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vanoincidence · 1 month

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Power Creep || Van, Wynne & Emilio

TIMING: current. LOCATION: deersprings. PARTIES: @ohwynne @mortemoppetere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: wynne and van are on a walk to the store when they get interrupted. luckily, emilio shows up. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Van kicked at a loose rock, watching as it skipped over the edge of the sidewalk and into the road. “I miss winter.” She hated slipping on ice and not being able to ride her board, but hated allergy season even more. She looked over at Wynne with a frown, pulling her hat down over her ears. It was a little too small for her, and every time she talked, the fabric wiggled upwards. “We should have a beach day once it’s warmer though… even if we don’t go swimming.” She kicked another rock, squinting into the darkness as it hit the tire of a car.

“Maybe we can collect seashells.” Van wanted things to be normal so desperately. It was easier to pretend they were if she didn’t think about the magic coursing through her, or the fact that Regan was leaving. Though, she guessed one of those things was normal. People always managed to leave, especially in this town. “Do you really think Dr. Kavanagh is going to stay there? In Ireland, I mean…” Would she be back, or would she love Ireland so much that she stayed put? “I heard they have free healthcare. I think. But she’s a doctor… doesn’t she already have health care?”

—-

“I don’t,” Wynne said, and though the idea of disagreeing with someone didn’t sit well with them, it was the truth. They did prefer summer over winter, thought spring the best season of all. Especially when the days got warmer. Winter made the clouds in their mind seem heavier. “I would really like that, to swim as well. And maybe we can do something fun with the shells we collect. Do you think we could take a surfing class? Or … well do you already know how to do that?” Their eyes followed the rock too and they smiled at the small collision. “If you want, we can also celebrate the spring equinox together. That’s what we used to do at home too, but I do it my own way now. It’s later this month.”

It was nice to walk though. Even if the skin was so cold that it was harsh against their cheeks. Besides, the two of them had a goal — to get a snack! Wynne was glad to have Van’s expertise when it came to treats. They looked sideways at her as she mentioned Dr Kavanagh. “I don’t know.” They looked ahead again, at the way the streetlights were reflected in the icy streets. “Maybe. I hope not, but maybe that’s selfish.” But if Regan’s family was really like their own, they hoped she’d be back. “I don’t know a lot about healthcare, Irish or otherwise.” They were pretty sure they got it through their current job, though. At home, they’d not gone to hospitals. They now understood people had died when maybe they hadn’t had to. “She is a good doctor to have in town.”

—-

“Surfing?” She shook her head, “no, I’ve never tried that… but I’m sure we could find somewhere around here to do it.” Van was sure that somewhere in Wicked’s Rest, somebody was offering surfing lessons in the summer– she just hadn’t ever looked. “We could try snowboarding, too, if you wanted.” She’d only been a few times, mostly on school class trips, but she always became overwhelmed with the ski lifts and opted to stay closer to the bunny slopes. She wondered silently if things would be different now. “Oh, that’s what–” your cult did – it contains itself before it slips, and Van nods instead, “I think I saw a documentary about that the other day! I think um, that’s what it was.” Nice save, idiot. “It’s too bad I wasn’t born on the equinox… I think that would’ve been cool.”

“What’s selfish about it?” A part of Van felt relieved that she was leaving, but only because it meant she wouldn’t be thrown out onto the street. Then again, she guessed she could go back to her house, even if she didn’t necessarily want to anymore. Dr. Kavanagh’s apartment was sterile in a way that felt right– it was void of any memories, good, bad– any of it. Though, Thea brought in… different feelings– seeing her every day. She cleared her throat and tightened her arms around her, kicking another rock. They weren’t too far from the corner store now and her stomach grumbled at the promise of hot funyuns. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her be like, a doctor. Only talk about it.” Dead people needed doctors too, she knew. They needed to be respected, and it really seemed like Dr. Kavanagh did that. “But I hope she likes Ireland, but comes back…” For her sake, for Jade’s– it seemed like Wynne cared about her too with the way that they had shown up at Regan’s apartment, expecting her. “Have you ever been to Ireland? I’ve never been to anywhere abroad except for Toronto, but we like, drove there, and it was super quick.”

—

“Yes, right? Because there’s beach. We sometimes did some watersports at home, but that was a lake. Mostly a lot of swimming.” Wynne missed the lake, the way the fog formed in the mornings. The squeals that erupted when you dove in in the summer. “Snowboarding? That sounds … cool, but also a bit scary. I’d like to go on the mountains, though. I’d love to do that. Is it still cold enough for this? I bet, right?” They nodded. “It would have been. But your birthday is also special!”

They were quiet for a moment, processing that question as well as why they thought that selfish. Wynne shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just be happy for her that she’s going to her family. And not be thinking about my own feelings or something. That feels selfish.” It had always been branded selfish to take their own emotions into consideration. They had been more than just a person, at home — they had been sanctified, a future savior, a beacon of hope. Prioritizing that was key. But maybe not wanting Dr Kavanagh to leave just meant they cared about her. “I have been to her office. She has a lot of skeletons there. I never saw the corpses, though. I don’t want to.” They grimaced, kicked the same stone after it had rolled their way. “I hope she does too.” They shook their head. “No. I’ve only been here, in Maine. And New Hampshire, a little. I have never been in another country. The world is so big, am I right? How was Toronto?”

—

Van silently tried to imagine the life that Wynne had before finding themself in Wicked’s Rest. She’d heard enough to picture it in bits and pieces, but it wasn’t entirely clear. She tried to imagine people who looked like Wynne– siblings, maybe, or cousins, who dove beneath the water to grab at rocks beneath the lake’s surface. “It’s definitely still cold enough for it.” Van offered a smile, brushing past the memories she was re-creating in Wynne’s stead. “I want to, for sure… we should definitely do it.” She was a little nervous at the prospect of falling flat on her face, but she was great at skateboarding! The mechanics were there! “The 21… I’ll remember that, I think.” She nodded, committing the date to memory. It was clear that it was important to them, because this hadn’t been the first time they’d mentioned something about an equinox.

“I think it’s okay to be…” Van gestured vaguely, “upset..?” She thought for a moment before shaking her head, “maybe that’s not the right word, but..” Van shrugged, mimicking the way that Wynne kicked a rock, sending her own flying to the side, off into somebody’s yard. “I don’t think it’s selfish to feel things. You can be selfish, but I don’t think feeling things has anything to do with it.” She offered Wynne a small smile before shrugging, pulling the sleeves of her coat down so that she was cupping them against her palm. “It was okay. It was for a convention.” She couldn’t remember too much about it. Her anxiety had spiraled tenfold, and now that she looked back at it, she was sure that the melted convention tables had been her fault.

As they continued to walk, Van saw movement out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, the cemetery is over there… I wonder if Nora is home.” It felt weird, calling the cemetery Nora’s home, but it felt right, too. “Should we go check?” She offered Wynne a smile, before it faltered. “Wait, this isn’t hers, never–” The sound of something scraping against the floor, a body being dragged through mud– there was dirt, too. The sound of gagging. Van’s eyes widened as she grabbed onto Wynne’s arm, dragging them backwards from the fence where the creature stood, taller than either of them. “What is that?” Van asked, breathless, skin now itchy by merely looking at it. As if in some kind of response, the creature dropped the individual by the leg it held onto and leapt over the fence, now standing a foot or so away from either herself or Wynne. “Wynne–”

—

“Let’s do it! I love trying new things,” Wynne said, glad that there was another possible prospect to look forward to. They had learned that it were those kinds of things they needed to continue to feel like life was valuable, to keep them from sinking into the dark and depressed mood they were always teetering on the edge of. “Especially with friends. And if all goes wrong we’ll at least laugh about it, right?” They smiled at Van. “Sweet. I will let you know where to be when it’s time! I think on the beach near where I live now.”

They were silent as Van spoke, focusing on the pavement. She didn’t think it was selfish to feel things — and it sounded right coming from her mouth, even if the concept in and of itself was wrong. It was selfish to be overrun by emotions, to feel so deeply that it might upset others. Wynne wished there was another stone to kick. “Oh,” they said, as if Van was saying something completely new. In a way, she was. “I think I find it hard to be upset. I was taught it was bad and selfish. But I think you’re right. I wouldn’t think it selfish if you were sad.” And Wynne was no longer someone special or chosen, so why shouldn’t those standards apply to them? They were here now, in this world. “What did you convene about?” They weren’t sure if that was what people did at conventions, but it sounded right.

They looked at the cemetery, nodding at the suggestion. They hadn’t really been at Nora’s cemetery home a lot, as they’d always met in public or wherever Emilio was living at that time. Wynne was ready to go in, though. Seeing Nora would be nice — but she didn’t live there, Van realized. And there was something else. Their eyes were wide, pushing deep into the darkness to try and see what it was the pair of them were hearing. They too felt an itch running down their skin. “I don’t know.” Wynne took a step backward, felt themself holding onto Van’s hand where she’d grabbed their arm and took them further back with them. It looked monstrous. Their free hand reached inside their jumper, pulling out the necklace Emilio had given them. It seemed to cause some kind of response, the silver cross and Wynne held it out as they kept stumbling back, a moan escaping from their throat. Something fearful, something pathetic, something that wasn’t equipped at all to handle the winged beast closing in on them with a fist full of dirt.

—

If she and Wynne lived anywhere else, they could have continued their conversation. Van would have convinced them that they deserved to feel anger, if they wanted to— that it was alright to exist for themselves now that they were out of their cult. Though, she still wasn’t sure that was the appropriate word to use. Probably not. It didn’t matter that much, though, because the beastly figure that stood in front of them now took over practicality on Van’s behalf.

It advanced on them, and Van noticed out of the corner of her eye that Wynne was digging into their sweater, pulling something out— the hand that was closed around theirs tightened, and she half expected something to happen at the reveal of whatever Wynne had closed in their hand, but nothing did. There was no magical light that poured from the necklace, but it did, however, deter the monster for a moment. That moment was all Van needed for her magic to push forward. The ground at the monster’s feet began to melt, cement running grey around the creature’s feet. It caused it to slip, almost too comically, and Van was stumbling backwards, pulling Wynne with her.

“I did that, and we have to go— what is that!” She was shrieking now, admittance for what she’d done ringing through the air. She thought about all of the times she had denied such a thing, and how it felt almost freeing to finally say that yes, she had been on the other end of the magic that temporarily rendered the beast unable to advance on them. “Wynne, what do we do!” The melted asphalt wasn’t enough to keep it at bay for long, and it was trudging towards them, steps too careful for something entirely beast like— this had smarts to it, Van realized. The dirt that it held in its hand spilled from the corners of its large hands, and Van shrunk away as it got closer. Panic rose in her chest and Van outstretched a hand, willing something to happen, but nothing did.

Wynne knew that strange things existed. There were demons and vampires, fae and mares. There was such a thing as magic as well, but they didn’t fully understand it — but when the ground started melting they figured that might be it. The thing slipped, ugly and made clumsy and they stared with wide eyes. Disbelief still washed over them, an emotion so familiar to them that they might as well no longer register it. The world was full of strange things, but they weren’t used to it yet.

And then Van was shouting that she’d done that and Wynne wanted to ask her what she was going on about, but in stead ran after her. They too were letting out a shriek, “I don’t know! It — maybe — vampire!” It had responded to their cross, hadn’t it? Did Van know about vampires? She had made the ground melt, so maybe she did. They continued to move backwards, fear continuing to strike in their heart and striking twice as heard when their bodies hit what seemed to be a car. “I don’t know! Do that thing again!” Whatever it had been, it had seemed to slow the creature down.

But nothing was happening and the creature was upon them now, taking hold of Van and ripping her from Wynne’s grip. It stuffed a hand of dirt in her mouth and they didn’t even know what to do for a moment, so stunned by this action. “Stop that!” They kicked at the creature, which seemed very intent on finishing his task of making Van eat dirt.

“A VAMPIRE?! Wynne, that looks nothing like Edward Cullen!” She wasn’t exactly upset by the lack of Edward Cullen-ness, especially because to her, he was the least attractive in the family. If the vampire looked like Alice, on the other hand… Van’s thoughts jumped from one medium to the next, trying to dilute the idea of vampires into one single image. If both magic and bugbears existed, then who was to say something like vampires didn’t?

While she really wanted to have a breakdown about it, she knew that now was not the time. “I can’t just do it, it just happens!” She was panicked enough, but that brought on another fear– that the ground might come up to swallow both herself and Wynne.

As hard as she tried to concentrate– to follow Wynne’s instructions, she was interrupted by the beast ripping her forward. Had her shoulder just popped out of place? The pain was blinding. She let out a scream, but it was soon muted by the way dirt poured into her mouth. She choked on it, kicking against the creature. Her fingers dug into the arm, but it was no use– he was far too strong for her. The dirt in her mouth was rancid, and she couldn’t breathe. She was going to die here, all because her stupid magic only worked when it wanted to.

—

There was always something to do in a graveyard. Emilio longed for a busy mind these days, needed the constant distraction that came with pumping adrenaline and hands covered in dust. He was no good on his own, with his thoughts and his feelings, and he couldn’t expect to always be surrounded when the people he cared for had worlds all their own inside their heads. So he fell back on old habits. He stalked graveyards with stakes and blades gripped in his hands so tightly his knuckles hurt, he made himself useful. There was relief to be found in destruction, in the sound of commotion that he knew he could resolve.

There was less relief when the voices causing that commotion were familiar ones.

He recognized Wynne’s voice first, of course. It was the one he heard more often, the one he’d had many a late night conversation with in the hallway of their old apartment building or the quiet living room of Teddy’s house. It took him a second to pinpoint that other voice. Not Nora, not Ariadne. Someone else. He was almost on top of them before it hit him, though given the way he spotted the ground half-melted, he wasn’t sure the revelation meant much. Van was the only person he knew with a habit of melting the ground they stood on as a mechanism of defense.

And defense was a necessary thing here. He spotted the vampire instantly, recognized it as a blutsauger with a quiet string of curses. He didn’t have any garlic on him, and he felt stupid for that. These things were rarer than most other types of vampires — it wasn’t the kind of thing you went out expecting to find. But of course, Wynne and Van had found one anyway. And of course, it was doing its goddamn damndest to turn Van with dirt going for her mouth. “Hey!” He called out, unsure if he was trying to get the kids’ attention or the vampire’s or both. “Get over to me. Okay? Get over here.”

—

Van didn’t know about vampires and Wynne wasn’t sure who Edward Cullen was and it was all a little bit too much to comprehend and explain, so they just tried to focus their energy on what needed doing. The whole vampire and supernatural things exist conversation could come after they’d survived this. Besides, they had questions about what Van had just created! They hoped one day they’d have to stop learning about things that made their head hurt.

For now, they continued to kick at the creature, their anger and fear both growing louder with the sound of Van’s voice. Wynne watched with horror how the dirt got stuck in Van’s throat and they dug for their knife, the one that Emilio had gifted them but that they hadn’t had to use yet, that just sat in their pocket in case of. The knife they hoped to never have to use.

They kicked the creature again, screamed at it to, “Let her GO,” and then tried to hit it with the knife. It wasn’t wood and the skin barely broke, the knife sliding down and leaving a cut that seemed to barely bother the thing. They roared, trying to take Van’s hand to pull her away but Wynne wasn’t strong like that. They didn’t know what to do and they hoped that someone else was here, that —

And that’s when fate seemed to be on their side for once, Emilio’s protective voice calling out and ringing through their body with a feeling of recognition. “I don’t know how!” Their voice was shrill as they called back. How could they just run towards the slayer if their friend was in such trouble? If she might die? The fear struck through their heart and they looked at Emilio. “Van — I can’t — we need to stop it, I don’t know what it’s doing but it needs to stop.” Wynne pushed with their hands at the vampiric monster again, their knife cutting into some of its skin but it was futile in the grand scheme of things. “Van, Van, can you — pull free? We need to run.”

—

There was another voice– although grating, Van felt a wave of relief. She’d recalled the last time she’d gotten into trouble with Emilio, how he’d taken care of it pretty swiftly. Would this be like the last time, or would she die here? Her mouth was full of dirt and she was coughing it up as the monster was shoving it in. She could see Wynne out of the corner of her eye kicking at the creature, but it didn’t seem to care all that much. She tried to, too, but she was growing tired– exhaustion set into her bones the more dirt that filled her mouth.

Van spluttered, nails digging into the wrist of the creature as she tried desperately to break the hold it had on her. Tears streamed down her face, both from the suffocation and the fear. She was starting to lose feeling in her toes, she thought– was that what that was? Suddenly, one moment she was being held upright, and the next she was being half-tossed, half-thrown to the side. The ground beneath the monster began to disintegrate, liquid asphalt pouring over the creature’s feet. At least her magic was working now. Was she about to die? Was that what this was?

She hit the ground hard, stars scattering across her vision as she coughed up the dirt, hooking a finger into her mouth to scoop it out. Tears made her face sticky and wet, and she could only imagine what she might have looked like to those around her. But that didn’t matter– not right now. When she looked back towards the beast, it was stuck in the goo she’d created. The divet into the earth looked like a large pothole, and then suddenly– a giant hand, grotesque and feathery grabbed onto the creature’s shoulder, pulling it down beneath the level at which Van could see it.

—

There wasn’t time for this. The blutsauger had a hold of Van, was already stuffing dirt into her mouth, and it wouldn’t be long before it killed her. Maybe Emilio couldn’t keep it down permanently, but he had to do something, had to find some way to at least save the kid’s life. He yanked his holy water from his pocket, pushing himself as best he could to cross the distance between himself and the kids quickly in spite of the pain in his bad leg, but he could already tell it wasn’t going to be enough. Van was sputtering and coughing and running out of time, and Emilio could push himself as hard as he wanted to but he couldn’t force his useless leg to work. He couldn’t close the distance quickly enough, couldn’t stop what was about to happen. He’d walk away from this with another dead kid on his conscience — or two, if he was too slow to save Wynne, too. The thought was enough to push him a little more, make him move faster but still too slow. He was going to be too late, he was going to fail here the same way he had a thousand times before, he was going to —

The Earth opened up beneath the blutsauger’s wretched feet, close enough that Emilio stumbled back to avoid the gaping canyon that had appeared in the world. It looked like what Van had done back the last time he’d run into her, but… different. Bigger, more intense. Something came out of the hole — a hand? None of it made a whole lot of sense, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because Emilio was close enough now to dart around that hole, to close the distance between himself and the kids.

He came in as quickly as he could, still clutching that holy water. It had seemed small in comparison to the blutsauger, but it seemed utterly miniscule when held up against the size of the hole that had opened in the ground. Emilio held it anyway, unscrewed the cap with his teeth as he crouched next to Van, between her and the crevice that had swallowed the blutsauger. “You okay? You — Can you breathe? Wynne.” He gestured wildly at them, ushering for them to get behind him, to let him put himself between them and the hole, too. “Here.” He pulled the cross from around his throat, shoving it towards Van. Wynne had the one he’d given them, still; it would be better if Van weren’t entirely unarmed. Although… looking to the hole, Emilio had a feeling Van never quite had that problem.

—

Wynne was moved by pure instinct only, driven by the fear of losing Van, of this ugly creature killing her on a random evening. They had just been on their way to get some snacks — surely that couldn’t be how death went? Death came for old people or happened in grotesque ways, like a sacrifice on an altar or a vampire’s head being torn off. It didn’t just happen like this, did it? Sure, there were stories of things just happening like this, but Van couldn’t just die, right here, on a random evening when they had been going to get some candy. And so they were trying whatever they could, attempting to pull and hit and kick and shriek – but none of it gave.

And then the ground started to move, something strange happening and Wynne jumped back a beat after Van was tossed away. They watched her cough up the dirt and started to pull at the bandana tied around their neck. Their intention to hand it over for Van to wipe the dirt off of was discarded when they looked at what was happening. The ground was transforming, sinking, becoming some kind of hole — and then there was a hand, a tug and it was gone. The feathery hand and the vampiric thing itself. They stared, tasted the salt of tears leaking into their mouth and let out a whimper.

Soon enough they rushed over, pulling off their bandana fully and holding it out to to Van. Their eyes danced viciously from the hole to Emilio to Van, not sure what to focus on. “Is it — is it gone?” They were crouching, hand placed on the ground and an exhale passing from their lips. “Van —” They didn’t know what to say. Should they address it, how afraid they had been? How she’d almost died? No, probably not – it would probably not be sensible, even if it was the thought circling their mind viciously. “Are you okay? What can we do?”

—

Between colliding with asphalt and the dirt in her throat, Van was gasping for air. Chest heaving, she held onto her shirt, pulling it slightly as if it’d allow her more room to breathe. She wasn’t dead, and neither was Wynne. Emilio was still talking, and now Wynne was talking to her, too. She blinked rapidly, tears blurring her vision making it hard to take in her surroundings. Something dropped into her lap and her hand splayed wildly around until she felt the weight of the cross. She held onto it as if some sort of lifeline, reaching up to rub away the dirt on her face.

“I think I’m okay,” Van managed to choke out, wheezing slightly as she tilted her head back, blinking away the now dirty smeared tears. Her mind raced from Diana in the parking lot to recently with Regan’s apartment, and now–? Once her vision became slightly more clear, she found the space where the creature had been, where the ground had swallowed it whole. It was left with an indent just as it had been when Diana disappeared, and as when the man in the ice cream shop had. She felt less guilt, less fear about this one, though.

“I did that,” Van whispered, confirming what she was sure both her companions were trying to figure out. “I did that.” She had saved her own life, and possibly Wynne’s by proxy, but it’d been too close– what if the creature had dragged either herself or Wynne with it? What if Emilio had been trying to fight it off? “I’m sorry– I–” She choked on the remaining dirt in her throat and shook her head. “It was going to kill me, and maybe you, Wynne, I couldn’t– I had to do it, I had to kill it.” Even if she hadn’t exactly instructed her magic to do such a thing, the fear had pulled up over her like a second skin, leading the way to the creature’s destruction. She wasn’t sure what had come up to take down the vampiric beast, but she was grateful for it. How many more times would she feed her demons (literally)? “I don’t know how it– I– I was scared, and then– this happens when I’m really scared.” She looked at Emilio, “I didn’t want to hurt Wynne, I swear.” Because Emilio hurt things that hurt other people, right? Van had hurt people, plenty of them. Would Emilio retaliate? She stared at him, eyes glossed over with fear and regret.

—

It all happened pretty quickly. There was a threat, there was a hole, there was a hand, there was nothing. Emilio’s adrenaline was pumping, but there was nowhere for it to go now. Nothing to fight off, nowhere to put the energy buzzing beneath his skin. The paranoia that had taken up a permanent residence in the back of his mind worked overtime as a result, insisting that something else was going to happen, that he’d missed something. Was that tingle on the back of his neck anxiety, or his senses warning him of another approaching undead? He whirled around, glancing off to the side with wild eyes. But the only chaos here was inside his head now; everything else was still.

“It’s gone,” he said, half in answer to Wynne’s question and half in an attempt to reassure himself of as much. There was nothing left to fight. He repeated it to himself a time or two, tried to calm the wild beating of his heart. It was gone. Van was alive and coughing, working on getting that dirt out of her lungs. Wynne was at her side, offering her their handkerchief and making sure she was okay. Emilio was scanning the perimeter like a damn crazy person, half-convinced something else was going to pop out of the woodwork and drag Wynne away next, or Van, or him. Was that something he needed to worry about? It must have been Van who’d caused the hand to appear, just like it had been Van who’d melted the asphalt during the goo shit, but how much control did she have over it? He’d wager that the answer was not much.

Van’s voice managed to force its way through the haze of paranoia in his head only after she’d admitted to the ordeal, and he tuned in about halfway through. She was apologizing, she was scared. Of him, maybe? Guilt churned alongside the adrenaline in his gut. He felt a little nauseous. “Hey, it’s okay.” It didn’t come out quite as comforting as he’d meant for it to. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t paternal. It was hoarse and uncertain instead, like a man out of practice with kindness. He grimaced at the sound of his own voice, shaking his head. “Look, you — You did what you had to. That thing was going to kill you. Then Wynne, then more people. You did good, kid. Okay? You did good.”

—

They wiped at their eyes, where tears of their own had fallen in the blind panic that was slowly ebbing from their body. Wynne didn’t know how to cope with these surges of emotions, but it didn’t much matter — there was no time to stress about emotional incapacity when there was something to take care of. And that, at the very least, was someone they had learned at home. Besides, Emilio was there now, and with Emilio they felt safe. Even if the earth had opened up and strange claw had snatched their assailant away, even if Van was still shaking.

And Van was apologizing for killing the thing and they wondered what it said about them that they were taken aback by it. Maybe it was because they hadn’t known a lot of people who apologized for their murders and sacrifices. Blood stuck to all the hands of the protherians, even Wynne. In this case it wasn’t even a matter of sacrifice, this had been self defense. This had been one of the monsters that should be killed, like the vampires in the barn or the demon their people had worshiped. They looked at Van with wide eyes, “It’s okay,” they said. “You did what you had to do. I’m glad you did. Okay? I — but … I don’t know what it was you did. But I’m glad.” If the world was filled with death – which it quite clearly was – Wynne wanted it to be monsters like the one who’d been swallowed whole to die, and not the people like Van.

Emilio was also saying that Van had done good and they were glad for it. They remembered the vampire falling on their stake and turning into dust. Emilio turning more of them into nothingness, because maybe that was what best. They remembered Padrig, guts spilling. Jac, neck slit. The creature that had just died didn’t tug at their gut the way those last two did. Wynne nodded. “Do you want to go back home?”

—

You did good.

Van choked on the apologies as they swarmed her mind. She would need to explain this in further detail to Wynne, would need to figure out how to make them understand that she wasn’t dangerous in the same way that the creature had been. In a different way, sure, but different. Van didn’t want to hurt anyone, much less Wynne. Van blinked back the tears, both from the fear and agony of not having been able to breathe. She reached up to wipe away the few strays that managed to fight their way through with the back of her hand.

She grabbed onto Wynne’s hand, holding it tightly as if willing them to be an anchor of some kind. If Van could feel something real in this moment, it would make it easier. She could feel Emilio’s gaze on her, too, and so she pushed herself up, exhaustion evident in her movements as she struggled to get to her feet. Her hands and knees were scraped and she could feel the sting with her movements, but that wasn’t important right now.

Home was an option, but Van didn’t want to be alone. Regan’s apartment, though put back together after what had happened that night, felt a little… wrong.

“Can I come over?” Van asked, stare blank as she looked down at the asphalt from where the creature had disappeared. “Is that okay?” She tightened her grip on Wynne’s hand, looking between them and Emilio. “I don’t–” She thought it was obvious, but she forced herself to say it, to bend at will to the idea that maybe they didn’t want her to be alone, either. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”

—

There were tears, though none were from Emilio. He wondered, somewhat absently, if Van had done this before. Not the melting — that was familiar enough that he knew it had happened before — or even the hole that opened up and the hand that thrust its way out of it. Instead, he wondered about the creature he presumed to be dead now, wondered if Van had killed anything before it. How much of the fear on her face or the tears in her eyes were for the suffocation she’d nearly suffered, and how much were for the sensation of taking a ‘life,’ however ugly it had been? He tried to remember the first time he’d killed something, tried to remember what it felt like. But it was hard. It was hard to remember his hands before they were bloodied. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe that was the way things were supposed to be.

Wynne assured Van that she’d done what she’d had to, and it was strange that Emilio had thought that went without saying. He rarely considered things like this to be something a person needed comfort for. No one had comforted him, had they? His mother had praised him if he’d killed something exceptionally well but, beyond that, it had only ever been expected. Van killed the blutsauger, and of course she had to. But Wynne said it like the reassurance was necessary, so Emilio nodded as if he believed it, too. It was hard, teaching an old dog new tricks. None of them ever felt natural.

He glanced to Wynne at Van’s question, though he wasn’t sure if it was for them or himself. Wynne’s house was their own; Teddy had made sure of it. But Emilio nodded, anyway. “You can both come to Teddy’s,” he offered, because he thought Wynne might feel safe there and he thought he might feel better if he could keep an eye on them, on both of them. “You can have… Uh, how old are you again?” Wasn’t the drinking age different in America? In the twenties instead of eighteen. Emilio had been far younger when he’d had his first drink, though, and he’d never cared much for laws, anyway. So he shrugged. “Eh, doesn’t matter. You can have a drink. Helps calm you down. Or… There’s probably food. Uh, whatever you want. Yeah? You can do whatever you want.”

—

Van’s hand was in theirs and Wynne held on tight on her too, her thumb running small circles over the back of her hand. They weren’t sure what to say just yet, but maybe that was okay. There could be conversation about what exactly it was that Van had done and what it meant later, just like they could converse later about the existence of vampires. (And demons, maybe those too, if they were ripping off bandaids anyway.)

For now, though, there was a hand to hold and tears to let dry. As Van quietly asked if she could come over, they were ready to offer their home. Going to Teddy’s (and Emilio’s – even if he didn’t quite see it that way yet) home seemed like a good idea, though. More space, there, and the slayer could remain to linger in their periphery and make sure no other vampires somehow ended up on their trail and attacking them. They wanted to ask if there was a chance that there was more, as there always had been in their previous encounters with vampires. One look at Van made Wynne think twice about bringing up that potential reality, though.

“Sounds good,” they said, nodding. They squeezed Van’s hand. “Are you … did you drive?” They looked up at Emilio, who seemed to be suggesting a favored solution. Liquor. They wouldn’t mind some at this point. “There’s a bunch of stuff there. We’ll just go there and get you cleaned up and relax, okay? Teddy also always has treats. No need for the shop.” They looked at Van, catching her eyes. “We’ll be okay there.”

—

She wasn’t sure why, but she half expected Emilio to tell her no. She felt a little guilty for that– thinking so badly of him when all he was trying to do was help. Van leaned into Wynne as they ventured away from the scene of the crime. At Emilio’s question, her brows furrowed. It occurred to her that Emilio hadn’t even said happy birthday to her. Actually, that seemed normal. “I just turned twenty-one, and I like pink drinks.” Her voice shook slightly as she explained herself. It didn’t really matter what she liked or not, she didn’t think.

Van attempted a smile, but she could still feel the dirt on her teeth. “Do you think Teddy has an extra toothbrush?” Would they be upset with her for what happened? Especially after getting her the ring that was supposed to help? She wasn’t sure. She bit the inside of her cheek as she stared off into the distance, She had to believe both Wynne and Emilio that it would be alright– that the beast she’d sent off to… wherever, wouldn’t come back to finish the job.

—

“Oh. Happy birthday.” It was flat, and a little uncertain, but it was genuine, too. Emilio was sure Teddy had the ingredients to make pink drinks (were those just drinks that were pink?) back home, though he had no idea how to go about making one. He’d figure it out, he guessed. Fuck only knew the kid could probably use one, after everything.

He turned to Wynne, shaking his head a little. He hadn’t driven — and if he had, he’d have been on his bike, which he wasn’t sure would comfortably carry three people — but they should be fine to walk. And… stop by a store on the way home to buy a toothbrush. “I’ll get you one. Call it a late birthday gift or something. And Wynne’s right, okay? You’ll be all right.”

Emilio would make sure of it.

#para: power creep #para: wynne #para: emilio #wickedswriting #//tysm both of u < 3

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muertarte · 2 months

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TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @amonstrousdream @muertarte

SUMMARY: Leila visits Metzli on a rainy day and the two enjoy a quiet afternoon in bed, making plans for the future.

WARNINGS: None

There was something entirely wonderful about having a housekey.

Leila hadn’t realized how much a bit of metal attached to a keychain could mean. Hadn’t realized how much having a home meant. She had told herself for years that she didn’t need a house, didn’t need a home. Staying put was a risk she’d avoided taking, and there hadn’t been people she’d cared for to make anyplace a home. That life was lived sneaking into sleepy houses through keyholes to rest at the bedsides of dreamers, never turning a knob and finding comfort and companionship and rest on the other side of the door. Even her shop hadn’t been home, not really… She had told herself early on in her time in Wicked’s Rest that if the worst happened, if she needed to run away, she would simply leave the shop behind. But she hadn’t run. Hadn’t needed to. She’d found people- people like her, people who liked her (or even loved her), people she could help, people who became family. The key was a symbol: she was wanted, she was loved, even if it was hard for her to believe some days.

Since Christmas, all Leila wanted to do at the end of every day (and sometimes in the middle of the day, too) was to drive her puttering, ancient car from the shop in Deersprings all the way to Seven Peaks. To the Mansión Mexicana. To Metzli. That day, she’d given up just after noon. Dark clouds covered the sky, blotting out the little warmth of winter sunshine. But as she hopped up the front steps, she could see the glow of light inside the house, and that alone was enough to shake the chill from her ancient bones.

She stood for a moment, soaking in the sight before turning her key in the lock and heading inside. “Metz?” She shrugged off her coat, hanging it by the door before meandering down the hall. “You home?”

The days at MuertArte had gotten easier. Some days had no incident whatsoever, while others ended with burning skin and gritted teeth. Emotions were a tricky thing, Metzli had learned. They had dreamed of experiencing the spectrum of emotion in its entirety for decades, losing hope many times. Holding onto hope, however, they finally had the opportunity to learn what it truly meant to be a person. And it was all thanks to the people they loved and their work at spreading that hope they held for so long. Because hope wasn’t a fickle and delicate thing for Metzli. It wasn’t made of whispers or glass or a spider’s web that any one person could disrupt.

Hope was the blood on their friend’s hands, the scars on their skin, and the grit of their master’s crypt in their hair. So, it made it feel that much worse to Metzli that they still hadn’t gotten a tight grasp on the control they’d been working on. There were still outbursts, moments of frustration, and countless hours of pacing that ended with a quiet suggestion from Rachel to go. Metzli hated it each time, growing distraught on the drive home before wiggling under their weighted blanket. They were supposed to be a good monster, a model citizen that understood themself enough to keep themself composed.

As it turns out though, there was an entirely different spectrum Metzli had to understand first. They just didn’t know where on it they had landed, and their window to focus and discover that was slowly closing with the arrival of Leila. They smelled her before they heard her, even smiling wanly as they listened to her walk into the room. Her steps, as always, were light and hardly made a sound. It made it easy to confirm that the presence was definitely Leila. Smell or no smell, Metzli had grown accustomed to her. Her gait was telling enough.

“Hm?” The vampire sat up slowly, allowing the blanket to drape off of them. “It is early. Did not have expectation for your arrival until a few more hours.” With a deep breath, Metzli shuffled their way to the edge of the bed, planting their elbows on their knees. “Did you close early?”

By the time she made it to their bedroom doorway, they were already shedding the comfort of the weighted blanket she’d made for them. The midnight blues and purples of the night sky above Champlain Falls were now strangely crumpled, as if the fabric sky had broken and folded in on itself. Guilt gnawed at her chest. Interruption. You interrupted. Leila swallowed the thought down, tucked it away to be dealt with later.

“You don’t need to get up because of me,” She said softly in Spanish. Her new language skills had improved- partially out of spite for the silly green owl who used guilt as a means of persuasion, but mostly because of hope. Leila had held out hope when Metzli had left, even when she didn’t know if they would come back and still want her. She’d held out hope throughout the Jesus ordeal that yes, there would be a time for her to share a language with Metzli. And while there were still moments where she had to pause and think her way from Québécois French, to English, to Spanish, she had definitely gotten better.

The mare lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame and letting it hold her up. They were right: she should not be home at that point. The shop had been deathly quiet, the sound of the flederprey in the rafters her only company. Usually, that wouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t bother her- she’d lived in that sort of silence for centuries before Wicked’s Rest. But for weeks now silence only brought back thoughts of things that had not been dealt with. The presence of another was enough to stifle the things running rampant in her mind. Unfortunately, no one seemed to need a part-vintage-part-costume shop in the middle of the winter.

“It was quiet, and I finished some alterations that were ordered, so I figured close up early… It looks like it’s going to pour, so maybe that’s what’s keeping everyone tucked away.” A guilty smile crept its way onto her face. “Sorry I interrupted your nap, M’amour.”

There was a soft quiet that always accompanied Leila. Ever since the night the two met. She rambled quite often, laughed frequently, and sang loudly. Sometimes not in tune. But that wasn’t the quiet that Metzli noticed and had grown to adore. The cacophony that stormed through their mind was what she silenced, or rather, oftentimes she replaced the noise with a buzz instead. She brought peace everywhere she went, regardless of the monster she believed herself to be. Maybe she created nightmares to survive, but she made dreams come true as she lived.

“I need to get up—” Metzli licked their lips and gnawed slightly at their bottom lip, rubbing at their face until they saw stars. They made a transition into Leila’s mother tongue, words shaky with a novice hold of the language. “You did not interrupt. I-I…” Failed at being a person again. Despite all of Leila’s help and hard work, Metzli had failed to truly get a good enough hold of her teachings to function like the people they watched. “Had mistakes at work.” They finally managed to say, reverting back to a language they both understood.

Their eyes stung with tears of frustration, both for their inability to reciprocate the way Leila learned a new language for them, and their inadequacy for existence. Failure, it seemed, was Metzli’s path. That wasn’t what they pictured freedom being. There was supposed to be more success and blood as a treat. Definitely more giraffes, too.

“Do you…want to join in the bed?” They swallowed and kept their eyes downcast as they blinked the leakage closed to look at their partner. Leila didn’t need to be a tissue, even if she never minded. She offered herself willingly to those she loved, and sometimes to those she didn’t know, too. Her heart bent and stretched toward anyone she could help. Having been covered in night her entire life, Leila desperately wanted to light matches for all, never allowing the fire to be extinguished. It was her nature, and it was everything Metzli loved about her.

“Let me hold you.” They lifted the blanket, beckoning Leila to it. “Rainy times are better in a bed. With you.”

They were upset. She could hear it in their voice, even if they didn’t look up as they spoke. She was already starting to cross the divide from the doorframe to the edge of the bed as she listened to them switch from language to language. Leila couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have all emotions snatched away for years, only to have them all come back all at once. An avalanche of feeling. Too much all at once.

Fingers brushed against their shoulder, feather-light, just enough to let them know that she was there. It seemed like work was the source of both of their problems that day. She wished she could make it better, somehow. Wished they didn’t beat themself up for learning how to be after a lifetime of hurt. She knew she couldn’t. All Leila could do was be there, offer her heart, a hand to hold, and all the support she could give. And pray that that was enough.

“I think I need to join in the bed,” She admitted sheepishly. Bed, blankets, Metzli. When the mortal world was too much, when her own mind was too cruel a place, peace could always be found in those three things. After months of time without the vampire, between their own leaving and their being kept away by Jesus, her heart ached at the mere offer. It might not last… the words hissed in the back of her mind. This might not last, they might go again- everyone goes away, in the end… Leila willed the venomous voice to go away.

She crawled under the blanket with them without another word. They were right, after all. Rainy days were always better spent in a bed together. Safe from the biting cold of the storm, safe from the dreary outside world. Just the two of them in their own little world. She pressed a quick kiss on the vampire’s shoulder before snuggling in beside them. Safe. Home. The two words repeated themselves over and over in her mind, willing the storm within to go away.

From the beginning, the sensation of Leila’s skin had been warm. Not just because they were both the same temperature, but because her heart radiated like the sun. Metzli could recall the moment they first touched her, enamored with the loneliness trapped behind her eyes. She had told them they had found her that day, not knowing whether or not Metzli would visit her store. Of course they had, they thought. They had been so determined to visit the shop, awkwardly navigating the interaction and ultimately feeling like they had committed some atrocity when their fingers grazed Leila’s cheek for the first time. Much like the way she had just danced her fingers on their shoulder. Little did both of them know that they had both found something. A gift far greater than either one could have ever imagined.

“I am happy you are visiting.” Metzli blinked, realizing they had grown silent for too long and wrapped Leila up with their arm. They relished in her warmth and tried not to grow too distracted by it. Again. “There is much pleasure now that troubles are less.” Now their world was about adjustment, slight outbursts, and business strategies. It was exhausting, sure, but Metzli far preferred those stressors than the idea of their life being ripped away by someone they called friend. What they had was much more manageable, even if it felt like it wasn’t most days. With time, as Leila reassured Metzli, they would grow accustomed to life as a person. They just wished they could speed it all up. Not at that moment, though. The vampire was enjoying the mare far too much.

“You make a very good blanket. It is a favorite.” Sighing contentedly, Metzli bonked their head against Leila’s. Their legs wrapped into hers and they pulled her into them as much as they could, the contact never being close enough. If only they had their other arm, they thought. Leila deserved to be spoiled with some gentle caresses, and while their single arm was long enough to do so as it was wrapped around her, there was too much it couldn’t reach. “Maybe we stay here forever. It will stink after some days, but this can work, yes?” Metzli chuckled, hovering their lips over Leila’s. “Did I tell you yet that I am happy you are visiting?”

It never made sense how one person could make the maelstrom of her mind go quiet within moments. She didn’t know if Metzli knew they were even doing it. But Leila swore that every time she felt herself slipping away into her own head, all it took was a quiet moment with Metzli to bring her back to herself. The first time she’d noticed the phenomenon had been the day they’d been trapped by that cursed hat, when she’d nearly convinced herself that she had trapped two friends in limbo with no way out.

She chuckled softly as they pulled her closer, bonking their head lightly against her own. “I will make you all the blankets you want… A blanket for every room, if you want it.” There was no world in which Leila would ever tire of being close to Metzli Bernal. She would have lived a million lifetimes over, she decided, if it meant she could always end up wrapped up in Metzli’s embrace, if it meant she could hold them close to her heart. Forever with them- no matter the place- sounded like a paradise. Forever with them meant she would always be home, no matter where in the world they wound up. Forever in the bed, well…

A grin slowly crept onto her face as her fingers toyed with a curl at the nape of their neck. Everything seemed so simple then. There was nothing else outside the room. No gray-cast skies that threatened rain. No work, with all its frustrations. Just the pair of them curled into one another under the blankets. It took every little bit of restraint to keep from pressing her lips to theirs. “I think you might’ve mentioned it…” She teased, brushing her nose against theirs. “Forever sounds good to me, though… We could figure it out.”

Metzli was captivated by the smile curling the corners of Leila’s lips, raising her cheeks into perfect arches. They closed their eyes with a sigh, relishing the moment of peace the two of them could finally have. It was all thanks to Leila’s determination, the love she spilled out into each pull of the flamethrower’s trigger. Gratitude didn’t even begin to cover what Metzli felt, especially when the outpour of love had so many sources.

With a hum, they opened their eyes and maneuvered Leila into laying atop their chest. The added pressure nearly sent them rolling their wrists, but instead inspired a hidden smile that Leila would manage to find. “Forever.” Metzli parroted with an arch to their brow, an idea blooming slowly. The idea of eternity was only ever tied to mortality or a reign of terror. Never once did they stop to think of what new possibilities they had (and really, what the both of them had) now that they were free to explore all the things humans experienced. Things like pivotal stages of life. Things that Metzli, even as a human, got to have. The idea seemed so far-fetched before, and it still did then, but even so, they couldn’t help but grow hopeful with tears in their eyes.

“Forever.” They repeated once more, nearly allowing their mind to slip to their tongue. “We have this now, yes?” A trembled smile graced Metzli’s lips and they tilted their head in question. “We can do this. We have peace. We…” They trailed in their musings, unsure where they would be led. “We can be people. I-I want to be people with you.” A pause. A cautious one. “Everyday.” Another pause, and their brows scrunched together as they nodded and relaxed the tension a moment later. “Yes. Everyday.”

There had been a period of time where Leila had viewed immortality as a curse. Infinity stretched out before her, promising her nothing but a constant need to hide, to run. Immortality was a punishment, though she’d never figured out what her crime had been. But the mare had begun to wonder if fate had stuck its hand in the middle of her human life and meddled just enough that she might live to get to Wicked’s Rest. If there was such a thing as fate or destiny, then maybe Leila Beaulieu had needed to die in order to live.

Pressed against Metzli’s chest, it seemed easy enough to believe. Factual, almost. Forever. Metzli was her echo, the word piercing the peaceful silence that had lulled over them like a blanket. She looked up through her lashes, trying to study every inch of their face to determine what was going on inside their mind. Forever meant something to people like them. Until the world caved in, until the stars fell out of the heavens, until the sun set in the east and rose in the west. She’d never thought to wonder if the vampire wanted forever. But there was a smile hiding on the corner of their mouth. Leila saw it, the upturn of their lips that most people would never find. It was a fragile thing, trembling as Metzli repeated the word once more. Forever.

They had forever, if they wanted it. And Leila had never wanted anything more.

Tears welled up in her eyes, turning Metzli into a colorful blur. She tried to blink them away, but the glittering things persisted, rolling down her face as she placed a kiss just over the vampire’s heart. “I want to be people with you, too…”

The vampire swallowed, overcome with so many emotions they didn’t understand and couldn’t possibly manage without help. Leila’s kiss did wonders to quell the marching and biting ants all throughout Metzli’s skin, but it did little to stop their entire body from tensing. Taking a few deep breaths, just like Leila had taught them, Metzli let their muscles settle and felt themself sink pleasantly into the bed. The sheets were still cool and the softness was perfect enough to keep Metzli’s focus until the discomfort of existing in a prison of their own flesh, receded.

It allowed for the idea to slip past their lips, as scary and new as it was.

“We can find a good dress for you. And you can pick my suit.” A tingling in Metzli’s wrist soared, causing them to roll them furiously with glee. Maybe a little anxiety, too. “And rings. We need rings!” Was it too fast, though? They wondered, but only for a split second. Metzli had lived over a century, had seen the many faces of humanity and evil, and everything in between. Nothing and no one had quieted the cacophony of noise or lifted the weight quite like Leila. The choice was easy to make, if Metzli could even call it that. If they were alive, choosing Leila would be like breathing. Inherent and inevitable. Necessary and natural.

Metzli smiled with a sigh, drumming their fingers excitedly on Leila’s arm. “And then forever, yes?” They knew the answer would be yes. It always had been, even in the beginning, but now Leila would be saying it for all the right reasons. She would no longer have to associate such a momentous occasion to a transaction for status and business. She would no longer have to be afraid.

She would be loved.

It took a moment for Metzli’s words to register in her mind. She’d settled back in to enjoy the nearness of them. Nowhere else in the world had that sort of peace. Leila could have traveled a million more years and would have never found a place that felt more like home than wrapped up in Metzli’s embrace. It felt like her thoughts were a few seconds behind, lazy with contentment. A dress for what? She had lots of dresses, made a lot of them, too…

And then, it clicked.

Leila looked up once more, surprise etching all of her features. Had she heard them right? Had they said rings? The only experience she’d ever had of a proposal had been fairly grim as modern standards were concerned. She’d been all but told she’d no choice in the matter all those years ago. And she’d been too scared and too weak to fight it… After so many years of being alone, some dark little corner of her soul had convinced herself that there would never be someone who wanted her- wanted her as she was, despite the flaws… maybe even because of them. Hope of a happy ending had been buried for so long, she had convinced herself she would never deserve it. Metzli had changed that all, even if they didn’t know it. They had brought color back into the mare’s world. Vibrant, rich, wonderful color. It wasn’t unending existence anymore. Not just shadows, not eternal night. They had brought her back to life, little by little.

They chose her. And she would choose them, every time.

She felt tingles running up her spine, up her arms with every little tap of the vampire’s fingers on her arm. Lightning-struck. Love-struck. Maybe they were the same thing. The corners of her eyes crinkled with joy as she leaned in to kiss them once, twice, almost a third before she remembered she’d not spoken an answer aloud. Her answer couldn’t solely live inside her head. Leila’s head felt fuzzy as she babbled out a reply, drunk with glee.

“Yes- then forever… now forever, but then forever, too-”

Leila, always so happy to lay with her partner, didn’t seem to catch what exactly Metzli was saying. Not for a few moments. Thoughts of rejection nearly slipped into their mind, but they halted them just as quickly as they arrived. This was Leila they were talking to. A woman so unsure of herself, of her place in the world and everyone’s lives. A woman that put everyone above herself, and gave as much love as she took. There was always an imbalance, tilting away from her favor. Something she did on purpose so as to not make herself known, conforming to the shadows even before she began consuming in them. Metzli knew all of this, and waited in that split second, their smile growing when realization touched Leila’s eyes and her lips met theirs repeatedly.

That was a yes, and she confirmed it hastily, to which Metzli had to reply in earnest. “Forever.” The golden word of the hour, a promise so heavy yet so wonderfully light to state, and they had declared it readily after having their worlds turned upside down and inside out respectively, for centuries. They’d even faced uncertainty head on, never doubting that their love would persist through the darkness. Because it was their home, and though they did welcome in the light, it came in waves, in the form of glittering skies that calmed the masses. That calmed them.

“Te amo,” The vampire smiled tearfully, switching languages a little easier that time. “Je vous aime. Pour toujours.” Metzli had had forever since they were turned, but never did it feel so welcoming or easy, or exciting. With a happy chuckle and a gentle hand to their partner’s check, they closed the very short distance between theirs and Leila’s lips, binding their promise further. Sinking it so deeply in Leila’s skin that she could feel the golden warmth spread from themself to her, and so she couldn’t doubt her place in Metzli’s life.

“Forever.”

She’d never thought someone would want her forever. Forever, as so many had mused, was an awfully long time. So much could happen in something so vast, so infinite. It was strange to think that someone would want to promise that to Leila. The mare had watched love from afar for so long, it felt like the sort of thing that only happened in story books. And she was the monster. The nightmare. The thing that ought not win in the end of the story, the one that never got a happy ending. Metzli saw her as something beautiful, though. Saw what she was, but saw who she was, too, and loved her for it all. The vampire took the love she gave them, and returned it back tenfold.

They kissed her, and she knew that home was not a place. Home was not a room in a house, or the back of a shop. Home was wherever Metzli was. Home was in their kisses, in the way it felt to be in their presence, in the sound of their voice, in that secret smile, in every little inch of them. Once, so long ago she’d almost forgotten, she’d made a wish for that sort of love. Asked the moon in the sky, her constant companion for hundreds of years, to send her someone. It seemed to her that the wish had finally been granted.

Forever was a long time, but she had wanted forever for this. And she would wait forever all over again, if it brought Leila back to Metzli.

“Para siempre.”

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #leila and metzli #c: leila #golden hour

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bearsplash · 1 year

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ohh competing kitty cats!

#margarita #twilightpaw #sheepcurl #calf #bearsplash #deerspring #fogclan #jagged #creekclan

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thunderstroked · 5 months

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At Your Window || Mona & Inge

TIMING: around when mona first got to wicked's rest. LOCATION: inge's townhouse. PARTIES: @nightmaretist & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona finds an old friend. CONTENT WARNINGS: none.

It wasn’t often that the fox ran into those from her past, especially not overseas. She’d made friends over the years while traveling across the United States, but had figured most would have aged significantly, the memories they shared fond ones, but ones that were best left unvisited. However, finding Inge in a sea of unfamiliar faces hadn’t been something she expected. There’d been a good chunk of time between their last meeting and this one. Wicked’s Rest offered a lot to its residents, and apparently running into old friends was one of them.

The fox had tracked down where Inge lived, not because she had any detective skills to speak of, but because she had trailed after the woman while shifting, waiting to see which door she ended up walking through. She waited patiently for the sun to set before continuing her journey on all fours, scaling up to the second floor of Inge’s townhome. Through the windows she couldn’t see much but the movement of shadows passing through light. Instead of knocking on the door or throwing a rock at the woman’s window, the fox let out a horrific screech, one that was sure to disturb the entire neighborhood.

—

She had grown quite attached to her house in the middle of Deersprings, the square feet that she paid a monthly amount for in high rent. She’d lived in New York before, where her space had been cramped and expensive, and though the city was more to her liking, this home was better. More spacious, with a balcony and a large kitchen (that she used sparingly) and plenty of room to work from home and display many of her favored trinkets she’d acquired over the years. Inge was content here, which was a strange thing for her.

Of course, this feeling of peace was bound to be disrupted. A screech raced through the air, loud and high-pitched and animalistic and Inge found herself jumping where she sat. The laptop resting on her legs bounced, the words of the essay she’d been grading dancing. She frowned, putting the computer aside on her couch and getting up, opening one of her windows only to come face-to-face with a fox. Not just any fox, though. This was one she’d recognize out of many. “No way.” Lips split into a grin, amazement painting her features. “You scared the shit out of me.” Not really, but a little. “Come in.”

—

Within seconds of the scream splitting into the air, the shades of the window were being pulled and Inge’s face appeared before her. The fox grinned at her friend before slipping through the window, but not before hearing a few shouts from the neighbors asking what was going on. One would have thought that in a place like Wicked’s Rest, they would have become accustomed to the screams that filled the night air.

Mona shifted back as soon as she was inside. “That was intentional, I hope you know that.” She grinned at her friend before tugging her into a tight hug. “How long has it been this time?” Mona pulled away and looked up at the mare, her own grin reminiscent of the one she wore as a fox. At least she’d been remembered, despite the years that had passed them by. That made the loneliness endured a little less hurtful. “Nice place you’ve got here, Inge.” Mona glanced around, hands on her hips. “Did I interrupt your work?”

—

It was strange, to have an animal around her that wasn’t skittish or violent — but then this wasn’t really an animal. Mona was a more evolved being than just some boring old fox. Inge watched her transform, endlessly intrigued by these kinds of things. The shifting of kitsune wasn’t as gruesome as how she imagined some other transformations to be, but it was still something she wanted to witness with unbroken concentration.

“I would be very disappointed if it wasn’t intentional,” she said. Inge appreciated any kind of scare, even if it made her jump a little. At least her laptop was okay. She looked around as well, before giving a grin. “Thank you. And technically you did, sure, but I’m glad for the excuse to take a long break.” Her laptop was closed, tossed aside on the couch. “Grading essays can technically be done with your eyes closed, anyway. Come, sit. What are you doing here? Not my place, I can imagine why you’d visit me …” She showed her teeth as she smirked cheekily. “But in this town.”

—

“Oh, well… that’s a shame.” It wasn’t a shame at all, not really. It’d been years since she’d last seen Inge, and to end up in the same place as her was a treat all on its own. Mona scrunched her nose. “You’re a teacher now?” She hadn’t figured that’d be the direction that Inge would’ve went, but it was in any creative sphere, she figured that made the most sense for her friend. To give others inspiration was what Inge did best, even if Mona hadn’t seen exactly what she was capable of. That, of course, had been a deal they made. Moreso on Inge’s side, but Mona had promised she wouldn’t singe her.

Mona plopped down onto the couch after kicking her shoes to the side. Feet tucked beneath her, she leaned into the arm rest and looked at her friend for a moment before shrugging. “Turns out I had another friend here who needed some help, so I’m watching over her place while she’s away.” Whatever Esther– Edith, whatever she was going by these days was up to, was none of Mona’s business. “She helped me out a few years back, so I felt compelled to help her out now.” Clasping her hands together, she jutted her chin in the direction of Inge. “What are you doing here? This town seems a little too small for your liking. Or is it that everyone seems to be scared all the time? Looking over their shoulder and all that…” She trailed off, waiting for Inge to explain.

—

“A professor,” she corrected mildly, a little bit of mischief sparked in her eyes. It was an important distinction, at least to her. “It’s fun. My third semester teaching, I never thought I’d become someone who’d spread the good word of art around.” Inge hardly did it out of some big moral consideration, but she did think art education a deeply valuable thing, if only because her own time at university had proved to be so transformative for her own life. She also liked the feeling of authority, the control she had in the classroom and the way her students tended to look up to her. (Those that didn’t, she disregarded as people with low opinions, of course.)

“That’s sweet of you,” she said, but it wasn’t fully complimentative. It was sweet, but she just didn’t put a lot of value into sweetness. “What kind of place is it?” A large home, she hoped — that would be quite a sweet deal. “I heard that this place was brewing with the supernatural, and I got in a tight spot back in New York so I thought why the heck not. People here do have quite a lot of fears to toy with, yes. I will say, though, this town is crawling with active hunters.” Inge scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Which is logical, considering there’s quite a fair supernatural community. Still, just so you’re aware. It’s a cute town, though. Barely ever boring, unlike most small towns.”

—

Mona mouthed out the word professor and nodded. “Right, that.” She’d never gone to college– not that she had needed it. She was perfectly fine coasting the way she wanted without any kind of human institutions. There was already too much of it in her life to begin with. There was, however, a degree of understanding she had with Inge. Inge hadn’t always been a mare. She’d been a human with dreams– dreams that only grew larger after her transition into the undead being she now was given what it provided her, but still. Mona felt for her friend, but only to the degree in which a gumiho who was above human existence could understand. “Well I’m sure you’re the best they’ve ever seen.” She knew that to be the truth– she didn’t even need to inflate her own compliment.

“Isn’t it?” With a laugh, Mona considered why she hadn’t asked to do something else– why she hadn’t considered hiring somebody else to help the studio so that she could continue on her way. But Edith had been there when nobody else was, much like Inge. “Mm…” She shrugged, “it’s an apartment in– on…? Amity Road.” She still wasn’t sure about the separation of neighborhoods and actual roads in this town, it was all so confusing. “It’s comfortable though, it’s right above the studio that she owns– that I temporarily own.” It still caused her a great deal of stress. The last thing she wanted to do was leave something broken for Edith to come home to. As Inge explained that she’d heard about Wicked’s Rest and its supernatural entities, Mona hummed. “Is it?” She had anticipated that– the hunter bit. She’d been so focused on running from her own family that she never really considered the kinds of dangers human hunters could pose. “I think I got caught in their traps a few weeks back, but luckily I had somebody to help me out.” She always managed to get out of things with her luck. Inge continued and Mona raised a brow. “So you’re an expert, then? I’ll be sure to ask you who’s who and who to avoid.”

—

Though she preferred to think of herself a woman untethered of wants and needs, someone driven only by her artistic urgency, there was value to be found in her work as a professor. She might lack professionalism at times, but Inge had once been a mortal who went to school for art and she remembered her teachers there. There was value in art and art education and though her purpose wasn’t within teaching, she still found something in it. And yes, she was good at it. Of course she was. “Some of the best for sure, yes,” she said, smirking a little. What other art teachers had her experience? Her means for creativity? Art was made better through suffering, Inge thought, and she had suffered and caused suffering aplenty.

“Oh, Amity Road! It’s cute there. Fun shops.” She’d wasted a fair bit of money on funny trinkets there, as well as various supplies. At the mention of a studio she raised her brows. “A studio? For what kind of thing?” It implied something artistic, and thus her interest was piqued. Inge patted the couch, sat down herself and hoped that Mona would join her as she stretched her fingers. They were a little cramped from all her typing. “That’s a good side-effect of this town too, I suppose. Plenty of helping hands.” Except for that damned zombie, of course. Curse her. “I’ve not had the best luck, admittedly, but then I am still here — so not entirely unlucky. I’d love to give you a rundown of the folks here, though, but first … tell me how you’ve been?”

—

“Fun shops, full of humans who don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” Mona rolled her eyes, thinking about the spellcaster who had nearly blown his own toes off after a spell had gone awry. “But not all of them.” It was naive to think that she was the only supernatural entity on the block– after all, who was sitting in front of her but a mare she’d became friends with against all odds? The woman’s scare tactics hadn’t delved into their relationship, and for that, Mona was grateful.

“Photography.” Mona sighed, waving away the implications that she didn’t dare say, “and before you say anything, no, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m winging it, or whatever it is that they say.” Because she had to, for Edith’s– Esther’s sake. Mona took a seat next to Inge at her coaxing and leaned into the arm rest, elbows digging into the fabric. “You? Without luck? What era are we living in.” At one point, Mona thought Inge to be the luckiest person alive. With a tilt of her head, she shrugged. “The same, about. Haven’t run into my sister since the 80’s, so I’d say I’m doing just great.” Her fear that her twin would follow her to Wicked’s Rest had subsided after realizing she was not the only kitsune in the area. Though, she was the only one to look the way she did. Whatever. “Managed to get myself this temporary gig at the photo studio, managed to be crowned a cryptid, you know, the usual.”

—

“Yes, like I said. Fun shops.” Inge wasn’t above a little bit of schadenfreude after all, and seeing humans stumble about the supernatural world was very much amusing to her. This town was full of them, even in the face of the large supernatural community and nature that surrounded them. It intrigued her. It vaguely reminded her of the ignorant human she had once been. Sometimes Inge wondered if she’d had any supernatural neighbors back in Wanneperveen. “Not all of them, that’s true. It’s amazing to me though, how many of them continue to remain ignorant. Probably for the best, though.”

Her lips spread into a smile, “Oh, that’s delightful! Or is it just a place where you take headshots and family portraits, because then …” She pulled a face. “I’m sure your winging it is still excellent, don’t fret.” Inge was a little amused at the notion that she was usually a lucky person, considering her track record. What was luck, anyway? A ridiculous thing, much like hope or faith. She didn’t really know what to do with the mention of Mona’s sister. It must be strange to have family that aged similarly to you — she thought of her own family, all aged and dying like mortals did. She was glad not to see them any more. “Good for you. Keeping it that way too, yeah?”

Her expression lifted with surprise and intrigue, “Managed to be crowned a cryptid? Now, you must tell me more — but let me get you a glass and something to eat first.” She got up, moving quickly to the kitchen to arrange the necessary ingredients for a night of reconnection with an old friend.

#para: at your window #para: inge #wickedswriting #//i love inge and marin so much < 3 #//also sorry marin... today was long.. ur in beddy bye time.. i post this now....

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ironheartedfae · 6 months

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TIMING: Late August LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: @lithium-argon-wo-l-f & @ironheartedfae SUMMARY: Gael offers to go on another picnic with Ren. They have a special guest CONTENT WARNINGS: Somehow none

It was late afternoon to early evening, the sun still just enough in the sky to coat the distant parts of the forest in soft blue hues while simultaneously setting the taller trees ablaze in fiery yellow light. Gael opted to take them to the Pines near Deersprings, someplace they could still walk to and from reliably - she still had as much energy as he had, for sure, so long as he was allowed to pause on occasion on the off-chance that his back would act up apropos of nothing. She was more than accommodating again, as she usually was, which was one of the many things he appreciated about her. Their relationship had only improved since their last picnic and Gael was rather hoping that they could turn this into a regular event; something to feel normal, something that was allowed to just happen and not only on special occasions when she’d earned it. The trip had been similar to last time, with each of them pointing things out to the other, though Gael felt another unfamiliar tug of something on his insides. It was sparse, almost like the twinge of an aching bone that you couldn’t quite place but it was there nonetheless. He wasn’t sure he could explain it, either, which he found frustrating. He’d so far been successful in staving off Ren’s questions pertaining to anything particularly unusual about his disorder. Condition. Disorder. Injury? He wasn’t sure what to call it but the longer he thought about it, the more nothing seemed to fit. There wasn’t anything wrong, that was the main thing he wanted to convey. The last thing he wanted was to worry the young fae with whatever was going on with him. They’d already exchanged an unspoken promise between each other that they’d do what they could to help but she already had so much to worry about, so many things to discover and learn and experience. Gael had started to experience the occasional, small twinge of melancholy at the thought that she would live so much longer than him, especially given that they were twenty years apart already and he couldn’t guarantee when this brain injury. Disorder. Condition… Injury. Disorder? Would flare up and cause actual problems. There wasn’t anything quite like becoming close with someone who had the potential to outlast you by several decades; was this how parents felt with their kids? All of this stayed nicely inside that little injured (or disordered) head of his, though and Gael reacted to everything Ren showed him with the same level of gentle enthusiasm as he always had. He packed more apple juice and ignored the sensation that pulsed through him on occasion to just… take her head in his hands and nuzzle their foreheads together affectionately. Or run off to chase some scent that wafted by his nose. He was being ridiculous. “You think here would be okay?” He asked lightly, pausing in a small clearing that had relatively flat terrain, leaves littering the ground and with rays from the sun beaming through. The area looked picturesque, really and he glanced down at Ren with his eyebrows raised though his expression was asking the same question.

—

Another trip out into the woods, another day of that light and airy feeling floating through Ren's body making them feel almost human. Gael was good at that. The nymph still wasn't sure what to call…whatever this was. Friendship, sure. But every day the kind man spent teaching the young fae more things, taking the time to explain things that weren't quite accessible to her, going out of his way to care for her in a way no one ever had before… it was more than that, wasn't it? Closer to what Darya should have been. Perhaps the biggest lesson Gael imparted.

The term mentor rolled around in Ren's mind.

It was one she had attributed to the warden who raised her. Mother had been a term earned. Because it denoted a closeness that the older woman maybe never wanted in the first place. The experiment was supposed to forge a weapon, not a family. Hunters rarely had normal familial structures as it was. Throw in their natural enemy, and you have a recipe for distance.

Gael didn't do that. Didn't make Ren compete for affection. For basic needs that the young girl had long convinced herself she didn't really need, no matter the toll that took on her psyche. Every day spent together with the chemistry professor was undoing a little of that damage, bit by bit.

The little red head looked up and around, wide eyed as always, but with a lopsided smile just barely splitting her lips enough to show teeth. “Yes, this is lovely.” And it was. A whole different spectacle from the one they had shared the other day. The pines shaded the clearing, but not so much that it could be considered dark. It was comforting. “I can set up the blanket this time!”

—

She looked up at him and he reciprocated her small smile with his own. “I think that’d be great.” He nodded, encouraging her thoughts and what she wanted to do - he’d set everything up last time as she excitedly buzzed around the field, with a weight of expectation that they’d have to talk about heavy subjects that needed to be addressed. He didn’t want this time to be like last time. What Gael felt like he needed to tell her kept getting caught in his throat, locking his joints, filling him with an uncharacteristic sense of anxiety. He wanted to talk about the things he knew, the things he actually was. He wanted to share his experiences and stories with her, things to serve as lessons and entertainment, things she could use to apply to her own life to better prepare her for the aspects of being human. Like he was. …Right? Gael handed her the blanket that was rolled up under his arm and he took another opportunity to glance around the clearing, closing his eyes as his other senses absorbed the sounds and smells of nature. Two birds chittering to each other behind them until a third showed up, chasing the first one away. A twig finally fell away from the branch it was clinging to and fell to the ground softly. Churned dirt from a creature burrowing at the base of a tree. His heartbeat. Her heartbeat. He didn’t want this to be like last time. “I brought a couple of different drinks this time.” He decided to fill the air with small talk as he pulled the basked off from where it was looped on his arm. “Got some water and apple juice but I also brought some grape juice.” He raised his eyebrows. “It just tastes good with meat and bread. I think you’d like it.” Because this was so important that she know that.

—

There was a pep to the redhead’s stride that only grew with each outing. Ren nodded enthusiastically then grabbed the pack and started unloading. Carefully and methodically, like each decision mattered. The direction of the blanket, how evenly it laid. A picture perfect picnic was on the line, and she wanted to make sure she delivered.

“Do they have juices for every fruit?” She asked, incredulous. “That seems like such of an effort, truly.” And grapes were so small! How many did they need to juice to get the same amount as an apple? Truly a modern wonder. Humans thought of the strangest things when they had time to do so. Time spent living instead of training to be a protector, a shield, being honed into a knife.

With the blanket just-so, Ren sat in her corner of it. Criss-cross. Not a very advantageous seating position. Too much room for a slipup or clumsy mistake if she had to suddenly stand. A show of how comfortable she was here, with him. Of how comfortable she had become because of him. “This is good. I like this place very muchly, sky guy.”

—

“Would you believe me if I told you ‘pretty much’?” Gael smiled as he observed her placing the blanket down. There was a system to it, a clear vision that he obviously held in her mind as she did so - everything had a place, an artistic expression of what she pictured to be idyllic. He watched her, though, with the pride of seeing her do something because she thought it looked nice rather than necessity. She finished and sat in the spot she normally sat at and Gael gave her a light round of applause - not too loud, but also not false and empty. “Bravo, it’s beautiful.” He praised, gesturing to it. “I couldn’t have done a better job if I tried.” Which wasn’t untrue; she obviously put more thought into it than he did. He was just there to enjoy it with her, however she wanted to enjoy it. Carefully, he sat down near her, finding his own spot most comfortable when he was sitting to her left, as he did before, as he did on the bed the first night and even the couch sometimes. Once he was sitting, Gael himself stretched his legs in front of him before loosely crossing them at the ankles as he was wont to do when he was perfectly comfortable; it was easier, once they were actually engaging in the picnic, to attempt to calm down from the strange pulses of energy that ran its fingers up his spine with unease. “I like it, too.” He said, reaching into the basket as he started to pull one of their three thermoses from it. As he did so, however, his head turned instinctively to face the dappled trees, though he couldn't’ have been sure why. Was it a smell? Had he thought he heard something? He shook his head and turned back to what he was doing. “So! You wanna try the grape juice? Or are you feelin’ something else right now?” He asked, turning his dark eyes to her now, an eyebrow quirking faintly.

—

Wicked's Rest had dulled Ren's senses. There were enough fae and fae related things around that her skin had a near constant hum to it. The bells so many others talked so highly of, they were something the young nymph loathed. With the cu-sith following her around… well it was harder to tell when it was than when it wasn't. Plus, the girl was distracted. Playing human with Gael. Pretending to be something she wasn't.

So much so that he noticed something before she did. His head turned and she was far too focused on the picnic. On the basket. On the joy the day had in store for them. As… whatever it was they were to each other. Ren didn't know how to quantify it, wasn't sure it was a good idea to put a name to something when she hardly knew what it was.

"I will try this graped juice." Ren had gotten pretty good at trying new things lately. Thanks, no doubt, to Gael's gentle guiding hand and words of encouragement. "While you are getting this I could… arrange the sandwiches?" A smile had rooted itself between her right and left cheek. Between dimples and frosted with freckles. Feeling almost as picture perfect as the day had been so far.

The young fae busied herself with the basket for a moment, but found her hand coming back with a splinter instead of a sandwich. "Oh sugar." A non-swear she'd picked up somewhere and added to her lexicon a lot more frequently than the sentence enhancers or emfasis that Conor man had tried to teach her. Fuck, had it's own place.

Right in between the perfect day, and the large lupine monster that ricocheted out of the bushes. Spurred on by the scent of spilled fae blood. The cu-sith didn't stop to ask what had caused it. It had been watching from the sidelines for too long. Trying to figure out the man's intentions with the young nymph she had taken a liking to. She smelled blood and it made her see red.

The wolf moved so much faster than she should have been able to at her size. Ren reeled, shocked by the sudden shape towering over her. Growling at Gael as if he'd mauled the girl, rather than her giving herself a very tiny scratch.

"No! Get away, you horrible thing!" Ren pushed back against the animal, who only turned to growl at her too. As if to say that she knows best.

—

“Grape juice it is.” Gael nodded and motioned to the basket with his head. “Go for it, I’ll pour you some.” He was fuzzy. It was the warm, good type of fuzzy, reserved normally for seeing cute things, feeling a pleasant sensation on your skin or hearing the precisely correct tune. He knew it wasn’t quite comparable to something Ariana had remarked feeling before, but it was still a feeling of content that he liked to hang onto when he experienced it.

And yet, underneath it all he felt a small measure of… uncertainty. It wasn’t obvious, but rather it gave Gael the impression that they were being watched and while the man didn’t inherently mind feeling eyes on him - again, if he couldn’t handle it then he should’ve picked a different profession - this time it felt… scrutinizing. And not altogether human. He felt almost as though they were being stalked by an animal but the sensation was so minute, so easily dissuaded by the logic in his mind telling him that surely she would’ve noticed before he did if they were, considering her set of survival skills that he didn’t entertain that thought for very long. The smell of blood accompanied with Ren’s quiet non-expletive greeted his senses and Gael paused in what he was doing, glancing over. “Ah, you get a splinter?” He asked, not worried at it at all and if what he’d gotten to know about her was true, she probably didn’t think much of it, either. “Yeah, these old-fashioned picnic baskets can be–” An instinct, an animal part of him reacted by cutting his sentence short as sights and smells that decidedly didn’t belong to the girl crashed into them, literally and rhetorically. His body moved for him, barely having time to close the thermos as he made a motion to get close to Ren when it was cut short and instead of seeing her immediately, he was greeting with the snarling visage of a massive (and he meant massive; easily the size of a bull), hound-shaped creature that glared at him with piercing green eyes as it stood protectively over the entomid. Gael felt a wave of fear seizing his muscles, seeming to threaten to cause his freeze response to activate - how had he not heard it? How was it so fast for something its size? Was he insufficient, not as good at using his strange ‘skills’ as he thought? These wonders raced through his mind as adrenaline forced itself through his body, keeping him just mobile enough but the fear of freezing was still very real and it probably would’ve worked had the fae’s voice not cut through his thoughts, prompting both him and the hound to look at her. The fear, while still very present but not for himself, morphed into something else when the hound took to growling at Ren instead. “Hey! Eyes on me!” He barked at the large beast, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’re the cu-sith I’ve been told about, right Ren?” He asked, his voice clear and commanding as he looked at the hound but was obvious he was speaking to both of them.

—

There was a seismic undercurrent to each of the beast's steps. It was so large it couldn't help but knock things over or crush them. Sandwiches were squashed, the basket was in pieces. The cu-sith unintentionally slaying the thing that had hurt the fae despite being much more fixated on the tiny shouting human who didn't smell human at all. Wasn't fae. That's all that mattered to her.

She had been so agitated lately. More than the stress and anger it normally carried in its chest, she was furious with no direction. Ready to snap her jaws at anything and everything. When the fae child protested the cu-sith whirled around, her hungry maw dripping with anxious slobber. She picked up Ren by the scruff of her jacket. Thankfully the teeth cleared her skin, but it pulled the fabric so tightly around her neck that she was nearly choking by the time the beast got her in the air.

Ren scrambled, clawing at the shirt but finding no purchase. Frantically, she reached out toward Gael, toward her backpack that held her knives. She couldn't even scream or try and ask the cu-sith to back off. And it didn't even realize the damage it was doing. Thinking only of a petulant pup that needed to be brought back to their den. Seemingly done with Gael it simply turned, starting to carry the nymph off like she was her's. Possessive. Determined. And yet…Tired.

—

For a moment, Gael thought that this massive creature, the snarling, dripping form of rippling muscles underneath plantlike skin could be reasoned with. Ren had described her as intelligent, without the ability to speak but with a capacity to understand, if only when it came from the small fae. That moment was there and gone in a heartbeat though as the cu–sith had picked Ren up by her jacket, not unlike a mother to a stubborn child and didn’t regard Gael further before it turned and got the impression that that was that. With the next heartbeat his vision, the snapshot of Ren helplessly being spirited away by a monstrously large hound, was awash in red. More adrenaline shot through his body, accompanied with that unfamiliar feeling that occasionally pulsed in his veins, weaving itself around his extremities. As it did, the sound of bones popping rang through the air like firecrackers and without waiting another heartbeat, Gael launched himself at the bull-sized beast. “I said, eyes on me!” The command was guttural, tearing itself from his throat like a cement block being dragged across concrete and yet it was loud as his body collided against the cu-sith’s. As Gael’s vision was unfocused and his mind was filled with one directive and only one directive - Protect Ren - he could still make out the dreaded familiarity of seeing his arms covered in thick sable fur, his fingers elongated and adorned with shiny black claws that dug into the cu-sith’s side in a swipe as he himself fell over, not even sure if he knocked the cu-sith from her path but if it didn’t work, he’d try again. His brain flooded with rage at the audacity of the hound, the primal urge to take what wasn’t rightfully hers away from him, away from herself, deciding what was best for her without any regard. The cu-sith might’ve been angry, but he was, too; that was his pup she was taking. —

Ren dangled helplessly as the cu-sith attempted an escape only to be cut off by– by… Gael. The nymph's vision was blurred, hazy from the sudden lack of oxygen getting to her brain, sure. But that was him. That was her Gael, sprinting full speed towards the moss covered wolf, looking rather… wolfy himself. Bursting at the seams as bones rearranged and a beast in its own right took his place. The werewolf, because that's what it had to be– slammed into the cu-sith. Hard. It sent the creature sideways, having to dig its claws deep into the earth to remain upright.

There was a weightless dizzy moment of shock as the cu-sith shook its jaws, loosening its grip for a second so it could find better purchase. But Ren didn't have a leafy layer of stretchy fur at the back of her neck. She was a scrawny kid at best. And a twig thin bug at worst. This time it hit skin and drew blood. Which only seemed to confuse and infuriate the beast further. It dumped Ren off to the side and complied fully with Gael's command.

All eyes on you. It seemed to say. She lowered herself, standing defiant between the werewolf and the pup they quarreled after. A desperation in her eyes as she was sure the other beast was going to hurt the little one. Not on her watch. Not again. A low rumbling growl reverberated through the glen. A sure-fire sign that something else was about to emerge. Ren, dirty and bloodied, shouted as loud as her hoarse throat would allow, begging Gael to get out of the way.

A cu-sith's bark could be a hell of a lot worse than its bite.

—

The professor (because that’s still all he was, right?) scrambled to his feet, kicking up leaves and dirt as he stood slightly hunched once he did. Arms that were too long for a reasonable human hung in front of him, quivering claws that dripped with blood twitching as brown eyes that seemed partially filled with gold stared down the creature. Gael felt pain coming from his hands, his head, his spine, muscles having been stretched, bones broken apart and put back together, organs slightly rearranged inside of him as he lingered in an uncanny valley of body parts - a human torso and head with Frankensteinian additions from a completely separate creature haphazardly glued to him. He also felt pain as he saw the cu-sith carelessly drop Ren, the smell of her blood reaching his nose again. The scent, Ren’s scent, and how she was unceremoniously thrown aside sparked inside his brain and he was similarly incensed, wanting nothing more than to lunge again and tear the beast to pieces. …He didn’t, though. He wanted to, he felt the sensation pumping through him, urging him to do what he could to incapacitate and hurt and dissuade the cu-sith from hurting Ren anymore and leave her alone. But he didn’t. Instead, Gael’s head tilted and he looked over at the fae’s crumpled form on the ground as the latter shouted at him to move. In that moment, he wanted so badly to attack the cu-sith again out of some animalistic instinct to protect his pup, the kid that wasn’t even his either by birth, adoption or otherwise - how could he claim ownership over someone else like that in any instance other than this one was a question for a more intellectual mind. He wanted to but he didn’t. For now, Gael was able to discern her instructions among the blood that pounded in his ears and he listened. He moved, but it wasn’t quite in the direction he himself was expecting. He moved down.

Down onto all fours, before down onto his stomach. Down in submission, not rolling over but also not making himself appear as big as his fur-covered limbs wanted him to. It took effort; he wanted to use the position to spring forward, use the ground as an anchor to throw his weight at the hound. He felt his head burning with anger, fury, rage. Common sense felt fickle, a thought in his mind that was threatening to be ripped to shreds. But he didn’t. He moved down. Gael would take whatever the cu-sith wanted to do to him to establish dominance, just… “Please don’t hurt my girl.” He said slowly, knowing full well that the cu-sith could hear him as well as he could’ve heard himself from that distance. His voice still carried a growl to it, low and scratching as though it should’ve been spoken through a mouthful of larger teeth but it wasn’t, it just came from him. All the while, he kept the two-tone eyes on Ren’s diminutive frame, his expression wide and afraid but not for himself.

—

The bursting bark had been building in the cu-sith’s chest. A sudden rush of air and sound exploded forth. Almost enough to rival a banshee’s wail, but deeper, darker. A rumble and crack like thunder rippling overhead. A bolt of lightning crashing next to you could’ve been quieter. Less painful. But she didn’t aim it directly at the werewolf. The cu-sith was still awash with righteous fury, but she was clever enough to notice when a change in the dynamic occurred. Her massive head tilted upward, releasing the sonic blast away from the man, away from the kid. Still enough to leave their ears ringing for sure, but not enough to hurt in the way it might have if directed more specifically.

Green eyes studied the werewolf. Chuffing and growling, she began pacing around him. Leaving just enough of a window that Ren could scoot through, rushing to Gael’s side where she threw her arms around him. Holding tightly as she could, trying her best to be a shield. Either not stopping long enough to notice all the changes, or not caring about them half as much as she cared about the person behind the fur and teeth.

Ren huddled over Gael, too scared to look behind her. Too scared that the cu-sith was going to do something she couldn’t protect him from because she was too small, too weak. “Please.” The nymph begged, hoping it was enough to dissuade her. “Do not hurt him– Please do not– hurt each other–” Her mind was racing about a thousand miles per hour faster than normal. Her heart was trying its best to keep up. Ideas that were half-formed at best pushed forward, rising to the surface. “It is okay– he is good he is– папочка to me.”

The cu-sith snuffled at the air. A droning rumble filled her chest, but not the same as before. She was confused by the girl’s actions. At the apparent misunderstanding she had. And maybe, just maybe, a little relieved too. Because apparently, she wanted the same thing as the werewolf. Wanted to keep the small one safe. The creature on the ground was wise to show deference, but she could recognize the power it held too. Power enough to protect.

The kit had a way of throwing herself into danger that the beast didn’t like. When she had followed the child into the woods that day she was sure this was another trap. Something she’d have to rescue the pup from. Her ears were still pinned back as she stepped closer, eyeing the way the diminutive frame tried to put herself between her and the other. Worried, perhaps, at the fear she seemed to have inspired in the young fae. That was never the creature's intention. She just thought she knew best for the pup but—

There was a reverence in his actions. One she could respect. Not only was the werewolf strong, he was smart. And maybe that was enough. Maybe the man who was not just a man could walk among the humans and protect the pup whenever she was near. Her massive head drooped. A less angry growl still at her lips as she nudged Gael’s face with her muzzle. Nosing her way in between so she could lick at Ren’s cheek, at the tears that streaked down. Then repeated the gesture on the man, as if to say “Take care of her.”

—

He had fully anticipated a form of retaliation, finding that he had kept his body low to the ground but still agile enough that should the cu-sith turn and regard Ren once more, Gael would’ve been on the back of the beast with little else in his static-filled brain. Even now, as the hound threw its head back and released a wailing, howling bark into the sky, piercing his eardrums and making his head spin, part of him still wanted to take advantage of the lack of eyes on him, relinquish… whatever he was actively fighting against and bury his face in the neck of the creature. No. Instead, he flinched, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as the howl sent a ripple of fear through his system. A different part of him wanted to grab Ren and flee, run as fast as his legs could carry him as far as they could but instead of either fighting or flying, instead he stood his ground (relatively speaking), pushing his torso up on his elongated arms with a grimace that stemmed from multiple entry points of pain. The cu-sith lowered her head once more and the two stared at each other, green and brown and amber all observant of one another. Gael’s thoughts were dulled, his senses being filled with the smell of Ren’s blood, the ringing in his ears from the cu-sith’s howl, his mind undecided on what it wanted to do. And through all of that, he felt Ren’s arms around him. And he felt his body autonomously move and those long, twisted, inhuman limbs shook violently for a few moments, clawing at the ground as they wanted to rip apart the thing that touched him– No, it was Ren. His head, still humanoid, still Gael, leaned forward and he buried his nose in Ren’s curly hair, inhaling deeply, absorbing her scent. It was Ren.

The arms covered in sable fur with the shining black claws released the handfuls of dirt and grass that they’d scraped up. He leaned forward, still regarding the massive hound warily as Ren was trying to express her thoughts coherently, using some words he didn’t understand regardless of what the situation was. Whatever she said, muddied in his mind though it was, seemed to have gotten through to the cu-sith, at least, and the bull-sized dog approached them now. Instinctively, Gael started to growl himself, a low, involuntary thing that was there and gone as the cu-sith nosed into him, nudging his head aside so she could lick the fae. Then she licked him. A massive, warm tongue against his face with a softness previously unseen or felt from anything about the cu-sith. “..I know.” He replied quietly. “I care about her, too.” It was a guess; the hound wasn’t apologizing, but even though Ren wasn’t his child biologically, he still felt a fierce protection towards her. It was deep, much deeper than almost anything else he’d felt before. It was catching his nephew before the latter drove out into the road on his little bicycle. It was helping a stranger’s daughter go down the escalator when she got separated from them, crying as she was by herself. It was holding Ren in his arms that night she cried to him, showing him what she was but with him only seeing who she was, who she could become. The cu-sith, in her own way, felt that way towards Ren as well. Protection in the way she knew how. Parental in a way Gael had never been but could try his hardest to. Slowly, very carefully, one of the gnarled, clawed hands reached up and wrapped itself around Ren, fingers ever-so-gently resting on her shoulder. He smelled her, he heard her, he touched her. She was there, and Gael could be, too.

—

The apogee of uncertainty had passed. The cu-sith stared sidelong at the pair, deciding her place was back on the trails, back deeper in the woods, still searching for something. Unknowing of how to convey it to anyone, only to prowl and protect what she could. She padded away, only turning once she crossed the threshold of the woodline. Loosing a low rumbling warning, as if to say she’d be checking in. And if anything happened, well. Gael’s imagination could fill the gaps.

Ren didn’t turn to watch her leave. Didn’t lift her head from the spot buried into the crook of Gael’s neck where she could hear his heart beating heavy in his chest. Could feel the radiating warmth. The word had come out, half tumbled and in a different language but the sentiment was there long before. In stories, fathers were protectors. Were caretakers and could kindly watch over someone. Fathers were a source of love and strength. Both of which the young nymph drew from Gael, despite the lack of a biological connection it rivaled the bond of the woman who had raised her.

Gael didn’t just take her in from the rain. He showed the young kid what it meant to be loved unconditionally. Something that was just… impossible before. Her mind twisted up excuses for Darya’s behavior in the love she still carried for the woman, but she didn’t have to do that with him. Just being around the professor made her feel at home. Made her feel real. Like she was a kid and not a weapon. A person and not a shield.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was tiny, but his hearing was good. Ren nuzzled in closer somehow. Still not quite willing to give up the spot. Like if she let go, somehow the problems would come back. Somehow he’d be hurt and she’d be alone again. It was becoming increasingly clear that the nymph never wanted to be alone again. Even if she didn’t know what that really meant for her. For her past. For the uncertain future that stretched out for so long ahead of her. Ahead of them. “Are you– are you, you?”

—

The humanoid didn’t take his amber-swirled brown eyes off of the cu-sith until she had physically disappeared from view. And still, even then, Gael could feel that urge, that anger pulling on him. He breathed heavily through his nose with the exertion of it, feeling his fingers wanting to tighten on the material on Ren’s back. Part of his brain told him that there was still danger so long as the cu-sith was free to walk. That some part of Ren would– No, she wouldn’t. Gael remembered her scent, feeling her against him. He clung to those sensations as tightly as she hung onto him, pressing her head into him, feeling her diminutive, trembling frame under an oppressively inhuman hand. She wasn’t going to leave even though he wasn’t… what she thought he was. Even though he wasn’t quite what he thought he was. She wasn’t going to leave, so he worked not to leave. “I’m okay.” He assured, his hand moving up to carefully place the claws on the back of her head for a moment, though they grazed over the spot on her neck where the cu-sith had drawn blood. He inhaled, the combination of feeling her blood on his decidedly nonhuman hands catching the answer of whether or not he was ‘him’ in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to answer that, though as he felt himself taking deeper breaths, pushing more of the logic that was so important to him through his brain and trying to eliminate the more… he wasn’t sure how to refer to the thoughts that spurned him to pursue the cu-sith. He focused on Ren, urged through the ringing in his ears, carefully maneuvering his hand around so that it didn’t touch the wound on her neck again. “I’m not sure.” He said honestly. “I’m Gael.” He replied slowly. “But I don’t know what that is.” He shifted so that he looked down at her now. “Are you okay? We can patch up your injury, and–” He now actually paid attention to the fur on his arms, the way his fingers looked like they belonged to something else entirely. “I’m… sorry.”

—

Her hand slipped away from his back, taking a moment to feel the nape of her own neck where the teeth had pierced her. They came away wet, but she didn’t feel much pain. It must not have been that deep, or maybe the adrenaline just hadn’t worn off just yet. “I am fine, we can bandage later. Not bad.” Ren exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours. Even if the whole encounter lasted maybe twenty seconds, tops. Relief flooded throughout her body, loosening the tense muscles that ached to sprint. To hunt. Of all the things she’d been taught, throwing herself into danger to save a werewolf was not one of them.

Ah but– But this was the thing Gael couldn’t talk about. The thing that had been pulled from his mind, siphoned out like the last dregs of gas in a car running on empty. Exhausted in every sense of the word. Ren understood everything in an instant. The full moons, the silver… It was a lot to take in, sure, but it was still her Gael. Still her–

“I was– I did not want her to hurt you but– You protected me too, you–” Too many thoughts swirled inside, discordant and dizzying. But those strong arms held her close. The feeling of being at home never left. Whatever this was, however they needed to face it, that was okay. It was going to be okay. If she wasn’t a monster, neither was he. “I was scared. I cannot lose you.” Ren didn’t know much of the outside world. Wasn’t great with people. She had never expected something like this to come from her mission to Wicked’s Rest. Never expected to find a whole new purpose to life, a new way to live it.

Time had always been a long blank canvas before. Now it was something bright. Vivid. All around her. Never quite enough of it to hold as it slipped away through her hands. In learning how to be around Gael, Ren learned how to be herself. Learned to get closer to people her own age. Learned what it meant to have people to fall back on. To care about and be cared for in return. “I can’t lose you, папочка.” She repeated. Where it had been an accidental slip before, she meant it now. Even if he wouldn’t know what the word meant, or what it meant to her.

—

Gael wasn’t sure which parts to respond to first; when she said that the wound wasn’t that bad, he wondered how true that was, how close the cu-sith had gotten to potentially paralyzing the girl. When she said she didn’t want the hound to hurt him, he wanted to assure her that he would’ve taken anything and everything to ensure Ren’s safety. It was difficult to say those things after the fact; he knew how easy it was to become involved in the theatrics of heroism and how difficult it was to sift through those mixed messages, to separate the truth from the adrenaline-filled fiction. But then she said that she was scared. That she didn’t want to lose him. Gael pulled back, hearing the tone in Ren’s small voice and what he wanted to say before in response to anything else felt more solid. It was a lighthouse in the shifting sea of his mind as he held on tight to her voice, her scent, her presence, calling him back as he felt when the dark, primordial thoughts started to advance onto him. His bestial hands moved on their own again as they lightly, tenderly cupped her head in them; they were massive, dark blackish brown contrasting against the vibrant red of her hair, making her bright eyes pop as Gael held her tearstained face in them. Then she said the word again. Папочка. He didn’t understand the word, though if it meant how it sounded then he didn’t need to understand the word itself to know what it meant. “You won’t, mija.” He replied, his voice dry as it lost the guttural growl that tinged his words previously. “I’ll never leave you.” He assured, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together gently. “And you won’t ever lose me.”

—

#wickedswriting #lithium argon wo l f #ironheartedfae

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banisheed · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all too easy to break it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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