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The piece of divinium in Cam’s neck is not just some random chunk of tarask bone. Chucking a sliver of tarask into somebody’s spinal cord would kill them; you need something still a tad human for it to work. It’s a piece of Lilith. Don’t ask me where Eurotrash Jesus got it, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s Lilith penetrating Cam and fusing with her so the are inexorably connected forever and ever. Lilith speaking directly into Cam’s mind and firing all her nerve endings ecstasy of st. Teresa style.
(Lilith is all angsty about Cam not being able to consent/say no and Cam is just holy fuck do that again and I really need you to validate my madness on this one, please and thanks.)
This inspired smthn within me idk dude
On some level, Camila knows that The Bastard's Cross (capital T capital B capital C, all very important parts of her compartmentalization strategy) in her neck is connected to Lilith. She can always feel the other woman behind her, lurking like a shadow at the end of the hall.
Well. She usually can feel the other woman lurking like a living shadow. Right now she feels nothing.
Once upon a time she would be relieved, but that was then and this is now.
The phone in her hand buzzes, outgoing call to Lilith remaining unanswered.
"Come on, come on, pick up." She mutters, thumbnail worried between her teeth.
The line goes dead.
Lilith is probably fine, most of these FBC safehouses aren't a real challenge for a trained fighter much less a trained,,, Lilith.
She reaches her hand behind her neck, finding The Bastard's Cross on instinct alone. She presses down on it like you would a bruise, expecting a flash of pain.
Instead she gets an exasperated Lilith saying "could you stop yelling at me?"
Camila jumps up, knife in hand and back to the wall before her brain processes the stimuli fully.
Her room is still empty, window still cracked just slightly to let the nighttime breeze in. There's no smell of burnt glass that Lilith often brings with her, there's just Camila, The Cross, and the still night air.
"What the hell?" She breathes out.
"Aren't you still a nun?" Lilith's voice responds, rumbling comfortingly at the back of her neck. Camila was loath to admit it when she was being trained by the Lilith years ago, but her voice was endlessly calming in its steady, even affect.
"I—" Camila crosses herself, "it's complicated. Where are you?"
"The snake pit that is the FBC house you sent me to, obviously? They had a divinium reinforced door, interesting design, very brutalist." A slight pause, Camila imagines Lilith leaning against a wall, trying too hard to look cool. The mental picture is endlessly charming nonetheless. "Why were you yelling at me inside my own head?" Lilith asks.
Camila takes three centering breaths as she calms herself down. "I couldn't feel you, I was worried." The faint scent of cigarette smoke tickles her nose. "Stop smoking, it's bad for your health."
An indignant noise from Lilith. "How did you? Jesus, nevermind." Another slight pause, the smell of smoke goes away, replaced by a phantom heat at her fingertips. "I crushed it, happy?"
"I'd be happier if we had this conversation in person." Camila admits, softly.
"I have to wait for Sister Ruth to get here so she can take care of cleanup." Lilith's voice pitches down to a whisper and it tickles the back of Camila's head in a way that sends shivers down her spine. "You sound quite eager for me to get back."
"I—" Camila crosses herself again, old habits dying hard, "I am."
She feels more than she hears Lilith's shaky exhale. "Soon."
Soon turns into approximately three hours and fourty-seven minutes, not that she's counting.
She's on her third cup of coffee for the day, on her way back from the kitchen when The Cross tingles with adrenaline.
Lilith is behind her in an instant, the smell of burnt glass hanging off of her like an ill fitted jacket. Camila doesn't have time to turn around before Lilith's hand finds a home on the back of her neck.
Camila can't help the involuntary moan that slips out as soon as Lilith makes contact with The Cross. A small spark of blue light shines in the hallway, throwing their shadows into stark contrast.
Camila claps a hand in front of her mouth and moves away from Lilith, the other woman lets her go.
When she gathers herself and turns around, Lilith's expression is guarded, but curious. She allows Camila to pull her down the hall and into her room.
There they separate, Lilith by the door as if she would need it to make a quick exit and Camila awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room.
Silence stretches languidly before Camila exhales one quick breath. "Oh for the love of—" and lunges forward, pulling Lilith into a kiss by her lapels.
Lilith doesn't respond immediately and Camila is about to apologize when it seems the other woman's brain catches up with her, wrapping an arm around Camila's lower back and one tentatively on her neck. She tastes like gunpowder and nicotine and this is so so bad for so many reasons but Camila can think of none of them as she whispers "do it again, please."
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This a fluffy little oneshot for Camilith because they deserve floof too. I promise it's worth the read and make sure you click the hyperlink in the story.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
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Cobwebs clung to Lilith’s hair as she followed Mary and Shannon deeper into the crypt. The musky smell of mold and rust filled their noses as they rounded the corner and entered the main chamber where several stone coffins rested in perfect lines. A single coffin at the very end of the row was ajar and next to it a lone figure stood, a tattered wimple obscuring her face. Mary and Shannon shared a look then stepped to either side as they pulled their weapons free from their holsters and watched. Lilith sank down behind the closest coffin, pulling the bottle of holy water from her satchel along with her trusted silver knife. The three of them watched as the figure waved their hand over the coffin lid, the massive stone sliding back further to allow a single skeletal hand to reach inside.
The latest update to In These Lives is now on AO3!! Check out the snippet below.
Falling was not a new sensation. No, Lilith was accustomed to the feeling of weightlessness, and in some instances, she indulged in the freedom. Now as she careened towards the ground with her wings folded around her, claws sunk into the flesh of the entity that had tried to kill her sisters she can't help but think that this may be the last time she falls.
The first time Lilith fell isn't a true memory. Rather, she knows it exists only because of a grainy home video of baby Lilith’s first steps. The camera centers on her rocking back and forth, small chubby hands grabbing for the edge of the coffee table and tugging herself forward. A heartfelt chuckle vibrates from behind the camera, the only memory of a laugh long forgotten. Little Lilith giggles and takes a tentative step from the table, one front in front of the other, the first of many.
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Check out the latest update to In These Lives on A03. Thank you for your continued support and as always let me know what you would like to see in the future.
Have you caught up on the latest chapters of In These Lives??
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
From the corner of her eye she noticed movement. Turning she watched as two familiar faces exited the saloon guns drawn. More movement and two more familiar faces appeared on the balcony on the other side of the street, another set of weapons drawn in her direction. Lilith resisted the familiar twitch in her shoulders, these were once her friends after all, but having four barrels aimed at you tended to make anyone with half a brain antsy. Make that five barrels.
The sound of the gun cocking just ahead of her startled Lilith, but she didn’t let it show. How had she got in range without her seeing?
“Hello Cam,” Lilith smirked, staring at the amber pools of the woman’s eyes that were dark with rage in the early morning sun.
Camila had her own Colt pointed straight at Lilith’s heart, her curly hair falling around her shoulders, and sunlight glinting off the gold Sheriff badge on her chest.
“What are you doing here Villaumbrosia?” Camila spat, her aim unwavering.
“Last name? That’s hurtful Cam.”
“It’s Sheriff Delcan to you. Now Villaumbrosia or should I say Miller. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand or have you hanging from my gallows by nightfall?”
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