#to help alleviate their guilt and feel less like some fucking monster for what they did

[byanyan]

woke up thinking about byan having cryptic text hidden within the art of the tattoos that are tied to their traumas... for when the images themselves aren't a strong enough reminder of lessons learned 🤔

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 5 ~Rollover Rollo~

 Previously in Revelations and Snogs

"You want to see me again?" she teased, smiling.

"I dinnae even want to leave ye tonight."

She dropped her head down to hide the heat creeping up her face. "I'll see what's Annalise is up to and we'll take it from there. I'll either call you or send a message."

He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up. "Ye're not mad I kissed ye? I havenae forgotten yer rules about first dates."

Claire picked up the gift bags, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. And then she smiled. "I'm starting to believe the rules don't apply to you. Good night, Jamie." And with that, she turned around and walked towards the cottage without looking back, knowing full well Jamie was still stood there waiting for her until she'd safely made it to the house.

Once inside, she allowed herself to slide down to the floor and relived the memory of their first kiss. And she sat there for a very long time.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

    Yawning, he stretched himself until his joints popped. When he glanced at his bedside clock, he realised it was only seven a.m. As per usual, Jamie hardly slept a wink, but this time around, he didn't feel depleted nor on edge. If anything, he felt refreshed and energised. There was nowhere to rush to as his and his brother's business was closed for the holidays; nevertheless, he decided to get up and feed his dog, Rollo and get a few moments alone before the day started. 

Most nights, he'd wake up to his own cries, his body drenched in perspiration and he'd find himself on the floor on his knees, breathing heavily as the feeling of panic took over. Raw terror and uncontrollable fear would course through his body, blurring his surroundings and any coherent thoughts. His only primary focus would be to fight for air, attempting to slow his breathing as his heart furiously pounded out of rhythm, making it seem like it was about to explode in his chest. He didn't have any idea how long the attacks took, only that it happened most nights and in loud, overly-crowded places. 

Last night had been different though. Instead of visions of horrors that plagued his dreams, he'd tossed and turned in his bed thinking of Claire. Images of her and their night together preoccupied his mind causing all sorts of emotions to poke his heart. Unknowingly, she'd gently nudged his past out of him which was a rare occurrence, as he seldom talked about it to anyone other than his older brother. It had been so easy to confide, and it came as natural as breathing. In such a short time, she'd kindled something inside him he hadn't known breathed, and made him feel alive again. When she'd heard his story, there were none of the affected looks of horror or sympathy he'd expected, nor did she give him any special treatment. She'd shared her thoughts with a silent understanding and compassion and moved on as if she knew they were treading over a delicate subject. 

Shoving his duvet aside, Jamie padded to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, relishing the warm stinging spray on his skin. Minutes later, after towelling off, he put on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. He hummed under his breath as he walked into the kitchen, knowing there was a lot to look forward to. Mainly spending time with Claire again. Feeling optimistic, he was grateful for the blessed respite from his night time terrors and counted himself lucky.

After all, he was the lucky one, wasn't he?

He was alive, and he'd dodged the bullets.

Simon MacKimmie hadn't. 

And he'd broken his promise.

He went over the scenario again, wondering if he'd just been a little quicker, shaving a few precious minutes, would Simon still be alive today?

As for his friend's wife, had he given up too soon on Laoghaire? He hadn't stayed around to find out and hear the rest of the story after the lass admitted to cheating. Maybe he should have talked to her and listened to her side of the account, instead of speculating why she did what she did. If he'd done that, would it have absolved him of his guilt?

He knew it was futile to keep rehashing the past events in his head. He'd already decided the best way forward was to embrace the natural process of grief and guilt even though his therapist wanted him to use every textbook solution that was out there and take the prescribed pills to dull the pain. He wasn't a fan of medication that you popped into the mouth and believed in a more organic healing approach which was why he came home to stay, surrounded by familiar faces in an environment he loved. Even if he would recover, he knew he couldn't go back to his old life as a part of him had died with Simon.

The sound of scrambling paws on the wooden floor brought him out of his reflections. His furry housemate and companion, Rollo, appeared around the corner and headed straight for him.

"Hiya mate, sae sorry was late last night." He patted the husky's head to smooth the white-grey fur, and in return, he got a gentle lick and prod with a wet snout to his hand. "I met a lass down at the pub and hardly noticed the time. Her name is Claire. I think ye'll like her."

Rollo's grey eyes flashed with understanding. "We'll go for a run later as soon as I know what she's up to. But first, coffee for me while ye go and do yer business."

Rollo cocked his head and nodded.

He opened the backdoor kitchen to let the dog out as a blast of chilly wind caused him to shiver, but Rollo only twitched his nose, barked twice, and ran off.

He laughed out loud at Rollo's outright joy of freedom, racing over to the grass to a favourite tree, and doing laps around the gnarled trunk and then disappearing behind the shed. A deep sense of peace settled over him as he closed the door behind him and turned on his coffee machine. His cottage might be small, and his yard less than half an acre, but he'd managed to create a home on his own terms.

Rollo had been Willie's idea after he was diagnosed with PTSD. His brother believed, human and animal bonding could help alleviate the aftermath of his trauma and aide with his healing. Willie was right. When Rollo had walked out of the rescue centre and into his arms, it had been love at first sight, and they'd been constant companions ever since. Rollo would soothe him when he had one of his episodes, the low whimper and touch of fur and wetness pressed against the side of his head calming him down in the dead of night. Laoghaire hadn't like the idea of the dog near her, but keeping Rollo was something he remained adamant about.

Jamie headed towards the pantry, grabbed a sack of dog food and filled the doggy bowl with biscuits, ready for when Rollo returned from his morning business. As he brought his coffee over to the table, he checked his phone. There were a few messages from his shinty teammates asking about Claire, probably prodded by their wives or girlfriends, eager to hear some juicy news to gossip about. 

He remembered catching some side-eyed looks as he and Claire had browsed through the stalls at the Christmas market last night and it was only a matter of time before everyone knew and started asking questions. When the phone rang, he quickly grabbed it. It was his brother-in-law, Ian.  Ah, fuck!  It meant Jenny must have heard.

Knowing there was no avoiding it, Jamie answered his phone. "Hey, aren't ye up way too early on holiday? How's the weather in the south of France?" 

Ian chuckled. "Never mind that. I'm calling to give ye a heads up."

"On what?" he asked casually, pretending not to know what Ian was on about as he sipped his coffee.

"Mary called Jenny last night, and they were on speaker, so heard the whole thing. Mary gave Jenny a rundown about the lassie ye were out with yesterday."

He ran a hand down his face. "Nosey git! Why does everyone have to know about my business or take an interest?"

"Aye, I said so too myself. Anyway, thought I'd let ye know. I told Jenny already no' to interfere with yer affairs, but ye ken what yer sister is like. She's worried about ye ..." Ian paused before letting out a sigh. "So go easy on her if she asks too many questions."

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll be gentle, but I'm still telling her how it is. I'm a thirty-year-old man for God's sake, and I dinnae need her telling me how to run my life."

"Aye, I know. So, what's up with the lass?"

Jamie groaned. "Nought! I just met her last night. Went out for a few drinks and then I dropped her at Mrs Fitz's."

"Good. Like what ye said, it's naebody's business."

"Aye, remind yer wife that, please."

Ian laughed. "Telling her that would be like talking to a brick wall. Okay, got to go. I think Jenny just woke up. Talk soon ..."

The call ended.

Jamie let out a long breath. Jenny's friend must have mentioned about Claire being from London. His sister remembered only too well what had happened to him last time he was in a city. 

He'd been in Glasgow to visit a mate and was nearly in an accident after he had one of his episodes while crossing a junction. He'd fallen on to his knees, putting traffic into a standstill, while passersby thought he was just another city junkie, going off his nuts. He'd hoped his fits were behind him, but it seemed they lurked in the background like the monsters under the bed that had kept him up at night waiting for the right time to pounce. If it hadn't been for the kind middle-aged English man, called Harry, stopping to his aid, he wondered what would have happened. Harry had taken him to the hospital, called his family, took his number and then disappeared. 

Once in a while, he would get a call from Harry to check up on his well-being, but every time they talked, Jamie forgot to ask for the man's number, as it didn't show on his phone. It would have been good to know where the Englishman lived so he could send a Christmas card or a souvenir from Scotland. His parents had insisted on inviting Harry to Lallybroch, and every time he relayed the message, the man politely refused.

Jamie let out a resigned breath through his nose and refilled his cup with coffee. Jenny was right about one thing she'd kept on about to him. He wouldn't be able to survive in the city for more than a few hours. But where did that leave his chances of forging a relationship with Claire, the only woman to ever affect him the way she did? He was unsuitable for the outside world, and everyone in Broch Mordha knew it. 

He knew Claire was aware of their attraction by the way she often blushed at his teasing and subtly responded to his kiss last night but would that be enough to convince her to stay? Could she envision herself staying for an unforeseeable future to find out what it was between them? What would that mean for her career? Her dreams? It was early days yet, and they'd only just met. She was here until the Three Kings, and that's if she managed to persuade Annalise to stay and anything could happen between now and then.

He browsed the internet in his laptop, scanning through headline news and answering a few emails. After a while, he wondered where his dog was. Normally, he would be scratching at the door by now, wanting his breakfast. Maybe he got distracted by a critter and went off running across the field. He thought he'd give his dog a few more minutes and then he would go out and look. He had another cup of coffee and answered a few text messages all the while checking the time. He was just tying his running shoes when his phone chirped. He glanced at the screen and smiled.

Claire:  Good morning! If I woke you up, I'm terribly sorry. But I did say I would send you a message. So here I am texting you.

He quickly toed off his shoes, grabbed his coffee and went to the living room. Cup in his hand, he settled himself down on the sofa with a grin.

Jamie:  I'm up. May I call you? 

Claire:  Of course. 

He placed his coffee on the table, hit the phone icon and pressed the phone to his ear. "G'morning Sassenach. Did ye sleep well?" he asked when Claire picked up.

She groaned. "Not really. I might have over-indulged with the alcohol last night. I slept fitfully."

"Were ye thinking about the kiss?" He leaned back on the sofa, put his arm behind his head and smiled.

She didn't respond, but he heard something rustling. There must have been an eye-roll in the ensuing pause.

"Was it that bad, huh?"

"No! I ...was ... I'm sorry, I was trying to unwrap something. Anyway, Annalise hasn't shown up yet."

He knew she was trying to avoid the question and decided not to push. "Oh! Have ye tried calling her?"

"She called already, and she told me she's fine. She stayed in Lallybroch with Willie. She said no taxis were running late at night, and they hadn't noticed the time and your brother couldn't drive because he's had a bit to drink. From what I gathered, Lallybroch is your family home, right?"

That canny bastard!  Willie knew taxis didn't come to Lallybroch after ten p.m. and with his parents staying for the night at his aunt Jocasta's house and his sister and brother-in-law away on holiday in the south of France, Willie and Annalise had the manor house to themselves. "Aye, it is our family home," he finally answered. "It's where I grew up. Was Annalise annoyed?"

"Annoyed?" She sounded surprised. "Why should she be annoyed?"

"Weel, she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with my brother, and they've just met. I figured the situation might have unnerved her. "

"No, she wasn't annoyed. If anything, she sounded chipper and was quite chatty. She's normally a morning grump." And then she laughed. "I think having your driving licences sent to Geillis put her mind at ease and felt safe enough to go with your brother. As I did with you too." She said the last sentence almost shyly and quietly.

"I'm glad." Jamie let out a sigh of relief but not before he moved the phone away. He knew he would have been at a disadvantage if Annalise had been miffed about being stranded in Lallybroch. Not that his family's home was far, but it was slightly isolated from the village, and it was two and a half miles away. Without proper street lighting between Lallybroch and Broch Mordha and the temperatures freezing, it would have been an uncomfortable walk back. Fingers-crossed, he hoped Willie and Annalise were getting along fine because it would mean Claire's friend would agree to stay here for their holidays. "So what are yer plans today?"

"Hmmm ...let me see ..."

Her tone was playful, and he could envision a pretty blush creeping from her neck and fanning out to her face. "I hope I'm included in those plans."

"Don't fret. You are." He heard a smile in her voice. "I'm just waiting for Annalise to finally show her face, so I have a clear idea of how the day is supposed to pan out."

He grinned. "Good. Did Annalise tell you what they've been up to?"

"Oh, yes." Jamie heard shuffling in the background again and wondered if she was still in bed and what she was wearing. "She told me they had a quiet evening playing a board game and drinking red wine. Sounds like we had a more exciting evening."

"A board game?"

"Yes. It's funny, really when I think about it. Annalise is more likely to hang out in a crowded place until late. I can't believe she missed the karaoke that was posted in the pub. She loves to sing, and she really has a good voice and ..."

Grabbing his cup, he took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat. "What kind of board game?"

"Umm ...let me think. Annalise said it belongs to your sister and her husband and it sounded something like Monopoly. She said they played for hours."

He almost choked on his coffee.  Ah, fuck ...Willie!  

"You alright?"

"A-aye." He was glad Claire couldn't see the heat spreading across his face. "C-coffee went in the wrong passage," he managed to say.

She let out an adorable giggle, and he heard more shuffling and rustling sound on her end. "Anyway, she kind of explained it roughly and said it has cards and dice. So that's probably why I thought of Monopoly. Hey, maybe we could play it with them. What do you think?"

Ah, bloody hell!  "It's Monogamy ..." he wheezed, putting his cup down on the table and thumping his chest.

Ah, Jesus Christ!  Monogamy board game was a two-player game played by couples with raunchy questions and challenges. He'd found it one night in the hallway cupboard when his family had friends over and was looking for Trivial Pursuit for a night of indoor entertainment. It was hidden behind the stack of other games covered in cloth and labelled  "Jenny's and Ian's - Do Not Touch."  He hadn't realised Willie knew about it. The thought of him and Claire playing it made him hot. He wondered what Claire would think if she knew what it really was.

"Hang on a minute!" He took a few breaths and gulped down the rest of his drink. When he was sure his voice sounded normal again, he grabbed his phone and spoke. "Have ye had breakfast?" he asked, not bothering to answer Claire's question. "I can make us something in a jiffy. I haven't had anything to eat yet."

"Oh, thanks, but I'm having one right now with this handsome chap ..."

He jolted forward and straightened up. "I beg yer pardon?"  Is she teasing me, or is she having breakfast with another bloke while talking to me?

"Oh, um, I'm with a company, actually and I'm waiting for Mrs Fitz to see what we could do about this situation. You see, I got up early, and I read in one of Mrs Fitz's pamphlet, Baker's Dozen was open at seven. So I went for a walk and bought some croissants. On the way back, I met this gorgeous looking fella with the most beautiful grey eyes, and he looked hungry and was following me, so I invited him to have breakfast ..."

"Sassenach!"

"Wot?"

Are ye bloody kidding me?  "Ye cannae just invite someone ye dinnae ken to breakfast just because he looked hungry ..."

"Don't be daft ...he's a charming, cuddly, adorable looking boy."

"Sassenach ..." His voice sounded whiny to his ears.  Ah, fuck!  He wondered who she was having breakfast with, and his mind was already racing, trying to think who could possibly have followed Claire. When he couldn't think of anyone, he shot to his feet and started to shove them back into his running shoes. "I'm coming over right now."

"No, you're not."

"Why not?"

"I'm in my bathrobe."

His heart started to beat faster.  Is this woman who I happen to really like deliriously mad?  "Wh-what? Ye went to the baker's in yer bathrobe?"

"No, silly! It's too cold to be wandering about in a bathrobe. When I got back, I made myself comfortable and dressed down. I have a bath running and will take one soon. But meanwhile, I'm having a bit of breakfast. The water pressure here is not too great, and it's taking ages for the tub to fill up. Don't worry, my guest is very well behaved."

"Behaved?"

"Yeah, he occasionally likes to lick my hand but other than that, he's actually quite mild-mannered."

"Who's with ye, Sassenach?" he asked in a low voice, as he got up from the sofa and made his way to the kitchen. He looked out the window, and when he couldn't see Rollo, he began to grow suspicious.

"Hang on a minute, there's a tag attached to his collar. Umm ...let's see, what do we have here? His name is Rollo."

"That's my dog!"

She let out a throaty laugh. "Oh, that's fine then! I'll keep him with me until I'm done with my bath. And then I'll bring him over to you."

"Why didn't ye tell me it's a dog ye're with?"

"Did I not? I'm sorry I was distracted feeding him croissant with butter. I hope that's alright with you."

"I thought you were having breakfast with another man in yer bathrobe!" His voice held a slightly accusatory tone.

"Well, you thought wrong. So, you're alright with Rollo having croissant with butter? He seems to love it."

He counted backwards, starting from ten, and when he was done, he almost laughed out loud. Knowing Claire didn't mind having his dog around her, made him like her even more. "Aye, that's alright, Sassenach. A wee treat once in a while, never did him harm. Speaking of treats, I could use one too actually."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'm coming over to tell ye." And then he hung up before she could respond and made a dash out of the door.

      Dear Readers,

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. I made a massive effort to finish it tonight as I really want certain parts of the story to coincide with Christmas. It was a huge challenge, but I got there in the end. The rest of this story is is outlined and ready to be written, and I'm quite excited about it. All I need is to make it come alive in my storytelling. I'm so chuffed about some certain elements (sorry not going to divulge) that I have come up with, I had a proper good girly squeal earlier. Now that I have said it, I hope I haven't set the expectation too high. Just needed to overshare my excitement. haha!

Anyway, thanks muchly for your feedback, kudos and love for the previous chapter. Sending you back best wishes and hope you're all well and healthy. Take care for now. x

[grantcontrol]

Heartless, Swarmless ◈ Anton ⁺ Eilidh

Timing: Some time last week Location: White Crest National Park Parties: @braindeacl & @grantcontrol Summary: Anton and Eilidh meet for the first time and end up going on a trip because of some overgrown spiders. Now they know how a hairball feels. Content: Insect, spiders, vomit (not theirs), a lot of cursing

“This better not be one of those prank calls.” With an annoyed groan and a mildly disinterested sigh, Anton begrudgingly parked the white van with his company’s name in bold letters on its side into the otherwise empty designated parking space of the White Crest National Park. He faintly remembered his late grandfather taking him to this place when he was just a tiny tot, though for the life of him, he could no longer recall anything else about that visit. Park’s big, that about sums up all he knows of the place now. 

Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions received the call while he was about to Netflix and chill, and while their so-called employer insisted on staying anonymous on the other end of the line, the Girl verified that whoever they were, they had already paid in full. Online. Anton wasn’t too savvy about how that whole thing worked but he trusts the Girl in these matters. Why would she lie? She was getting her pay from the same account, and as much as she doesn’t respect him, at least not on the surface, she can’t deny that they both need the money. Besides, he had already seen the same zombie movie at least three times.

Dragging himself out of the vehicle, he took his time making his way to the back of it where his tools waited for him. Most of it was standard exterminator gear. The rest? Just a few contingencies from his less public career as a pest hunter. Also a jar of peanut butter, but that’s not for him. “Where do I even fucking start?” He wasn’t even inside the park yet when he started complaining. Overgrown spiders. That’s what the caller said they were. The size of a dog? Anton already knew what they actually were. His late grandfather hated the damned things, and there was no doubt he’d hate them, too. If he even gets to find them.

It started with a deer. A family had been perusing about one of the main trails. One of the supposedly safe trails. They had stopped to gaze upon a grazing doe. The child had begged and begged and begged to be placed on their father’s shoulders, and they got their wish just as the deer began to move. The small group watched in awed silence as she inspected the forest floor, searching for her next meal. But before she could find it, the forest floor made a meal of her. It opened up wide, gripped her tight, and pulled her below. Similar instances followed, and the Park was sent into a frenzy. Eilidh, naturally, made herself involved.

Talks of eradication filled the office. But they were too afraid to state anything plainly, too afraid to even admit that they knew what truly lurked within the nearby wood. Eilidh was more direct. “Fuck no.” These creatures, these carachs, only crime was existing in view of humans. It was clear her perspective was not the majority. The carachs posed a threat, and while it had yet to be acted on, they would not wait until it was too late. Eilidh offered a solution. Let her try. The Park was full of restricted areas away from any wandering pedestrian. Away from this potential threat. They could be relocated there. Let her try.

So, she would try. Alone.

Whatever. Less eyes meant she could utilize all of her abilities. After taking a moment to secure some supplies, which became nestled within her backpack, she headed off onto her task. And was immediately struck with the sight of Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions glaring back at her. “Those cunts!” Someone must’ve called while she was distracted, because no one had made any clear moves to dissuade whoever the vehicle belonged to, for it sat undisturbed. “This is a National Park, you don’t call a fucking exterminator!” She yelled at one of her coworkers who made the mistake of walking by. They simply stared with frightened eyes, having no clue what she was talking about. With a frustrated shout, she ran over to the car. When a man, supposedly the owner, came into view, she pointed threateningly. “No! No! Fuck off! We don’t need your kind of help!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That’s not a very warm welcome.” On any other day, Anton would’ve smirked at the sight of a tiny angry person screaming at her, what the much taller man definitely finds hilarious. For some reason. But today was not one of those days. Anton was tired. Anton was exhausted. Anton just wanted to get this job done. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am? We’re just responding to a call.”

Yes, he was, but no, he already knew what the problem was. The damn carachs, of course. He should’ve expected they’d find their way to a place like this, a place big enough where they could hide somewhere and eat something without the prying eyes of the more mundane humans. Unfortunately, the eight-legged freaks must’ve messed up, one of those mundane creatures saw them do something, and now Anton and his need for money was caught in the middle of the overgrown spiders and whatever the heck this small but pretty attractive woman’s problem was.

“I’m Anton. Anton Grant.” He thought introducing himself would make any difference, offering her one of his patented charming smiles that didn’t actually have that much of a success rate, if only serving to catch others off-guard for a brief moment or two. He doubled down with an extended hand, his dark brown eyes moving from her towards the other park personnel whose own curiosities lured them to this less than pleasant encounter. 

“Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions, the best pest control service in town, by the way, is here to help. Someone called about…” He looked around them before leaning in for a whisper. “...a spider problem…” He then moved back to resume the normal volume of his voice. Just in case one of those other personnel would end up a potential customer. “We’re here to take care of it. Professionally.”

Out of a misguided attempt to sound professional, he emphasized the pronoun we throughout his spiel, even though it was clear as day that he was alone.

Eilidh rolled her eyes, not feeling any guilt for her outburst. “Respond to another call.” She wasn’t even given a second of trust before she was undermined by this outsourced ‘help.’ While she truly loved her job and the opportunities it presented to her, sometimes she hated the other people involved. Even though most were relatively sympathetic, there was still a clear bias against the supernatural. Even with visitors outwardly acknowledging the dangers, if someone cried monster too many times, the monster must be dealt with. Often cruelly. Always have to keep up pretenses. Even here.

As ‘Anton’ flashed a smile, she only blinked in response, already trying to forget the name. His hand extended forward, perhaps in an attempt at peace. Eilidh chose the opposite. Her own palms placed firmly on her hips with no want of moving. The effect was lost as another took his offered hand, whether from genuine interest or to alleviate some of the tension set ablaze by her passions. Didn’t matter either way. Angry eyes locked onto them and fearing they too would get caught in the flame, they yielded, taking a step back. The two of them still had an audience, but a ring of emptiness encircled them. A distinction between onlooker and participant.  

A spider problem. The way it was spoken, as if a secret, like so many that filled this town, showed her he was probably aware of what truly lurked out there. An actual professional. Or an overconfident fool. So, either someone who could actually do damage, or someone whose death would add more fuel to the fear. Neither alternative would be beneficial. “Look, I ‘ave the ‘spider problem’ handled. So, get the fuck out of-”

She was interrupted by a voice from behind. A superior. They informed her that the Park was exploring all the options given to them. And that if her idea worked, the exterminator wouldn’t need to do his job anyway. Said in a way that was clear they wanted to scream fuck just as Eilidh had and will again, but professionalism prevented such a thing. Pretenses, pretenses. So, her options were clear. Work fast, and maybe, maybe be able to save some of the carachs… Fuck, she didn’t even have a clear plan! But the other conclusion was all the carachs dead, for she wasn’t fast enough.

She looked at Anton. Then bolted into the woods. 

There is no other call. Anton wanted to just dryly tell her the truth, that his line of work wasn’t as stable as hers, and because of that, he needs to respond to every call he gets. Otherwise, his late grandfather might start haunting him, too, for letting his business go down the drain. Like his body. The past few weeks were pretty good for Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions, though, which was a little odd to think and smile about right then and there, considering he technically should thank all the bugs and rodents he had to put down for always keeping him warm and fed.

“Okay…” The lady was as rude as she was cute confirmed. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only park personnel around, and he gave the more courteous one a nod and the most charming smile he could ever muster. A stolen glimpse of the still infuriated rude woman, however, slowly chased that smile off of his face. Like she chased the other employee off. Without even moving. Damn, she’s good. He’d almost believed that she did have everything under control, too, because despite her size and her rudeness, her fire reminded her of someone else’s, someone who proved him wrong and handled herself beyond his misinformed expectations. But then someone else stepped forward and corrected her. Oof.

“Well then, I guess if there’s nothing else…” He almost gulped when she looked back at him, his mind already wincing even though it was just one look. The last thing he needed was to get slapped, punched, or even kicked between the legs. He’s suffered all three before, in public, so he was always wary of those possibilities. Still, he had a job to do, especially now that the rest of the park seems to be on his side more than hers. “I’ll just—” He cut himself off when she bolted into the woods. Okay… I guess she really hates my guts. Turning to the rest of the personnel, he just offered them a shrug before calmly walking behind her, as another quickly briefed him on their spider problem. 

She ran. And ran. Eilidh wasn’t even sure what she was going to do when she got to her destination. But she knew how to run. So, run she did.

A patch of dirt caught her attention. Small circle of brown contrasting the great expanse of green. It hadn’t been there the day before. Odd. Curiosity compelled her forward, and curiosity paid off. As a foot just barely pressed upon the transitional point between grass and ‘dirt,’ the ground stirred, revealing it wasn’t ground at all. The carach was only the size of a football, but it attacked her with the ferocity of a lion. Fangs pierced her leg, injecting it with a paralyzing agent. But as it worked its way through her body, it couldn’t take hold. She knelt down, the carach still clinging to her leg, as if waiting for its toxins to strip her of all movement. She simply held it in her unaffected hands. It lurched forward, and after a moment of struggle, it escaped from her. It returned to its burrow. She fished out a tarp from her bag. Repeating the previous steps, the carach was once again in her grasp, but before it could escape her, she wrapped the tarp around its body, securing the ends in tight fists.

It fought. Desperately. Holes formed in the tarp as its eight legs went haywire. But not enough to fully rip. After a tense moment of struggle, on both the carach’s and Eilidh’s part, all motion ceased. Acceptance. She picked up the makeshift carach carrier. The contents gave one last struggle before calming again. But this all wasn’t a victory yet. She started running again, but slower, taking care not to jostle her unwilling companion. After a satisfying amount of distance was achieved between her last and current position, she opened the tarp. The carach sprung forward. When it landed, it immediately took off. Time to see if this would work. She watched as the creature scurried for a minute, before settling into the ground just as it had been when she first found it. Success!

She should probably get more tarps. Bigger tarps.

Turning back to where she came, she headed back for more supplies.

Into the Woods was a movie Anton enjoyed, though not everyone shared the notion. As he made his way through the park’s main trails, where the supposed tragedy had happened, Anton couldn’t help but hum along to the titular song that he was playing through his phone. Once he was where he thought he needed to be, the exact spot where the carachs consumed their hapless victims, he warily took out his spear and started prodding the forest floor. Since the eight-legged freaks were fond of burrowing into the ground, with their abdomens mimicking  piles of leaves, or even rocks, it was the best option he had to draw them out. If his spear made contact with any part of them, especially their abdomens, then they’d spring up, almost instinctively, but instead of pinning him to the ground, they’d be wrapping their long, spindly legs over his spear, and that would expose them, ripe for the slaying. “I’m such a freaking genius.”

Except, geniuses should have expected that there would be more than enough carachs to deal with, and some of those would be bigger than a mouse. It took Anton a couple of pokes on the ground but he managed to draw one out, a small carach, and immediately pierced it in its stomach. Carachs were venomous creatures, after all, and in this case, it was either them or him. He's been paralyzed by their bite before. Fortunately, he's never experienced the second type of carach venom. Until now.

At first, he thought it was just adrenaline rushing through his veins, the excitement of surviving an otherwise dangerous encounter. But then his heart beat continued to race, and faster it did so. "What the hell?" Taking a step back, he tried to force his eyes closed before opening them in a misguided attempt to "see better". He could feel his pulse now, his very heart breaking, as a vision of his daughter being taken away from him while he was utterly helpless, locked behind bars, trapped in a cage like some animal, haunted him in daylight. Looking around him, he realized his vision was also starting to blur. Panic was setting in. “Fucking spiders.” He uttered, cursing them, before dropping to the ground face-first, clutching his chest, struggling to reach something, someone, but he was alone. “Can’t believe... I’m gonna die... To these smug assholes…”

The two intercepted as she was on her way back to the main building. Barely crawling around on the ground, Eilidh almost missed him. She considered pretending she did. No one else was around. The forest was so, so, so big. And she was so, so, so busy. Who would fault her? But as a large carach made its move towards the easy meal, something inside her pushed her to act.

Skin crashed against exoskeleton, the force from her lunge sending both her and the carach falling into a nearby bush. As she tried to get her composure, she was met with long, sharp legs beating down on her. Enough to break skin, muscle. Enough to pierce through a chest. She punched one of those legs, enough to contort her wrist into a weird angle. She snapped it back into place. In a brief opening, she sent a kick into the hard abdomen hovering above, with enough force to shatter bone if she were human. The carach shivered and leapt back, unnerved by the attack on its vulnerable spot. Eilidh was free.

She rolled from the bush, using the propulsion to end the motion in a kneel. She unsheathed the dagger from her thigh. While she wanted to help the carachs, like hell she was going to let herself be a punching bag. The two watched each other, neither wanting to make the first move. The carach was the first to bow out, choosing to save its energy for easier prey. It disappeared behind the trees. For now.

She inspected the damages. Tears and rips littered her clothes, some even threatening to make her ‘indecent.’ Hidden within those tears were gashes and cuts that had already shown signs of healing. Could’ve been better, but not bad. She turned to the downed man. “See? I have it handled.” Part of her wondered if he could even hear her in his current state.

Even as he writhed on the damp ground of the national park, the feeling of death’s cold, icy grip tight around his panicked heart, Anton could not rein in a playful smirk, his dark brown eyes delighted at the sight of Eilidh, especially the ‘aftermath’ of the battle. 

“O-oh, hey!” He twitched under her feet, jaws and hands clenching as he tried to fight the carach’s venom. “You came looking for m-me? I was definitely wrong: ...you do c-care.” He tried to flash her his most charming smile yet but could only muster a weak one, barely a smile, more a wince or a grimace than anything else. “What are you?”

The “fractoxin” that was coursing through Anton’s veins might be dangerous in large doses, but the exterminator, despite how things appeared at the moment, was still a pest hunter, born and trained to deal with such monsters. As such, his body was a little more resistant to these things compared to that of regular humans, still not as resistant as what Eilidh was apparently, and he healed a bit faster, too. It helped that the predator only injected him with a small dose, enough for the sensation that tricked him into believing he was already at Death’s door when once again Death dared not have him anywhere close. Probably preferred a warm meal to a cold one.

It took his body some time to fully heal, though a sense of disorientation, dizziness, and a modicum of weakness still remained over him. Most hunters, at the realization that a small angry woman just saved them from a hungry carach, especially a pest hunter, would have been much warier at their presence, if not a little more apprehensive. Anton was not like most hunters, however, and he was more excited, if not simply interested, at the unexpected turn of events. 

Dragging himself to a nearby tree for a much-needed rest, gasping for air every now and then as he clutched his arm throughout, he gestured to where the dog-sized carach disappeared into with a smile. “That thing can’t roam free in the park... You know that, right? Unless you find a place for it, for them, more innocent, stupid people will die.” 

Her eyes squinted at the question. What are you? Eilidh could tell he was still fighting off the effects of the toxins. Perhaps he was even in a state of mind to not remember her words. But she refrained from the truth, or any type of answer. She went back to inspecting her clothes, trying to see what could and couldn’t be salvaged.

Hunger crept up inside her. Forming in the gut, then working its way until it resided deep in the mind. Not enough to make her lose control. But enough to be a constant thought in the back of her head. While the attack was brief, and she would walk away with no scars, the exertion still had a price. She stared off into the trees, thinking about what her next meal would be, when Anton’s words brought her back.

She thought about the tarp idea, then gave her body one last look over. The idea might work for all the little ones, but the one she just faced? No. It would tear anything she could find in short notice into confetti. Fuck. She wracked her brain for another idea. But her knowledge on the creature was limited, her experience even less so. So, nothing immediately came to mind. She couldn’t just tuck her tail in and give up, though. Not yet. Think, think! A scene from earlier replayed in her mind. One of her coworkers had described one of the gruesome deaths. A missing heart was one of the details. Hearts. That might work.

“Wait here.” She turned to leave but stopped halfway. While he seemed to be in better shape than before, it was clear Anton was in no shape to defend himself. One more departing thought. “Try not to die.” Into the treeline. She was gone.

Several minutes passed, and when she returned, she seemed in much higher spirits. Her clothes, on the other hand, had a new layer of dirt on them. One hand was red, stained in blood. Cradled in the hand was a heart that had recently lost its beat. “Don’t ask.” She lifted her hand. “They like hearts, yeah?” Without a word of explanation, she headed in the direction of where the carach had disappeared into, eyes intently facing the ground.

“Yes... Carachs eat hearts, and will often lay their eggs in empty chest cavities... Where did you get that?” Anton squinted at the bloody muscle she held when she returned. He had followed her when she disappeared, dark brown eyes on her like a moth to flame but made no effort to move, taking instead the opportunity to rest a while. He was already back on his feet, stretching his limbs and massaging his joints, when Eilidh came back.

“You know, it’s actually quite the theme since one of their two types of venom, fractoxin, gives their victim this feeling of heartbreak, and in large doses, that feeling becomes more of the actual thing.” With his hand rhythmically but softly tapping his chest, he mimics the sound of a heartbeat, once, twice, thrice, slowing down as he goes, before making the final one more of an explosion, a heart exploding, the complete opposite of what happens when the heart stops. “Some people actually farm the tiny ones. For the fractoxin. Sells good money in the…” He cuts himself off, finally realizing that he’s been explaining too much, especially to someone he wasn’t sure yet was of the same community. ...supernatural community.

“Wait!” Anton instinctively followed her when she started to leave, grabbing his spear along the way. He didn’t even get to tell her of their proportions and exoskeleton, how injuring them without a sharp weapon like his would be tough. Those legs, not unlike hers, were pretty damn dangerous, too. Is she also a climber? “We need to strike them in the stomach, where they’re vulnerable! Or toss them into the sea or at least a nearby lake!”

When he caught up with her, his eyes grew wide in horror. Well, more of surprise than actual fear. Anton didn’t fear a lot of things. Or at least he tells himself that every time he goes to sleep. Some glowing rift in time and space, an interdimensional portal of sorts, from which a slime-covered overgrown spider, most likely the same one that tried to eat him earlier, was struggling with its two free legs to pull itself away? Anton didn’t fear that. Definitely not. He gulped. “...or that. That looks like a good place to leave them in.”

Eilidh took note of the information he freely offered. Fractoxin. Nice to put a name to what she assumed the smaller carach had shot into her leg. Seeing an example of the effects, she wasn’t surprised they farmed for it. Just concerned about how it was given… or taken. Concern for another time. The mention of a freshwater body was interesting. She had been under the—misguided it seemed—impression that only salt water affected carachs. Looks like she had some reading to do. 

He seemed to know a lot about carachs. Was it a result of having to adjust to White Crest, or were supernatural creatures his real targets? Either way, she stored the knowledge for future use. But the context it was given brought her eyebrows down, scowl forming. “There’s no we. I’m trying to relocate them. Or did that fractoxin fuck with your head?” She flicked her hand at him, meant to emphasize her point. But the motion caused a few drops of blood to be flung out. An apology wasn’t given.

The sight before her made all sourness inside her crumble away. A giant, glowing gash hovered just a few feet away. It was like the very universe had been wounded. Or perhaps it was more like a mouth. A mouth that was in the middle of a meal. Ensnared in slime, a poor carach tried to free itself from its great maw. Its remaining legs scurried desperately against the ground. Puncture marks littered the soil before it, yet it did not, could not, move forward. Only enough strength to keep it in that same, desperate spot. But that strength was waning, and it started to slip. Slip. Slip. In one last attempt, it stabbed the earth with all limbs, keeping it in that desperate spot. A second passed. Strength failed it once more. It was sucked into the wound. Gone.  

Eilidh blinked. Turning to Anton in the brief calm, she broke it with, “Do you think-” Something shot out at her. It gripped her tight, trapping her in that very same slime. Before she could even attempt to free herself, the world around her became a blur. It exploded into lights as she met the same fate as the carach. By the time she could process what had happened, she found herself tumbling, tumbling, tumbling down a wet tunnel. She grabbed a knife. Made it pierce into her new surroundings. The descent abruptly stopped. But she would not find peace. Just as the knife struck, a loud rumble shook the tunnel, carrying Eilidh along for the ride. It almost caused her to lose grip as moisture perforated everything. But her hands managed to hold firm. While the sound was all encompassing, based on the vibrations on her legs, she could tell it came adjacent to her. She looked up. Light shined down from her. But it came and went. Almost flashing, but not quite. She stared harder. Something disrupted the light on the edges. Something pointed.

Teeth.

“Oooooh, ya think you’re gonna eat me, huh?” Pulling out her other knife, she stabbed it just above where the first was struck. Her world shook again as the great sound pierced into everything. But still, she managed to hold. And so, she started to climb up. 

Anton has had blood splattered all over his face before but not like this. Never like this. Eilidh was not a gentle “first time”, he frowned, heaving a sigh as she continued to be rude at him. If he had the time to think, maybe in a few hours after this hellish encounter should he survive, he would realize that her reactions were perfectly normal. From the way things have developed, she did not seem like she was, well, normal. His late grandfather had told him stories about certain “weirdness” in White Crest, though for his part, Anton has had encounters with sentient creatures other than humans and hunters, creatures that pretended to be normal but weren’t, with some of those encounters even...intimate.

Shaking his head vigorously, he tried to shake those thoughts off, away. Now was not the time to go down “sexy memory lane”, Anton, he cursed himself in his head. Half-expecting Eilidh to lecture him yet again, he was caught surprised when she cut herself off, and in a split-second of panic, he found his hands dropping his spear, instead instinctively trying to grab at the strange woman, trying to pull her back to safety. There were no other thoughts that cluttered his mind. In that moment, he was focused on doing one thing and one thing alone: Not let the angry woman get taken by the interdimensional reproductive organ, as if she were a baby about to get reabsorbed by Mother Space-Time. “Fuck!”

Alas, Anton was ill-equipped to do that one thing. He found his hands slipping, the blood on hers not helping one bit. He managed to stand his ground, however, keep himself from falling back, to the ground on his ass. In one fluid motion, he gritted his teeth, furious at his own failure, before grabbing his spear and chucking himself into the portal. If the Girl was here, she would’ve described it as yeeting. 

Through the tunnel, he flew, though his eyes were closed as he tried his hardest to keep himself from screaming, barely succeeding. When it was all said and done, he landed with a sloppy thud a few steps behind Eilidh, a few seconds after her, like something just spat him out, his flavor a little too much for the universe's palate. “Well, that was a trip.” He quipped as he grabbed his spear tightly, having done the same as her, pierced what he could of the so-called tunnel to keep himself from getting swallowed by wherever, or whatever, he had been spat out into. Eyes adjusting to the blinking light from up above, he found the familiar form he had tried to save but failed, following right after her, using one of the many small knives he always had on his person whenever he was on a job. “I fucking hate this town.”

It took them some time, not helped by the fact that they were going against the grain, or something resembling that in wherever they were, but they managed to find solid respite from all the chaos and confusion. At least what resembled respite in wherever they were. Anton had learned not too long ago to abandon what he knew of mundane physics, which wasn't much to even begin with, when things like this were concerned. The exterminator may be one step above the mundane, but he was not a magic man, a spellcaster, and with the exception of the gifts he had received as a hunter, some he was born with, others he was trained for, he wasn't that far from being mundane himself. “Where the hell are we?”

Right as he asked that, the entirety of the tunnel shook again, as if an entire world was breaking in of itself. Anton turned behind him, his instincts telling him that something was about to happen from that very direction. “Uhh… Macleod? You might want to grab hold of some—” And just like that he was spat out again. Like a fish bone caught in a massive velvet worm’s throat. “I really fucking hate this town.”

While her ascent had started strong, the progress was… lacking. It was hard to climb a mountain when it was covered in slime and tried to buck you off like an angry horse. To make matters worse, the flesh wasn’t always so firm against her weight. Sometimes a puncture accidentally became a slash as it gave and she slid. Eliminating much needed progress. And further accelerating the bucking. Every motion had a consequence. The biggest would be found in letting go. “Fuck!” Again, she stabbed the flesh. “Fuck!” Again, she tensed as everything around shook violently. “Fuck this!” Again, she pulled herself up.

There was commotion from above, something that disturbed the light that was her destination. It rapidly grew until it became a man tumbling toward her, which she narrowly dodged. The whatever-the-hell the two were stuck in gave another shake, this time not caused by her. Once motion ceased, she dared a glance down. Anton looked up at her. Not knowing the noble origins of his arrival, she assumed he got taken off guard, same as her. “Really? I’d love to be in town right now, to be honest. Not this shit.” Especially since she had plans. Oh fuck, right! She had plans! Hopefully she wouldn’t keep Milo waiting too long.

With a small burst of determination, she continued upward. But her arms started to shake under the stress. Moisture punctured through her hands, her clothes, everything. It was suffocating. All encompassing. Like the cave. No, no, no, no, no, no. She needed to get out soon, wherever this was. “We’re on our way to be dinner, is what.” Her previous fire was starting to die. She was trapped. She was trapped again. Again. Trapped. Again. She needed her bliss. She needed her bliss. An unsteady hand searched desperately for it. “Fuck you, cunt!” She barked up at the taunting light.

The use of her name triggered something within her, her lost bite. “Who the hell told you-” She looked down, but Anton did not hold her attention for long. The same mucus that coated the walls of their prison was bubbling below them. Closer. And closer. One second it enveloped Anton. The next, herself. And finally, the two were flung onto solid ground.

Ground! Precious ground! She started kissing it passionately. But something was off. Pulling back, she stared down at the grass. Except, it wasn’t really grass. Deep inside, something told her what lay before lacked life. Lacked a soul. She looked around. Everything was like that. Trees covered the area, but she felt no comfort with them. Clearly distressed, she rapidly flung her head around, searching for something, anything. But her, Anton, and that thing, they were the only creatures to be seen. No buzz of an insect, song of a bird, or rustle of leaves. Just hollow trees.

Small hope was found when that same glowing gash came into view. Except it looked like it had been reflected into a mirror. Reversed, like a door. It must be a gateway! “Look!” She pointed it out to Anton. “Let’s get the fuck out-” The massive creature spewed its inner contents all over the ground again, and Eilidh had the misfortune of being covered in another layer of muck and gunk. It seemed like her torment would be coming to end as the flow slowed when thunk —something came crashing into her head. She fell onto her back with a squelch, the projectile landing right beside her. A key. Something seemingly small and inconsequential, but as she stared, her pupils dilated. Inner voice told her to take it, take it, take it! Following her impulses, she snatched the thing and struggled to get back on her feet.

The moment he felt something gross begin to swallow him up from beneath him, Anton immediately closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew that whatever would follow would be nothing he would enjoy, and he has enjoyed a plethora of questionable things, both morally and legally. He was right, for once in his life, and although it was technically not the worst thing he’s bathed himself in, he was relieved to find himself on solid ground once more, trying his best to get the gunk off of him properly. For fuck’s sake. 

It didn’t take him long to notice that something wasn’t right. Because it never really is. Shaking as much of the disgusting muck off of him, off of his clothes, he squinted as he wiped his eyes off of them as well, only to be greeted by not even a buzzing bee. Wasn’t it bee season? From everything bee-related that has happened to him in the past few weeks, his train of thought would be understandably logical. Yet nothing else was logical about where they were. At least the Girl isn’t here. That must be why it’s so quiet, so peaceful, so bliss— His train of thought was derailed when he laid eyes on the fucking thing that ate them. “What the hell is that thing? Jabba the LSD Hutt? That better not be a bug, I swear to god.”

Anton wouldn’t even have noticed the portal if Eilidh hadn’t screamed at him, his entire attention on their would-have-been predator. At the very least, he saw it coming, the creature puking yet again, allowing him to avoid most of the vomit that unfortunately Eilidh could not. Oh, man, my shoes. He whined in his head when a splatter of gunk from Eilidh flew on his shoes, which were already covered in more muck not too long ago. Then he realized something: His hands were not holding anything. Ah, fuck. His dark brown eyes wandered from them to the giant worm thing. It’s fucking stuck in its throat, isn’t it? That would explain its continual vomiting. That and the many stabbings Eilidh did on its insides.

Turning towards Eilidh when something hit her on her head, Anton finally caught a glimpse of the portal, that interdimensional moo-moo. Fuck it, we’re out of here. Not even hesitating to leave Eilidh behind, the exterminator wrapped his hands around her waist and just freaking hightailed it out of there, using his newfound adrenaline to yeet them both out of the gloomy hellhole like a pair of slippers his mother used to aim at his head whenever he became too annoying to deal with. 

Unfortunately, Anton was never a trained wrestler and both of them were more or less slippery from the giant creature’s vomit, so he struggled to keep his hands and arms around her, exerting more effort than was necessary, his face contorted in pain. “We’re gonna live past forty!” He screamed to keep his mind on something else.

The next thing he knew, he was lying down on his back, his vision a little blurry. He could almost take a nap then and there, his body exhausted. But then he remembered what just happened, the absolute grossness of it all, and did otherwise. Wiping more of the puke from his face, he just laid there, dark brown eyes staring at the sky, wondering if this was all worth anything. “Being alive takes so much effort.” He groaned. Oh, man, my spear.

Before she could fully rise, Eilidh felt hands on her. Instincts taking over, she struggled against their hold: fists struck against his back, legs kicked at his thighs. A scream rumbled in her chest, ready for release. But as Anton headed for the gateway, slipping and sliding along the unsteady ground but onward all the same, she realized what was going on. Oh. Confusion froze her, and amusement at his shitty attempt to navigate against all odds made her unsure how to react. The scream died before it began, and her limbs calmed: acceptance.

Facing opposite their retreat, she was able to fully focus on the creature for the first time. Under different circumstances, she would’ve been fascinated by the size, the beautiful colors, the entrancing eyes. Instead, she just looked at it with mild curiosity, dampened by frustration. It looked, no, glared back. It still quivered and rumbled from the ordeal, but it was quickly gaining composure. And was prepared to dish out some much needed punishment. From a protrusion on its head, the slime from before shot out, meant for them but it missed its mark. Instead, a tree a few meters from them became engulfed. The ooze shifting into a crystal prison was the last sight she saw before entering the gateway. Then everything blurred. And then became blinding.

Despite being able to focus this time, the second go-around was still as disorienting. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of lights. Crashing into the ground snapped them back open. She flopped on the hard surface like a dead fish; the impacts sounding just the same. She came to an ungraceful stop. Eyes quickly inspected her surroundings. A moth flew above nose. Life! The sight made her almost cry. She looked on further, up to the lively trees dancing in the wind, to the beautiful stars twinkling at her. Wait, stars? When did it become night time? Who cares, they were back. “Fuck whatever that was,” she grunted. “And don’t grab me like that again. That was terrible.” Despite her words, there was a hint of a chuckle on her lips.

The two enjoyed the well-earned peace, just laying there.

Which was the perfect position to avoid the slime projectile. It sped pass from above, missing them by a few inches. A bitter whisper hissed out of her, “Chan e seo a-rithist…” She turned her head just in time to see another mass of slime shoot out of the gateway. When that also failed to make contact with either of them, a third rocketed by. “Looks like someone’s pissed.” After the fourth slime also missed its target, the attempts ceased. But she doubted the creature gave up so quickly. She swatted at the closest thing of Anton’s she could, his shoes, in order to get his attention. “Get behind it.” She pointed at the gateway. With no idea how long this standstill would last, there was no time for explanations. Rolling onto her stomach, she quickly crawled, like a competitive baby, until the quieted rift was behind her. Supposedly safe—as long as the gateway only worked one-way—she finally rose to resting on her knees.

The motion jostled the mysterious key in her pocket. She suddenly remembered its presence. Right. That. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of it. With a shake of her head, it passed. For now. 

For a moment or two, Anton felt relieved at the sound of Eilidh’s voice, so relieved in fact that a short-lived chuckle escaped from his lips. Then he made the mistake of running his gunk-ridden hand over his mouth. Fucking hell. At least he still had the wits to NOT accidentally taste the damned thing. Gross. His brain was too distracted by the combined effort of what the fuck just happened and what the hell was still on him to realize the day had abandoned him, throwing him to the mercy of the dark night sky with only a spattering of stars to keep it all appropriately beautiful. 

Catching a glimpse of Eilidh’s hand, Anton turned towards her, wary about getting slapped for all his trouble. Then he found himself immediately surprised when he noticed more of the slime flying through the air. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Monkey see, monkey do, and Anton was on his belly before he knew it, crawling behind the portal. “Your park is super weird, lady.” Although he didn’t remember outright Eilidh’s suspiciously defensiveness towards her name, his subconscious helped him make the better decision to go with something else than his mispronounced rendition of what her parents had given her.  

Once behind enemy lines, or at least the enemy’s line of sight, he helped himself off the ground, though only sitting to catch his breath for a few seconds, a much-needed respite from everything else that had happened. His dark brown eyes wandered over Eilidh, his ears catching the brief jostling in her pocket. For another moment or two, he just stared at her before breaking out in laughter as the portal started slowly collapsing in on itself, as if it was never there, as if it never tried to be their grave. 

“Well,” He groaned as he forced himself back on his feet, battered and bruised. “I guess that’s that. Client only made mention of a single overgrown spider, and from the looks of things, that’s been taken care of.” He offered her a hand to help her back on her feet as well, more out of instinct than anything. As a pest hunter, Anton knew full well how it was better to fight together when there were more than one of him instead of doing otherwise, and both of them on their feet could prevent more surprises. “All’s well that ends well…”

By far, this was ostensibly the weirdest shit that has ever happened to Anton since he moved into town. The insect monsters were a given, considering his family’s history, but an interdimensional portal to god knows where and that freakishly massive monster? Now those would make for a great story. Now, however, he needed a bath and maybe dinner. He wondered if the Girl, the receptionist he inherited from his late grandfather, had already closed the office. She probably did, considering how she never liked to wait for him. Besides, she probably had more homework to worry about. Guess it’s dinner alone again. Beer and something that’s definitely not soup. He’s had enough soupy shit for the day.

Eyes locked. Body motionless. Eilidh’s fingers curled around the remaining dagger. Eyes focused. Body tensing. A predator ready to pounce. The gateway shifted; movement at last. But she was ready this time. Lifting her dagger, she—

The gateway disappeared.

Ah.

Laughter filled the air. In that moment of bewilderment and relief, Eilidh couldn’t help but offer her own. Everything was funnier when you were tired and a touch delirious. But it died in her throat when she remembered who she was laughing with. A cough replaced it. Her hand went to the ground. It played with the soil which had previously been bathed in otherworldly light. Otherwordly. The dirt rested on her fingers, unaware and uncaring of what had played above it. It sprinkled back to the rest of its brethren.

Gateways didn’t just appear. And there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. There must’ve been something that caused it, right? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; if there were secrets she would have to dig, perhaps literally. Maybe this was a special place, where the separation of this world and not was thin, easy to bend. Or tear. Her back straightened, searching hands retreating back to herself. An apology to the area lay on her tongue. But, wait, shouldn’t the Park know about something like that? Well, there were a lot of shoulds the Park refused to do. In fact, Anton just alluded to one of them. Despite her efforts, the carach died anyway. But a sense of defeat failed to find her. There was a silver lining. Its death provided nutrients for that massive creature on the other side of the door. Maybe they were connected. Like that fallen carach, maybe it used the gateway as its trapdoor. Hidden, until unsuspecting prey stumbled by. Maybe it sealed the gateway when the prey started biting back. Maybe, maybe.

Ignoring the offered hand, she stood, a dull ache pulsing through her limbs, but it was ultimately fatigue that wanted to pull her back down. “Are you gonna mention the giant caterpillar, or just claim all their hard work?” A twinkle of mirth lay in her eyes, but buried in exhaustion. Not really caring for an answer, she shooed him away with a flick of her wrist. “Bye now.” Hopefully he’d actually leave this time, his ‘duty’ fulfilled. She returned to surveying her surroundings. But gravity wanted to return her to the ground. And hunger told her to run, to hunt. She debated if it was worth looking for answers, or to just go back to her place, since she wasn’t in the mood for—Dance Macabre! Fuck! She fished out her phone. Her newly broken phone. Gunk seeped into every crevice, leaving nothing untouched. No matter how many times her thumb smashed on a button, no light came. Milo would just have to have fun without her. She stuffed it back where she found it with a huff.

Camel’s back officially broken, and curiosity no longer able to fuel her, she decided to leave the questions for another day. Let the Park fence off the area for some bullshit reason, and she’ll sneak in with the darkness of night to keep her secret. Either to find answers or wait and see if anything unfolds. But for now, as crickets chirped, and foxes chittered, and the breeze whistled by, reminding her she was alive, surrounded by life. It was time to return to her roots.

Retrieving her bag, she took off. Muscles cried at the strain, but teeth chattered in excitement. The thrill of the hunt. After a distance, her tattered clothes proved too restricting, the coat of slime stiffening, as if it too wished to turn crystal. So, she removed the garments. Naked under the starlight. And kept running. Running. Searching for prey.

[END]

[damienthepious]

im. heck. this is long. tuesday???!? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. forgive typos i’m RUSHING to get this up before i have to leave for work.

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 14)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [ao3] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: A homecoming.

Chapter Notes: These dang things just keep getting longer, don't they? Also I'm emotional. I'm so fucking emotional. Chapter specific warnings for an explicit threat of violence, not carried through with.

~

Arum insists on coming out to the front room for breakfast the next morning. Saving his strength is all well and good, but if Arum need be confined to that little bed for the entire time between now and their departure, he will certainly not make it that far. Amaryllis was right, that day he attempted escape. At least the view out there is different, and- well. He is comfortable in the room with the cot, by now, but it is far less clinical in Amaryllis' living space. It makes him feel less of a patient and more… more of a guest. Which he should not care about, of course.

Amaryllis relents rather quickly on the subject, provided that he agree to pick a spot and stick to it, until the evening. She is overly concerned with him, not quite paranoid but certainly delving into the territory of what Arum is comfortable referring to as fretting. She scowls when he calls it that, which is gratifying, but it also appears to make her more conscious of how delicate she is being with him, and she rolls her eyes at herself before she helps to lift him to his feet, shuffling slowly out to the table.

Amaryllis and Sir Damien keep their hands clasped between them throughout their breakfast together. Seems inconvenient, Arum thinks, pulling his eyes away from the easy way their fingers interlace. They do not have an overabundance of limbs to work with. Surely they should not impede themselves for such a- a pointless gesture.

They are-

Arum cannot say what, precisely, it is, but he feels as if something is strange between the pair of them. Or- or perhaps that something had been strange, and has now settled. They are sitting closer, and something about their proximity feels… easier. Sir Damien, in particular, seems more calm, though Amaryllis still has a layer of nervous energy to her.

Of course, Amaryllis is not particularly patient. She does not hold the tension inside of her for long, after they have finished eating.

"So," Amaryllis says, and Arum frowns instantly. "So… Damien is gonna be- coming with us for the trip."

Arum jerks his head to look at the knight, and Damien nods slightly.

"Wh-why?" Arum barks.

"Because… because I want to," Damien says quietly, and then he- smiles, soft and odd, and Arum remembers Damien's hand on his chin, despite himself, "and because I do not think it would be safe for only the pair of you to take that trip. Too many potential dangers, on both sides. I am certain that Rilla has discussed- ah, potential ways to disguise you, so that you will be in less danger from… knights."

Damien's voice has gone soft as well, and Arum can see some strange pain on his face, though Arum cannot say precisely what that indicates. How much separation can this creature feel from his own order?

"But of course that does not mean there will not still be some risk, if…" Damien pauses again. "I would feel better, being there. And… I have my part in this, as well."

"Your part ," Arum echoes. "What do you mean, your part in this?"

Damien pauses for a long moment, clearly considering his words.

"I want to see you home and safe as well, Arum. I have… committed this far. I will follow through."

"Committed?" Arum says. "I hardly think this counts as a commitment. You- you have allowed Amaryllis to- you have denied your duty in slaying me-"

Arum cuts himself off with a wince, then glances toward Amaryllis and away again. Damien does not rise to this statement, does not comment or deny.

It is clear, from the mild confusion on Amaryllis' face, that Damien has not told her the precise shape of what passed between the two of them, the previous day. What Arum nearly pushed Sir Damien to do.

"You…" Arum trails off. "Fine. If you should like to come, I do not see what it will hurt. I shall be curious to see how deep your treachery runs."

"Arum," Rilla warns.

Arum winces again, then sighs and looks away. "It is not as if I could stop you, anyway."

Damien tilts his head. Arum can see it, in his periphery.

"If it would… truly cause you distress, I would… I would worry rather deeply, but I would stay-"

"I said I could not stop you," Arum repeats in a sharp voice. "It is not as if you distress me, songbird, I simply- I do not understand."

"Yes," Damien says softly. "Well. That is… fair. It is a… somewhat complicated situation, is it not? But- but I will take this journey with you, if you allow me."

"I said I could not stop you, honeysuckle,” Arum growls, and judging by Amaryllis’ breath of laughter his tone must be unconvincing. “If that is your choice, that is your choice."

Damien's mouth curls slightly, a smile vague but pleasant, and Arum can't stand to keep his eyes on the pair of them together, though they keep drawing back, regardless.

"Very well. I will accompany you, then."

Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout. "I am surprised that your Citadel can spare you. I thought you creatures were rather strictly kept."

Damien purses his lips, then sighs. "We are… currently in something of a lull, I suppose. There was a thread our Investigator General intended to pull, but… well… when pulled, the pattern simply unraveled. There was a rash of monster attacks with similar stratagems, but they've dissipated like mist over the last… during the last few…" he trails off, his tone going blank. "The… the last few weeks."

Arum feels the twinge in his frill, knows perfectly well he is giving himself away, but Damien does not turn his eyes towards him, accusatory or otherwise.

The pause draws long, and Amaryllis is clearly hovering on the edge of words herself.

"Well?" Arum snaps, eventually. "Are you going to ask or aren't you? Go ahead, then. I told you I made weapons against your kind. What, precisely, were these consistent stratagems you were attempting to ferret out?"

"Arum," Rilla says gently, but Arum scowls more deeply as Sir Damien meets his eyes.

“Well, Sir Damien?”

Damien holds his gaze, for a quiet moment. "There were a number of creatures, in short time, utilizing powers of manipulation. Encouraging conflict, stoking self doubt, provoking pain. Assaulting the mind first, in order to more effectively destroy the body."

"Yes," Arum says in a hiss. "Yes, I am certain I created the creatures of which you speak. I cannot imagine any other could have managed to replicate my work."

"The mushrooms," Rilla murmurs, her brow furrowed. "It was- pain. Illusions of things we- things we were afraid of, things that hurt us."

Arum wishes he could burn the grubs a second time. The look on Amaryllis' face is unbearable, but then she looks up at him, raking her eyes over his face, her expression oddly desperate.

"Yes," he hisses again.

"I…" Damien's face goes mournful as Arum snaps his attention back to the knight. "I cannot say that no harm was done by the creatures, that none were killed. I cannot alleviate your guilt in that way-" Arum scoffs, but he cannot deny, not with the way Damien is looking at him. "But… but I can say that none are doing harm any longer."

Arum looks away, too uncomfortable to pretend otherwise. "If you say so."

"Regardless," Damien continues in a low, measured voice. "As to whether or not I may be spared by the Citadel- while the Investigator General searches for a new loose thread to worry over, the ranks await more specific direction, and-" Damien gives a very small laugh, and the corner of Rilla's mouth pulls into an answering smile. "And I very, very rarely use the time I am granted, for leave. More often than not, I am too worried over the prospect of leaving my fellow knights without assistance. So… none were troubled, that I wished to take my allotted time now, to assist my Rilla."

It is more of an answer than Arum expected. In truth, he had merely been trying to rile the knight again. He huffs out another breath, claws drumming on the table.

"Okay," Rilla says, drawing the word out into more syllables than it requires. "Okay. Uh, that seems settled enough for me, I think. This has been awkward enough for one morning. So, Arum, I, uh-"

She pauses, and Damien squeezes her hand, and Arum hears her breath come steadier, again. She sighs.

"So, I was thinking, we should leave either tomorrow or the day after." She pauses again. "Maybe the day after. You're standing better, and Damien's offered his horse, so- you'll ride, and we'll walk. It'll take longer, but even if we had three horses it probably wouldn't be safe for you to ride at speed anyway, you could jostle something open, or-" She bites her lip. "So. You on the horse, me and Damien walking, and- it'll be slow. What is it, two weeks to your swamp?"

"Something… something to that effect, yes. Though-" he clenches his teeth. "When we are close- we only need reach the border, I think, and we will not need to travel by foot any longer."

"The border. Okay. Okay, and, um, with the route we planned the other day, we should be…" her lips twitch into a smile. "We can do this. We can get you home, and then- ah… I've- I've made up a bunch of extra-"

Her voice- cracks a little, and some pain crosses her face. Arum blinks. He does not understand why she would be…

"For- um. For after I- for after we-" she pauses, inhaling sharply. "I made up a bunch of extra salves, and painkillers, and- and a replacement wrap, so your horn will- so your horn will keep together, and a new cast that should last until your wrist is healed and- so you won't have to worry… when I'm gone."

Arum stares at her, at the odd twisting of her almost-smile. "Ah."

I'm gonna miss him, is the only thing.

Amaryllis' voice on the recorder had been so keening and strange, and it had pulled on Arum's heart like his own yearning for the Keep and- and he could not help but believe her. She is … she is going to miss him. She will feel his absence. Such a terribly strange feeling-

And Arum had been honest, when he told her that he would miss her in return. Though, of course, Arum knows that had not been the whole of it. It is not the whole of it, but he will feel her absence, as well.

"Very…" he swallows. "Very forward thinking of you," he manages. "I… I had no fears, of course. And all I require is home, regardless. Seems a shame, I think, to make you waste an entire month ferrying me back and then needing to return. Certainly your other patients will be missing you, with your skill."

"Yeah, well, I may be the best doctor in the Citadel, but I'm not the only doctor in the Citadel. They'll manage." She smiles again, a little less certainly, and Damien squeezes her hand again.

"Do you feel ready enough for the trip, Lord Arum?" Damien asks.

Arum hates the way his own heart turns, slowly, like a key in a lock, every time Sir Damien calls him that. It is ridiculous. It is his name , it does not make sense , but- the way his tone curls around Lord, the way Arum seems to sit at the back of his mouth. Lord Arum. Respectful formality from a knight. It is … strange, that is all. It is still strange.

"I am… as ready as I shall be," he murmurs. "I cannot afford further delay. My swamp, my home, it… it has been…"

"Without its Lord," Damien finishes, gently.

"Yes. My swamp… and my Keep."

Rilla startles slightly, but Arum… Arum does not know why he has bothered to continue concealing the Keep's existence anyway, and Sir Damien has made it… abundantly clear, that his stance has changed. This stiff-spined little human has shifted his footing, has gained a new vantage, as incomprehensible as that seems.

Damien purses his lips, his face going questioning. "Have you… mentioned a Keep before?" He asks. "Or- no. I think- I think you have only nearly mentioned a Keep before."

"Perceptive," Arum grumbles, his tone hovering between irritated and impressed. "Yes. My home, my Keep." He pauses. "I have already explained it to Amaryllis, I do not- I do not feel-"

"You need not explain anything to me, Lord Arum. Home is…" he presses a hand over his heart. Arum hears his breath catch. "All creatures should be blessed with shelter, with home. It is…" he pauses again. "I am certain you will be glad to be returned to yours. We shall do all we can, to make that come to pass for you."

"Yes, well…" Arum glances aside, uncomfortable. "The sooner the better." He clasps his claws in front of himself, then glances towards Amaryllis. "The… the day after tomorrow, you said, Amaryllis. If you think I shall require the extra day."

Amaryllis nods, and Arum does not know what they will do in the interim. He had not been planning, truly, to make it this far. And now he has today, and tomorrow, to worry and wonder about this upcoming trip. To worry and wonder, about the softness of Sir Damien's hand on his chin. About the leaping of his own heart, at the gentleness with which the knight had lifted it. About the prospect of Amaryllis missing him. About all these strange and bitter hungers that have begun to curl within him.

Arum's eyes have found Amaryllis and Sir Damien's clasped hands again, tracking the way that Damien's thumb is brushing soft over the back of it, a slow, comforting rhythm, as Amaryllis' hand squeezes his. Arum's tongue flicks compulsively, and he buries the urge to-

He does not even know. He is not close enough to reach their hands, and what would he do even if he was? Even if he- if he reached out and wrapped his hand around both of their own (his hand is large enough to do so, his fingers longer than theirs, their stubby little mammal things with their blunt nails and their soft brown skin) (Arum knows the softness both of their hands, now), even if he were to do so-

Certainly they would not welcome his intrusion. Certainly not. They are both so eager to see him gone from their lives. And Arum is eager as well, of course, to return to his Keep, to return to his life. He is eager to close the door on this bizarre little chapter-

A lie. Too deep to stand.

He is not eager to close the door on this chapter. He is not ready. Two days. Two days- only two more days in this strange little hut, in this short-ceilinged human construction, full of herb smell and strange baubles and dangerous plants and skillful wordsmithing and a heretical, compassionate little doctor, and her knight.

Arum has never had a place outside of the Keep before, where he felt himself truly safe. Arum's mind is still… halved in a strange way, he still feels the absence of the Keep's thoughts at his edges, still feels where the Keep is meant to fit, where song should shift into… meaning, and affection, and shared memory, and home.

But if Arum could still feel the Keep here, he would be entirely unable to pretend, anymore, that he does not wish there was some way he could stay.

~

Arum intends to finish the translation, before they leave. It will not be difficult, all things considered. The tome is short, the material arranged in no particular order but with consistent notation for the entries, and he is familiar enough with a decent amount of the species listed that it speeds the process considerably. He needs not even attempt to scrawl the information out in his slightly more stilted attempt at human script, now that Amaryllis is in the room with him again. She simply sets her recorder beside him and he speaks as he works, occasionally drifting into conversation rather than translation, or narrowing his eyes at a particular peculiarity of the dialect, the drifting etymology of distance.

When he turns the page and sees the Moonlit Hermit, he freezes. After a moment, he drifts his claws down the page, tracing the single narrow line that depicts the flower's stem.

So small a thing, to cause so much trouble.

"The Moonlit Hermit," he murmurs, and Amaryllis drops a roll of bandages, the white ribboning off as it unrolls across her floor.

He raises an eyebrow as she scrambles to retrieve the roll, laughing awkwardly, and when she straightens she won't meet his eyes for a long moment.

"Amaryllis?"

"Just- forgot that one was in there too."

He tilts his head. "Why does it matter? What is the Hermit to you, then?" he asks, because if the Universe insists on piercing him through to make a point-

"My- my parents were researching it. It was a big part of their research, actually- the Hermit, what it could do- the potential it had-"

Arum frowns, automatically, remembering the particular results he had pulled from the potential of the Hermit in his possession.

"I've- I've been trying to… to find one," she says, her voice gone small, and Arum forces himself not to stare at her, at the longing on her face. He looks to the book, instead.

"I am afraid there is very little on the subject in this particular volume, Amaryllis," he says, gently, and she sighs.

"That… yeah, I kind of expected that. I couldn't read it, but- I could tell the entry was short. Shorter than most of the other ones, at least."

"It mentions the unnatural fragility of the stem," he murmurs, tracing his claw along the lettering. "Five pale petals, the glow of moonless night, the utter incongruity… hm," he traces the shape of the drawing on the paper again, remembering. "Volumes of this sort so rarely bother to note the sounds. It chimes, as well, at contact or in use. It is not the most beautiful song I have ever heard, but… it suits. Cool, and delicate."

He realizes, after a pause, that Amaryllis is staring at him. He pulls his eyes from the book, wary at her uncertain gaze.

"What?"

"You… you've heard it? You've- you've seen one. Arum- Arum, you've seen a Moonlit Hermit?" She sets her medical bag aside, her packing entirely forgotten. "Arum, please, you have to tell me where I can- how- I have to see it. I have to- to-"

His heart sinks, the hope in her voice too unfortunate to stand. "If it still existed, Amaryllis… I would certainly think it fair payment for the service you have provided me, but- it was destroyed." He pauses, sighs. "I destroyed it."

"You-" she looks too stunned to be properly furious, but Arum suspects that will come soon enough. " What?"

"Those who attacked me," he says softly, "desired to take it for themselves. To use it. Just as I had been using it, of course, to create weapons against your kind." He pauses, exhales. "I wish I could say, Amaryllis, that it had been a choice made of morality, but- I did not yet know you. I- there are many things I did not yet know, when I…" he traces the shape of the petals again, one, two, three, four, five, and his lip curls in an almost smile. "I ensured that our meeting occurred in daylight, as insurance. It was easy enough, when I realized I had been betrayed, to lift so fragile a thing into the light."

"Arum-"

"Spite. I destroyed the Hermit in spite, Amaryllis, because I knew they intended to kill me, and I did not want to give them the satisfaction of beating me, as well. Of taking what I rightfully found. I threw myself into the river for the sake of that same spite. I would rather drown than let them slit my throat, so…"

She is touching his shoulder, now. He does not look at her.

"I do not regret my actions. The Hermit could have… would have done some good, in your hands, of that I am certain, but… I am glad it was destroyed, rather than be misused again. Rather than being twisted to further bloodshed."

Her hand on his shoulder lifts, and she almost touches his face. Almost. He keeps his eyes safely away.

After a breath, she drops the hand, and turns, and returns to her packing. Arum feels his stomach twisting, regret and shame, fear, desire, all of it colliding together within him like a collapsing building, but still he does not look. He breathes and breathes until he is certain that his voice will not shake, and then he turns the page, and resumes his translation.

~

It feels as if Arum simply blinks, and two full days have passed. Sir Damien wakes before dawn, and Arum, his nerves sharp and heightened, wakes at his careful noise, at the click of the door behind him as he goes outside to run through his routine.

Amaryllis wakes not long after, throwing together a quick sort of breakfast and quietly going through a checklist of their supplies before she comes to, in theory, wake him.

She smiles, clearly unsurprised when she finds him already awake, already digging his claws into the sheets, and the smile stays as she helps him to his feet.

She wraps him in layers. A simple strategy, but simplicity is more reliable than the delicacy of complication, in Arum's experience. He keeps the cape on beneath the rest, and she smiles when she is done wrapping the rest around him. He can see the crooked shape of it through the sheer scarf covering his face.

And then, for the first time since he woke in Amaryllis’ hut, he steps outside.

Arum does not want to look back, to acknowledge the finality of walking away from this hut, of stepping up into the saddle and riding away from this shelter, riding back towards his true home.

He does not wish to look back.

Rather- he wishes that he did not want to.

He turns despite himself as Amaryllis adjusts the robes that hide his scales, ensuring that his tail is hidden as he curls it around his own ankle. He does not mean to, but he turns, and-

It looks so much smaller, from the outside. Squat and friendly and warm, with flowering vines curling familiar across trellises and a clean little herb garden and the mossy stump where Damien likes to sit and compose when he is finished with his exercises, and the curtained window Arum knows the shape of so terribly well, from the other side.

So many days. So very long, he has spent in such a small, strange space. And now-

He cannot imagine that he will ever see it again.

Arum is almost grateful for the ridiculous layers. At least neither of the humans can see the way his face twists, as his heart lurches with the grief of parting.

~

They travel light; there’s not much they need to take with them. Rilla keeps her medical bag, of course, in case of emergencies or in case the traveling impedes Arum’s recovery in some way, along with her bag of extra supplies she's gonna leave with him when they get him back home. Damien pretty much just has his armor, his bow, and his usual traveling supplies: bedroll, rations, canteen, et cetera. Arum has nothing to bring, obviously. Nothing except for his mended cape, which is wrapped secure around his shoulders beneath the rest of his mild disguise. Rilla covered him in strategic layers, scarves and shawls and large loose pants that collectively obscure his form and face as he sits sideways in the saddle of Damien’s horse, who only required minimal acclimating to adjust to the weight of a monster. Currently, Arum looks enough like an excessively ill person swaddled like an infant, or like a particularly old-fashioned noble, and hopefully they won’t need to do much by the way of explanation on the less-traveled roads they intend to use.

It’s slow going, of course. Anything more than the lightest movement could be a risk for Arum; jostling around on top of a horse isn’t exactly healthy for healing stab and slash wounds, obviously.

Every time they pass another group, Damien looks like he’s about to be sick, face twisting in a completely unconvincing smile and his voice going high and reedy if he tries to greet them. Rilla does most of the talking, for a change, and Arum sits tense and stiff and dignified astride the horse, and occasionally nods through his scarves at whomever happens to be passing by.

Nights are more difficult. They need to wander far from the road to set up camp, and they need to obscure the fire on one side to make it more difficult to see from where they came, to avoid other eyes, and they wait until it is safely dark every night before Arum can remove his layers of disguise and sigh in the open air again. He always keeps his cape safely draped around his shoulders after the rest has been left in a pile nearby, a claw curled along the edge of the fabric as he settles close and warm by the fire.

He’s tired , Rilla can tell. The travel on top of his recovery, and the constant strain of worry that comes from the threat of discovery- it’s no wonder, really. She wishes she could make this easier for him, wishes she could just snap her fingers and have him home to his Keep, but- this is the best she can do, for now. She’ll get him home, long way around or no.

~

"Sir Damien."

They are preparing to resume their travel in the morning, Damien packing the last of their supplies back up from their makeshift camp while Rilla tends to Damien's horse, and Arum is wrapped already in his layers as they wait for Rilla to return, to help Arum back into the saddle for the day. Damien glances down at the obscured monster, lips pursing nervously, but he does not think the monster is looking back at him. It is difficult to tell, with the layers, but Damien thinks that Arum is looking towards Rilla again.

"Yes, Lord Arum?"

He continues to stare for a moment, and then Arum glances away. His voice comes even quieter, then. "We are still close to your Citadel, little knight," he murmurs. "There is still time between us and my home, and many opportunities for this expedition to fall apart."

"Pessimism will not help the situation, Lord Arum," Damien says mildly.

"Perhaps not. But pragmatism-" he pauses, sighs. "If the worst is to happen, if I am discovered along this mad little journey… Amaryllis must not be seen as guilty for helping a monster. I refuse to have her suffer for this absurd kindness."

Damien pauses, his heart doing a swooping little flip, and he looks at Arum again in disbelief. "What-"

"If we are discovered, they must believe that I forced her to treat me, forced her to escort me home. They must believe that she was made to do it, that I threatened or coerced or- she must not be seen a traitor for my sake. Do you understand me, Sir Damien?"

Damien presses a hand over his heart, presses as hard as the thudding pressing out. He forces his breath to come steady enough for words, just for one sentence. "Rilla would not be happy, with that particular deception," he rasps, looking at his fiance through the rosy morning light.

"That," Arum says with a growl, "is precisely why I am asking you, and not the doctor herself. I trust that you will protect her. I know that you will."

Damien wishes so dearly that he could see the monster's face, just now. That he could see the look in his violet eyes.

"Honeysuckle," Arum says quietly, roughly. "Tell me that I am correct."

"This- this is not like the other day, is it? This is not more of the same, again, more of you trying to- to-"

"This is not an act of self destruction, honeysuckle." Arum stares up at him, or at least, Damien assumes that is the direction the monster is aiming his eyes. "But she must be safe."

Damien inhales, exhales, inhales.

"Rilla would never forgive me, if I caused you to be hurt in her stead. You must know that, Lord Arum."

The monster clenches his hands, his head ducking just slightly. "It is more important that she be alive, to forgive you or not." He turns his head a little further away, then, his voice going even quieter. "Of course she will forgive you, little fool. She loves you."

Damien's throat goes tight and hot and uncomfortable, his heart thrumming and thrumming, and the words boil within him but he cannot say-

Do you think I do not know that you love her as well? Can you not see that she loves you in return?

His lips part, he is going to say something too foolish for their unspoken understanding to survive, but-

Rilla is returning.

Arum's shoulders go stiff, and before she is in hearing distance he mutters, "I must trust that you will do what is right, Sir Damien."

Damien breathes slow, summoning tranquility as best he can, listening to the drumming of his own heart, and he knows that he will. He will do what is right, even if that is not the same as what Arum has asked of him.

~

Rilla is fairly bored on the road. She can't read effectively while walking, and they only have the one horse. She can only glean so much amusement out of cataloging the wildlife as they pass it by, but Damien knows her far too well to let her boredom sit. He starts reciting as they travel, spinning stories, sharing newer compositions, weaving tales in the air between them, accompanied by jungle noises and the hum of insects.

Rilla sings, as well, when Damien's poor voice needs a rest, and she pretends not to notice when she starts a song and Arum stiffens in recognition. Pretends even harder not to notice when he hums along, when he harmonizes in his low, careful voice. She pretends, poorly, not to grin in delight, the smile tipping her singing voice even brighter.

If she didn't feel like she was riding off to break her own stupid, stupid heart, this would be the most fun she's had on a trip in ages.

~

Unnatural quiet in the jungle dark, and Sir Damien comes awake with the fingers of one hand already gripped on his bow, a strange and familiar rushing in his ears.

He remembers where he is without strain. He can feel the dirt beneath him through the bedroll, can feel Rilla close beside him, can hear her breathing light.

He can hear little else besides. A stillness hangs in the night air, and Damien feels it. He feels attack waiting, can taste tension on the air. He can almost hear the source. Almost.

Damien breathes slow. Panic is a faraway thing, just now. A faraway thing that cannot possibly touch him. The rushing in his ears has gone slowly rhythmic, and Damien waits, Damien waits, Damien waits for the precise moment. For the strike. For his parry.

His heart. Rilla's breath. The rustle of leaf and soil. The padding, just low, of paws. Damien tenses, poised and prepared and waiting, waiting for just the right moment-

"If you take one… single… step… closer," says a low, guttural, growling voice, and Sir Damien realizes after a startled breath that he recognizes it. He recognizes the voice, because it belongs to Lord Arum, though it has been pitched dangerous as it echoes strange and placeless among the trees. "If you take just one more step… I will make a meal of your entrails while you still live."

There is a pause, a stillness deeper, even, than the one which came before it.

"Do not test me," Arum continues, dark and certain. "These creatures are not yours to hunt."

Another pause. Slowly, slowly, the sense of danger recedes. The night noises of the jungle resume in its absence, the whine of insects and the rustle of small creatures, and Damien knows they are safe again.

Damien has never heard Lord Arum sound quite like that, before. Dark. Dangerous. Protective. And Damien does not feel an ounce of fear, at that voice, though his heart is thudding hot.

Not yours to hunt.

Not yours, he said. Does that mean, then, that Arum considers them his?

Another long pause draws out in the darkness as Damien tries to shake the memory of Arum's voice, as he feels the gooseflesh shiver across his skin, and then there is a noise, shifting close by.

"You are awake, aren't you, honeysuckle?"

Arum's voice no longer sounds strange. It no longer echoes oddly, and the venom is gone from it, leaving the monster sounding only soft, murmuring through the black of night.

"Yes," Damien whispers.

"I did not intend to wake you," Arum hisses.

"You did not," Damien says, just as low. "I… I felt that something was wrong. I woke before you… scared the creature away. Will it return, do you think?"

"Certainly not," Arum drawls, gently. "We are close to my territory now, little songbird, and I know the sorts of scavengers that prowl my borders. I know a coward when I smell one," he hisses. "She expected an easy meal. That, we most certainly are not. She will not try again."

"How…" Damien needs to pause, to swallow. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing shifted… your heartbeat. I can hear them both from here."

It is difficult, for Damien, not to feel exposed, knowing that. He is certain that his heart is still beating hard. Harder, now.

"And… and did you slip into the trees, to frighten the creature away? I will be compelled to tell Rilla if you exerted yourself while she slept-"

"I did not budge an inch, honeysuckle. Don't be foolish."

Damien blinks, for all the good it does him. The bare hint of stars between the canopy above flickers, just for a moment. "But- but your voice, Arum," he murmurs, and when Arum chuckles low Damien can feel heat pooling odd in his stomach. "You sounded as if…"

"As if I could be anywhere," Arum murmurs , and his voice echoes again, placeless, but close and worrying. "Yes … I told you, honeysuckle, that I had some skill, some tricks up my sleeves…"

Even more worrying than Arum's voice itself: the way the low heat of it makes the answering heat in Damien's stomach pulse.

"A-Arum," Damien whispers, and he releases his grip on his bow, reaching into the dark instead, grasping in the direction that Arum's voice had seemed to come from, for those few words where he had sounded ordinary again. "Where… where are you?"

There is a brief pause, a more gentle laugh in the dark.

"I am close enough to pluck you, still, little honeysuckle," he says in a rumble that rolls down Damien's spine, and he cannot help the way his breath catches, his eyes darting in the darkness as he tries to pin Arum's place. "Have no fear." Another laugh, even warmer. "Unless… unless my proximity is what worries you, of course."

"Arum," Damien breathes, reaching his hand our further.

"I'm here," Arum hisses. "I forget the limitations of your senses. I can see you, blue as you are in the starlight. Can you truly not see me?"

"I…" Damien swallows roughly, feeling Rilla warm beside him, feeling the coolness of the dirt beneath him, knowing that this monster is somewhere, so close by, watching him through the dark. Damien shakes his head, testing.

"How interesting," Arum murmurs, and his voice is still bouncing strange, as if it could be coming from the whole of the jungle itself.

A pause drags out, then, and Damien grasps, feeling across the scattered leaves, towards where Arum's bedroll should be.

Arum's hand intercepts his own, and when the monster laughs soft again, he sounds only close, only ordinary again. "I told you, honeysuckle. I am here."

"Arum," Damien whispers, the texture of scales so strange against his palm, and Arum pulls his hand closer, touching it to- to his cheek, Damien imagines, and he can feel the rumbling of his throat and the rumbling of his voice as he speaks again.

"I did not budge an inch," he hisses again, and Damien can feel him speaking, even as his voice echoes in the canopy above.

Damien can barely focus on the fascination he feels at that, though, because the reality of Arum's face in his hand, again- the reality of the monster laying so close beside them in the dark- it is twisting so- so-

So pleasantly, within him. Damien's mouth has gone dry.

"Go back to sleep, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, his voice gone quiet and normal again, and he squeezes Damien's hand as he moves it away from his face again. "Go back to sleep. We are safe, I assure you."

Damien believes him instantly. Damien believed him the first time, when he insisted the other monster would not return. He knows that they are safe, that the three of them together are more dangerous than anything the wilds could possibly assail them with.

"Are you certain?" he asks again, regardless, because his heart is racing and he knows that Arum can hear it, and certainly he requires this excuse for the pounding rhythm, and for the way he has not pulled his hand away from Arum's.

Arum has not pulled his hand away, either.

"We are safe," Arum repeats in a hiss. "I promise. Go back to sleep, Damien."

Damien squeezes his eyes shut, despite the dark, hoping that Arum is no longer looking at his face, that he cannot see Damien's expression in the dark.

Damien pretends that he has forgotten their hands, clasped together. He steadies his own breathing, pretends not to feel his own heat permeating Arum's hand, and-

And Arum does not pull his hand away, either.

Arum does not pull his hand away. Not before Damien falls back asleep in truth, at least.

~

The rumors are true, apparently.

They can see it in the distance when they round the crest of a hill, a gap in the canopy of trees above the road giving them a decent look towards the swamp in the distance that is apparently Arum’s home.

The swamp that is also, apparently, creeping outward.

They can see outcroppings of new-grown swamp greenery that stands out among the wider jungle, pushing past the usual border between the two, and even at this distance Rilla can see the speckling of purple from the blooms that give the swamp its name as well, and from this perspective the growth looks like curling fingers, reaching out.

Searching, Rilla thinks. A desperate hand, combing through the jungle to look for the missing ruler currently bundled up on the horse behind her. She glances back towards him, and even hidden behind the layers of cloth she can see the tension in his frame, can feel the impatient energy radiating from him.

“Almost there,” she says, and he tilts his head down towards her with a sharp breath. “Not much farther, now.”

He nods, and she sees him hesitate for only a moment before his eagerness gets the better of him.

“If one of those- those outgrowths is close enough, we should aim for it. We may be afforded a shortcut. Save further time,” he hisses quietly, and that’s pretty confusing but Rilla nods in response. He knows this place better than she does, after all.

Damien holds his own tongue for a moment before he points out one in particular, a vivid purple growth curling out, and quietly suggests a path they could take in that direction, a smaller road that should take them close.

Arum grows more and more agitated as they make their approach, and they all notice at the same moment that the outgrowths aren't the only strange thing about the swamp's border, nor are they the only new growth. She understands belatedly why the border was so easy to see from a distance-

There is a wall. The foliage on the edge is tightly packed, unnaturally so, the trees interwoven with newer saplings and quick vines, an enormous wicker boundary spotted with bright splotches of poisonous plants (Rilla can tell, even at this distance). Arum picks up a low growl, compulsive and continuous, and Rilla clenches her hands tight but she doesn't warn him against the noise. She doubts any other humans would be coming this close while the swamp is doing… whatever this is, and honestly, she can't blame him for the distress.

He's practically snarling to himself by the time they reach the border, his tail thrashing noticeably beneath his layers, and Rilla's stomach gives a sympathetic twist as Damien carefully, carefully helps Arum lower himself from the saddle.

"Okay," Rilla says. "Obviously this is… less than ideal."

"An understatement, Amaryllis. Look at- look at this! What- what could it possibly-" he gestures sharply towards the wall, then hisses in pain and draws the limb back to himself.

Damien makes a worried noise, an arm still supporting the monster as he fidgets, growling low, and then he eyes the wall with a considering look. "Hm. Perhaps I will close the borders entirely," Damien murmurs, and Rilla doesn't understand his words or his tone until he looks to Arum again. "I think you said that, when I asked what you intended to do when you returned home. It seems that others had similar thoughts, in your absence, Lord Arum."

Arum scoffs, then gently pushes himself from Damien's grip, standing straighter on his own, stiff and strained. "Foolishness. Ridiculous," he mutters as he starts to pull the layers off, unwinding scarves from his neck. "All this will do is draw undue attention-"

The sound of wings above compels Damien to draw his bow instantly, and his eyes dart to the foliage above more quickly than Rilla can follow, fixing on the source, the wide wingspan and gleaming threat of talons as they descend, and Damien's stance tightens, drawing the string more taut-

"Wait- stop-"

At Arum's choking cry Damien's poise falters, his aim going wide, the arrow finding purchase in the wicker wall instead of the quickly dropping- thing-

Arum tears the hood from his head, tears the last of the layers off beside his cape, his frill flaring and a grin curving his mouth, and he makes a strange warbling call, clear and loud and near to birdsong, and the wings above startle, fluttering sharp, and then there is an answering cry before the shape descends even faster.

"Arum-"

"Lord A-"

Arum nearly falls as the feathered shape collides with him, but he is laughing, now, as he makes more of those strange noises, and Rilla finally manages to parse exactly what the hell just happened, because there is an enormous heron shuffling from one taloned foot to the other on top of Arum's shoulders, shoving its beaked face into Arum's horns and squawking in a way that sounds both irritable and excited.

"Yes- foolish thing," Arum breaks into another laugh, and then into another strange warble as he lifts a hand to gently push the beaked face from pecking at the edge of his frill. "Obviously. Of course I did. Of course I did, you little- did you doubt? No-" he trills again, bright, and the heron ruffles up and makes a chuffing noise. "Of course I did," Arum says again, gentler, tapping the bird softly beneath the beak, and then he seems to remember Rilla and Damien, still watching.

Rilla's breathing hasn't entirely slowed from the shock, yet, but she's smiling now as she watches him, and Damien has come close beside her, stowing his bow again and pressing a hand over his mouth to bury his own smile, and Arum's frill ruffles by his neck at their observation.

"Er-"

"A friend?" Rilla asks, an eyebrow raising.

"One of my- my subjects, I suppose you could say," Arum murmurs, and he can't seem to help the smile as the bird presses its head into his horns again, trilling sternly. "Yes, I know. Hush." He gives the bird an equally stern look despite the laugh he gives, and then he lifts an arm for the creature to step to. "I know," he says quietly. "But you are frightening the horse, and I would rather not be kicked, little creature. I am nearly mended once, I would not like to suffer recovery a second time. Find your flock, spread the word if you must."

The bird squawks irritably, aiming its beak towards the humans for a moment before it turns back to Arum and flaps its wings at him.

"I said find your flock," he says in a low, fond growl. "Go on, you ridiculous thing. You need not worry for me. Go on."

The bird shifts from foot to foot on Arum's arm, chattering lightly, and then it pecks at the tip of Arum's snout and flaps before it lifts off, flying back up into the canopy again, singing something loud and joyous as it goes.

Arum sighs, his shoulders sagging as the weight of the creature is gone from him, but he clearly can't bury his smile. Damien takes Rilla's hand, and then they both come close to Arum, and Rilla lifts her other hand to touch the monster's elbow.

"Seemed excited to see you," she says, her tone only barely teasing, and his smile is so entirely warm, and Rilla and Damien's hands tighten together, each squeezing at the same moment.

"Yes, well," he makes a rattling noise low in his chest, still smiling. "I imagine they will all be quite ready for the swamp to return to normal."

"What do we do, then, about the wall?" Damien asks, gently, and Arum's smile flickers off.

He frowns, eyeing the woven greenery, and then he grumbles, "Bring me closer. It should still answer… it should still… still be able to hear."

Rilla doesn't exactly understand what that means, but- she figures he knows what to do in this situation better than she does, anyway, so she helps him. After a step or two Damien steps up on his other side, supporting him further.

"Thank you," Arum murmurs when they are close enough, and then he very gently pulls away from their hands. He lifts his own hand, and just barely touches the tangle of foliage, and then he swallows, chest rumbling. "Keep?"

Rilla barely manages to stop herself from reaching for him again. He sounds so- so desperate, and the urge to help him is-

"Keep. Can you hear me?" He pauses, and Rilla can see that he's trying not to cringe as he runs his hand along the vines. "Keep, I'm here, I- I need you to let me in."

Nothing changes, for a long moment. Beside her, Damien reaches a hand out, gripping Rilla's hand tight again, his nerves mirroring her own.

"Keep," he says again, keening clear in his voice. "Keep, please-"

Arum stumbles back as vines burst from the ground, new and accompanied by harmonious song, overtaking the wall and forming an archway that fills with magic, with- with a door, leading somewhere quite different from the swamp they could see past the wall.

Arum chokes a breath, warbles in further harmony with the song, and on shaking legs he bolts through the archway.

The Keep winds its vines around him so quickly that he is in the air before his feet even touch the floor of his home, before he has time to even breathe a syllable. It sings bright and clear and joyful, and it slots its mind soft against his again, precisely as their minds are meant to fit, in tune again so instantly that the vines don’t even come close to accidentally brushing any of the healing wounds that might still suffer from the pressure, and Arum can’t help the way he chokes, the way his throat goes tight and his eyes go hot, because-

He has missed his Keep so, so unbearably much.

He was never meant to be away for this long. His limbs are shaking with the relief of it even as he clings to its supportive vines, as he brushes his palms over the new bursts of flowers it is gleefully blooming around him. He’s so tightly enmeshed, so thoroughly cocooned, he wouldn’t have even noticed Amaryllis and Damien following through the portal if he could not feel the precise moment the Keep notices them.

The Keep notices them, and it is filled instantly with terror.

The humans are wound tight in vines nearly as quickly as Arum himself was, though these new vines are substantially less friendly as they pin Amaryllis and Damien against the wall with a discordant trill.

Arum feels the wash of terror pulse through with confusion, fury, protectiveness, and the vines around the humans continue to tighten. Arum’s heart skips, and he scrambles, reaching a hand through the bramble around him towards his- his- whatever, precisely, they are to him.

“Stop-” he snarls, the full force of his denial pushing out into his home, compelling the Keep to pause. The vines cease tightening, though they do not release. “Don’t hurt- don’t hurt them. They did not harm me, Keep, of that I can assure you,” he says in a breathless rush. “They did not harm me. They- they-”

The Keep stills, feeling his thoughts, and the grip it has upon the humans is already loosening. Arum needs not say more; the Keep understands him. It understands, and it loves him, and he needs not say a single word more.

He will say it anyway. It is true.

“They brought me back to you,” he says, his voice ragged and too full, and the both of them stare at him as they are lowered gently back to the floor. “They brought me home.”

[->]

[grimoireweavers]

          { closed starter for @ofcharredbones​ ;; Sebastian and Johnny }

♞—-» Sebastian’s world changed so rapidly over the course of several years. He fell in love with his partner, had to go through getting a new partner because he wanted to pursue a relationship with his original partner, got married, and had a daughter. All massive life changes, true, but ordinary things, right? Most 30-something year old men settled down and had a family, right? Perhaps not, but it seemed like the normal thing for an average person to go through.

And while balancing family life and a professional life with the KCPD was a stress all on its own, Sebastian was happy. He would have sworn that up and down for years.

At least, he had been until the accident. The fire that killed his daughter and ripped apart his entire life. He developed a drinking problem to cope. His wife became so obsessed with the idea that Lily’s death wasn’t an accident that she simply wouldn’t let the wound settle and heal. Then her obsession turned into a belief that Lily was alive, but she just sounded... insane. Sebastian tried to reason with her, tried to listen to her, but she was just making the healing process so much more difficult.

Myra disappeared. Everyone blamed him, saying he either drove her away with his drinking, or suspecting him of actually doing something to her himself. His world spiraled out of control, he’d hit rock bottom and he somehow managed to push through that hard rock and spiral even lower.

Then Mobius took him and inject him into STEM.

STEM was sort of a blessing disguised as a curse. For all the trauma he suffered within that devil contraption, he found a lot of blessings in it as well. A newfound strength and desire to not only survive but live again. Yes, he’d lost so much of himself in the last few years, but after coming so close to deaths too horrific to put to paper, he realized just how much he wanted to cling to life, how much he still wanted to be alive and thrive... It gave him a new respect for not throwing his life away, made him reevaluate a lot of his self-destructive decisions, and even gave him new purpose.

Perhaps, above all else, though, he found Johnny.

Their story wasn’t exactly the most romantic of stories. Johnny and Sebastian met in one of the worst places imaginable and ended up relying on one another when they had no one else to rely on or turn to. Desperation and spite brought and kept them together inside STEM, but what bloomed outside, in the real world, was beautiful. Not always easy, not by a long shot, especially when Seb still questioned what was real and what wasn’t, and had to come to some pretty terrifying realizations that monsters and demons were real and his boyfriend was one such monster hunting down even worse creatures. The types of things Sebastian would have believed nothing but stories or fantasies were now very real. Things he faced inside of STEM, nightmares that couldn’t possibly exist outside of someone’s head, were very much real.

But Sebastian processed this new information, and with Johnny’s help, he learned to cope and accept what could not be changed and adapt to survive in this new world that was still the same as it always was.

Turning, though...

Fuck, that’d been the hardest thing of all, hadn’t it? Learning of the existence of the supernatural was one thing, accepting it and living with it and even joining his boyfriend on hunts was another thing, but actually becoming part of it? In a way that he had no actual control over? In a way that tore out his humanity and left him with a memory of who and what he had been, but changed him into something so different... He’d never expected that to happen, never expected it to be possible, and sometimes, when looking in the mirror, it was hard to believe. As long as he was well-fed, he looked more or less the same, able to blend in with those around him just as he always had. Even his own mother couldn’t really tell the difference, though she did expect something was off about him.

Staying well-fed, though, was the tricky part. He could eat as much food as he wanted and never feel full. No sustenance or nutrition came from it. Eating souls took some getting used to and Sebastian had some really difficult times convincing himself to do so. There was a certain air of injustice or immorality that made such an act feel impossible, even when he purposefully went out of his way to find the worst people he really could, people he was probably doing a service to the rest of humanity for taking them out of the realm of existence.

Johnny spent a lot of time coaxing Sebastian into doing what he needed to in order to survive and not wither away under the influence of this transformation and Sebastian still didn’t like it, but at least he wasn’t starving himself.

With his insatiable hunger for the unimaginable, though, Sebastian did develop quite a few abilities that he couldn’t really control, didn’t entirely understand, and allowed him to do some pretty extraordinary things. While fearful of his newfound powers, he also found himself eager to learn and develop them. Look at all of the good he could do with what most would view as a curse! That’s how Sebastian had to look at it, anyway, to keep himself sane. Weaker men than him would have gone mad with power or crazy with the monstrosity they became.

The worst of it, though, was watching just how guilty Johnny was over Seb’s transformation. He blamed himself, it was very obvious. Every time Seb showed signs of struggling with adapting to this new life, Johnny’s guilt only amplified, and none of Sebastian’s reassurances seemed to have much impact on the Rider. Johnny knew he shouldn’t have pulled Sebastian into the lifestyle that he lived, that it was too dangerous for a common human, even one as determined, stubborn, and skilled as Sebastian.

Nothing Sebastian could say would ever alleviate Johnny’s guilt completely, but that just made Sebastian more determined to adjust to his new self, so he didn’t have to struggle in front of his fiancé anymore.

One such developing ability, however, left Sebastian feeling particularly unsettled. He first noticed it with Johnny and his mother, this... inherent ability to feel them even when they were not around him. It was like a personal tracker of sorts, allowing him to sense their general location, if they were in danger, and even, to a certain extent, what they were feeling at the time. It seemed to be the strongest with Johnny, which made sense since they lived together and spent the most time with one another, but as the weeks turned to months, more and more people started popping up on his radar.

Even people like Abraham, for the love of whatever higher power actually existed... Not that he’d tell Johnny about that, he was already salty for how often Abraham tried to steal Sebastian away and spend “quality time” with him.

Someone he never expected to feel eventually found her way to him, though. At first, he thought that it might have been Myra. Wherever she was, she was trapped, confused, and afraid. Sebastian couldn’t make out many details, in truth. Everything around her was dark, foggy, and as if she wasn’t entirely aware of her own surroundings. Why would he be thinking about Myra, though? There was no reason for Myra to hold any real place in his heart anymore, not after all the turmoil she’d put him through, not after finding a better partner in Johnny.

Then it dawned on him. Well, more like infected his dreams, really. Sitting bolt upright, Sebastian had broken out into a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Gwen moved from the end of the bed to crawl up into his lap and greet him, a tiny, concerned ‘mew’ leaving her as one paw came up to bat at his bare, damp chest.

Lily...

He dreamt about Lily, holed up somewhere dark, where she couldn’t see anything. Fuck, it felt like she wasn’t even processing what was going on around her at all, but she’d been right there, in front of him. He reached out for her, only to be stopped by some sort of invisible forcefield that existed between them, something that kept him from being able to touch her, to wrap his arms around her, and hug her like a father who never thought he’d see his baby again ought to.

Normally, he would have just written that off as a bad dream. He had plenty of them after losing Lily, after Myra abandoned him, and especially after STEM, but the feeling lingered, and for a moment, he swore he could picture her in real time, not just as a memory, but as someone who was alive and breathing and lost.

Nudging Gwen off of him, Sebastian pushed himself out of bed, as quietly as possible so as not to rustle the man beside him, though Johnny was likely already coming too from Seb violently sitting upright. Still, he made his way into the bathroom attached to their bedroom and closed the door behind him. Standing in the dark, he splashed a bit of cold water from the sink onto his face and gently patted a damp cloth across his neck and shoulders in an attempt to ground himself.

Could it be true, though? Could Lily be alive?

“That’s crazy,” Seb murmured to himself, staring at himself in the mirror. The lights were off, but his eyes easily adjusted to the dark, so he could see perfectly well. Making out every single detail of himself proved a simple task and he looked... Well, not nearly as tired as he should have been considering he hadn’t slept for very long and was woken in such a violent fashion.

After a few minutes to calm down and process what he’d been dealing with, Seb finally came back into the bedroom. Johnny was awake, sitting upright in his bed, a worried expression painting his features.

“Something odd’s happened,” Sebastian admitted before Johnny could even ask. “I can’t explain it, but I think...” Okay, he could explain it. Even though he had a hard time understanding these new and developing skills, he could talk to Johnny or Abraham or someone of a like mind who understood what it meant to be something other than human and they would likely understand what he meant, what he was talking about, what he was experiencing, and how to figure it out. “I think Lily might be alive, Johnny,” he murmured, and even as the words left him, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

     “I can feel her—"

[takerfoxx]

Looking back, was Madoka Magica really that dark? Only three characters actually die, two of whom are later resurrected through the power of love. Blood and gore wise, most blood is offscreen, and that which is shown is fairly tame compared to other dark magical girl shows. Yet somehow, this show the show managed to hit me in the gut more than far more horrific and bloodier dark magical girl shows ever have. Why?

That doesn’t sound surprising at all, and it all comes down toexecution. 

See,people often have this false idea when it comes to “mature” stories, inthat things like character deaths, blood and gore, and suffering are thebuilding blocks of maturity. But they’re not. They’re tools, and like all tools,they can be wielded correctly and incorrectly. Quite often, less is more, andtoo much grimdark results in an edgy, tryhard mess of a thing that isn’t maturein the slightest. This is one of the reasons why Blood-C got such a negativereaction, or why Elfen Lied is so divisive. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loveme some Elfen Lied, but even I admit that it’s a schlocky white-hot mess. Itjust so happens to be my kindof schlocky, white-hot mess.

So yeah, I know this is weird coming from the apparent king ofTouhou Grimdark (cut me some slack though, I learn as I go), but gratuitousviolence does not, in of itself, equal maturity or anything of substance. Atbest you get the adolescent view of maturity, which is just so cynical andtiresome.

Madoka Magica, on the other hand, is a different sort of beastentirely. That show’s been out for years, but I am continuously impressed byjust how well-crafted it is, and how the creators used the tools at theirdisposal to get so much out of so little.

First of all, there’s the genre itself. Now, darkdeconstructions of Magical Girl shows are nothing new. Utena had already poppedthat cherry years ago, and you already mentioned how others had…less of animpact than PMMM did. But even so, the Magica Girl genre is one that’s almostuniversally associated with little girls. So, lots of bright colors, optimism,and cute, and the good guys and bad guys are easily distinguishable, and goodalways triumphs over evil. So even if new viewers know that something is up,their guard is still automatically going to be dropped, at least a little.

Second, we have the art style. Now, this is very interesting, inthat they went with a very Hidemari Sketch sort of style, where the girls allhave designs that are cute, appealing, and very distinctive, but never goingoverboard with the cuteness to the point where it becomes obnoxious. Even withthe fairly cartoony designs, their actual movement is pretty realistic, and isnever exaggerated for comedic effect or goes super-deformed and all that.Furthermore, rare for something of this nature, they are never objectifiedand/or used for fanservice in the slightest. A more realistic or a more adultstyle wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, nor would something sexier. It’sjust enough to make you like the girls and want the best for them, but notenough to get annoying or ruin the mood with unnecessary fanservice.

So basically, to get a little neckbeardy with it, the art styleis meant to make the viewers want to protect and comfort the girls, but notstrangle them for being way too moe, or fuck them for that matter.

…

Well, I mean, lots of people still do, but it’s the internet,so…

…

Moving on.

Anyway, continuing with theanimation, let’s talk about the witches. In sharp contrast to the somewhatcartoony designed but mostly realistically animated real world, the witchbarriers go for a surreal, dream-like feel, with the weird, jerky, low framerate movements of the witches and their familiars to the bizarre designs thatstick more-or-less to aesthetic themes but still have no explanation and anoverall look that, rather than being overly and obviously dark and evil, isinstead…wrong. Off. Alien. Discomforting rather than outright scary. Thewitches are meant to clash with the characters’ animation in a way that isdeliberately uncomfortable without spilling into cheesy. I mean, puffballs withbutterfly bodies and big handlebar mustaches? Spotted mice in nurse hats? Howis that scary? But just look at how they move, how they sound, and it becomesincredibly unnerving. Even before the big episode three twist, until which PMMMcould still pass for a more standard Magical Girl show, it still stood out withjust how bizarrely disturbing its monsters are. There is something genuinelyunsettling about them, a sense of dread that just permeates their every scene,even when our heroes are victorious.

And with that, I’ve exhaustedmost of the synonyms for “disturbing.” Let’s move on.

So, we’ve gone over how theart and animation is carefully crafted to evoke a specific reaction from theviewers, but what about the story itself? Well, like what was discussedearlier, part of what makes PMMM work so well is that despite its grandambitions and epic feels, the bulk of the show is…actually pretty small. Imean, save for the universe-changing repercussions of Madoka’s wish at the veryend, most of the focus is kept away from the world at large and remains on asmall group of characters and how being sucked into the contract system affectsthem. The story revolves around these five girls and is all about theirpersonal lives, and the whole Incubator thing is portrayed as alarger-than-they-can-imagine thing that’s been going on since the beginning oftime that they can’t do anything about, so why even bother trying? For Kyubey,it’s pretty much just business as usual, with the gang just being another setof marks in a long, long line of them, to be chewed up and spat out by the cogsof his machine.

And that takes us to what youmentioned earlier, about how PMMM has fewer character deaths, less violence,and nearly no gore in comparison to other shows, but somehow manages to leave abigger impact. And that comes down to one of the most important rules aboutstorytelling: it’s not what you’re about, it’s how you’re about it. Killing offcharacters doesn’t make a story mature, hurting your characters doesn’t makeyour story mature, or even using something as risky as rape doesn’t make yourstory mature; those are just the catalysts. Rather, maturity comes fromexploring how those things affect your characters, how it changes their livesand how they change and grow in response to them. Mami’s sudden and shockingdeath had profound effects on Madoka and Sayaka, and it’s by exploring thoseeffects that it feels like it has such a big impact, in that it shatteredMadoka’s perfect world and sent her into a bout of depression while motivatingSayaka into recklessness to compensate for her guilt in not being there to helpMami and overcompensate in trying to take her place. The reveal of the MagicalGirls as liches with their souls literally contained within their soul gems wasa big twist in of itself, but by taking the time to show how it set Sayaka intoher downward spiral into self-destruction coupled with having the oppositeeffect on Kyoko by jarring her out of her self-centered nihilism and motivatingher to start reaching out to Sayaka it really does feel like it has actualmeaning beyond shock value. And their deaths become even more tragic, asKyubey’s later monologue shows that they were doomed from the beginning, andnothing other than a damned miracle was going to save anyone. And being that hehad the monopoly on miracles in that universe, the audience is left bitingtheir nails and hanging on the edges of their seats through the climax, prayingthat an out would be found while fearing that there would be none to be found.Which just makes Madoka’s loophole of a wish all the more gratifying, whilestill being bittersweet. Because a happy ending just wasn’t possible, but shefound a way to prevent an all-out tragedy, a way to alleviate the bulk of thepain. And all it cost was her earthly existence.

Anyway, we’ve talked aboutthe visuals and story direction, so now let’s talk characterization. This is yetanother place where this show shines. Becauseeven though it only had a few episodes, the relatively small cast and focus ontheir personal problems allowed for a lot of character development. It helped that,save for Madoka’s, each of their wishes was something small and easilyunderstandable. Mami just wanted to live, Kyoko just wanted people to listen toher father, Sayaka just wanted her close friend and crush to get better whiletaking up Mami’s responsibilities, and Homura just wanted to save her dearfriend, who had been one of the few people to ever give her positive attention.Hell, even Madoka’s original wish was to save a cat. And like their designs,their personalities are all distinct, balanced between likeable strengths andtragic flaws: Mami is stalwart and nurturing, but also tripped up by hercrippling loneliness. Sayaka is determine and has a strong sense of justice,but also brash and prone to self-loathing. Madoka is kind-hearted andencouraging, but held back by her lack of self-esteem. As for Homura and Kyoko,they’re introduced us when they are at their worst, but do to cleverstorytelling and exposition, we then see the goodness in them and what theyused to be, and it becomes all the more easier to understand how they becamethe way they are. And again, despite its small number of episodes, the showreally takes the time to show how these personalities bounce off each other andconflict, while also showing how the consequences of their actions change them.I really like how they did it two: the show is essentially divided into fourmini-arcs of three episodes apiece, with the main focus on a different girl perarc, with Madoka being something of a passive POV protagonist throughout the wholeshow: first it’s Mami, then Sayaka, then Kyoko, and finally Homura. And as isexpected, each mini-arc ends in a tragedy, from Mami’s death to Sayaka’srealization about the truth of soul gems to Kyoko’s final stand to Homurafeeling as if she’s lost Madoka forever. But even with all that dark, it stillends on a note that is, while bittersweet, is still optimistic. Madoka is stillgone and Sayaka is still dead, but they seem to have come to terms with that. Also,Kyoko and Mami are alive and on good terms again, Homura has something new tofight for, and the universe is a little less cruel, showing that despiteeverything, it was all worth it in the end, and all of their struggles, pains,mistakes, and tears mattered.

I could go on and on and on,but let’s sum it up with a tl;dr: Puella Magi Madoka Magica may not have had nearly the amount of death and despair as other shows and very littlegore, but it had a far greater impact because it was carefully and brilliantlyconstructed from top to bottom to hit you right where it hurts, twist theknife, and still make you thankful for the ride. And I wouldn’t have it anyother way.

[imaginedilestrade]

The Girl Next Door

A/N: The final chapter! The epilogue will be posted soon!😁 I've loved writing this series! Thank you to everyone who's liked/ reblogged/ commented! It means the world 😊 next week I'll be posting a new fic so keep our eye out 😁😉 ———————— Chapter 13 ————— There was blood everywhere. It soaked though your clothes and stained your skin a dark crimson colour as it oozed out of your body. Your breath quickened as you tried to compress your wound with trembling hands. Harry Jones let out a strained scream as he removed the knife from his arm, spraying your face with blood as he did. He attempted to finish you off but Sebastian's figure hovered above the both of you and he shot Harry with gritted teeth. Seb dropped the gun and fell to his knees beside you "Stay with me Y/N" he practically demanded. You let out a yelp as he forcefully pressed his hands against your stomach, John helped him as Sherlock watched on and phoned an ambulance. They didn't care who you worked for, you certainly didn't deserve to die. Tiling your head to the side you gazed into the lifeless eyes of Harry Jones, they were slightly bloodshot and the thin intricate veins in his eyes began to fade. You bit your lip to alleviate the pain you felt in your stomach but it didn't help "This is it Seb" you breathlessly told him with tears falling from the side of your face. "No it's not," he told you, trying his best to remain composed and pressed his hands tighter against your wound "So shut up and stop talking like that". You felt a tear splash against your cheek. It was his. Jim soon enough kneeled beside Sebastian and you looked up at them with bleary eyes and a smile. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I lied" you softly sobbed out as Jim wiped away your tears. "It's alright," Jim soothed "Don't focus on that right now Y/N. The ambulance is on its way. Come on just keep your eyes open" the consulting criminal begged. "Who else is going to help me annoy Sebby? Huh?" He let out a small chuckle and you lightly laughed. You swallowed hard, your mouth was becoming dryer with each passing second. Your head fell slightly to the side so you could see him for one last time "I'm sorry Greg" you weakly reached out your hand for him and he intertwined his fingers with your bloodied ones. "You'll have a lifetime to apologise to me won't you?" His eyes stung with the warm tears that gathered in them, they slipped out of his eyes when you shook your head with a no. Your vision became clouded with dots of black and white as your breath became short. "Keep talking to her!" Sebastian snapped causing your eyes to shoot open slightly at his tone. "Okay..." Jim breathed out nervously "Did you know we've been considering adopting this lovely little boy called Jack?" Jim told you with a wide smile, Sebastian smiled at the mention of his name. "Re...really?" You asked while trying to stay conscious for them. Jim nodded as tears began to stream down his face "Yeah, yeah we are. We've filled out the forms and all the paperwork and we are going to meet him soon! You'll be his aunt! You'll be an amazing aunt won't you? I bet you'll spoil him all the time" Jim's voice broke as he clutched onto your hand tighter, he felt how cold it was getting. "You'll be good parents," you breathed out as your eyes began to flutter shut. You felt your hand being pressed against Greg's lips "Greg..." You breathed out as your eyes softly shut. Specks of flashing blue burst under your eyelids as various voices called your name before everything crashed into oblivion. Your eyes began to screw shut from the blinding white light that seeped under your eyelids, encouraging them to open. You tenderly allowed them to peel open revealing nothing but light. You let out a low groan under your breath as your eyes adjusted and the light was replaced with a Styrofoam tile ceiling. You felt a hand wrapped around yours, your eyes flickered down to it, then up the arm of the person and then to the face. Sebastian. He looked like he hadn't slept for days. "Seb..." You hoarsely whispered out, your mouth was dry and your throat was still fragile not to mention the fact that you were exhausted. You lightly squeezed his hand and his eyes slowly opened before they shot open seeing you awake. "Oh my god Y/N," he stood up, still holding your hand and peppered kissed in your forehead "You fucking idiot!" He let out a watery chuckle "You could have died!" "How long have I been out?" You asked and Sebastian's eyes fell to the floor. "A week," the patches attached to your skin picked up your racing heartbeat after hearing that you'd been unconscious for seven days. Sebastian calmed you down by gently stroking your hair "It's alright now, you're awake. I knew you'd pull through." Seb smiled and rubbed his thumb against the top of your hand that was currently being impaled with a needle attached to an IV drip. The door creaked open and Jim stepped in, his jaw dropped rushing over to your beside seeing that you were awake "Y/N!" He smiled and pressed a kiss to your bruised cheek "How's my second favourite assassin doing?" He asked with his eyes glazing over slightly. "Geez I get shot in the stomach and I'm still only your second favourite?" You smiled, Seb and Jim burst into a fit of laughter "I'm okay, a bit sore". "I can get the nurse to up your morphine now you're awake. I'll go and get her" Sebastian pressed a kiss on your forehead and left to fetch the nurse. You could barley look at Jim without guilt flooding you "I lied to everyone I loved". "I know..." Jim trailed off slightly pursing his lips. You looked at your hand that was being held in his before continuing "But I did it because I love all of you. I didn't want to have to choose between Greg and you two. I thought I could live two lives. I'm sorry I disappointed you and Seb by falling for a man who's a DI. I fell for a man that could expose us all". "Love is...funny," Jim started talking, not entirely sure how to word his sentence "It's just one of those things I guess where if you're happy then we're happy. Don't let mine and Seb's opinion stop you from what you really want. Plus we're always going to secretly be annoyed with any guy you fall for because we are both overprotective shits". You laughed loudly and then winced from the pain caused by the jerking motions your body made. "He's here. He never left". You narrowed your eyes at Jim before they softened with realisation "Do you want me to send him in?" Jim asked. "Can you do it without killing him?" You asked with a sarcastic undertone which made him roll his eyes. Jim left and he was soon replaced with the brown eyed, silver haired boy next door. A smile that didn't reach your eyes welcomed him into the room and he sat down beside you. "Hi" you croaked out. "Hi..." He repeated. Then silence filled the room and the only noise being made was from the various monitors that were attached to you. Greg took in a deep breath before speaking "There's a part of you I don't know." "That's correct." Your eyes flickered to the ground "Are you going to arrest me?" You asked. Greg let out a sigh "That depends, are you going to tell me everything?" "I'm afraid to tell you" you admitted. You were on the verge of dying a few days ago yet you were more petrified of this moment than dying. Dying would be less painful. Greg narrowed his eyes at you and placed a finger under your chin, encouraging you to look at him "Well I can't arrest you over that. Why are you afraid to tell me?" He softly asked. "If I tell you you'll think I'm some sort of monster, that you won't feel the same way anymore..." A tear slipped out of your eye and Greg was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. "You're not and never will be a monster, Y/N. Don't get me wrong I'm pissed that you didn't tell me who you are and that there's a part of you I don't know," he paused for a moment "Yet" he added before continuing "But the part I do know I've fallen in love with. It's beautiful and charming and bursting with happiness and life, I can't help but love you". "You still love me?" You asked with your voice slightly cracking "After everything that's just happened?". Greg nodded with a small smile "I can honestly say you're like no other woman I've ever met" he chuckled and you laughed, wincing slightly from your wound. Greg stood up and checked you over, "Greg..." You trailed off trying to catch his attention "Greg....GREG!" You raised your voice and he froze. "I'm aright" you reassured and he kissed you. It was delicate, he was afraid to break you more than you already were, but his lips didn't move from yours until a uncomfortable nurse cleared her throat. She upped your morphine and left as soon as she arrived. You felt the liquid quickly spread though your body, alleviating your pain and making you drowsy. "I'll leave and let you get some slee-" "No!" You cut him off and reached your hand out to grip onto his so tight that he knew you were never letting go "Please stay with me" you asked and he did. "Can..can I kiss you?" Greg nervously asked. A small smile spread over your face "If you do, I'll have to kill you after" you joked. Greg smirked and leaned over to press his lips with yours "Worth it" he mumbled before kissing you again. Sebastian and Jim watched through the window as you pulled away then began to slowly fall asleep holding Greg's hand. "What do you make of it?" Jim asked "Do you think they'll last?" Sebastian glanced at his fiancée before looking forward to you and Greg. A small smile flickered over his face. That was enough of an answer for Jim. ——————— Tags: @viragannav @musingsofophelia @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @heaven-bound-angel @mycdiary @anamericanplaywright @princesspeach212 @adorablebadger @cutie1365 (Also I'll be making a forever tag list so let me know if you would like to be on that 😁)

[snarktheater]

Carve the Mark — Part 3 (Chapters 15-16)

As we open the third part of this book, we finally get both of our points of view alternating from chapter to chapter. Which, yes, also means we constantly swap from third to first person. But hey, a least this means the plot might actually move forward? Maybe?

One can dream.

That doesn't mean we escape bad writing though. Remember how Akos tried to escape a few chapters ago, and we were told about it after the fact? Yeah, I guess now is the right time to get a flashback to that, because it's totally still relevant.

AKOS RAN THROUGH THE memory of his almost-escape with Eijeh over and over again

That is a flimsy excuse, even in this book.

We do learn that Akos's power also works on current-powered technology, which includes locks and handcuffs.

That was how he had gotten free to kill Kalmev Radix in the feathergrass.

Any other scene you want to explain away a fourth of the book later, or can we move forward now?

Back to the present, then. It's been a week since the sojourn ship took off, and not much has happened yet. Since we have no idea how fast the ship is traveling, or how far it has to go, I don't really know what to do with that information, but there you have it.

Akos goes to the ship's public training room (because there's only one? Even though literally all the "able-bodied" Shotet are on this ship? How many Shotet are there in total, exactly?), and there, he meets Jorek Kuzar. What's that? You don't know who that is because the book introduced him for seemingly no reason and dropped him for five chapters, so I didn't even tell you about him? I'd apologize, but frankly, I'm too busy wondering why we even had that earlier introduction.

So, when Vas told Cyra about Uzul Zetsyvis's passing, he was accompanied by Jorek, who is his second cousin. He refused to become a soldier/translator like his dad, and that makes him suspect in Ryzek's eyes. Akos also notes that he has no kill marks, which means…I don't know, that he's a good person? At least that's my assumption, since after some padding, he offers Akos to help him escape. Akos refuses, saying he has unfinished business.

“Then what about that brother of yours?” Jorek said. “The one who inhales when Ryzek exhales?”

…What do you think "unfinished business" means, Jorek?

Well, Jorek adds Eijeh in his offer, so Akos agrees to help him to earn both his and his brother's freedom. His brother who, shall I remind you, is currently under severe mind-fuck and would probably do his best to sabotage your escape.

The deal is to kill Jorek's dad, Suzao Kuzar. Who, it turns out, was one of the men with Vas who kidnapped Akos and Eijeh. So it's basically two birds with one stone for Akos.

“I’m not a fool, no matter what you people think of the Thuvhesit,” Akos snapped, his cheeks going ruddy as he picked up the practice blade. “You think I’m going to just let you set me up for a fall?” “I’m as much at risk as you are,” Jorek replied. “For all I know you could go whisper in Cyra Noavek’s ear about what I just asked you, and it could get back to Ryzek, or my father. But I’m choosing to trust in your hatred. As you should trust in mine.”

One: Ms Roth, blushing is not a character trait. She keeps referring to Akos's blushing, and I think it's supposed to build the idea that he's a soft, sensitive boy, but she forgets to…actually make him sensitive? Blushing is basically a side-effect.

Two: guess what Akos does right after this? Tell Cyra about this. Well, okay, he doesn't tell her about Jorek's involvement, but he does ask her how he could kill Suzao. Information which she…happily provides?

“It would have to be in the arena to be legal, as you know,” she said. “And you would want it to be legal, or you would end up dead. Arena challenges are banned from when the ship leaves the atmosphere until after the scavenge, which means you have to wait until after. […] But you don’t have the status to challenge Suzao even then, so you have to provoke him to challenge you, instead.”

So that's our plan for Akos's subplot for this part of the book, I assume. And/or until the end? Is this book a stand-alone, or is it planned to be a series? I should have checked.

Also, more shippy angst, as Akos muses on how he can't help but alleviate Cyra's pain, even though she's his enemy and he should do everything to fight his fate of serving her family. As for Cyra, she warns him he really wants to do this, because he could become "like her". Because she still sees herself as a monster, for…some reason. You know, the more we learn about Cyra and her powers, the more it feels like layers of victim blaming are added onto one another.

And then we get some banter as they go cook, because we also need shippy fluff, I guess.

So before I continue, I have to take a moment to discuss about how Jorek is made "special" by showing he has no kill marks. In absolute, this sounds like a fine concept—the people who don't kill other people or only do so in defense or while coerced are probably the ones you want to mark as good people. But…then, that creates a really uncomfortable view of the Shotet culture, where there was room for something interesting.

After all, while the Noaveks have seemingly turned kill marks into a subject of pride over the kills one has done, the tradition predates them, and it already included something for the kills—even if it was viewed as a form of loss and presumably atonement. Since the Shotet have such a system in place (along with the arena challenges), we can infer that killing people is something they had to do, for various reasons (think Akos's mark, which was in self-defense and in an attempt to escape). And yet, the book is basically telling us that no, kill marks are wrong all the time.

That speaks of a philosophy that redemption is impossible (unless you're a main character?), which…I frankly don't want to get into. But it also seems to vilify Shotet culture as a whole even further than it already is for even having this system in place. After all, a "good" culture wouldn't have the need for kill marks at all.

Time will tell if this pattern remains throughout the book, of course. And it is pretty hard to have an impression when the book doesn't even bother to describe most people's kill marks even as it claims that Akos has learned the Shotet automatism to check for them. But as it stands, that's the impression I'm getting from this.

And with that, back to the story, with Cyra coming back from a random meeting with Ryzek, who has in fact decided to go to Pitha to scavenge for weapons, in spite of what the current dictates. Because you know he's evil if he subverts his people's spirituality for his own gain. Not, you know, the murder, oppression, anti-intellectualism.

Along the way, all the lights go out, and a message is broadcast on the ship's speakers, once again spreading Ryzek's fate for all to hear.

“The truth can be suppressed, but it can never be erased.”

Also, Cyra gets attacked, but she's just the best fighter ever, so even being in the dark and taken by surprise isn't enough. However, she feels guilt over Lety Zetsyvis's death, so she lets her attacker (also a girl) go, though she does keep the dagger she was attacked with.

Hopefully it had been too dark for the security footage to show that I had just let a renegade go free.

Cyra Noavek: unable to make up her mind about where her loyalties lie, I guess.

She does go to Ryzek with the knife to show to him that she was also attacked and prove she's not behind the attack (which she apparently thinks he would consider?). He has indeed been attacked too, but Vas took care of the assassins, although Ryzek is clearly shaken by it, even drinking hushflower tea to calm himself. Which is a big deal since hushflower is so typically Thuvhesit.

It wasn’t his fault that he had turned out this way, so terrified and so creative with his cruelty. Our father had conditioned him to become this person. The greatest gift Lazmet Noavek had ever given me, even greater than life itself, had been leaving me alone.

Yeah, um…one: parental neglect isn't exactly a gift. Two: children who witness abuse but aren't the victim of it still internalize that abuse. Three: Ryzek being an abuser himself isn't excused by being a victim himself.

And then…more victim blaming as Cyra tries to connect to Ryzek.

“We weren’t always like this, you and I,” I said. […] “Then you killed our mother,” he said quietly. “And now, this is all that we can be.”

Yes, you sort-of accidentally killed your mom, therefore I must abuse you. Um…logic?

And that's…pretty much the end of that scene. Cut to morning (whatever that means when you're in space, which the book seems to have completely forgotten), where Ryzek has instated a curfew and will randomly torture people until he finds the renegades. Cyra and Akos talk about it while a news feed goes on in the background, and Cyra comments on the subtitles that are given.

There was a water shortage on Tepes, in the western continent. The Shotet subtitles were accurate. For once. […] The Assembly was debating further requirements for the oracles on each planet, to be voted on in forty days. Shotet subtitles: “Assembly attempts to assert tyrannical control over oracles through another predatory measure, to be enacted at the end of the forty day cycle.” Accurate, but biased. Some notorious band of space pirates had just been sentenced to fifteen seasons in prison. Shotet subtitles: “Band of Zoldan traditionalists sentenced to fifteen seasons in prison for speaking out against unnecessarily restrictive Assembly regulations.” Not so accurate.

I won't make the obvious fake news joke (mostly because…let's be real, it's not funny anymore, it's just sad), and point out instead that if all Shotet people are exposed to Othyrian, with subtitles, I cannot for a minute believe that no one would pick up at least on some of the language. Since the subtitles aren't completely inaccurate, and it's not even consistently done, it should be possible. I mean, that is literally how I started learning English.

Things only a person who isn't bilingual would write: this shit.

They argue about he meaning of he sojourn, and how Cyra is clinging to traditions instead of seeing the Shotet for what they have become, leading to this:

Not for the first time, I wondered how he would feel if I died. […] I might be the Noavek he would one day die for, given how much time we spent together.

If it's not the first time, why is this the first time I hear about it? Also, thanks of you to let us know that you came to the obvious conclusion that serving the Noavek family didn't necessarily mean serving Ryzek, because so far, I've also had no indication that any character was aware of that.

Anyway, this is enough of that, let's have some more shippy times!

He was angled toward me. There were only a few inches separating us. We were often close together, when sparring, when training, when making our breakfasts, and he had to touch me to keep my pain at bay. So it should not have felt strange that his hip was so close to my stomach, that I could see ropy muscle standing out from his arm. But it did.

Protagonists are allowed to be aware of their own feelings. Even female protagonists. Do you realize that, Veronica Roth?

Akos also tells her that he's moved on with his plan to provoke Suzao into challenging him by having his son slip potions into his morning medicine. Apparently Akos is planning to let Suzao know it was him, and that's how he'll get his challenge. Question is: is this legal? I mean, that's the whole conceit of trying to get him to the arena, and I sincerely doubt that drugging someone would fly.

Cut to Cyra attending a meeting of Ryzek's closest associates, which leads to this interesting revelation from Vas:

“You know so little about my gift, for all the time we’ve known each other,” Vas said. “Do you know I have to set alarms to eat and drink? And check myself constantly for broken bones and bruises?”

So…the book is aware of the real-life condition, but it still gave Vas that gift, and it still acted like immunity to pain was a good and useful thing, because…?

Oh, also, this leads to a "we're not so different" moment from Cyra, because she's also always aware of her body. She asks when his gift first appeared, and he tells her he was being attacked by bullies as a child, which is also just like her. Is this going anywhere? More importantly: is this going towards a love triangle? Because I've been pretty good at avoiding those lately, I don't want to break my lucky streak.

Yma Zetsyvis is also at that meeting. Not because she doesn't care about her husband and daughter's deaths, mind you. No, she just…blames it all on Cyra, as if Ryzek hadn't commanded her to do it both times. But hey, how else will we establish that women only have the choice between protagonist, dead, irrelevant, or evil?

I turned to her. “What kind of sacrifices have you made?” […] “I have denied myself the pleasure of watching you bleed to death,” she whispered.

The rest of them also make fun of Cyra for good measure, and at this point I don't feel like giving more detail, so…let's just move on.

We were on the edge of the galaxy, so the only planets—or pieces of planets—left to see were not populous enough to participate in the Assembly. We called them “peripheral planets,” or just “the brim,” more casually. My mother had urged the Shotet to regard them as our brothers and sisters in the same struggle for legitimacy. My father had privately scoffed at that idea, saying that Shotet was greater than any brim spawn.

So Lazmet and Ryzek are refusing natural allies. In fact, they're refusing them so hard they forbade all travel to these planets. Well, it's realistic, if stupid. Also, do we really need to keep harping on what a saint Ylira was? She still stood by and let everything happen.

Speaking of Ryzek, he hasn't done any progress finding the renegades, so he's decided to pick a scapegoat to reassure people. Cyra feels bad at that thought, which confuses her for some reason, because she's such a total monster even a compassionate thought is alien to her. Even though she's never acted or thought any differently until now.

So she decides to go to her old tutor Otega, who now works the kitchen, because why wouldn't you waste a tutor's valuable skills by making her do menial work? Oh but wait, it gets stupider, because her currentgift also lets her find the owner of any item she touches, which Ryzek must know since Lazmet used to his advantage. So it's even more stupid not to keep her close!

But it does mean Cyra can freely ask her to use the dagger she got from her assassin to find her again, and hopefully get to the renegades through her. Why? No idea.

And with that, each of our protagonist has his own plot to worry about, so I guess this is as good a place to stop as any. Plus, this post is already horrendously long. Find out how Akos's "drug someone until they want to fight you" and Cyra's "find renegades to maybe help them maybe help her brother who knows she has not character consistency" plots will unfold next time!

[bibliophileiz]

Overdue thoughts on “Jack in the Box”

Notes and stuff

The first scene is weird. Some of the shots are bizarre, I don’t understand what John’s journal is doing on the table and Bobby splitting the random dude’s head with a hatchet doesn’t jive with the tone at all. (Especially since we don’t find out the random dude’s actually a wraith until after the title card.)

-“Mom, you weren’t here long enough.” Amen. (#stillbitteraboutmary) 

- I am glad Bobby’s checking in on Sam, considering they had those issues at the beginning of the season.

- Also, random thought, but I’m so glad Ketch isn’t in this episode. (On the other hand, maybe if he’d shown up at Mary’s memorial, Dean would have killed him, which could have been fun.)

- Bobby doesn’t give Cas a beer. Rude. 

- “An unstoppable monster who don’t know right from wrong needs to be put down, or the closest there is to it. And anyone who doesn’t know that needs to go back to school.” To be fair, that’s how they’ve operated in every other season of this show.

- Bucklemming’s suckage at writing dialogue is always temporarily suspended whenever they need to write a scene where Jack is sitting sadly on a box outside in a back alley. This is also the only scene in this episode where Jack is actually in character.

-  And to absolutely no one’s surprise, the best scene in the episode is the one where Dean is sitting by himself crying in the woods. I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that it’s the only scene with no dialogue.

Actually the first part of this episode isn’t bad. I’m feeling less bitter about Bobby on the second watch, can kind of see what the point of having him in this episode is. 

Dumah stuff: On the one hand, I’m wondering if they just couldn’t get Amanda Tapping for this episode. On the other hand, I don’t know that Naomi would have done any of the shitty stuff Dumah does in this ep. (which is fine because I’d rather have Naomi alive for season 15 and not stabbed by Cas) The good plot answer to these musings is that Dumah arranged for Naomi to go in a cell so she could gain control of Heaven and enact her evil plans (see manipulating Jack into making new angels). The bad plot answer would be that neither bucklemming nor any of the angels thought through the ramifications of imprisoning their leader when there are only like 8 angels left, Heaven is falling apart and the Empty has demonstrated a willingness to invade whenever the fuck it feels like it. It also brings up an issue Cas and Jack discussed earlier this season where Cas assured Jack that Naomi takes care of the souls in her charge. Obviously that’s not the case with Dumah (see her threats against John and Mary).

- Possible bad dialogue alert: It’s not exactly clear what Cas is asking Dumah to do in the scene where he first shows up in Heaven and fills her in on what’s going on, and I don’t know if that’s intentional or not?

On the one hand I kind of like Dumah as an evil leader/antagonist of Naomi, but on the other hand her grooming of Jack feels a little reactive. Maybe she just didn’t want to risk trying to get him on her team while he was so close with the Winchesters.

Dumah and Jack stuff:

Dumah’s “Think how happy that would make Sam and Dean” if he saved the world and Heaven is obviously there to demonstrate that Jack just wants to please the Winchesters, but here’s the thing. Losing your soul might make you sociopathic and unsympathetic, but never in this show has it made someone stupid. So why would Jack, who has spent his entire life around Dean “God writes paperback books in his underwear and other blasphemies I say” Winchester, think Sam, Dean and Cas would be happy if he went around turning atheists into salt? They are literally “Team Free Will.” It makes no sense for Jack to think this is what they would want.

- Cas said he was “promised every effort” from Heaven in helping find Jack, but that DEFINITELY wasn’t in the scene. Didn’t Dumah say, “I’ll see what I can do”??? I don’t think Cas is supposed to be lying to the Winchesters here, I think bucklemming are just shitty writers without any editors.

- “Sam and Dean will like that?” “Words can’t begin to express how Sam and Dean will feel.” I’m starting to like Dumah.

To be fair, making more angels is exactly what Dumah’s been wanting since she was first introduced. Her trying to get Jack to make more of them makes a LOT more sense than Jack intentionally killing “bad” people, at least one of whom the Winchesters wouldn’t consider particularly bad.

Church scene:

Oh God. This scene is even weirder than the opening scene with Mary’s memorial. It’s anti-climactic and badly acted and doesn’t have any of the tension and suspense that the really good angel scenes tend to have in this show. The people in the congregation should be freaking out -- they should jump out of their seats, a couple of them should run for the back of the church doors and be locked in so Jack can demonstrate his powers. There should be lightbulbs bursting and doors rattling on their hinges. Surely that would have been cheaper than the stupid pillar of salt scene? Even without all that, the congregation should still actually be reacting to Jack’s glowing eyes or his wings. Instead they’re all sitting there going, “Ooh!” One of them has her hand over her mouth, which is like the epitome of good acting this scene. I’ve seen characters on this show have stronger reactions to Dean’s car. It feels like the director just got a bunch of extras in a room and told them to look surprised and then just went with the first take because he wanted to go eat lunch or something. It feels lazy.

- Does this woman praying remind anyone of, like, a really nervous but happy Chihuahua?

- Her acting is exceptionally bad, all blank-faced, “Who are you?”

- Preacher man is the only person in this episode with any common sense: “It’s not that I don’t believe, I just don’t believe you.” That’s actually how I, as a Christian, approach many people claiming to know God’s will.

I guess the people in the congregation are supposed to be blank-faced once Jack actually starts using his powers on them, but that still doesn’t excuse the beginning of this scene. There’s simply not enough difference in their manners for the audience to realize they’re being affected by angel magic.

Some other notes on this part of the episdoe: 

- Jensen Ackles’ facial expressions and acting in the hospital are really good, because you can tell he’s trying not to show how freaked out he is. I feel like Cas should be more freaked out though.

- Aw, why did you have to show me another worm??

- The scene between Sam and Dean is really drawn-out and badly written, but J2 are doing their best, God love them.

- “If I do it after what happened to Mom, I could lose it. I will lose it.” So would I, probably. (#stillbitterabout ... well, you get the picture.)

- Aramael has a deliciously pleasant voice, and I hope this actor comes back so I can listen to him more.

- “I am going to Heaven.” “That’s what everyone thinks.” L.O.L.

- Dumah cracks me up this scene. *high-pitched voice* “Castiel! Look, I found Jack!” She’s obviously not so secure in either her power over Heaven or her hold over Jack that she’s not still scared of Cas.

- This is the scene where you can see what Cas should have done, and what he doesn’t do, and what the consequences are going to be. Because instead of saying, “Jack, come with me,” which would have resulted in Jack immediately going to him, he asks to talk to Dumah, leaving Jack alone.

- Even with the long take, you can kind of see Cas sag a little after killing Dumah. Poor baby, keeps having to kill his murderous, evil siblings.

That scene (you know the one I’m talking about):

On second watch, it’s not bad, but I feel like it would be a lot better if it were written by Meredith Glynn. I feel like the dialogue is really trying to create tension, but since the dialogue hasn’t, up to this point in the episode, done anything to sell us on any of the emotion that would make this episode tense, it’s really lacking and comes across as overly drawn-out and soap opera-y. I mean, this is the moment where Dean lets his lesser demons control his judgment and lies to the boy he spent episodes trying to save earlier this season. This is the scene where Sam is basically giving up on the kid he loved as a son and who he was determined to raise to use his powers for good.  And they both think they’re doing the right thing here, plus the more Jack talks about his killing Mary as “the accident” and the more it comes across that he can’t understand how badly her death has hurt them, the angrier they get. But I feel like the dialogue doesn’t get this across as well as it could.

- “I make angels.” If that was all you did, this episode would be a lot better.

-  “Jack, we got this.” That line almost works to make this scene as tragic as it needs to be.

Again, the dialogue and the blocking and just the directing of the scene is not really working for me, but damned if Jared and Jensen aren’t giving it everything they can.

The part that sets up the season finale

- So how long is Jack supposed to have been in there? It can’t be that long because when he asks if they’re still there, they’re bolting the door.

- This would be a nightmare long-term though. Can you imagine them walking past that bolted door for days, weeks, hearing Jack call their names, ask if they’re there, if they’ll let him out please, getting more desperate and panicky the longer he’s there?

- Actually, that episode would have been way better than this one.

- “He agreed to it, because deep down, he knows it’s best.” Ooh, Dean, buddy, it’s not that don’t see your side -- heck, I’m kind of on your side -- but you know Jack didn’t get the truth from you and you’re changing the story to alleviate some of your guilt over it.

- I’m actually really upset Jack broke out of the ma’lak box. Way to make yet another of Billie’s predictions not come true, show.

Final thoughts

Overall there was way to much time given over to things that weren’t quite as important and didn’t work as well, which took away from the emotional tension that this episode SHOULD have had.     For example, it doesn’t make much sense for Jack to believe that Sam and Dean would want him to kill people who rebel against Heaven. I mean -- they rebelled against Heaven. And it’s not like Jack doesn’t know their relationship with Heaven and all that it stands for is complicated because one, these people raised him, and two, they’ve said all kinds of things over the episodes to him that demonstrate that relationship, from Dean being resentful toward God about leaving “guys like us to clean up his messes, like Lucifer” to Cas saying, “In Heaven, good is a relative term.” And Jack obviously knows that they wouldn’t want him killing people because they’ve had talks before about when is the right time to kill humans. (Remember Jack saying, “Anyone who would do this is a monster” when they were musing that Noah may have been a regular guy.)      It’s not that I think Jack should have realized it was wrong to kill the first two people he killed -- he’s lost his soul and his ability to empathize -- but he should have realized it was something the Winchesters wouldn’t have wanted, because losing your soul shouldn’t make you stupid. In all the other cases of soulless characters, they’ve been manipulative and pragmatic -- something Jack has ALWAYS been. So why would that change the minute he loses his soul?     It makes a lot more sense for him to take humans and make them angels, though. It’s less like Godstiel from Season 7 (or 6? I can’t remember. The Gamble era is not my thing.) and more like Buddy Boyle in Season 9. It’s still wrong because people are dying, and even though they’re consenting to being turned into angels, like the people Buddy Boyle recruited consented to being possessed by angels, they still don’t really understand what they’re consenting to. But it’s also something soulless Jack can justify because he KNOWS Heaven’s in trouble, so what’s a few human lives for the greater good of protecting Heaven and all the souls in it?     The episode still works if Jack is scooping up churchgoers and taking them to Heaven, killing them. He’s still dangerous in that case. Plus if you have that instead of the pillar of salt, you’ve got more time to really focus on the emotion behind what Cas and the Winchesters are going through.      Also, I don’t think this episode was very well directed? There were some weird shots, the blocking felt awkward and everything seemed to move really slowly. There were some good nuggets of dialogue, but generally everything but the acting from our mains (including Dumah, who I adore!) came across as lazy and uninspired.     I have further thoughts on Jack’s villain arc as a whole that I’ll work out and post tomorrow, plus some thoughts about what Mary’s death means for the end of the show. There’s still a small small chance she could come back tonight, though, so I’ll hold off on that one.