It's going to be a BIG spoiler of my Leshycat fic, but fuck it!
I was wanting to do at least one of the four weeks of leshycatpril, but I just realized that my fic have a little bit of everything I could do with this challenge, sooo~
I don't know, I just wanted to put this here on tumblr, my readers forgive me but here's a spoiler.
LeshyCatPril- Week 3 Injurie.
(Mega late but I did it because I want to)
Pan’s Beautiful Face
•°🪱🌿🐈°•
Pan’s face was the most beautiful face Leshy had ever touched.
He didn’t understand the children’s screams, didn’t understand why so many people called him a monster.
The cat’s scars were soft to the touch, his shoulder and face were covered in them, small hairless bumps, gentle to the fingers, tender to kiss.
His lips were as soft as petals, his tongue glided between broken fangs.
His hands slid from bare wrists, arms with bristly fur, from broad shoulders, a firm neck, a deformed right shoulder, soft cheeks, and singed whiskers.
The cat’s face is beautiful, it told stories in every detail,
The great flame that consumed his home, burning half his face.
The fight against the chains of slavery, still biting into his wrists.
The infection, the result of the poor care the Old Faith gave its slaves, had taken his right eye.
The illness spread so much it made one of his ears fall off.
Is that why the children ran from him? Because he was missing an eye and an ear?
No, that didn’t make sense.
Because Pan have the most beautiful face!
Yes, Pan has the face of someone broken, of a suffering fighter,
Of someone who shattered his fangs to defend his wife,
Of someone who stepped into the flames to save his kittens,
Of someone who faced hell, who saw the worst in people and still believed in the best of them,
Of someone who endured spit, the whip on his back, shit on his face, and disdain.
Of someone who endured fever, heatstroke from extreme labor,
Who bled, who cried until his sweet voice became hoarse, rough, harsh.
Of someone completely broken, and who still smiled.
Oh, that beautiful crooked smile, not always wide,
His scars made it hard for the cat to even stretch the right corner of his lips.
But it was the most beautiful smile.
Yes, Pan’s face is beautiful,
The most beautiful face of the True, the Old, and the New Faith.
Leshy didn’t understand why he was called a monster.
Was it his deformed face? His strong and stern way?
Well then, if Pan is a monster, why would he have such a beautiful face?
Monsters are ugly, evil by nature.
He is a monster, born in chaos, drowned in sorrow and cruelty.
His face is grotesque, his body made to strike fear in the bravest mortal.
His face didn’t need to be deformed, just opening his eyes, showing his teeth or lips was enough.
Being a monster was being Leshy, not Pan.
Pan had all those scars just for being good,
A good husband, a good father, a good slave, a good cat…
No, he couldn’t be a monster.
•°🪱🌿🐈°•
Leshycatpril challenge by @aniflowers @aniflowersartblog
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Shannon becomes a deliveryman and a cartoonist. Mary teases her for it. Beatrice gets taught how to take care of herself a little better and gets a free pass for hugs. Shannon gets icy. Mary needs some water... if you know what I mean.
Shannon made her way into what was, for all intents and purposes, the training room at Cat’s Cradle, thankful for it to be empty. The lights were still out as she made herself the ice bath. She tossed her sweat-soaked t-shirt to the floor before she talked herself into the freezing water. Shannon was a nun, obviously, but her thoughts on modesty didn’t always align with the Catholic church.
She hated the whole ‘dress modestly so you don’t cause your brothers to sin’ schtick. She hated it almost as much as she hated the hypocrisy with which they treated women’s bodies. A church-sponsored sports camp she went to as a youth allowed boys to run around in swim trunks without blinking an eye while the camp staff essentially accosted her for jumping into the lake after a run. Her white t-shirt clung to her, revealing her favorite green sports bra.
She hated it even more as she got older. The boys' teams being able to play shirts against skins during training in the hot summer sun. The men's cross country team running laps around the fields, also shirtless. When she brought it up after the girls' team was threatened with detention when their cutoff t-shirts reviled the bands of their sports bras, she’d been accused of fixating on shirtless boys. The irony of that statement had been lost on her at the time, but the simmering anger remained.
All that to say, she didn’t care if she was in shorts that went down to her mid-thigh and a sports bra when she climbed into a hard-earned ice bath in a convent. The convent she called home. Maybe she should work on it, but none of the other sisters seemed to mind. Not when she was a rookie, and certainly not now that she was one of the nuns who had been around Cat’s Cradle the longest.
Getting the courage, Shannon swung her leg over and stepped into the metal tub, slowly lowering herself into it. The screen pressed number three on the thigh of her shorts faded, and tearing slipped beneath the layer of water. A piece of her old life she hadn’t been able to part with totally. Ice baths, either.
The training session had been long, albeit self-inflicted. Shannon had been pushing ever since word of Suzanne coming back to the cradle for the mantle of Mother Superion had run through the grapevine.
She missed her mentor. Her friend and confidant. She missed her fiercely. Yet months after that horrible mission, she’d disappeared. Off to another chapter without a word. Shannon had reached out and had even tried visiting, only to be ignored and turned away. And she was coming back.
Shannon slipped down to her waist, her arms resting on the tin edges of the metal tub, partially holding her suspended where she was. She was caught somewhere between anger and excitement, longing and apathy, as she listened to voices echoing about it down the hall.
“I heard Sister Shannon was on the mission where she was injured, and they lost the last Mother Superion.”
“She was a rookie then. I wonder if it was her fault. Maybe that’s why she’s so hard on us.”
Shannon let herself sink further into the ice, up to her chest, as she slipped her arms beneath the waterline as well. The fresh wave of cold pulled her breath from her lungs as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the lip of the tub. If it had been a warmer bath, she would have slipped her head down and let the water muffle the voices so she couldn’t hear the gossip.
However, her body hurt enough. Her head was already pounding. A brain freeze, of all things, probably wouldn’t help. Shannon was halfway through her memory of that night when a voice pulled her from it. “Any chance you did gymnastics in another life?”
“What?” Shannon looked up abruptly enough to slosh the water up high enough on her chest to take her breath away.
“Gymnastics?” Mary, the new addition Father Vincent had brought in, asked. She was a curious one, one who had no intention of taking vows after she completed the training. An allowance Mother Superion had ensured would be kept as long as Mary served the church alongside the sister warriors.
Something like this wasn’t heard of; there were several, now canonized Saints that lived for years alongside nuns and monks without ever taking vows. If anything, that proved one didn’t need vows to devote their life to the church - an argument Shannon stood by firmly as she defended Mary’s right to join the OCS without becoming a nun. That, and the fact that strategically it gave them more latitude if they were to ever need to work outside of the cloth.
“Oh, no. Soccer.” Shannon lifted her head from its resting spot against the lip of the hydrotherapy tub to find Mary observing her. Shannon found herself more aware that her breathing hadn’t slowed after her initial gasp as the ice squeezed her breath out of her lungs. “Why?”
“No reason.” Mary walked further into the room, trying to pretend that she hadn’t just seen Sister Shannon’s shredded core in dim lights as she slid into the ice bath. She’d only come to grab some tough skin for her feet and had been met with Sister Shannon peeling soaked cotton from her body up and over her head.
And while at a convent, Mary never claimed to be a nun, or all that devoutly catholic. At least not when it came to her affinity toward the fairer sex. That being said, she certainly had eyes. Eyes that distinctly remembered the gay awakening that was Missy Peregrym in a situation much like this one.
Marry, having found what she was looking for and not wanting to overstay her welcome, not that she was sure she was welcome, made her way back to the door without further explanation. She had spent the last two weeks needing this moleskin because of the woman who looked like she was about ready to embrace her inner polar bear and just slip below the ice. She didn’t want to risk another round of exercises, but Mary wasn’t stupid.
It was so obvious that Sister Hardass was going through something. Likely alone, if her current position was anything to go by or the whispers around the convent. Against her better judgment, Mary took a breath and tossed the role of Moleskin in the air, catching it just as nonchalantly. “Don’t listen to them.”
Shannon huffed at that, the rapid press of air shaking the ice in the otherwise quiet room. Like it was that easy. She envied some of the younger members of their order. What it must have been like to have people, people that stayed. What it must have been like to not yet be wise to the nature of their calling. What it must have been like not to be crushed by the weight of the hopes of an entire order.
Then again, with the way Mary was leaning against the door frame now, turning the roll of moleskin around in her hands, maybe it was. Shannon had not been easy on her when she’d been in charge of the new members’ training. She knew it wasn’t fair, but she also knew that to be accepted, Mary had to more than prove herself.
Yet here she was, relaxed, as she spoke to Shannon like an old friend. Like someone who knew her. Someone who cared. It had been a while since someone had been like that with her. Like she was just a person and not one of the more proficient sister warriors and the expectations that came with it.
“If you weren’t a nun, you could tell them to Stick-It, or well, maybe kick it in your case, I guess.” And Shannon couldn’t be sure, but as Mary left the room, she felt like she was somehow missing the punchline of a joke.
Two suspects wanted for Robbery with Bodily Injury inside convenience store
Two suspects wanted for Robbery with Bodily Injury inside convenience store
HOUSTON, Texas — Two suspects are being sought by Houston police after attacking a female inside of a convenience store, taking her possessions, and then leaving the store.
According to police, the female victim coughed next to the female suspect, who started screaming at her for coughing next to her.
Then the female suspect and the male suspect started causing a disturbance inside of the store,…
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