He started, starting to display his bravado and penchant for appearing confident even though he was completely out of his element. “It’s… a vertebra and usually those come from spines. Aaaand…” He puffed his cheeks. “Sometime before now. Probably at least dozens of millions of years ago.” He couldn’t charm his way out of that one. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Gael didn’t have to think about his answers for long when the stranger abruptly asked him if he was having sex with Regan. Immediately he felt his face heat up, betraying how collected he wanted to appear and it was his turn to stammer. “Wh– No??” He asked incredulously, the thought sending something pulsing up and down the length of his body - embarrassment, maybe even a little shame that he didn’t completely abhor the idea. She didn’t need to know that, though. No one did. He wasn’t for her anyway– what was happening right now. “No. No I’m not and even if I was that’s not any of your business, skelady.”

—

Again, he danced around her fae magic and Siobhan hissed. Someone had told him something or some sloppy fae had ruined him for the rest. Siobhan didn’t like that; it meant he knew more than he let on and worst of all, she would need to work to get answers out of him. Normally she would have relished the challenge but her mind wasn’t where it ought to be these days, and it had turned dull like a worn knife. All the more reason for her to go back to Ireland, sharpen herself. She watched his gaze drop to her hand breitling and wondered what he felt. Did he pity her? Was he curious? When he removed his gaze, she couldn’t tell what had passed through his mind. She thought she saw a question form in the brights of his eyes but everything seemed to be swallowed by the darkness that sucked them close to his skull. At that moment, she thought he looked especially pitiful and it was her that felt sorry for him instead.

Impressed by his accuracy, basic as it was, Siobhan smiled and nodded, snapping the box shut, the power of the hinges could have crushed a finger but Siobhan wasn’t interested in hurting him…yet. Anyway, it seemed someone else got to him first and Siobhan didn’t like having someone else’s leftovers. If she was going to hurt someone, she wanted every bruise, scar, wound, ooze and shattered bone to be attributed to her. She could never be loved but to be completely loathed by someone sent a shock of desire across her limbs; it was the next best thing. She squeezed the countertop, putting fantasies of dismemberment away. “Good job,” she said, flicking open the box of stale, flaccid Boneios. She held it out to him. “Try some. You won’t get to ever again.” For the first time in her life, she hadn’t meant that as a threat; banshees simply weren’t known for their generosity. The adage ‘sharing is caring’ that humans seemed to imbue their greedy toddlers with had never been passed around Saol Eile and with an entire month dedicated to pilfering bones, what would any self-respecting banshee do? It was best not to get between a banshee and her Boneios, which, to the human man, would taste like stale cheerios—the bone shapes added a better texture, in Siobhan’s opinion. There was the faint aroma of bone on them, though, but that was a taste all banshees loved.

She dug around the box and shoved a handful of Boneios into her mouth. She didn’t expect him to react that way, and instead of dissuading her, he had unknowingly convinced her she was correct. Siobhan pictured the narrative in her head, a banshee running away from her duty, her family, for the love of a man. The thought should have repulsed her but something else was clicking in her head, again; memories of a little girl who sat by candlelight with Austen open on her lap, soaking up words of drama and sensibility and, Siobhan had liked this part the most, romance. How many times had she read Captain Wentworth’s letter? She couldn’t understand it, she didn’t want to interrogate herself, and romance the likes of which her juvenile mind desired would never be achieved by her but more than fantasies of violence and gore, the idea softened her—turned her into something mutable. She should have chased it away but it was her defect that she couldn’t, that she didn’t know how to anymore. All the more reason to go back to Ireland; she needed it. She couldn’t become this sloppy, sentimental thing.

“Do you have romantic feelings for her?” Siobhan asked softly. It all made sense, Regis running away, the use of this man’s address in place of her own, the bong. His injuries must have been sustained during a rough bout of lovemaking; it all made sense. Their romance was doomed, but she respected Regis for trying. Although, whatever respect she had was lost with her choice of man; boring and in bong-denial. “Her…Ah, what was her name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Re….Re… It starts with an ‘R’, I’m sure. Something like Reg something-something Ca…” Her unspoken question floated in the air.

—

Did this woman just hiss at him? The levels at which Gael was trying to anticipate being attacked was fluctuating at a level he wasn’t used to or comfortable with, which was saying something given his incredibly easy adaptational skills. So, instead, he just kept his arms folded as he continued to look at her stunning figure, the expressions flitting to and from her face as they were replaced with false impressions of forced politeness. His own face slowly settled from the blush it’d taken moments before as he recovered his emotions; he couldn’t let this stranger get under his skin, not when he considered what was at stake. Satisfied enough with his answers, she snapped the box shut again like a beartrap that was carefully tread over; Gael could feel the metaphor. He also inhaled as she gave him what he presumed was empty praise - he’d spent long enough around Regan by that point that he knew better. What was new to him, though, was her holding out the cereal to him and offering it to the professor to try. A pause; was this another attempt to drug him? It’d happened a couple of times before but he didn’t want to be… rude. This whole scenario was weird and he just kept thinking about how different it would’ve been if it were Regan in this scenario, difficult as that was sometimes. He took a tentative handful of the cereal, which looked to be like cheerios but bone-shaped as how he thought they’d be. However, Gael didn’t eat them until his company did… if they were poison, surely she wouldn’t have eaten any, right? Assuming she was fae, surely their physiology wasn’t that different and he did have a hearty immune system so as he observed her, he reluctantly ate his own handful. Stale. Flavorless.Dry. …It TASTED like regular cereal. When she suddenly asked if he had romantic feelings for her, Gael managed to keep from choking on the cereal and instead he inhaled through his nose, glancing down at the marble countertop pensively as the crunching could be heard in the air. He knew that maybe… the answer was both right and wrong, something he hadn’t thought about too extensively for obvious reasons. Something he couldn’t think about, something he was sure Regan certainly didn’t think about if she was able to. He wasn’t for her. “No, I suppose I don’t.” He said just as quietly himself. “Or rather, it doesn’t really matter.” Now that was the honest truth, the only thing he could’ve said to not be a lie. “Her name is Reine.” Gael glanced across the island at the other woman, his eyes earnest and rather softened, despite the inherent danger of his situation. “It’s French for “queen”. That’s where she’s from.” A lie, easy enough to tell the woman and with enough hope and confidence behind it that he hoped she’d buy it.

—

Again, Siobhan took his answer to mean she was correct. Where she now expected and hoped for repulsion, she found herself still and her roaring mind quieted. She thought of Austen’s Wentworth: you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Of Keats: still, still to hear her tender taken breath, and so live ever—or else swoon to death. And of Dickinson: I had been hungry, all the years. Her throat tightened. When she dreamed as a little girl, sometimes her flights of romantic fancy took the shape of a nameless, faceless void of a person that would come whisk her away from her troubled youth and fuse together her wounds until she became someone whole. Mostly, romance wasn’t a person: it was an idea. It was lush green fields, birdsongs, lazily grazing cows and old trees with thick trunks that had never been scarred. There were blue skies and clouds shaped like bones and a house, not unlike this one, coated with the warmth of life and comfort. Siobhan had lived over a hundred years in a sort of damp darkness, the locked cellar under someone’s better, brighter life. She envied Regis and then, as it so often happened with envy, she hated her.

The woman had taken her better life— her protective lover with sunken eyes, the gold bong, the brown house— and left Siobhan desperate. She didn’t know how much she kept away from her, she didn’t know how much of her happiness relied on her. She was the one tugging Siobhan along on her leash, she held the power, and she didn’t even have the courtesy to know it. She gave her someone else’s name. She sent her to the wrong address, or at least, at the wrong time. And yet she knew what Gael saw her as, as a new fake name tumbled from his lips; she was the antagonist here. She squeezed the Boneio box, thin cardboard wrinkling under her grip. She was accustomed to playing the villain but finally, the idea twisted her insides. She wanted to scream. “A cute name for her. It’s rather romantic of you to call her that: la reine.” Her hand snapped out, clutching the velvet box. “But the bones don’t like liars. If you can lie about someone’s name, you can lie about how well you will care for them. You know I can’t leave this with you, right? You’re doing a bad job of proving yourself worthy.” It wasn’t for him.

“You do like her.” Siobhan tried to steady herself but she still spoke through a tightened jaw. “What do you mean it doesn’t really matter? If you feel for her, you feel for her; affection matters. Affection has always mattered.” Her scarred knuckles turned white under her grip. Whatever she told this man would likely make its way back to Regis and so, she had to be careful. Forty years ago, when wings were still on her back, she might have been able to be more careful. “She’s entrusted you with her bones. Do you understand what that means? And you stand there and give me a fake name as if I’d believe you. As if they make Boneios in France.”

—

Something he said had gotten under her skin, though Gael wasn’t sure if that was a good thing - prying the aloof surface off just to find what musty secrets and hidden intentions were potentially under the veil often led to the danger of the unknown, the misunderstood and the emotionally volatile. On the other side of the coin, however, her reaction via both crushing the box of cereal and pulling the velvet box closer to her, back to coveting it like it was more precious than anything he could’ve known, seemed to set his mind at something of ease. “Then don’t leave them with me. They aren’t for me.” Gael didn’t look at the velvet box or the box of Boneios, he looked at her, unfaltering but not angry. “None of this is. This is all for that woman, whose name you don’t even know so how can you be sure it’s not Reine?” The soapbox was threatening to come out; the longer they stood there, exchanging false pleasantries, the more riled up he became and he could feel it starting to thump in his heart, against his aching bones and weaving through the bite wounds in his old scar. “Whoever sent you here to retrieve her couldn’t even bother to give you a name?” Uncalled for but he felt like it needed to be said. He uncrossed his arms and placed them on the counter as he kept his dark-eyed stare on her. “I know what it means to be entrusted with things that are precious. I understand what bones and death mean to her. What they mean to you, Professor Dolan.” As they interacted, Gael was able to recognize her as the archeology professor at the university. They’d never met in person - and he wasn’t even sure if she actually taught anything - but he remembered seeing her face and the obvious respect she had for the bones in conjunction with her obsession with finding Regan by any means necessary connected the dots in the man’s head.

“Yes, I do like her.” He admitted. “And I don’t want to dislike you.” It was the truth. “Why is it so imperative that you take her back? What is the goal? What do you want?” How frequently phrases and words came up in Gael’s dictionary; he’d asked so many people this same exact question, so many people who put their wants, needs and desires aside from some perceived ‘greater good’ or out of some misplaced sense that what they wanted wasn’t important. “Can I make you some tea? We can talk about this.”

—

Gael’s words crashed into Siobhan, exploding on impact. She stumbled, slapping the box of Boneios down on the counter, sending a few cereal skulls and pelvises flying. She released the box, gripping the counter instead to steady herself. She wanted to hurt him, the desire was an overwhelming miasma across her mind, and her hand slipped under her jacket to fondle the sheath of her prized knife. She knew it was an immature reaction; violence always sprang up when unpleasant emotions toiled inside of her. She dropped her gaze as shame burned her cheeks. She had walked into the house at a disadvantage, she knew that, but to have it laid out so plainly was humiliating. “Her name wouldn’t be French, it would be something with Gaelic origins, like Regan.” But it wasn’t Regan, was it? Either way, they all— Regan, Regis, Reine— meant the same thing: king, queen, ruler. And she was safely tucked away in her castle while her knight did her bidding, vetting the strange ‘free bone giveaway’ lady to make sure she wouldn’t stuff her into a burlap sack.

“I had a name,” she mumbled. Siobhan raised her hand, mimicking the way she’d held the piece of paper before she soiled it. The first time she read it, she’d been too drunk to remember it well and when she woke up, wine had smudged the name into illegibility. She had the ‘R’, which remained, and the vague remembrance of the sounds that followed it. She squeezed her hand into a fist, crushing the imaginary letter. “And then I lost it.” Proof of her inadequacy. She had lost the precious thing entrusted to her before she even had a chance to try and keep it. He knew who she was; she’d already lost. Likely, she lost the moment she showed up at his door. She had no reason to fear becoming something pathetic, she already was.

When he asked her what she wanted, she perked up, staring at him under the cover of loosened strands of her brown hair. His cruelty was sharp—no wonder Regis and him shared in a passionate love affair. “I want to be happy.” Siobhan quivered as she exhaled. “I want my life back.” Her eyes burned. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to get it back but she couldn’t hurt him, not if Regis loved him. She might have been the monster coming to throw Regan back into a life she didn’t want, but she possessed standards. No one would ever appreciate them, but it wasn’t her place to be appreciated. “No tea. I’m not going to let you poison me. And you’re not the person I want to talk about this with.” She traced the thick scarred line across her palm, so old and fused to her flesh that it looked more like something that had always been there rather than a transformation her body had taken. She traced its mirror image on the other hand too. “You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand. I don’t have a choice, I’ve never had a choice. I am what I am and I do what I must. On rare occasions, my desires align with what must be done. Like this. These are powerful motivators: want and need. You cannot change my mind; you may remove the want or the need but you cannot dissolve both. And as long as one exists, I will have her. I will take her and you’d have to kill me to get me to stop, but I’m not a fool. I understand why I was chosen. If I die, I am their alarm—they come here, they know where she is, and now they have righteous fury to fuel them. I don’t matter but I can… if I bring her back. I matter. It has to be me. I need it. I want it. I am nothing without her.”

—

The name was on the tip of her tongue, she even said it. But she didn’t know it, not for sure. And Gael wouldn’t be the one to tell her, no matter what she would’ve answered with in response to his questions. She had it, with him able to gather through her body language that it was written down before something happened to render it illegible or unavailable. He also assumed that she hadn’t wanted to let them know that happened because of her pride. Siobhan didn’t want tea, he didn’t blame her. She also didn’t want to talk about it with him which he also understood but as she spoke about how she didn’t have a choice, about how she was what she was and how she had a specific purpose, dragging Regan away from Wicked’s Rest and back home presumably under instructions from her overbearing grandmother incensed him. Gael was zero for two now on banshees who felt like they had a greater calling, that things weren’t about what they wanted though, to be fair, the woman before him had actually told him what she wanted, even if it came at a cost to Regan and what she wanted. His brow furrowed as she spoke with conviction, about how she’d have to die before stopping in her purpose, about how her death would be a siren and a blip on the map for some supposedly greater force to come swoop Regan away. ‘I am nothing without her.’ “That doesn’t have to be true.” Gael gulped as he looked at her, his eyebrows starting to twitch in the middle as they were pulled by empathy. “I’ve heard about where you two came from. I’ve heard about how you don’t feel like you have a choice, about how it’s not about what you want. I’ve been told about the harsh practices, the drilling of information, the implication that you don’t deserve things.” As he spoke, he lowered his head though he still kept his eyes looking up at her, his eyes soulful. “You can be happy. You live longer than us humans; surely there’s enough time to give yourself grace and do what you want to do, right?” He wasn’t speaking about Regan anymore, even if he wanted to say these things to her. And Gael wasn’t sure if the banshee was even listening to him but the soapbox was out. “You do matter, Siobhan. You and your choices matter. Your happiness matters.You are here right now, living with an instruction in your head that is keeping you from experiencing that happiness. You are something. And you said I can’t change your mind - God knows I can’t seem to change hers either - but you also can’t change mine.” He gave a steady inhale through his nose. “No one’s happiness should come at the cost of another. And if there’s something I can do to help you, something that’s realistic, then I’d like to. But I can’t tell you her name.”

—

Siobhan was listening. She didn’t want to be and most of it felt like the babbling of a child, but she was listening. She wondered if he knew he was wasting his breath and decided to waste it anyway. She wondered if he knew she wouldn’t carry his words with her anywhere, that they would die right where they were born, and decided to bring them to life anyway. Humans could be tenacious in their futility. Sometimes people, and especially people like Gael, were just dogs chasing cars. Poor things. Didn’t they know what happened when they stepped out in the middle of a road? Siobhan lifted her hand to him, splaying her fingers until the scar ribboned across her palm bulged out. “Have you seen hers? You should ask to see it one day and while you think about how many times you must run a blade across flesh like ours to leave a mark like this, I want you to think about me. I want you to think about how much thicker mine is, I want you to think about every inch of my body that you can’t see and think about your stupid fucking speech and be enfeebled by the weight of your ignorance.” She snapped her palm shut like the heavy lid of the velvet bone box.

“Her happiness can be found in new places but my life is over. Her life is flush with possibility; she ran, and someone still wanted her back. Even within the confines of our way, she is still the one that hoards freedom. What you understand from her eyes, whatever she has told you, you cannot begin to fathom from mine. There is only one way forward for me. There is only one person that can grant me my livelihood and she doesn’t want to go back because her boyfriend can’t follow her. Do you truly think her decade of misery will be more terrible than my lifetime of condemnation? I have lived what she fears. I was born into what she fears. I am what she fears. And you? Gael, you’re just a dog.” Siobhan’s lips twisted into a wide grin, cracking her face in twain between the severity of her eyes and the glee of her mouth. “Honk honk,” she said and then she screamed.

The house rattled; glass popped and Siobhan felt the world quiver underfoot. She didn’t want to kill him, she didn’t even want to permanently wound him, but she wanted his ears to ring and the following migraine to contort his existence into a labor. Most of all, she wanted to ruin the insipid gold bong he kept on his counter. When she was done, the sound still echoing in the air and her bones still vibrating with warmth, she spoke softly, just to taunt him. “You can have the Boneios, maybe they’ll remind her of home.” She snatched the velvet box and tucked it under her arm. “But I’m keeping the bone.” Picking glass out of her hair, she started to walk away. He wouldn’t appreciate the fact that she spared him the worst of her power—the scream was the equivalent of a yawn—but that was for him to figure out when his brain started working again.

— It was a peculiar thing, the soapbox that he felt empowered on when he was giving pep talks and speeches to people he felt could use them. Gael was so rarely stopped from standing on it, so seldomly dissuaded from what he was saying, being allowed to continue as long as he wanted, that over the years he was under the impression that they actually did anything. It was peculiar because as soon as one were to look down, they’d just just that - a soapbox. A soapbox holding up a short man who thought he was making a difference to whoever he was talking to. He didn’t feel that often, obviously, and he was unaccustomed to the rejection of it all. He knew that the second she lifted her hand and began to talk back to him, as his dark eyes danced on the thick scar on her palm, it was a waste of his time and energy. Of course it was; this was a woman who was tasked with taking Regan back, so delusional in her single-minded goal that she could die and that would be preferable to living without attaining that goal. She was talking and Gael wanted to listen, both with his sharp hearing and his gentle mind, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to hear what strong convictions spurned her to act the way she did, he didn’t want to entertain whatever counterargument she could provide. He tried to be accommodating. He tried to understand as many angles as he could - that was why he still communicated with Emilio, with Regan, with Ren. But he also quickly came to the conclusion that whatever Regan was, whatever she told him about banshees, really was a perception colored by her experiences at Wicked’s Rest. She had a higher calling, she had a purpose and a clarity but it paled in comparison to the creature that lectured him across his marbled island countertop. He knew Siobhan was insulting him but Gael had managed to tune her out until she was little more than a buzz in his ears. His expression fell and a look had crossed his gaunt face, something almost akin to a dissociative state as he waited for her to finish her own speech so he could tell her to get the hell out of his house. She was done here. He was done here. The professor didn’t look back up at her until she seemed to come to a close on her ramble, turning his hearing back on so he could understand the words that were coming from her mouth. ‘I am what she fears.’

Gael knew that.

‘And you? Gael, you’re just a dog.’ He knew that, too. That’s all Gael felt like sometimes, following people around, approaching strangers to see if they needed help. Coming when called, excited on behalf of others, often not even thinking about what he wanted or needed to the point where he wasn’t sure what to tell them sometimes when they asked. He rolled over (most of the time, anyway) in the interest of wanting to make sure everyone was okay. He said things he didn’t mean and snapped sometimes but he was always the one who apologized first after realizing how antagonistic he was being because he didn’t want people to be mad at him. He wanted to protect who he cared about. He didn’t want to be alone, not when he couldn’t be sure what he even was anymore.

‘Stay. Good boy.’

These were a flash in his mind as Gael saw her expression contort and snap into an unnatural smile, wide, with too many teeth and nothing but hatred in it. ‘Honk honk’. Okay, that caught him a little off-guard and he felt his brow furrow slightly. He opened his mouth to tell her that they were done when her own mouth opened and–

The sound was immediately unbearable. He didn’t want to call it a scream as it was a siren that effortlessly pierced his eardrums, the screech of metal that shook the house, shattered the glass of his coffee maker and the window that sat behind his sink. With an involuntary yelp, Gael’s hands flew to his ears as fast as they could, yet they were agonizingly slow as the sound rattled in his brain, filling it with razor blades. He crashed to his knees, his vision swimming in tears and finding himself completely unable to hear anything but a pitched whine that drilled through him. He couldn’t focus on her, he couldn’t focus on the warmth oozing from one side of his head, he couldn’t focus on how effectively helpless he was at that moment in time.

She said something but he couldn’t even begin to understand what it was; it didn’t matter anyway. None of this mattered. Gael felt nauseous. He breathed heavily, pinching his eyes closed as he felt his fingers pressing against his skull in an attempt to assuage the simultaneous pounding, slicing and ringing. “Get out.” He said, unable to hear the occlusion that normally sounded off in one’s head when they spoke. “Take your calling and your purpose and choke on it.” He wasn’t sure how loudly he was speaking, but he didn’t care. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at her with his dark gaze that glistened with tears, a small release of the pain that made his head sway unsteadily. Where uncertainty was in his body language and deafness was deafening in his ears, his tone, possibly shouting, carried everything he needed to convey to her.

“You’re not getting her.”

#wickedswriting #writing: Great Listening Skills #writing with: Siobhan #self harm tw #//Siobhan's a treasure #//And Ria's a treat

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