𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑

[cainevesson]

# CAIN EVESSON ⸻ highly selective, mutuals only and low to medium activity Cain from Kripke's Supernatural. Canon divergent; the event around his canon death is rewritten and he lived on, the First Blade never returned into his possession. I developed the character way past canon throughout 2+ years. The blog's main verse focus lies on redemption and Cain starting new after the mark got lifted, while things from the past still come around to try and haunt or tempt him again. Apocalypse World AU available, in which he inherits Lucifer's throne and poses the vilest version of the character. Mature themes ahead, not suited for minors. Read full carrd before following. Loved by Ava, she/her, gmt+1 timezone, 30+. Graphic by the wonderful Dixon.

CARRD 🔹 MEMES 🔹HCs 🔹 PSAs

𝗖𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗔𝗿𝗰: After he spent a long while having to figure out his identity, once the mark got lifted and the urge to kill no longer defined him, Cain finally recognized with the last doubting fragment of his being that he truly regained full control of himself. While he projected his self-loathing onto other supernaturals insofar as to view them as disease to rid humanity of, this unfair prejudice in assuming every monster deserves death no matter what has died down. If he can get a second chance, if he could retain a shred of his own humanity over millennia, why should other beings such as vampires, shifters or werewolves not? If they stay in their lane, he can respect them. Yet he entertains the occasional fight, the old soldier in him craves it. Overall, the final recognition of ultimate freedom he only obtained through the support of his found family made him accept this eternity on earth as something valuable rather than punishment. As a result, Cain loosens up gradually and becomes a bit more approachable. Decides to make the best of that second shot he received, which isn't always easy. He might be even more 'fun', definitely tries to see what's around him through a less gloomy lens. However, he still gets eager to attack fellow demons who worship Lucifer and will absolutely eliminate those supernaturals who pose a threat to humanity and earth. But the time dominated by his preference to play lone wolf? Are over.

EXCLUSIVES: @qapsiel, @trickheaven, @bloodsalted, @eladead, @hellspell

[cainevesson]

“who keeps texting you?”

It would be impolite to stare at his phone while in company. And Cain isn't fond enough of texting to spend a large portion of time therewith, anyway. So the device lies on the coffee table and buzzes, a couple of times within thirty minutes while he and Gabriel watch a film the archangel was dying to show him. Luckily, none of those dirty flicks. The demon's ignorance cracks finally by a mildly irritated upturn of brows, then Gabriel's question reveals it found him, too. Annoyance.

"I don't know", Cain answers flatly. Before leaning forward to tap the screen and see the notifications. A certain Frenchman uses all caps as if that'd magically increase the chances for a quick answer— he slumps back into the cushions and exhales a low grunt. "It's not you." Cue a pointed side glance, a silent way of telling the archangel it is none of his business.

JEALOUSY MEME // @trickheaven

[cainevesson]

“i don't like sharing what's mine.”

Cain ends the call with Castiel by informing him he'll stop by in about an hour. Right now, he's not alone, somehow keeps hooking up with Lucy in lieu of having it kept reduced to one night. And tossing her out is not his way of handling guests— unless they annoy him. The comment reaching him might sooner or later sway into that territory, though, which the scowl carved into his mien reveals.

"Yours", Cain repeats with audible skepticism matching such expression. "I'm afraid you're getting the wrong idea here." He sees no use in justifying himself, explaining that who called him was his best friend ; who comes first. Shaking his head, he puts the phone back into his pocket. "Must be my fault for continuing this whole-" Free hand gestures as if he's trying to find the right word. "Thing. I'm sorry."

JEALOUSY MEME // @dcllfang

[devourcr]

@cainevesson asked: "You're white as a sheet and still trying to stand up straight." 🧍‍♂️

he's woozy. the figure in front of him comes into sharp focus, blurs, and he thinks he sees him rotate but it's only himself stumbling forward. the heavy boots on his feet feel like concrete foundations, ensuring his lean frame doesn't topple to the ground. the second he feels himself slouching, he tries to straighten his spine, but his shoulders still sag under an invisible weight.

a step forward, a pause — how much blood had he lost?

❝ i burned them. their blood was no good. ❞ solid and thick under charred skin until they were reduced to ash. the strength it had taken to unleash the fire gift in his weakened state had taken just about everything else out of him. the desperate adrenaline rush vanished and armand stood in the wake of a futile attempt on his life. at least once a decade, there were hunters with more bravery than wit, but just enough gumption to catch him off guard. dead man's blood, shotguns, and no finesse. yet, it was enough to leave his clothes soaked in his own blood, his body ill.

he staggers forward once more, past a forgotten axe, a zombie on his way towards caine. the world shifts again, ❝ would you stop moving? ❞

[cainevesson]

This time, the executioner came to Armand's island empty handed. Usually brings a gift in the shape of some prisoner not of his own descendants, one doomed evildoer he needn't insist on killing on his own. And of all occasions it must be today that the vampire could use fresh blood. Cain grimaces watching those graceless motions. There's an itch, something like a whisper coursing through his own veins, implanting the idea to give Armand a swift end. But this place needs its leader. Otherwise a bunch of rogue bloodsuckers will spread out and cause much more chaos than already festers on land—

"I'm not going to ask how ever that result came out of it", Cain scoffs, further comments on why someone Armand's age should possess more refined senses. Doesn't know the truth, after all. He closes the distance to stand beside the vampire, an arm draped over the latter's shoulders from behind to guide him toward the nearest seat. Neither gentle nor rough, touch as a means to an end. "Are you going to be fine or will you turn into stone if it takes me a minute to abduct a decent meal?" It doesn't cross his mind to offer his own blood, a quicker solution, but why should it? He's a demon.

[cryptinspo]

– 𝗝𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗬 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗗 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗧𝗦 !

STRANGERS / NO ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP ( crushes, rivals, acquaintances, mutual pining, people who technically have no claim over each other )

“it's none of my business... so why does it bother me?”

“who was that you left with?”

“i don't know why i expected you to wait for me.”

“they're clearly interested in you.”

“you looked happy talking to them.”

“i don't get a say in who you spend time with.”

“i keep telling myself i don't care.”

“i shouldn't be jealous. we aren't anything.”

“why am i disappointed?”

“you don't even know i like you.”

“you smiled at them the way i wish you'd smile at me.”

“forget i asked.”

“you probably don't even remember my name.”

“they're better for you than i could ever be.”

“i was going to ask you out... until i saw that.”

“do you always flirt like that?”

“guess i was too late.”

“i hate that i noticed.”

“you're impossible to ignore.”

"maybe i made this all up in my head."

FRIENDS TO SOMETHING ELSE ( close friends, mutual feelings, unresolved tension )

“since when do you keep secrets from me?”

“you've been spending a lot of time with them.”

“i miss when it was just us.”

“you don't laugh with me like that anymore.”

“did they replace me?”

“i'm not asking you to choose.”

“...would you choose them?”

“i didn't realize i could lose you before i even had you.”

“you forgot our plans.”

“you always make time for them.”

“i know we're just friends.”

“so why does this hurt?”

“you don't need me anymore.”

“i hate seeing someone else become your favorite person.”

“i wish you'd notice me first.”

“am i imagining the distance between us?”

“you've changed.”

“or maybe i just finally noticed.”

“i don't want things between us to change.”

"i think they already have."

NEW RELATIONSHIP ( still learning each other, insecurity, uncertainty )

“i know we're together, but...”

“who keeps texting you?”

“you still talk to them?”

“you never mentioned them before.”

“should i be worried?”

“i don't know where i fit into your life yet.”

“i hate feeling this insecure.”

“tell me i'm enough.”

“i don't want to be the jealous partner.”

“i just don't want to lose you.”

“you said they were just a friend.”

“can you understand why that looked bad?”

“i'm trying to trust you.”

“please don't give me a reason not to.”

“why didn't you tell me?”

“i would've understood.”

“you don't have to hide people from me.”

“just don't hide the truth.”

“talk to me.”

"don't shut me out."

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP ( dating, married, long-term partners )

“look at me, not them.”

“i saw the way they looked at you.”

“and you let them.”

“tell me i'm overthinking.”

“you always defend them.”

“you forgot about me tonight.”

“i shouldn't have to compete with anyone.”

“have i become predictable?”

“do i still make your heart race?”

“you're pulling away.”

“don't tell me nothing's wrong.”

“something changed.”

“you used to reach for my hand.”

“now you don't even notice when i'm gone.”

“am i still the person you come home to?”

“you didn't even notice i was upset.”

“tell me we're okay.”

“i need to hear you say it.”

“choose me.”

"please."

EXES ( old feelings, unfinished business, messy reunions )

“so... you're seeing someone.”

“they seem nice.”

“i hate that they're not me.”

“i shouldn't care anymore.”

“apparently i still do.”

“did you ever love me the way you love them?”

“do they know your favorite song?”

“do you tell them the same things you told me?”

“was i really that easy to replace?”

“you moved on faster than i expected.”

“i keep comparing them to myself.”

“i always lose.”

“you look happier now.”

“i'm glad... i think.”

“do you ever miss us?”

“be honest.”

“have you forgotten me already?”

“i haven't figured out how to.”

"i wish i didn't still love you."

ONE-SIDED / UNREQUITED ( loving someone who doesn't love you back )

“you don't even know.”

“you keep talking to me about them.”

“every word feels like another knife.”

“i hope they make you happy.”

“i wish i could be happy for you.”

“i almost told you.”

“now i never will.”

“you're looking at the wrong person.”

“i've been here the whole time.”

“you just never looked.”

“they don't love you like i could.”

“it's pathetic, isn't it?”

“i'm rooting for your happiness.”

“even when it breaks mine.”

“you'll never know how much this hurts.”

“i don't want to resent them.”

“but i do.”

“i hate myself for that.”

“maybe one day i'll stop loving you.”

"today isn't that day."

POSSESSIVE / TOXIC ( intentionally unhealthy dynamics for fictional purposes )

“where were you?”

“answer me.”

“who gave you permission to leave with them?”

“you're avoiding me.”

“don't lie.”

“i know you're hiding something.”

“you're mine.”

“say i'm wrong.”

“why were they touching you?”

“don't make me ask twice.”

“you knew this would upset me.”

“maybe that was the point.”

“i don't like sharing what's mine.”

“look at me when i'm talking to you.”

“tell them to leave.”

“now.”

“you're choosing them over me.”

“remember that.”

“don't test my patience.”

"you're playing a dangerous game."

AFTER THE FIGHT ( regret, reconciliation, vulnerability )

“i'm sorry.”

“i let my jealousy speak for me.”

“i know i crossed a line.”

“can we start over?”

“i was scared.”

“not angry.”

“scared of losing you.”

“i should've trusted you.”

“instead, i pushed you away.”

“do you think we can fix this?”

“i don't want jealousy to be the thing that ruins us.”

“i should've talked to you.”

“instead, i assumed the worst.”

“tell me what you need from me.”

“i'm listening this time.”

“i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i just didn't know how to tell you i was afraid.”

“please don't give up on us.”

“can you forgive me?”

"will you stay?"  

[kosiax]

⚚・・・・・THE DEMON HELPS HERSELF TO HER CLOTHES, LETHARGIC. When Cain returns, she glances him over her bare shoulder. She does not hide the softness in her eyes. She may not be even aware of it. Returning to her matters, the diplomat straightens the hooks of her lingerie and slips on a simple tank top, much unlike the layers that swallow her regularly. "I don't recall a wedding." She says as a smirk crosses her lips.

"My vows are a contract." She adds, turning to face the other demon across the room. She captures a glimpse of him while tightening a leather belt around her hips. "Then, I guess you can say, I kind of cheated." KOSIAX arches her eyebrow.

"Makes it a valuable secret, doesn't it?"

[cainevesson]

Unbothered, Cain tosses the fresh clothes onto the bed and takes off the towel. One by one slips into the pieces, bottom to top. Glances are exchanged in between on behalf of the conversation, whereas KOSIAX's attempt at lightheartedness meets appreciation in form of a low chuckle. "You see? It's not truly a stretch." Marriage is a contract too, after all. Once he put the shirt on, after removing the other towel from over his shoulders, he smooths over damp locks with both hands. Some strands fall right back into his face— Cain looks far less elegant than KOSIAX. But where's the surprise in that? Of course that's the case.

"Secrets are dangerous", weaves a teasing lilt into his comment while he gathers the towels to carry them back into the bathroom. Not sans briefly halting a couple of inches behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror, to drawl: "But that one's safe with me. No contract needed."

[cainevesson]

#Canon. I saw that text post and had to make this!

[houndofgod]

Audrey howled with glee and bloodlust, grabbing a demon by its head in a massive paw and throwing it into another. Her clawed feet scored tracks across the packed gravel floor as she shifted her weight and her shape, letting her human body go in favor of something that almost scraped the ceiling with her ears when she stood upright. It'd been a while since she had gotten to hunt real demons, though this rabble hardly deserved the title. Still, there was a certain nostalgia to the feel of her staff meeting firmly with pit-spawn flesh, their human facsimile shells splitting in a firework burst of red and brimstone that burned in her nose and made her snort to clear it as she shoved her wolf cross pendant through their chests.

One clawed at her furry shin and she snarled, spinning and spearing it through, pinning it to the tunnel wall despite her staff's blunt end. The acrid taint of fear and unadulterated sin poured off of it and Audrey snapped her jaws with excitement in its face before pressing her cross, comically small in her beastly fist, to its forehead. Something like laughter clawed its way up her throat as it writhed, mixing and echoing with the demon's howls of agony off the damp tunnel walls into a horrific cacophony.

The last two demons read their odds and took the opportunity to flee, one maintaining speed despite a broken ankle. Audrey curled a lip and growled low in annoyance, ripping her staff free from the brickwork and twitching the last remaining flakes of ash from it. In a moment it dissolved into shadows that assimilated into her body as she moved smoothly onto all fours, dropping every pretense of humanity. Shadows crawled in and out of her fur and across her limbs, making it hard to tell where the darkness ended and her wolfish body began.

She cocked her head curiously. Bouncing down the walls bright and cheerful as a rubber ball was a whistle. Not from any human mouth, the only scent she could catch was the soft funk of mildew cut ragged by demonic tar. She sniffed again, stalking forward, a cautious growl already rattling in her chest as a fastidious figure turned the corner.

His words though cut her caution loose and went straight for her pride. She couldn't stop herself from laughing derisively at his mistake. "Go home for your glasses grandpa, I'm no hell-mutt." Her ruff bristled as her nose filled with the smell of him. There was no doubt he was a true demon, and old stock at that. Not something she'd have chosen to take on alone even under the best circumstances. Her shin throbbed and she blinked without thinking. "There's nothing for you here. Sod off."

[cainevesson]

Dead bodies pave the rusted tracks between ancient demon and shadow-wrought hound. Cain mentally counts them. More are in hiding or were smart enough to run back to hell for now, it seems. Still, the satisfaction birthed by cold-blooded kills rushes hot through his entire being. Cradles remainders of the old soldier still alive somewhere between ribs and marrow and shall grant him another round of rest ; until the next emergency demands reaction. That barely recognizable figure blocking any view to the tunnel's other side starts to talk and the term hellhound evaporates from Cain's mind at once. Those things don't speak, manipulated or not. Whoever reigns down there wouldn't take the risk of them talking back, after all.

Her retort prompts a single brow's upturn whereas the demon's mien remains nonchalant— not impressed, albeit her frustration meets understanding. Unspoken. Cain deliberately looks around with his free hand gesturing along in a sweeping motion, before he pins those glowing eyes with a pointed look of his own. "No man's land. Equal rights for everyone", he counters flatly upon vaguely pointing at the beast with the tip of his weapon. "So why don't you get out of here instead, and let me do my job?" Speaking of which, another growl erupts from the echo-spinning surroundings and he suspects the source somewhere on the path he took.

That is a hellhound. Another growl mingles with the first ; two hellhounds. A deep intake of breath heaves Cain's chest ere, one eyeroll later, it escapes through flaring nostrils. "Great." So the low rank demons fled and sent pets to avenge their murdered ilk? Half-pivoting on the spot to see them coming around the curve, shouldn't take them long, the former knight tightens his grip around the hunting knife's handle. Then shoots a challenging side glance in direction of the 'top dog' in that tunnel. "I hope you're hungry."

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: it is strange to be invited back. An open-ended mutter that Lestat is somewhat expected to utilize this rare courtesy. The price of it is to lose his shit again, he supposes, which the vampire isn't so keen doing again. There will be a time and place, because it is inevitable that something else makes Lioncourt lose his mind. It is in his nature, in his blood, borrowed from Akasha, born of Magnus, and with snippets of other ancients, that he erupt like a volcano, unable to hold back emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. It is not until he hits a wall that merely shivers, that Lestat somewhat realizes himself, regaining sobriety from the horror of his psyche. He chuckles, dragging out a soft: "Noooooted," in disbelief. Conditions, he thinks, demons like conditions and deals. And maybe this is presumptuous, because a vampire is equally biased based on the books and incomplete Bible studies. Such kindness he hasn't heard of in a while, and now he looks for any reason to play the I Told You So game.

Lestat's eyes follow Cain's and he laughs. They are much alike in the aspects that the vampire has been refusing the notion of. The susceptibility to chaotic fury. This is not new. Lestat recalls the way their moods tense around each other, when one or the other offers a certain comment, the kind of jab that bleeds. The rockstar, in all his wounded glory, expects these things to blur between a role and himself. He knows that some people like to bait this rage out of him, because it validated and gratifies their own villanry. To name a guilty party to a foreign, injured heart? Lestat does not mind being the villain. Any publicity, is good publicity. Be it criticism, death threat, or a blatant attempt at defamation, the rockstar is here to perform. Although, with Cain, he finds himself tugging at the raw strings inside of his chest, unable to find a mask steady enough to escape the demon's prying fingers. Inconsolable loss.

"You have a strange way of making friends." Lestat speaks, beaming as he follows after his counterpart. The movement outside of the kitchen reignites his curiosity. Lestat likes learning about people, the way they live and interact with their environment. He merely points out the lack of something if his own preferences are subject of scrutiny. He likes this cottage, even if he doesn't know that his host erected the walls and carved his effort into the lands. At least, not yet. "So, you suppose I am fit to be doomed together with you? Ah, let me pencil that in, my schedule is so busy with outdooming you, cher." The vampire regains his playful notes as he marches after Cain. His steps seize when a warning finger lifts at him. He expects the demon to scold him about something, offer a new rule about the vampiric premonitions. Instead, the demon will find his guest a bit speechless.

"Bees?" Lestat tilts his head. What about bees? Lestat recalls the way his cheek swelled from a bee sting when he was a young boy, running around on his father's land and through the blooming thicket in the spring. Oh, how he wailed, sitting abandoned with an inflamed face and a cold compress, left alone in a room with no mother or brothers to explain to him that he wasn't dying. He learned the hard way, poking the red and white spot pulsing over his cheekbone. Just two days later, he was in the thicket again.

"I used to steal honey jars from a neighbor on my father's land because it was really good." The vampire lifts his shoulders as he offers the first piece of evidence to his supposed preference. "I can't quite recall the taste now, I only know that I felt the happiest then." Lestat's eyes dart around as if in search for any indication of what Cain means by bees. The rockstar minutely considers it rhetorical; he really doesn't have a strong opinion, aside from the annoyance of rising infrastructure that is killing beings good for the environment. He has read the newspapers about extinction; call him an activist, but he does secretly donate to charities.

"You know, I think I like bumblebees." He continues after a moment. "They look," Lestar gestures around himself as if painting an image of the insect. "Fluffier." Now that he thinks about his childhood, maybe that was the culprit to the sting. Lestat slicks his damp hair back, and chuckles as his face wrinkles with a smile. "Are they the ones that look like they are wearing little boots when they pollinate?"

[cainevesson]

Demons like deals, but not so Cain. Less of a diplomat and more of one for the dirty work, conditions pose a necessity when private matters are at stake. However, Lestat's quip regarding scheduled outdooming conjures a huff rooted in amusement. It dies as quickly as it surfaced, soon for subdued excitement to light up the demon's eyes— a rare thing, but hearing the vampire unpack observations about bumblebees? As unexpected as it is refreshing. "They are", Cain's answer pours past a smile, begins to lead the way down what narrow corridor separates kitchen from living room. Shoots his guest a brief glance. "Did you know there's over twenty thousand bee species on this planet? It can be difficult to tell them apart at first glance. Even for me, sometimes." Honeybees populate his own hives, still branches his adoration for bees far beyond that. The change in his demeanor proves as much ; all grimness gone as if blown away. "The reason why I asked is that when I'm not out killing fellow monsters or your patience, I'm a beekeeper. And guests who don't appreciate those noble creatures don't deserve the entire package of my hospitality."

Cain guides Lestat past the rooms he's already seen, including the guest bathroom by the end while not bothering to open the uninteresting broom closet across from it. Instead, they will take the stairs up to the next floor. Upon ascension, they head to the library first and Cain opens the door to gesture inside sans entering, that same gesture resembling a dismissive wave. "I collected too many books over the past decades to store them all in the living room." An inaudible sigh follows in tandem with a crease to his brows as subtler replacement for a shrug. "Besides, in here you can fully immerse yourself in stories or documentaries until your eyes run dry." Each of the walls is covered by towering shelves holding more books than a single human can probably read during their limited lifespan. A comfortable armchair and a table stand at the center, a couple of feet distant from the fireplace. The warmth of wood dips the whole room into a cozy haven— the balcony door grants daylight access. Now it's night. Artificial light must suffice, no candles in a room full of easily ignited material, of course.

"From the balcony, you can take a look at the hives. Nothing compares to the soft buzzing when you settle here to read on a summer day." He's gushing while leaning in a tad, isn't he? Like a new person Lestat might never have assumed to be in there. Suddenly it's like they weren't in the middle of a burning penthouse hours ago with the vampire suffering a mental breakdown. And the demon himself pushing him there in the first place. The next room Lestat will get a glimpse of will be Cain's private bathroom. A glimpse, is all. But he doesn't deem it special enough to explain anything surrounding it, why it's a bit bigger than the guest bathroom or why he uses more products for his beard than skin. The bedroom is taboo. So much is going to be made clear through Cain's refusal to open its door as they pass by it with aim for the next, shorter staircase leading to the guest room. The whole attic serves as such. Wooden charm kept a theme, multiple beds to pick from— its size can be blamed on a lack of ideas as for what else to do with this area.

[cainevesson]

@houndofgod — plotted starter

A group of rogue demons went too far. It's uncertain if their goal was to lure Cain onto the map since news spread that he's, after overcoming his curse, still keen on killing fellow hellspawns. Or the lack of an apt ruler ignited the spark of boredom turning them into a wildfire. The former knight fails to care about the motivation. He left the comfort of his habitual surroundings to hunt them down, one by one, although sans rush. A few of them already fell and the rest flees. Now, Cain stands in front of an abandoned trail tunnel's yawning entrance while he still senses not only sulfur but foul intentions as well. There's no weapon in either of his hands— he prefers to smite those fellows, could've taken them down all in one go. But where's the thrill of the hunt in that? Slow footfalls send a faint echo through that darkness he enters ; like destiny catching up either way, Cain keeps a steady pace. No matter theirs.

Somehow they manage to stay quiet, hence why the melody he whistles travels with failure to reap responses. A couple of meters in, the threshold of light to dark already crossed some steps prior, he suddenly halts. Stops whistling. The noise he'd assign a beast careens through the miles long space, accompanies a symphony of clipped suffering. Whatever dies out of his sight? It doesn't agonize for long. Two of those demons come running around a curve, their pace abruptly slowing down when they see him and one cusses something along the lines of 'Shit, he found us?' under their breath.

Cain merely cracks a cold smile, then grabs them by their throats and murders them in perfect synchronicity. Red light blasts through their eyes and gaping mouths, choked screams momentarily drown out the beastly sound from somewhere deeper in that tunnel. And once the lights go out, Cain lets them drop dead onto the rails. That's when he elects to unsheathe his hunting knife upon marching further into abysmal darkness that smells of mold and sulfur. Nothing to see, nothing with exception of two golden beams high up— eyes belonging to something that well towers over him in height. And he stops again, disbelief creasing his brows. "A new hellhound breed", the executioner scoffs at whoever of the remaining demons would hear. "You've gotten quite creative."

[gravegotten]

omg yes please assign a doggo to Cain :D

Okay, my initial instinct was a Karelian Bear Dog. They’re a very neat spitz hunting breed with a lot of the characteristics of live stock guardians, suspicious of strangers, loyal and known for being able to handle large quarry but! They’re loud. So I nixed that and decided to fit his current arc to move off of spitzes and more tradition hunting or blood sport dogs who have a very well known and sharper aggressive tendencies to the LGD to suit his life on his farm and his arc towards using his power towards

Problem with that swap is that a lot of the LGD dogs give me the power of looks but they aren’t giving me extra edge. And then I hit myself with a stick because Anatolians exist. And they come in a greyer color. They’re supposed to be adaptable and athletic in look which I think fits the idea of Cain as well.

The official standard for their temperament sold me though:

Alert and intelligent, calm and observant. Instinctively protective, he is courageous and highly adaptable. He is very loyal and responsive. Highly territorial, he is a natural guard. Reserve around strangers and off its territory is acceptable. Responsiveness with animation is not characteristic of the breed.

[cainevesson]

Give it up for @gravegotten who randomly blesses me with bee content 💙 Also a gifted writer with a beautifully spooky muse.

[eyeless-smiles]

Not even the press of darkness over his eyes seemed to help alleviate the thumping headache forming throughout his skull. A faint groan follows a hoarse chuckle when Cain points out the obvious. His Maker seems to adore tormenting him. If He even was to blame this time around.

The Nightmare lifts his palm sceptically off of his shades to catch how Cain leans in with a deliberate emphasis on his behaviour. The Dreamkin scoffs softly and proceeds to drop his hand from his face to wind lethargic arms around his stomach instead. Finding respite from holding his head aloft by sinking back against the headrest.

He wasn't truly behaving, was he? Not in the way his Maker wanted. Nightmare's were not supposed to be wandering the Waking World. And yet...

Cain's question succeeds in stirring a hesitant blink from the Nightmare. A pause fit to burst, preceeding a slow turn of his head down towards his own body.

"What do cursed items look like?"

[cainevesson]

Why the creator would punish his wandering creation this time around, nobody but he knows. Cain is as lost as Corinthian in such regard, grasping at straws more or less for solutions that might as well hang in the motel now far behind them. He drives the truck straight home. Property already in sight when they pass by some final tree lines ; there's no intention within the demon to aid his nightmarish company, just to get him out of inevitable danger. Well, Cain doubts Corinthian can survive a pack of hungry wolves or a bear into whose territory he would accidentally step. "It could be anything", follows a small shrug, the hand previously resting atop the gear stick gesturing toward the dreamkin.

"In the worst case, your sunglasses might be cursed." However, they both know that's doubtful. "Witches, at least, tend to use unobstrusive items like coins or little bags filled with herbs." Cain's hand lands back on the gear stick, the truck slowing down as he steers it left onto gravel— the narrow path leading to his house. "Now that I'm thinking about it", he creases his brows in thought, "I highly doubt your creator would bother with such things." Given his power, no items necessary. Perhaps it was truly a witch who works for someone who knows someone who has a problem with the Corinthian. Whatever. They halt.

[vamp-phnx]

[kosiax]

⚚・・・・・THE CORRECTION IS IMMEDIATELY INSTALLED. KOSIAX does not apologize, but retracts her formality with a simple nod. Cain rises without her air and the diplomat straightens, keeping her hands at her sides. The world around her spins with every breath, but the demon persists. She is not in her best shape; the demon does not expect a higher angel to appear in Limbo. She usually deals with the usual suspects that dawn on her with gambling and deals. They seek information and toys, she wants their secrets. It is a wonderful, transactional relationship between shady divinities and the only demon who will entertain their conversation in Hell.

KOSIAX blinks the sparks of black in her peripherals as she falls into step with Cain. She sways a little, but she will grind her teeth into dust before she would gain aid from the demon beside her. And it is not pride that keeps her from leaning on a square, firm shoulder of a man conveniently nearby. No, it is respect. A diplomat mustn't break the invisible wall of the hierarchy between them. Lord Amon's orders: do not touch, unless touched with malice for which the consequence is violence. The rest? If a deal is struck and the situation calls for it, sure. The Messenger presses her lips together. With each step, her lungs fill with fresh again, dismantling the nausea stuck in her gut. A little more and she will be on her way in one piece.

She pauses just before she steps on the wooden steps of the porch before her. There is a kick of gravity against her that warns her about entering someone's home. However, Cain's implied invitation authorizes the diplomat to proceed. When dealing with Hell's creatures, especially those with a rank yet unknown, but so clearly superior, KOSIAX is expected to wait on orders. Cain is a peculiar case, only because she is not used to brushing shoulders with other demons this much. If Amon would have it, KOSIAX would be a permanent fixture of Limbo in the Human Realm. The woman follows his example and leans against the nearest wall to take off her boots. One heel drops after another, and the demon takes a moment to recover from spending energy on balancing on each foot. Her eyes sweep around her, taking in the residence and its welcoming innards. She does not stay on the details, although her curiosity (and skill set) draws her to memorize the interior whole. It would be rude to do so, so she keeps to herself, hoping to avoid tracking blood and dirt onward.

She accepts the ice pack with both hands, turning it around to find a way to unseal it. The demon pauses when Cain speak, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. She searches his face and nods sharply. "Of course," she speaks hoarsely but with unyielding determination. The chill in her hands begins to seal her wounds faster than her regular recovery. She abandons the notion of reaching for the raw ice and holds up the pack to press against her worst cheek injury. Something cracks inside of her mouth: a shattered molar restores. KOSIAX's eye twitches from the piercing pain that renews her nerve, but her breath merely hitches from it. She is far too focused on the promise at hand; this is too important.

"I was never here." The demon replies, keeping her eyes on Cain alone. Around them, is a cabin that does not exist, decorated walls that are plain and invisible, and the host himself is just a glimpse of a dream. The spy blinks. "I never messaged you." She adds thereafter as her skin stitches from the nipping cold. KOSIAX imagines dipping her head in a bucket of ice before diving it entirely to stitch up her battered, nude body. She slowly moves the ice pack around her face, revealing stained skin below without a scratch. Broken ribs are going to be tricky, but two hours is plenty of time for her to regain integrity of her innards. She traces his gesture, but does not proceed beyond the place in the hallway she claims at her temporary resting spot. The diplomat is overstaying her welcome.

"Thank you." KOSIAX stitches the gash on her forehead and offers the ice pack back to its owner. Her face is somewhat presentable to meet angels or Amon whenever the time comes. She figures her internal injuries can be healed by being away from this place. Holding up her left hand by her side, KOSIAX aims for an open space to conjure up a mirror for teleportation. Her fingers flex with a silent command, and yet the time does not bend at her will. Instead, the spy beholds a sight of her quivering hand, strained by pain and a racing heart. KOSIAX tries again, and yet her mind is drowned in a coiling fog. Flashes of falling debris and collapsing buildings fill her mind, and the static of the ophanim's voice still echoes in her ears. She knows she has failed Limbo, and now there is a war she failed to predict. Amon's disappointment is going to result in sanctions. Oh. She's on brink.

KOSIAX blinks and drops her hand. Her face wears a perplexed expression. The demon is puzzled about her stress and why is refuses to subside in the nether of her chest and let her travel back to the busy side of the Human Realm. She must look incompetent, but that is the least of her worries. Glancing back to Cain, KOSIAX licks her lips and turns toward the front door again, pointing at it with a curled, index finger. "I think I," she hums, walking backwards. "I need a bit more fresh air. Five more minutes." The woman ignores her shoes as she steps outside again, stumbling over the porch to reach the stairs again. There, she nearly collapses to sit down, with a hand clutching over her chest. She parts her lips to inhale crisp air that threatens to burst her lungs.

Her eyes run around her sockets as her heartbeat drums in her ears. What is this?

[cainevesson]

While KOSIAX tends to her wounds, Cain rids himself of his battered coat. After receiving sought confirmation regarding his demand grants her some time by proceeding to take that piece to the bathroom, into the washing machine. Before a glance in the mirror reveals to him the remainders of his spontaneous trip. Powdered cement makes his hair look even grayer. It artificially pales his face, makes the blood sprinkled all over it look like some kind of contagious disease. He grimaces, washes his face at least and then his hands. Combs through his hair for most foreign matter to rain down around his feet— he can clean that up later. Because his guest is still there and staying out of sight for too long would be impolite.

Just upon returning, Cain is greeted by a fresher looking diplomat handing the ice pack back to him and he takes it sans reluctance or complaint. But he doesn't immediately bring it to the kitchen, observes KOSIAX's attempt at what must be opening a portal for his expression to gradually shift from nonchalance to mild confusion. That battle back there took a bigger toll on her than imagined, it seems. Does Cain judge her? Why should he? Just like devil's traps render even him significantly weakened, if temporarily, KOSIAX's cryptonite must be a mission unfinished. Or something along those lines.

He nods at her conclusion and lets her exit. Then moves to put the ice into the freezer before deciding to join her out onto the front porch ; namely to ensure impending danger gets caught in time by not two but four eyes. Halting in the door frame upon noticing the fellow demon's uncharacteristically tense posture from behind, Cain fails to suppress a frown. He can practically hear her heartbeat, at the very least sense a tension not surrounding his guest prior.

"I think you could use a whole ice bath", drops his comment flat. Whether KOSIAX's ailment is of physical or mental nature doesn't matter because either the ice will heal internal wounds... or shock her nervous system into a reboot. As someone with a keen interest in psychology and what makes God's creations tick? He read the one or other thing. Besides, Cain dealt with an archangel suffering from a panic attack before— if differently, emotionally too involved to act rational. That's years in the past, however. Pragmatism inspires him to let actions follow words and thus not waiting for her response, he pivots on the spot to disappear inside again and draw a cold bath. Cold water plus ice from the freezer.

KOSIAX will come back inside sooner or later, didn't bother to put on her shoes after all. And if she doesn't sooner than later, Cain won't hesitate to get out, pluck her from the stairs himself and carry her to the tub. Which is it going to be?

[dcllfang]

That VULNERABLE feeling STICKS in her throat, thick lashes fluttering as she looks from the windshield to his profile. Honeyed brown eyes study him for a moment, ASSESSING. LAUGHABLE REALLY, how very out of her depth she was.

HE WAS ANCIENT, and she was some BRAT from GEORGIA who got MAULED in an ALLEYWAY. LAUGHTER clenched behind the closed gate of her TEETH at the idea that she was NO BETTER — she'd have bit the apple too. Dark brows knit, simply blinking those ANGELIC little lashes at him like she was WAITING for him to say more. HE DOESN'T.

❝Honestly?❞ The question is achingly soft in the dark, feeling more like that HUMAN GIRL than she had in a long while. He had the DISARMING ability to STRIP HER down to SYRUPY bone.

❝You're pretty. You've got this whole ridiculous 'don't talk to me' dilf thing going on that would've had human me daydreaming about being with you,❞ this is delivered with a KEEN authenticity that belays her LEANING in to the CRACKING OPEN of her ROTTEN LITTLE HEART he seems so very intent on. That, and a sort little HUFF of self deprecation through her pert nose.

❝I don't have any ulterior motive for you, baby. You could tell me to leave right here if you truly think that's the case.❞ HOT PINK NAILS gesture languidly at the passenger door, an OFFER. ❝You seem intent on believin' I have some kind evil agenda in store for you when the case stands that I would've been viciously determined to get underneath you whether you were human or inhuman or anythin' in between.❞ LEVITY curls the corners of her GLITTER GLOSSED mouth, pretty head TILTING at him.

❝Now, would you like me to leave or no?❞

[cainevesson]

Sincerity pokes through Lucy's playfulness and immediately paints her in a different light. It's a fleeting glimpse at what lies underneath. Enough for Cain to conclude she knows exactly what she's doing and whimsy does not define her personality— he wouldn't want to spend more time than necessary with someone who lacks depth. Then again, it's clear for them both where all her teasing and his poorly masked reactions are bound to lead. Even if it would be no more than a night shared in favor of mutual pleasure. The turn signal's rhythmic ticking bridges what small, thoughtful pauses intermit sentences, until his mien softens anew. Into nonchalance mixed with relief.

As always, Cain ignores the terms of endearment ; can't deny, however, that Lucy's blunt confession revive anticipation previously cast aside. He taps the steering wheel with a thumb, tongue clicking behind his teeth before he returns his attention to the road.

"Can't blame me for making sure there's no vampiric mob waiting somewhere to attack the wrong guy." Not that he'd mind slaying a group of bloodsuckers at once— merely inconvenient when that seductive thing beside him leads his mind elsewhere. "So I suspect you just invited yourself to my house", rings a question's lilt subtle. More subtle definitely than the smirk curving his mouth upward. And they take off again, back onto the asphalt, acute awareness of how they both intend to spend the upcoming hours tightening the air between them. "Unless you prefer narrow spaces." Like the truck's cab.

[eladead]

R☆ckstar☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆: truth be told, Lestat doesn't know what he want to hear. A life story of an old demon that would ultimately lead the vampire into self-reflection through a compulsion to constantly seek the worst version of himself. And yet, he is stuck in a peculiar situation, where a demon accesses his business, deeply penetrating a dull dagger directly into Lestat's heart and twisting, and twisting, and twisting until there is no more but a beast writhing beneath his weight. What he means is: it doesn't make sense for such an investment. It feels like he is a joke, a mere puppet to bounce around and provide emotional turmoil to permit a rough handling. Cain didn't have to provoke the vampire. He didn't have to engage with him even after the two of them left the chokehold of a different dimension. Here they are, alas, in a cabin flanked and wrapped by a beautiful forest and hills greener than Lestat's hidden envy.

Is this the future? If the vampire makes it to Armand's age, he hopes not to become a skittering gremlin with no friends, or a need to leash his lovers into manipulative torture. And what if beyond that? What if he lives as long as Cain has? Even if he has seen much a more already, discovering patterns in human behavior as if cracking seeds with his teeth. Mortals like to repeat history, and they bore Lestat with their lingering , monotone thoughts. The world is becoming boring, not what an immortal chooses to have as a life. Humans lost the artform of making choices for their happiness. Lestat, however, is not an apple fallen far from the miserable tree. He crosses his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"I see," he says quietly, sweeping the melancholy from his eyes by looking at and out of the window. "I hope I provided sufficient entertainment." Even if his voice is devoid of bitterness, it doesn't mean the rest of he forgets what transpired. There is an inclining for guilt, although he knows the demon put himself there, like a chess piece shoving another back into its square. Lestat has been chasing a new thing to fixate upon. Love, revenge, a sour end to new beginnings, an ugly truth, a gorgeous lie, and ultimately, fame. The attention from thousands, and their statistical abandonment grinds against the celebrity's temples. Cain doesn't strike him as some artistic rockstar to jump around the stage and rave about his life. And yet this is Lestat's reality. The world must know his name, despite the threat of his undead counterparts. Despite himself, really. And yet, his greatest love does not hear him, his first love haunts him, and his daughter laughs at him from the same seat. There are others, ghosts that haunt his peripherals, reminding him of the failures he has been collecting like rings to adorns his fingers.

Lestat looks down at his feet, swinging one across the other. Then, he pries himself from the counter to straighten and tilt toward Cain standing across from him. "But you said you are like me. And if you are me, and I am you, and all of this is like us," he gestures vaguely around himself. "That means," the pad of his finger finds the center of Cain's chest. The touch is soft, a mere indication, instead of a hurtful accusation. He whispers then: "You are lonely. Not alone. Neither am I. And yet the loneliness persists. It doesn't end. Youuu can't get rid of it." There is a song for that, and Lestat hums a couple notes with a swimming smile that stretches and falters in rhythm. "I like your place. " The rockstar looks up at the ceiling. "It's like sophisticated and playful. I would have bought something like this for myself. Maybe bigger, so I could host guests in a room with padded walls, so I could sneak away into the woods and speak to witches." The singer snickers and looks away. "Yeah." He mutters, pinching his borrowed flannel at the bottom lapel to look at it with a slight lift.

"Are you gonna give me a tour, at least?" The immortal glances up.

[cainevesson]

Lestat's conclusion hangs in the space between them for seconds brimming with thoughtful silence. It strangely motivates Cain to reflect behind furrowed brows, something he wouldn't bother to do if the vampire meant absolutely nothing to him. The rockstar seeming vaguely wounded [granted, he'd not let everything shine through to maintain his image], proves there's reciprocation in their development. Entertainment. Distraction ; he served as those things in the beginning. A target for the demon's interest in a fellow damned who rides an entirely different wave through his personal hell on earth. Maybe a bit inspiring, even if Cain could never see himself twirling over a stage and sing his lungs out. The quiet ends with a shake of the latter's head that's kept subtle, before he dips his chin a tad. Eyes cast down. Not because of the vampire's finger coming to tap his chest— it's coincidence the motion finds him a blink after he decided to glance downward. Alone and lonely aren't the same. They've established as much already.

"The troubles we have in common versus the choices that make us different", Cain adds to Lestat correctly reiterating pieces of some prior conversations. Thinking about it, they shared numerous and it'd be a hassle to recall the exact chronology. Finally, the demon lifts his gaze again to meet his guest's while any last vestige of grimness wanes from his mien, although he 'forgets' to round it off with a smile. "You're free to visit any time. Heaven and hell know I'd never hold you captive." Then he cracks a lopsided smirk. "That'd be mental suicide on my end." A peace treaty? It's not like they're truly at war... it's a little bit of death here and expanding horizons there between good, old-fashioned quips and verbal jabs.

Lestat's request to get a tour doesn't reap ignorance, just delayed response when Cain's own train of thought takes a small detour. "However, to make you believe you're nothing beyond a means of entertainment wasn't my intention. In fact..." He pushes himself off the kitchen island's frame, folded arms parting to drop by his sides, head tilting. "We are much alike, I stand by that. But most importantly, we're both monsters as well as favorites of our respective puppeteers seeking freedom. And maybe~", he trails off with an almost melodic lilt, brows arching upward as he starts to approach the kitchen's exit. Lestat wanted a tour, right? "I could use a friend as doomed as myself, who understands the ache of eternity better than the rest ever will."

He might have missed to inform the vampire prior— digging into him was only half of the whole process. Lestat is not a project, albeit starting off as such, but chosen as potential partner in crime. So to speak. Because who understands a damned better than a damned? "Before I show you around", says he and halts, a finger as if in warning jutted up into sight. "Do you like bees?" What seems like an attempt at bringing some lightheartedness into it all, partly is, addresses a matter of actual value ; one's true character is largely determined by how they view and treat beings mankind decided to be 'lesser'.