#dark urge deirdre

[luttare]

Anyway, it's a brand new day. I'm sure we'll find lots of people for you to kill.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

RUNAWAY FROM ME - CHAPTER 1

Pairing - Tommy Shelbly x oc

Summary - Deirdre ran from her life of misery for her own safety. However, she managed to run back into the arms of an angel she once knew, now known as The Peaky Blinder Devil. In which he has no intentions of letting her run away from him again.

Warnings - Dark content, noncon, dub con, explicit themes, lovers to enemies to lovers, slow burn kinda, Tommy needs a hug.

Word count - 5.2k+

Notes - First chapter complete woohoo. Thoughts highly appreciated. And let me know if I should make a tag list.

CHAPTER 1

Arrow House, Warwickshire - Morning, July 23rd 1924

She was in his dreams. Or as he believed to be nightmares. Teasing him of her immaculate beauty that he so desperately longed to forget. In Tommy’s visions, he was running after her, chasing her like his life depended on it. But she was running in slow motion, the way that her silk brunette hair bounced in line with her steps. But Tommy could feel his heart pound in his chest, his throat dry as he was panting after her. So desperately trying to catch up to her. Right when he’d think he’d finally catch her, the light would shine brightly and she’d disappear. 

Every morning, Tommy woke up alone. He laid there, only for a few minutes reflecting on his inner demons conjured in his sleep. Every morning, he woke to the torturous hardness in his lower region. However, he refused to touch himself, refused to pleasure himself in the memory of her. 

It all started in the hospital. Tommy thought he was dead. All because he saw her charm, the sight that he had longed for, even after all of these years. She looked like an angel, her luscious hair rested on her shoulders as her light brown eyes blinked to him. His body missed her, but his mind, oh how it still despised her. That’s how he knew he wasn’t dead. Because he didn’t feel that warmth to see her again, to think of her. 

Somehow, she pushed him through his recovery. This urge to want to heal so he could finally take the journey to find her. In his hallucinations, he was back in the tunnels, face covered in dirt and smoke as he was crawling in hopes to finally reach her. Tommy heard her call his name down the hole. As if she needed him to save her. In his sleep, he called her name over and over again. “Deirdre…” It left him a desperate man who took morphine to numb his thoughts rather than his physical trauma. 

Tommy sat on the edge of his king size bed, his fingernails ran through his scalp, brushing over his healing stitches as he mumbled to himself, shaking his head lightly. He stood up and looked out the window, across the greenery of his estate. 

His wife had been shot. She took a fucking bullet for him. Tommy was still grieving, everyone knew so but wouldn’t dare to speak a word to him. There was no one else Tommy blamed but himself, his lifestyle killed a good woman, the mother to his only child. A woman that made him feel like a better person. Somebody that made him forget of his past affection, which was a dagger dug deep into his back. 

And how was he mourning her now? By getting fucking hard by his vex. By the woman that broke him, changed him into a monster that many now fear. She destroyed his happiness, and now he wished to never feel such emotion again. The woman that was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was the only person that Tommy showed his complete vulnerability to, he gave her all that he had, and how did she fucking repay him? Everytime he thought of her, it urged his desires to make her atone for her failures to honor him. 

Tommy changed into his suit and headed downstairs into his office as he slid his pistol into his holster. Polly was sitting by his desk, a cup of hot tea in hand as she turned her head to him. 

“Polly, what brings you here?” Tommy asked as he reached his desk for some forms in the draw. 

“Just checking up on you Tommy” she replied, a content look on her face.   

Tommy hummed with a nod as he stood behind his desk. He debated if he should tell Polly of his dreams, wondering if she’d be able to help him. But the thought of mentioning her name again, after all of these years lit the cold hearth in his body. 

Polly gave him a knowing look and Tommy couldn’t help but to mentally grin. He slid the papers inside of his pocket. 

“I’m dreaming of the past Polly” Tommy disclosed emotionlessly. 

A raise of the eyebrow. “Which past?”

His stern expression didn’t flinch at her act. “You know what I’m speaking of” Tommy responded as he lit himself a cigarette. 

“Yes, I do” Polly confessed. 

“Well?” 

“She’s always been by your side Tommy, even though you turn your head from her. Keep your ears blocked from her cries” Polly sighed, looking hopeful in his doubts. 

“Because she so ever deserves my help” Tommy empathized, shaking his head. “She distracts me. Weakens me in my most vulnerable state. Why Pol?” Tommy asked, leaning towards her, his hands on his hips. 

Why did she come back to haunt him so menacfully now? After all of this time, why did she choose to torment him when he has so much on the line? For his business, his family, his future, his son. A part of Tommy hoped that she was dead. But feared that he would never be satisfied if he couldn’t find her. 

“Perhaps she needs you” Polly suggested, a slight shrug of the shoulders. The thought of Tommy doing such an act angered him.

“Fucking-” Tommy muttered, shaking his head at the thought of her.

“Where are you going?” She inquired. 

“To London. My brothers and I feel an urge to celebrate my recovery. It is our last night of freedom before we bury ourselves into this job” Tommy explained as he walked out of the room. “And tell her to get out of my fucking head!” Tommy shouted, shaking his head at the thought of her. 

“Perhaps you’ll be able to say it to her yourself” Polly mumbled to herself, sipping on her tea as she listened to the voices in her head. 

Oh how he hated her, the woman that he loved, but never actually knew. The one that split his soul in half. 

But after this last job, the security of a new life. Tommy would finally look for her, he would get her with the catchpole no matter where she was, no matter who she was. It was time for Tommy to kill his repressions which his last ounce of humanity discouraged himself from doing. 

Kensington, London - Almost midnight, July 22rd 1924 

Unphased, that’s how Deirdre looked in the backseat of the cab even though her thoughts were screaming. Her fingers played with each other as she noticed the driver looking at her through the mirror. Almost there, just a few more minutes, a couple more streets to turn down. All of the streets were dark and empty, Deirdre’s tired eyes blinked as the car rolled up to the address. She quickly paid the fee and exited the vehicle, the street lamp lit by the familiar berkshire bricked Edwardian house. 

It was late, too late for visitors but Deirdre felt too on edge to book a room. She didn’t know where could be trusted anymore, where was safe, her face was recognised in the high ends and targeted in the low. Deirdre held onto her small luggage bag in one hand and brushed back her silky brunette hair with the other. 

Deirdre was on the run, again. She had lost track of how many times she’s done it now. But she knew that this time, there was no mercy if she was caught. There was no forgiveness if she dared to go back to beg for it. The acts she had committed would result in nothing but a brutal death. Not even her father would excuse her behavior. She needed to be free, far away from the British lands. Deirdre dreamt of the sun and warmth in California. It could be a fresh start, a new life, the welcoming of peace and freedom.  

It wasn’t a guaranteed welcome when she rang the doorbell. It had been a few years since their eventful last encounter. They could have easily relocated somewhere else. But Deirdre had no other safe haven. The front porch returned to silence as Deirdre waited patiently. She saw the hallway light bright up through bay box sash windows. 

The door creaked open, Emily’s green eyes poked through the crack of the door. Deirdre sighed out and dropped her head in relief. The door opened wide as Emily looked her up and down, dressed up in her night robe and her blonde hair tied up into a bun. It took a moment for Emily to recognise her. 

“Deirdre! Why- What?” Emily was lost for words as she pulled her inside, safe from the chilly air.

Deirdre dropped her luggage onto the ground and embraced her intensely. The first sign of care that she had gotten in the past few months. As she blinked back her tears, Deirdre shuddered against her friend. But quickly straightened her posture and plastered a mask on her face. 

“Come, come. Sit down, I will make us some tea” Emily ordered politely. 

Deirdre was led into the reception room and Emily helped her slip off her overcoat and hung it on the hook. Her eyes looked around the room, Deirdre couldn’t help but to feel slightly envious of the family portraits on the wall. However, this silence was tranquil. 

Deidre sat on the two seater couch with her legs crossed over as she anxiously patted her hair. She adjusted her cream corsetless dress and tugged down at her sleeves. Emily walked over with tea, a small hopeful smile on her lips as she poured the boiling liquid into her aynsley teacup. Deirdre looked out the window, the moonlight shone through the sheers. 

“It’s been forever” Emily acknowledged as she poured the tea into her own teacup.

“It has” Deirdre replied politely, her southern Irish accent still as strong as Emily remembered. 

They spoke quietly, Emily’s young children were asleep in the other rooms. But also because Deirdre felt on edge that there were ears in the walls. 

“A part of me never expected to see you here again” Emily hesitantly admitted, her eyebrows jumping at the memory of the last time she saw her.

“Yes, I certainly thought the same” Deirdre retorted as she sipped on her tea.

There was a silence as Emily waited for Deirdre to spill her guts. But Deirdre was holding back, because if she cracked, the great deal of her despair would crash down her masquerade.   

“I apologize for arriving so late, and without notice. Is Max home?” Deirdre raised an eyebrow. 

“Work in Germany” Emily nodded. “There is no need to apologize, I promised you a safe spot and I’m glad that you’re here” she assured gently.  “Will you be staying for long?” Emily asked.

No she will not be. Deirdre needed to be far from London as soon as she could. Her husband never knew the depths of their friendship, the arrogant bastard hardly remembered her name, but if he was to become suspicious of her whereabouts, Deirdre needed to be gone without a trace. 

“Just for the night” Deirdre promised. “I merely needed some advice” she nodded. 

“Which is?” Emily asked nervously.   

“I need to do something, in order to free myself from this life. I could only gather so much on such short notice. All I know is how to run with nothing and it’s always gotten me caught. I need to figure out a way to get ahead” Deirdre explained, the steam of the tea warmed her cold lips. 

Emily hummed and set her tea down on the table. She was an honest woman, who married an honest man and they lived an honest life. However, Emily wasn’t always honest, she was clever in her acts, a true damsel in distress when needed be. 

Deirdre sighed heavily and blinked her weary eyes. “I’m tired Emily, so, so tired. I cannot rest, I cannot live. My body can only take so much. If my life of burden is not taken by another, I fear I will do it myself” Deirdre promised, her expression dry of humor. 

“I can-”

“No” Deirdre cut her off, her hand raised in warning. 

“Max would have-”

“No” Deirdre reinforced. “Being here already makes me feel guilty and nervous enough. I need to be gone within the next day. He will be coming for me if he is already not” Deirdre elucidated, her expression stern but her eyes showed how terrified she truly was. 

Emily sighed and batted her lashes. 

“Eden Club, no Scots or Irish are ever seen there. Most are rich, harmless travelers from America” Emily recommended. “Many are easily charmed by the native beauty” she added. 

“Who owns it?” Deirdre asked cautiously. 

“Ah-” Emily wondered, her fingers tapping on her chin. “Some Italian gangster, Sabini I recall” Emily confirmed, remembering the sight of the man on her spontaneous night a few years ago. “I will be able to get you some powder in the morning” Emily said. “Just be cautious who you choose” she raised her finger to her. Deirdre hummed and finished her tea. 

Shortly after, Emily led her to the guest bedroom and bidded her goodnight. As she stripped to change into her nightwear, Deirdre stared at the large bruise across her outer right thigh through the mirror. Accompanied by the many scars and small bruises all over her small fragile body. 

She crawled into the bed, her body immediately falling asleep but her eyes stayed awake. Her ears could hear the clock’s hands tick on the wall and her heart thud in her chest. All whilst she stared at the door, awaiting for someone to open it. 

When Deirdre finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, she saw her brute of a husband chasing after her. She was running across an open field, but he was hot on her tail. Deirdre’s heart was in her throat as she heard his brutal voice call out to her, to summon her back to him. But Deirdre wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t stop. Refused to submit to him ever again. 

As she tripped on the ground, her body was flipped over and her eyes widened at the sight of him. Where did he come from? The warmth on his cheeks still looked the same after all of this time. A lopsided smile on his lips accompanied by his crinkles around those ocean blue eyes. 

His face was angelic, but she felt his claws dig into her shoulders. She squirmed underneath him, cried out for anyone to save her, but he was dragging her down the grass which had turned into the dirt roads of Small Heath by her ankles. Her body twisted over, her hands digging into the gravel, crying for salvation, for mercy. But she knew that she had to pay for her crimes against him. 

When Deirdre woke up from her nightmare, her body shot up as she was panting for air. She had forgotten about the man that she once loved. Yes, she heard his name at times in conversation, but they lived in different worlds. She always knew she was safe from ever crossing paths with him, her family would never dare to do business with him, nor go against him. 

The last she heard was his wife taking a bullet for him, her husband laughed and asked her if she’d do the same for him. But if she had the choice, she’d be the one to fire the gun at him, her dear husband. 

But to dream of him, after all of these years. Tonight of all nights. He was a changed man, ruthless, heartless, barbaric. It made Deirdre feel sick to her stomach, she ran to the ensuite and threw up in the toilet. As she flushed the toilet and washed out her mouth in the bassinet, Deirdre plodded back to the bed and laid stiffly. 

He was planted in her thoughts now, she needed to get out of London. Fearing that another wolf had picked up her scent and was ready to catch her like she was the helpless lamb in the field.  

Soho, London - Evening, July 23rd 1924

Tommy saw her stand on the straight wide road. The beaming sun warmed his pale skin as he studied her. He walked to her slowly, her back towards him as she wore a white dress. It was quiet, he felt the wind blow gently and heard his calm breathing. 

As he stood directly behind her, his hands brushed over her shoulder, up to the back of her neck. Tommy gently pushed her soft hair to the side as he pressed his mouth to her ear. He heard her breathe out, her body relaxed back up against his as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Tommy…” she whispered. 

Tommy woke from his light sleep when Arthur and John bursted into the hotel room, bottles of expensive champagne in their hands and foul words dripping from their lips. There was a confident smirk on his lips, he sat up on the made bed and brushed over his suit, still fully dressed. They were pulling out the champagne glasses and popping open the bottles. 

Without a word, he headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Tommy stared at himself in the mirror, his blue eyes wide and jaw stern. Arthur and John could be heard clearly, drinking piss and smelling snow, ready for their big night. 

“I feel you with me” Tommy breathed out slowly, his eyes shut. “Oh, how fate wants us together again. It demands you pay for your crimes against me” He sighed softly. “And I’d be a fool if I showed you leniency” he swore. 

Arthur banged his hands on the door. With a heavy blink, Tommy opened the door and gladly accepted the glass in hand. Through one gulp, the glass was empty. The brothers cheered Tommy on and quickly refilled his glass. 

They were oblivious to the thoughts that dripped out of Tommy’s mind. No one ever really knew what he was thinking of. He was an enigma, so difficult to analyze, purely emotionlessly at many critical times. Everyone always thought that Tommy never really cared about anything anymore, since the war, except for his business. 

Arthur wrapped his slender arms around his brothers and pulled them in close. “One last night as brothers, eh John? Eh Tom?” Arthur asked, a gleeful smile on his lips. 

“Of course brother” John nodded in content. 

“I feel this night will be one to remember” Tommy acknowledged and looked to his brothers dramatically.

"What is it Tommy?" John frowned with Arthur's expression following.

Tommy breathed deeply and nodded his head. "I've been dreaming of the past, and I dreamt of a wide straight road with the woman of my past standing right in middle of it. I feel her with me, she calls my name on this night" Tommy confessed.   

Eden Club, Soho - Night, 23rd July 1924

One drink, two, three, four? Deirdre lost count on how many drinks she allowed this American lawyer to purchase her. The plan was to get him knocked out, not her. She needed to slow herself down, the eagerness to rob him blind had her high on alderline. The thrill of breaking free, running away for good was too much for her mind, emotions and body to handle. 

She had been throwing up all day. Every second she wasted brought her husband a step closer to her. The powder was hidden in her purse and Emily was correct. It wasn’t hard to seduce an American. Jack was assertive, clearly up himself. He had daddy's money to lean on anyways, he had security. She did not. 

It was hard to hear any form of conversation over the jazz music echoing around the walls. As her eyes darted around, she saw everyone was either intoxicated or high on the sweet melodies. Nobody was watching her, Emily was right, she was safe. 

Deirdre’s fingers traced around the rim of the martini glass as the melodies calmed her nerves. The conversation Jack made was muffled, Deirdre’s mind miles away from reality. His hand brushed through his blonde hair as his eyes undressed her. 

Deirdre truly was a sight for sore eyes. If she was on the streets, people would stare. That did not please her husband. The many that knew of his nature, forced themselves to look away. Hearing the many tales of what happened if he felt a slight bit of jealousy. A need to ensure ownership over her.  

The navy silk v neck dress curved her petite body perfectly. A parting gift from Emily, a token of good fortune. Only time would tell if Deirdre still had it in her. If her confidence had not been completely broken. She felt the pearl necklace, she'd sell it as soon as she was free.

Jack leant over to her, a seductive look in his dark brown eyes. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and it made her feel nauseous. “Later, I want to bring you back to my suite, and fuck you all night” he confessed, a confident smirk on his lips. 

Drunken men were always foul. Focused on the outside of a woman and did not care to know who she was. He hadn’t asked a single question about her all night. But that made it easier for her, faded her upcoming guilt.   “Jack my darling, you haven’t even asked me for a dance yet” Deirdre teased with a toothy grin.

“Oh, there will be plenty of dances, Cassidy” he promised, his arm snaking around her back. 

A simple alias just for Deirdre’s comfort. Deirdre chuckled as she watched him finish his glass, she needed him to only have a couple more. Then she’d politely accept his invitation over, suggest one finally drink and slip in the powder. It would all be over before midnight. She’d catch the overnight train to Liverpool and board the boat to America by the end of tomorrow. 

The band came to a sudden stop, the audience’s heads turned towards the three men that strode through the dining. All three of them wore peaked caps with large overcoats as they walked tall. They approached the stage and Deirdre couldn’t help but to feel her heart thud harder in her chest as this suspicious tingle crawled over her skin with her light brown eyes glued onto the men that felt too familiar. Deirdre’s heart froze when the man in front came to clear sight as he took off his cap, revealing his harsh undercut styled brunette hair.  

Thomas Shelby. 

Her face went numb when his pale hands wrapped around the microphone, ears clogged as his words fell deaf yet she remembered the sound of his deep, captivating voice perfectly. The two other men, which she quickly recognised to be his brothers, Arthur and John, stood with their chests puffed out, arms locked across shoulders and stern expressions. 

Deirdre’s heart pounded in her chest like a wild animal desperate to escape its cage. Even though her head was frozen in line to his speech, her eyes were darting around, already planning her escape. The room was full, surely his blue eyes would not be able to point her out in the depths of the occupied round tables. Let alone recognise her after all of these years. 

How could she have been so foolish? The massive city of London had never felt smaller than tonight. She had heard his name many times and every time it felt like a stab in the heart. He had made a name for himself, built an empire in that fire and brimstone city. Just like he always said he would. Her father and dear husband already hated him, gypsy bastard. Every day she prayed for their obliviousness to her heavy past with him.

It felt like her soul was pulled out of her body when his blue eyes landed on her. His mouth fell ajar open as his long lashes batted, head gently tilting to the left as he acknowledged her, remembering her thoroughly. The brothers noticed his pause and looked towards her as well, she couldn’t help but to cower slightly. The rest of the room was oblivious to the stare off between him and her. 

“And now, shall we dance?” He suggested it in a slow and challenging manner. One hand snapped to que towards the band and the other gestured towards his brothers.  

The sounds of jazz roared against the walls as everyone abruptly stood up. A deer caught in headlights, that’s how Deirdre felt at first. As she watched him walk down the stage, his eyes still on her. The brothers were already out of her sight. 

She snapped back to reality when Jack’s fingers traced over her bare shoulder. Deidre gulped hard as she quickly stood up, nervously brushing through her dark loose brunette hair. 

“Sorry, I, I suddenly don't feel too well” Deirdre admitted, which was actually a lie, but the implication went in the opposite direction. 

“Nonsense! I haven’t even gotten a single dance with you yet” Jack acclaimed with a charming smirk, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

Her eyes shot towards the stage, he’s gone. 

“I’m so sorry, I really must go” Deidre quickly spoke, her voice trembling as she yanked herself out of his grasp. 

She heard him rebut, however she was already heading straight towards the large doors as she zigzagged through the crowd. Unfortunately, her poorly planned escape route had quickly soiled, she spotted Arthur and John standing on opposite sides of the exit. They were always loyal pawns in his game. There was a pause in her movements as her eyes shot around, her body covered in pins and needles. 

She’d escape through the workers quarters. But as she turned in a hasty measure, her small body smacked into another. The arms that she had felt years before wrapped around her possessively as he steadied her stance. There was no doubt who it was, no hope for it to be another. 

“My dearest Deirdre, my sight has declined; however, my eyes will never fail to spot your beauty. May I have this dance?” Tommy asked with a stern expression but soft voice, head tilted down towards her as she kept her eyes on the floor. 

The coat he wore was gone, and she could easily feel his muscular frame hidden underneath the button up shirt, not to mention the pistol in his holster. His cold hand lifted her chin and their eyes locked. As she blinked slowly, her eyes glistering, she bit on her tongue. Tommy waited patiently for her next move. 

Show no fear. 

“If I knew that the Eden Club was in your possession I would have steered clear. We can pretend that you never saw me” Deidre negotiated confidently but her front failed when her body shook against his. 

Tommy laughed loudly as his arm around her waist tightened in a proprietorial manner. 

“Unfortunately we have unfinished business, you and I” Tommy replied coldly. 

“Please, surely you haven't held onto those emotions for all of these years” Deirdre chuckled presumptuously as she tried to push their bodies apart without gaining attention.   

Tommy grunted at her words and dragged her to the dance floor, his fingers dug into her upper arms. Surely he wouldn’t make a scene here. But then she’s heard many tales of him, the beast that he had become when he returned from the war.

“You’re in a considerable debt with me, my love. One that you thought would fade if you merely ran” Tommy growled. 

“I can get you your money” she winced at the sharp pain, not like it would even mean anything to him with how much his businesses bring in these days. When they passed through the crowded floor, she realized that he was leading her out of the lounge. 

“If you think your debt is based around money, are you still that naive girl from all of those years ago, eh?” Tommy smirked as he kicked open the double doors which led them into the kitchen. 

It was now or never. Deirdre shoved him away with full force and scrambled through the busy kitchen as she nearly fell over in her heels as she broke free. All eyes were on them but no one dared to move a finger in the wrong direction. As she roughly pushed past everyone, she tried to remain calm. 

Tommy grinned at the girl who loved to run. This night had taken an unexpected turn indeed for the both of them, her heart was pounding immensely as she panted in her heels. The first door she took led her to a hallway, the open exit to the streets on her right was blocked by two working men. Cigarettes in their lips as they watched her intimately, she bolted to the left. 

The next door she took, she didn’t consider analyzing, she locked herself in the small dark room which appeared to be an office. The moonlight shined through the sash window which she yanked up and looked down to the small drop, survivable but not without two broken heels. As Deidre laid her hands on the windowsill, her head snapped back as she heard the door unlock from the other side. There was no other option besides hiding. Deirdre found herself hidden underneath the wooden Lombardo desk. It was human instinct to cower, pray that she’d be able to run from her past demons.

The weighty door creaked open, and she heard his heavy footsteps on the carpet. Tommy pulled out a cigarette, the end of the stick brushed in between his lips as he lit it. “Oh Deirdre, my dearest” Tommy spoke loudly, his tone dripping of sarcasm, which made her stomach feel like a bottomless pit. He slammed the door shut behind him. “Why do you run? Why do you hide? From me of all people? You seemed to have forgotten the vows you swore your life on. The promises which are still owed to me. You ignorantly believed that fate would keep us apart? Oh but haven’t you heard the tales of the Peaky Blinder Devil?” Tommy spoke, his footsteps slowly approached her. 

The thuds in her chest were painful, her throat felt like the cold air around her was strangling her. He could hear her heavy breathing and chuckled silently. The Colt M1911 is pulled from his holster and he ensured that she heard the safety click off. 

“Once upon a time there was a boy. Who foolishly fell for a girl with a secretive past. They created a life as one. He protected her from the pure evils in this cruel world and how did she repay him? She robbed him blind. She ran from the boy that she loved and turned his soul black. She created the Devil of Birmingham. And tonight, the runaway has tripped over her bad deeds” Tommy teased as he leisurely approached her. 

With a turn of the corner of the desk, Tommy raised his pistol and pointed it at her forehead. Deirdre looked up to him with doe eyes and gulped down her nerves. “And now, you will repay your debts” Tommy ordered with a gentle nod. 

“I will do no such thing” she refused, her words sizzling in anger. 

Tommy knelt down to her level, his pistol pressed against her temple. Deirdre breathed out but didn’t fear, she’s been pushed and shoved too many times before to know when there was an actual threat on her life. 

“Yes you will. Because you’re still my property, my dear wife” Tommy smirked.

CHAPTER 2

[ulircursed]

" . . . . . . alligator monster was new, though. it had to be the toughest enemy i've ever faced yet, at least. but there was a trick to it. as soon as that was clear, the rest wasn't so bad."

she'd looked for andrei almost as soon as everything was over, second only to looking for sir— er, kent. ( and mostly out of shyness, if she's to be honest. but seeing that he hadn't run her off when she'd found him was enough to make her feel better about talking to him. her heart beats just a little quicker. )

"anyway, i just wanted to find you and tell you . . . because," voice quiets, " . . . you were there, that time. so, you know how it went."

the titanus. its greatsword, the size and heft of mountains. its crushing force, the oppressive weight of the limitless space around them. unconsciously, caeldori's fingers tighten in the fabric of her sleeve, recalling the cycles upon cycles she's been back there in her dreams, geometric, brilliant blue lines running perpedicular across her periphery. " . . . do you still remember all that? tagzig? that strange machine we fought in the caves together?" a soft, pinched laugh, though not entirely humorless — if only because there was little else to greet the memory with save that and despair. and maybe to be sure she wasn't the only one. to be sure she wasn't crazy.

"i wondered. well, this ' arena ' was gifted to the school by the elementals. but where do they get these monsters, these ones we've only met in nightmares and fairytales? i heard some of the others even encountered the cervid . . . "

"...I do remember."

Too well, sometimes. In those dark, sleepless nights where his past plays out in the darkness, he recalls their fight together within the cavern, yes, but then, inevitably...

(A pegasus and a brave knight of the sky, cut down from the air by one swing of a great, shadowed sword. An archer, powerless to save the life of the first person he had come to call a friend.)

And yet, just as he had been, she too is given a chance to overturn the hands of fate. The curse and blessing of this land, to repeat their battles again and again and again, and perhaps, given fortitude, to find a different outcome. Andrei's voice is quiet, tremulous beneath the weight of the emotion pressing upon his words as he speaks next.

"But you've now emerged victorious. You faced the same peril, and you've overcome, this time."

He's struck, then, with the mad urge to reach out, to place his hand upon hers, as though to remind her, to remind himself, that she is still here. That what had happened in the past in this strange land is capable of being overturned, that their memories were all that's left of that time. That yes, they had faced it together, and that they would continue to face what comes in the future.

Except... no. The thought recoils from his mind nearly as soon as it enters. Caeldori is not Edain, not family for him to childishly cling to when his weakness dictates it. She is not even Lady Deirdre, to whom the trappings of etiquette seem all but meaningless. Caeldori is also of noble upbringing, and the thought of such an action will always be an absurd one. Has a few short years in Fódlan stripped him even of the propriety that he'd once taken such pride in?

The other topic she brings up is much safer (and truly, why did he not stick with this to begin with?), and after an unsteady pause, he latches onto it with the haste of one struggling to find solid ground to stand upon.

"The— the enemies that we fought were all unfamiliar to me," he says, "Though it is certainly possible they were conjured from the memories of another in our team. This arena must have been powered by our minds to some extent." After all, unlike the Projectionist's version within the storybook, they'd emerged from these trials without a single physical wound to show for it, despite how real the sensation of weaponry and spells had felt in the moment.

[self-shipper-snowdrop]

PINK BUTTERFLIES SOUND ADORABLE TELL US MORE

GHVDGKHBVHJBVFHBJFVBHJFVDBHDFVHBJVDFBHJVBHJFVDHBJDFBHVFBHJDVFBHJDVHJBBHJDVFJH ANON;;;; You. have made a horrible mistake I'm gonna blab forever and ever and ever now oh hell-

CUT TO PROTECT YOUR EYES-

THAMK YOU THOUGH OMFG- Okay so!!! I'll say just a handful of things so I don't go too nuts but!!! AAAAAAA

So, the Pink Butterflies house is the fourth official house in Garreg Mach, or the fifth if Ashen Wolves [which is kinda official kinda not] is counted. Like the others, it corresponds to a country in the continent, basically. For the uninitiated, these are the canon houses;

Blue Lions [Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, lead by Prince Dimitri]

Black Eagles [Adrestian Empire, lead by Imperial Princess Edelgard]

Golden Deer [Leicester Alliance, lead by Claude, who is heir to House Riegan which leads the alliance. They're dukes.]

Ashen Wolves [Abyss, which is a land for people who are shunned, hunted, etc in Fódlan. They have only four members and Yuri leads them.]

The Pink Butterflies house is lead by Bronwen, Crown Princess of Serentir. Serentir, known namely as the Blessed Kingdom of Serentir, is an island nation a little north of Faerghus. They closely follow the Eight Sages, one of whom was their first queen and thought to be a dear friend of the Goddess, Sothis. Thus, legend has it when the first queen established the land, it was given Sothis' help and blessing. Thus the name! The "Serentir" part actually translates to "star land", and that comes from the myth that the island was a fallen star, brought down by Sothis to give her friend a sanctuary to heal from her past pains.

Bronwen's full name is Bronwen Rhian Bernadotte, and she has a major crest of Bernadotte. Her ancestor is the Rose Sage, Serentir's first queen. As mentioned, she’d the princess and thus a royal/future head of the country.

The house also has seven other members.

-Gareth Heir, with a major crest of Heir. He is Bronwen's vassal, and won't leave her side for anything. He is a descendant of the Gold Sage, who was also an attendant/vassal to the Rose Sage. The Heir family are Dukes.

-Deirdre von Himmel, with a major crest of Himmel. She is a descendant of the Crimson Sage. Only women are capable of having major crests of Himmel. Deirdre is a trans woman canonically, having discovered herself at the academy, thus the major crest being a hint to that. The von Himmel family are Margraves.

-Islwyn Chantal Gotha, with a minor crest of Gotha. He is a descendant of the Dark Sage. He, unlike his ancestor, is known for his combat-focused magic abilities; but he is incredibly skilled crafting medicines and healing products. The Gotha family are Counts.

-Askr Avalon, with a minor crest of Avalon. He is a descendant of the Violet Sage. Askr’s family is in charge of trade and travel affairs in the kingdom, and they are Counts.

-Freyja von Weiss, with a minor crest of Weiss. She is a descendant of the Light Sage. Freyja’s family are Counts, and are a long line of tacticians.

-Althea Engel, with a major crest of Engel. She is a descendant of the Blue Sage. Their family is very closely tied to the Bernadotte family [the royals], and are Dukes.

-Delwyn Argyris, with a major crest of Argyris. He is a descendant of the Silver Sage. They are Viscounts, thus making Delwyn the lowest rank in the Pink Butterflies; but they are valued as well.

Each crest, in this group, has planetary symbolism! They are as follows;

Bernadotte - Jupiter. Stands for growth, healing, prosperity, miracles.

Heir - Saturn. Stands for nobility, ethics, civility, authority, virtue.

Himmel - Venus. Stands for harmony, beauty, the urge to sympathize, desire for comfort.

Gotha - Mars. Stands for aggression, confrontation, masculinity, strength.

Avalon - Uranus. Stands for ingenuity, individuality, revolutions, electricity.

Weiss - Mercury. Stands for rationality, adaptability, variability, communication.

Engel - Moon. Stands for femininity, intuition, rhythm, memory.

Argyris - Sun. Stands for personal power, pride, spontaneity, health, vitality.

The difference between some of the traits/what families are known for is related to the story of the sages, as many of them changed over time. Each sage was declared as such but the Rose Sage, who was in turn called such when Serentir was founded. There is some ~fun lore and ties~ between Weiss and Argyris but I’ll keep that secret for now.

Bronwen’s crest is also a bit unique, since the Rose Sage was a type of dragon herself [but not a “child of the goddess” like Nabateans are] so when using her crest’s power, Bronwen’s hair turns red, her eyes turn pink and her ears become pointed. Althea has Nabatean blood [her ancestor, the Blue Sage, was basically exiled and the Rose Sage took her in] so she has pointed ears as well, but hers are just always like that. Althea can also transform, but.... she doesn’t tbh. She doesn’t feel like it. Also she knows that Rhea would probably go ballistic if she did lmao.

ANYWAY I’LL SHUT UP HERE IS A SLICE OF THE  L O R E

[finishinglinepress]

FLP POETRY BOOK OF THE DAY: Phantom Limbs by Deirdre Fagan

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/phantom-limbs-by-deirdre-fagan/

Part celebration, part elegy, Phantom Limbs is about living fully, arms wide open, despite or perhaps even because of repeated loss. Each depiction is grounded in survival and yet there is often unanticipated joy juxtaposed with heartbreak as the collection reveals intimate moments from childhood trauma to marriage, divorce, parenting, terminal illness, disability, caregiving, widowhood, remarriage, mortality itself. These poetic encounters are a reminder that while every literal or metaphorical birth signals an unpredictable and inevitable end, endings themselves often have the greatest capacity to impart beauty and knowledge. Just as each poem in Phantom Limbs closes with hope, the collection itself reverberates with the belief that while #life may sometimes become a jagged quest for #survival, it is also always something to savor and embrace.

Dr. Deirdre Fagan is the award-winning author of the memoir, Find a Place for Me: Embracing Love and Life in the Face of Death (2022), a short story collection, The Grief Eater (2020), a chapbook of poetry, Have Love (2019), and a reference book, Critical Companion to Robert Frost (2007). A creative writer and literary scholar whose work has recently been featured on NPR, ABC, and CBS, Fagan’s writing has appeared widely in literary and scholarly journals, anthologies, and encyclopedias, as well as magazines and newspapers. She is a widow, wife, mother of two, and professor and coordinator of creative writing at Ferris State University. Meet her at deirdrefagan.com

PRAISE FOR Phantom Limbs by Deirdre Fagan

In Deirdre Fagan’s stunning new collection, Phantom Limbs, we are drawn into a world inhabited by compassion, lost innocence, grief, and healing. These poems pulse and ache; they leave us with a sense of deep reverence for life and what it means to be truly devoted to a loved one. Throughout this tender collection, Fagan brings us glimmers of hope and resilience, “a new life signaling life, / an urging forward.” What lingers for the reader is heart strength, and how we all have this within our core, human selves.

–Cristina M. R. Norcross, Founding Editor of Blue Heron Review; author of The Sound of a Collective Pulse and other titles

Deirdre Fagan’s Phantom Limbs explores deeply and tenderly what all of us hope will never happen as she chronicles a journey of loss and recovery through short lyrics which read like gems. From despair and a hopefulness about life, Fagan has brought to us both a tearful and joyous new collection of poems that reminds us we have much to learn.

–DeWitt Clinton, author of Hello There winner of the 2022 Edna Meudt Poetry Book Award

In her poem “The trouble with pairs,” Deirdre Fagan begins, “I want to be inside of you / No, not like that / I want to unzip you / And climb inside.” Somehow, this is what Fagan manages to do throughout Phantom Limbs: she magically inhabits her readers—their thoughts, their feelings, their everyday lives. And then she tells us about it all in ways that resonate, stun, soothe. Readers will navigate this collection as people do the dark, “but once you can feel the switches / . . . you are / where you are, whether you want / to be or not.” These poems—and all that Fagan says in them—help unburden us from the often-crushing weight of this world, if only for the time we spend reading them.

–Marissa Glover, Author of Box Office Gospel and Let Go of the Hands You Hold

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #read #poetrybook #poems #life

[thronesofshadows]

We Are All Right Here || Deirdre & Evelyn

TIMING: Before Evelyn’s Birthday (early April) LOCATION: Deirdre and Morgan’s home PARTIES: @deathduty and @thronesofshadows SUMMARY: Deirdre and Evelyn have a complicated discussion of love and loss. CONTENT: Discussions of grief

Deirdre sat still, swirling blood-red wine as peered over at Evelyn through the glass. Symmetrical features, a face that would’ve made millions just by looking pretty as easily as it did upwelling wine, skewed and tiny in the reflection of glass. She looked like a leprechaun, all of her stunning height gone away in tiny glass. Deirdre laughed. “This wine tastes like shit.” Deirdre threw her hands up, meaning no offense. She had invited Evelyn over, after all. And she had asked Evelyn to bring wine—good wine, as she put it over the phone. It wasn’t very hostly of her to complain, but the wine was weird. She set the glass down and uncrossed her legs. “I know you’re the expert, but are you sure this is the good wine? It tastes like something died in it….which normally I would be into but…” She looked up and grinned at her friend. “Well, you’re probably tired of talking about wine and it’s been so long since we’ve gotten together like this...why don’t you tell me what’s going on in your life?” 

Given how fond she was of Deirdre, Evelyn was ashamed that she hadn’t spent more time with the other woman recently. She didn’t even have a truly good excuse - which made her feel bad. Not a feeling that she had found herself at all familiar with until more recently. “Some wine is more of an acquired taste.” Evelyn shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “I shall endeavor to find something better next time.”  She matched Deirdre’s grin. Relaxed just slightly in her chair, though the urge to hold herself in perfect posture managed to come through even around those that she genuinely found herself most relaxed around. “It has been too long, and I offer my apologies for that. We need to do this more often, I think.” At Deirdre’s question, her mind flashed to Miriam for a moment, but that still felt like too much to share. Avoiding talking about personal details of her life was certainly something that had proven to let her down before, but there were still far too many times when the words got caught in her throat. “I had to get my windows replaced some months back, and so I did some other redesigning within my home. A good friend got me a piano for the holidays and so I have begun to think I might need to properly take up piano again. How about yourself?” Evelyn pushed the glass of wine to the side, letting her gaze rest on her friend.

Deirdre ran her tongue along her lips, tasting the last drops of a bitter red wine, with notes of…well, Deirdre wasn’t the one with the discerning tastes, as much as she liked to think she could tell the difference between twelve dollar wine and thousand dollar wine. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a sommelier. There goes that dream.” She sighed and placed her glass down, crossing her legs. As Evelyn spoke though, Deirdre’s lips twitched, and an eyebrow raised in question. A town like White Crest, a woman like Evelyn, she had to be up to better things than replacing windows (no doubt Regan’s fault) and practicing her piano. Not that Deirdre wasn’t happy to hear these things—it truly had been such a long time—but her standards for news were a little high. “That’s it?” She uncrossed her legs, leaning in. “You mean to tell me, in all this time, all you’ve done is some redecorating and piano practice? Really?” Deirdre leaned back, casually gesturing a hand in the air. “You must be hiding the juicy secrets from me. But what’s said during wine night, stays in wine night.” The banshee reached for her glass again, taking a sip. “For example, I’ve been up to—“ Deirdre grimaced; she wasn’t about to tell anyone she was going to therapy, and couples therapy at that. But if she expected to hear the juicy bits of Evelyn’s life, perhaps she ought to offer her own. “—Morgan and I are going to couples therapy.” She raised her glass and downed the rest of the contents. “Now you.” 

“You do just fine, Deirdre,” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “If you wish, I can always teach you more about discerning different types of wine from one another.” She set her glass on the table, watching the redness of the wine settle against the crystal clear glass. “Besides, I never set out to do what I now do, so perhaps you could be an expert someday. If you wish. If not, you do have me around for as long as you wish, and I am happy to find wines that best suit you.” She was more than alright to move beyond discussing wine - she had no specific qualms with the discussion at hand, but she liked to think that her and Deirdre’s friendship extended beyond that. On a good day, when she cared to think of herself as someone who could have friends, she liked to think that it extended far beyond that. “Well, both of those are rather important. I have not played the piano in a number of years, and it feels rejuvenating to return to it.” She held her tongue lightly between her teeth. “I respect that, but besides being not human, I do not think I have had many juicy secrets, not truly.” Her mind flashed to Miriam, and she fiddled with the necklace, running her thumb carefully against the stones. She blinked a few times - almost, bizarrely, reflexively - at Deirdre’s next comment. “I hope it is helpful.” Her father hadn’t thought that was a good thing, and she’d come to realize that maybe as a child it wouldn’t have been, in her case. It wasn’t like a human therapist would understand. “I…” she dropped her hand from the necklace. “Seem to have found someone who I care for rather beyond what I imagined I could. This is the second time this has happened in a year, and though it is beautiful, I am unsure of exactly how to …” she trailed off, “well, how to come to terms with that, given how I have seen myself for so long.”

Deirdre played with the idea in her head, but thought it was just a little too late. She had no one left to impress with wine knowledge—Evelyn seemed to like her just fine and… Deirdre reached to fill her glass again, taking long, big sips. “I think it’s been a good thing,” she responded, finding her reflection in dark, maroon depths more interesting to stare at. Morgan was happier, and the two of them, happier together, and for that alone she would call the venture into therapy a victory. Yet, something about it still left a bitter taste in her mouth. A relic of old prejudices, perhaps. Or the wine. She was delighted, then, that Evelyn found something happier to confess. “Really?” Deirdre lifted her head up, a wide smile offered. “Like….like you did Melanie?” Deirdre delight at the news betrayed her. After all, she was a romantic, and forever optimistic to notions of love ever since Morgan, who was infinitely better than any fantasy, because she wasn’t one and yet, still was. “Evelyn…” she paused, setting her glass aside again. “....how is it that you see yourself? You’ve found two relationships in one year, granted one ended poorly but...if anything, wouldn’t that mean you’re a woman with a loving heart? And Melanie…” Deirdre trailed off, unsure how to approach the dead girlfriend topic. “....well, how is it you see yourself? Caring for someone is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” 

“I think it can be, though I know that - well, that therapy of any sort would not have been something my father would have wanted for me.” She admitted, for something of a first time. It was something that she’d not even thought about much, simply because it just was. That was not what her family did. Lord Robert did not believe in it, much like he did not believe in education surrounded by other children. Revealing too much of oneself, especially emotionally, was not something that would do any of them any good. So Evelyn believed it herself, well enough. She wasn’t supposed to cry too much if she got hurt, and she wasn’t supposed to be overly excited, unless it was at an event and the situation demanded it. Even then, pleasant smiles and a grin flashed here and there were far more preferable. “I -” she ran her tongue over her teeth, switching it to press against the roof of her mouth. “Perhaps. It may well be something in that direction…” she let her voice trail off. “I see myself as someone for whom relationships and romance do not necessarily mix with. I have been shut away for much of my life, and strong emotions do not go well with me, always. Relationships beget such things, and I find that all to be overwhelming. I think I can love - I think I have not really been able to, much before.” She glanced down at her wine as Deirdre brought up Melanie again. “I want to care, but what if I do it all wrong? I locked my dolls away when I became angered with them, even though I was supposed to care for them and treat them well - and you cannot do that with a person - not literally, at least. Furthermore - what if they do not care back? My father - well, parents are supposed to love you and he does, but he does not care for me. Do I make any sense?”

“Your father is a prick.” Deirdre said plainly, leaning back into her seat. She gestured, lips parted, as if to follow up with ‘what? He is’. Something more unspoken about the way humans can be, the things they don’t understand. And parents, more concerned with rules and proprietary than the people their children are. As Evelyn continued, Deirdre sat up, shifting to the edge of her couch, then down its length to Evelyn’s side. She had been locked away once, instead of a sprawling mansion she was given an old countryside, with greenery for days. She had thought emotions below her, beyond her, made for other, weaker people. Until she cried, when her great-great-grandmother died. When she moved here and fell in love, with a human, and the way they can be, and the things they don’t understand. And it flickered through her mind, about a dozen times, if all she was capable of was care in the image of her mother; cruelty dressed like love. She and Evelyn had led different lives, but some pains were shared, it seemed. “You make perfect sense,” she whispered, hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Will you let me tell you how I see you?” 

Deirdre drew in breath, pulling her hand off Evelyn to reach down and pick a cat hair off her immaculate friend. She held it up between them, one of Niamh’s hairs, and thought it was funny; as much as she cleaned, one still managed to find its way on to Evelyn. “You have several relationships already.” She flicked the hair to the floor. “Friends, colleagues, the sexual tension you share with an exclamation mark….and you care for them too. You have offered my more kindness as a friend than I know how to thank. And it’s strange to hear you say you’re worried that you might do it all wrong, when you’ve been doing it so well for so long.” Of course Deirdre knew romantic relationships were a little different. Of course she understood that fear, specifically. And so, she drew in another breath and continued. “I see you as a woman of considerable strength; it takes some to be someone who accepts the tide of the world as you do. I could spill wine over your clothes, to no anger, and that has never struck me as coldness, but care. You know what there is to value and what there isn’t; what might you feel if you spilt wine over my attire? Wouldn’t you offer to buy me new clothes? Emotions don’t need to be loud, nor care as garish. Emotions are always strong, even when they’re quiet. To me, Evelyn, you have always been a woman of considerable intelligence, for yourself and the world around you. An ambitious woman, and a prudent one. Most of all, a friend who has cared for me, and Morgan, better than you think you have, I feel.” 

She paused, finding Evelyn’s hand to clasp in hers. Her fingers were cold, and Evelyn’s warm, but she knew the blonde wouldn’t mind—and never, for a lack of care. “Okay, so maybe I think you’re too prudent, sometimes,” Deirdre laughed. “But I think being worried about all this is a good sign, to start. You do care, and you do care well, and I know the last few times you’ve cared for someone went...well there was that failed relationship, and Melanie….” Deirdre trailed off, looking at Evelyn. “Do those feel like failures, to you? Are you worried they might happen again?” 

Evelyn only bit her lip at Deirdre’s remark. He does love me, she wanted to emphasize again, but she could hear what Melanie had said to that, and what she very well imagined Deirdre might also say. Yes, but he is still a jerk. So she just gave Deirdre a small shrug. There was no use arguing with her on several fronts - for one, Deirdre was steadfast in her beliefs (and they were beliefs that Evelyn did, at least in this case, believe as well, even if she didn’t always choose to vocalize them quite as bluntly or as often as her friend did) - and for two, she did not see much point in arguing, especially if it were about something like this. They’d both been shut away - even if she didn’t know as much about Deirdre as she found herself wanting to know. She did know that they’d both lived somewhat secret lives for their childhoods, though, even if Deirdre’s was surrounded by others who understood her far more than Evelyn’s father or nannies ever had. Which meant something, and Evelyn knew Deirdre knew that - that even though she had been surrounded by so much, her childhood had also been greatly lacking in other ways.

She nodded at Deirdre’s request, watching as her friend picked a cat hair off of her. Ironic, given the actual animal’s distaste for her, but something oddly, wonderfully normal. Evelyn watched Deirdre carefully as she spoke. At the exclamation mark comment she raised an eyebrow, though her expression showed nothing but one of quiet amusement. “You are under no obligation to thank me - I - well, I just have behaved as though I ought to.” Which was, quite possibly, in a properly kind way, no matter how odd that was to process. She’d never thought of herself as a rude child, but she also knew that rumors about her being icy had to have come from somewhere, and so she’d not especially thought of herself as kind, unless a situation called for it. Unless it won her some particular favor or granted her access to either knowledge or material items that she craved. Yet she took in Deirdre’s words. Maybe I can be, she mused, silently. “Of course I would. I would purchase something new for you, but in the interim I would loan you anything in my closet so that you did not have to wear stained clothing.” She sucked in her lower lip for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say to Deirdre’s words - incredibly kind, and yet still startling - to have someone in her life as valuable as Deirdre was. Who didn’t disregard her because of how she saw the world, or how she didn’t prefer to make a big show of things. Who didn’t judge her for her upbringing. “You deserve everything I have been able to offer you - I think that in certain circumstances, I only wish that I could have offered you more.”

She let Deirdre take her hand, and Evelyn found that the coldness of Deirdre’s hand was almost comforting, in a way. Miriam was cold too, and Evelyn found far too often that she preferred that, that it had practically become normal for her. “Yes, well, I shall not disagree with you on that. I am well-aware I can be.” She gave Deirdre’s hand a small, light squeeze. “I feel as though something must be wrong with me, perhaps, to have such things happen. I am worried, too. Not afraid, I do not think - though I am unsure of how I would feel fear myself, given what I am, but I am worried that in caring for someone deeply, I will only bring about sorrow to the both of us and this person - she does not deserve that. I do not want to hurt her, ever.”

The thought that Evelyn could be anything other than kind was laughable to Deirdre. It must have felt like propriety in Evelyn’s mind, but Deirdre knew enough of the world to know how to tell kindness apart. “You are kind, my friend,” she emphasized, wishing she could grab Evelyn’s words out of the air and point to them. “And you have nothing more you should offer me. Except doing this with me more often. I miss wine nights.” She laughed gently, wondering if she could transfer some of her ease to Evelyn. Wondering just how much pain was hidden away, how much she had been taught to hide. And could it fix everything now that there were people who cared? Who would listen? Pay attention? Care? Deirdre played with the thoughts in her head, finding the answers blank. After all, she couldn’t answer them even for herself. “A mara can’t be afraid?” Deirdre smiled, “well I guess I don’t expect you to be afraid of giant spiders or showing up to school with no pants on, but I’ll agree to call it worried. You’re worried.” Semantics didn’t matter in the end, anyway. “You’re right, she doesn’t deserve that hurt,” Deirdre leaned back, “and neither do you. You don’t deserve to lose anyone, not ever. Not now, not then, not tomorrow. But you don’t cause the sorrow around you, Evelyn. And most of all–“ Deirdre looked around; the wine glasses, the little bones on displays, the table Ariana carved, Lydia’s vase. “–it’s inevitable. Hurting people around you, being hurt. People are clumsy, rash, insensitive, emotional and distant. You hurt people without meaning to, you are kind to people without meaning to. Perhaps it is no comfort to know that it just happens but….it does just happen.” Her and Morgan were in therapy, for one thing. For all she didn’t mean to hurt her, she had. And for all Morgan didn’t mean to hurt her, she had too. Deirdre figured it was the way intertwining lives worked; some love, some pain, some adjustment. 

Deirdre turned back to Evelyn, offering out her arms. “How do you feel about hugs, friend?” She stayed that way, grinning, until she was met with her answer. “What I’ve learned is, the best you can do is….just that. The best you can do. When you love, you love as you know best, and you learn better, and then you do better. But you learn. And you might just do something one day that hurts her, she might do something like that to you, maybe some sorrow out of your control happens...and at the end, all you can do is decide to move forward. If a relationship is what you want, then some pain is inevitable as you grow and learn and fit your lives together. But it’s worth it, I think. And it’s not your fault. You’ve cared for me, and have only brought me joy. And no matter what happens with this mystery woman, I will be your friend, Evelyn. I will be here. And I will care for you too, just like you have for me. And perhaps that isn’t comfort, and it certainly isn’t advice, but I do care for you, and I suspect I always might.” 

“I can be. If I wish.” Evelyn shifted her body again, unsure of how to completely respond to Deirdre’s words. Because she wasn’t - she hadn’t always been kind but perhaps there was something to be said about how kindness could be intrinsic, or that she could still be kind even if she suffered through moments of unkindness. Though that sounded too philosophical - or, if she were to admit it, very much like something Arthur might have said to her at one point or another at Cambridge. Her stomach turned at the thought - though she knew he was happy, it was someone else who had left. Left her. Someone else who she could go to for anything in the world. She took another sip of her wine, holding it in her mouth for a few moments before swallowing. “Yes. Of course we can. I would love to spend more time with you.” She kept her posture still mostly stiff, though relaxed just slightly. Despite knowing that Deirdre understood (perhaps better than most, save for Miriam) about how she’d been raised. Emotions were useless, and when you were told that enough times, it became easier to shutter that away. Easier than admitting to it, because she’d learned long ago that when she cried after tripping, her father found it more annoying than anything else. All it earned her was a quick, cold kiss on her forehead. He loved her, but he’d never been good at showing that, and she knew that his love for her was conditional to a degree, and that perhaps she would have earned greater favor had she been human. “I do not think that I have the normal capacity for fear? I have never felt properly scared in my life, I do not think. From all I have read about, and experienced through my feeds, I think I understand, but I do not think I feel that way.” She scrunched her nose. “I - yes, perhaps I am.” She listened, wide-eyed to Deirdre’s words. You don’t cause the sorrow around you. “It feels as though I do, sometimes. That something in me causes this, because I do not think that this would happen were I…” human, better than I am, “different.” She blinked a few times at Deirdre’s words. It was still strange, having a friend who cared for her as much as Deirdre did. “It does, I suppose - and I do have such gratitude for all the kind words you offer me. You can be quite kind yourself, you know.”

She didn’t know how she felt about hugs. As a child, she’d only been hugged a few times by her father and though she’d been hugged by her nannies, being touched by people had always been odd to her, though in a quick moment she let herself be welcomed into Deirdre’s embrace. Evelyn shut her eyes for a moment, just staying there. It felt nice - to be embraced by someone she considered one of her closest friends. “You know, you truly are quite wise.” She grinned. “I - I just do not want to hurt her. I doubt she could ever hurt me, but - well, I just do not wish to ever cause her discomfort.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Relationships are complicated. I - I just want to love her for as long as I can, I think.” She broke apart from Deirdre’s embrace for a moment. “I will be here for you, for as long as I am able. No matter what.” Her hand found Deirdre’s - chillier than her own, but once again comforting - she had, after all, found that she preferred that - so much so that she’d taken to running her hands under cold water at work when she missed Miriam enough - even when they were only apart for a few hours. “I suspect I might always care for you too, you know. Or, you know, my far shorter lifespan’s version of always.” She glanced down at her hands again. “I just do not know what I would do if I lost someone again the way I did Melanie.”

“Different…” Deirdre repeated with a frown. What did Evelyn mean? If she were human? If she weren’t part human? If she was a brunette? Deirdre shook her head. No, she knew what Evelyn meant. “I think that about myself all the time…” If she were better, someone else, more fae, less fae, blonde. “If only I were some better woman…” Her eyes drifted; her house was silent. The cats gave Evelyn a wide distance, and Morgan was not home. “I don’t really have the answer to that question, but I do know I like you just as you are.” She turned back to her friend, “and who’s to say if being someone else would change anything? All I really know is I would hate it if you were someone else, I promise that. I like you this way. I like Evelyn, half-Mara, blonde, daughter of a viscount and a ballet dancer. Sitting on my couch drinking my wine. My friend, Evelyn.” Deirdre grinned, straightening up. Compliments to her kindness were often poorly received but it felt special from Evelyn, it felt true. And if anyone knew how strange it was to be called kind, it would be her. “Only to the people who matter,” she leaned in and took her hug, “only to the good ones, anyway.” 

It was true that Deirdre didn’t have many close friends. One sat in an urn and one was her girlfriend. But her friendship with Evelyn was not precious because of its scarcity in her life. “You really love her, huh? I think that’s all that matters in the end.” She squeezed Evelyn’s hand back. “No one knows what they would do. Grief is never something you desire, and can only prepare for so much. And as much as I wish I could promise nothing will happen to your mystery lover, I can promise to be your friend, regardless. I won’t promise it because that would be bad for me but I could, and I would.” She laughed, clasping her other hand over Evelyn’s. “You could live every day worrying about losing people like you did Melanie. The truth is, Death will always take. But she’s not gone now, and neither are you. And these things are precious. More important than any worry ever will be. You are here, she is alive, you care for her just as she cares for you, and that bottle of wine is not going to drink itself.” 

Her friendship was precious because it was Evelyn. And as was the case with all things that mattered, it was precious because she loved her. 

[stones-x-bones]

On The Other Side || Dani, Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @surmamort, @mor-beck-more-problems, @inbextween SUMMARY: Morgan and Dani run into one another on campus, and this time they’re both alone. Until Bex stumbles upon them.   CONTENT: Domestic abuse

Morgan took her sweet time heading to the faculty parking lot. The summer sun banished all the usual shadows and turned the world bright and clear in its solitude. There was nothing waiting for her at the house, and no one to visit. She could, and probably should, but the ground seemed to crumble under her feet a little more each day, each mounting hurt, and it gave her more peace to let what little she had left stand safe and untouched. So she would take the kindness of a bright day after all, thanks. As she neared her car she considered taking a long drive too, maybe sit out in the neighborhood park and watch the sunset. Anything was better than sitting in her kitchen alone.

Everything had been so royally fucked up. Most days, Dani didn’t know how to tell up from down, right from left. After everything that had happened, it was getting harder to tell what she was being helpful in, and what she was only making worse. She hated the sudden feeling of helplessness. Lost in her head, Dani nearly missed the feeling that crawled along her skin and burned in her throat. It was different from her rage, from her misplacement. She looked up to see Morgan heading towards the parking lot. Suddenly, the rage burned, it licked the back of her neck and she felt a sweat break out across her brow. It wasn’t Morgan, the zombie standing in front of her. Not at that moment. Instead, it was Morgan, the bitch who had pushed her through that hellish portal and had her relive Milo’s death. “Do you know what you did?” She called across to her, her pace quickening. 

Morgan only turned because the surrounding area was so empty. She didn’t recognize the slayer’s voice and in the moment, she had no recollection of having done much of anything to anyone. But then she saw the child slayer, tight with fury and storming toward her. Guess those portals were a lot more temporary than she’d figured. 

Blank panic shot through her body and made her stumble for balance in her wedge sandals. No no no no no no no no no. Then another voice came to her, rattling off her training. She would not be able to outrun the hunter like this. Her best shot was getting in a few blows to slow her down and then make a break for it. She was closing in fast, that might be an asset. She looked angry, that might be an asset too. But only if Morgan could face her without fucking things up. 

Slowly, she stopped and pulled her knife from her bag and set it down. Her vision cut crossways between the sunlit parking lot with the shady quad beyond and that dark hallway where her life had nearly been stomped out. She could barely summon her voice, but she finally managed, “If you mean publicly shoving you out of this reality and making it sound like an accident, yeah.”

Dani felt sick. She felt anger crawl through her chest and splinter, she could feel it in the tips of her fingers. The hunter did not know Morgan Beck past their two altercations. She knew the basics. Morgan was a professor at this college. She cared for people, or something, and… she was a zombie. She was a zombie who had taken it upon herself to push Dani through a fucking portal that landed her innoperable for three days after. The anger continued to build, it coated her throat, her mouth. She could taste it on her tongue. Dani saw the knife, but she didn’t care. She’d let Morgan try and lodge it through whatever part of her she could get her hands on. As long as Dani could end it here and now, she wouldn’t care. She just wanted Morgan Beck gone. She wanted her to pay for the terrible thing she’d been put through. The irony of the situation was lost on Dani, too preoccupied with how she’d been made to feel, not realizing the trauma that she’d instilled in Morgan that fateful night with the Volmugger. It didn’t matter, though. All Dani saw was Milo’s face. She felt the rage that day of Frank’s attack, the way she’d wanted to kill him, too. Only this time? It’d be justified. Morgan was a monster, after all. “You pride yourself on being so many things, a killer not one of them, but do you know,” Dani seethed, “do you know what happened to me there?” She flicked her wrist so that the dagger slid down onto her palm. She held the grip tightly. It wouldn’t be enough to behead her, but it’d be enough to stop her. “Do you know what happened to him?!” Dani screamed, her voice hoarse. “You didn’t think about what those portals hold, did you?” She could still see his face so vividly. 

Morgan fought the urge to go stiff. Stiff wouldn’t help. And a little fancy wrist blade wouldn’t be the end of her no matter how terrifying it looked. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me about it,” she said, voice even. She raised her guard, ready to block. If the girl sliced her open, she would just have to turn being lodged together into an advantage and not think about how much easier it would make sawing through her bones. She could do this. She could do this. She had to. 

It festered and bit at Dani. The rage was overwhelming. She thought about Milo, about Frank, about Bex, about Eddie. All of these different things had torn at her, ripped open parts of her she didn’t even know existed. She hated the way that Morgan looked at her, the way that she was so ignorant, the way she wanted to act holy and good. She held the dagger tightly. She wanted to twist it, to make her pay for what had happened. The rage was built on the portal, not from Dani’s purpose. It scared her, the way it pulled at her like marionette strings. “I wish I could send you there. I wish I could send you there to make you see your worst fear. Standing on the outside looking in, unable to do shit to save the person who meant most to you.” Her words dribbled off her tongue like acid. She took a step closer. “But I have a feeling I won’t be graced with some cosmic alignment that’ll help me do that.” 

Bex had just been studying in the courtyard. It was supposed to be a normal day, but what, really, was normal anymore? The words on the page had begun to blur into one line, but she didn’t really have much of a choice, did she? Study and get good grades or get punished. Still, she didn’t see the point in it. Not really. Sighing, she went to close her book when a loud voice sounded from the parking lot. It was getting later and the campus was mostly empty during the summer semester, but it wasn’t unusual for voices to be heard. But what was unusual was the voice itself. It sounded angry. She stood up from her chair and left her bags behind and felt her pace quickening the more the voices spoke but she recognized them, she recognized them. And she broke into the parking lot after rushing around the corner and all she saw was Dani, rushing towards Morgan, and her body moved on its own and she ran up towards Dani, between the two of them. “Stop!” she said, “Dani, stop! What are you doing? What’s going on?”

Morgan was ready. She had a few ideas of how to disarm her, get the slayer on her knees so she could run. She aimed—and was knocked to the side by Bex. 

For a second she couldn’t process the body in front of her. She hadn’t been this close to Bex in how many days now? Slowly, she reached out to touch her shoulder, her expression wonderstruck.  “What are you doing here? You...you shouldn’t be here. You can’t let her hurt you for me.” She stepped to the side, giving the slayer a better opening. She was so thrown, so awed and worried, she missed that Bex knew the slayer by name. 

Dani heard a voice before she could register who it belonged to. Bex appeared in front of her, shock and fear on her face. Behind her, Morgan stood with a steeled expression matching the one that Bex wore. She looked between the two women. A harsh laugh burst past her lips and she shook her head. “I’m not going to fucking hurt her.” She lowered her dagger to her side and looked at her friend. “You know her?” Of course Bex fucking knew Morgan fucking Beck. Of course. She felt a bitterness about that fact begin to fester. “Your zombie friend here decided it’d do her good to push me through a fucking portal,” She paused. Might as well get it all out in the open. “Maybe it was deserved, seeing as I’m a monster and I tried to kill her, I don’t know, a month or two ago.” She brandished the dagger in the air, the glint of the blade flashing against every possible surface with the setting sun. 

“It’s okay,” Bex said back to Morgan, moving away from her touch, afraid she’d want to fall into it and stay there. Because she wanted to. She wanted to. The stitches in her side still hurt, the bruises still hurt. “It’s okay, she won’t--” but Bex didn’t get to finish, because Dani was laughing, and it was a sound that chilled Bex’s blood. She looked back at the other girl with a confused expression, still keeping herself between her and Morgan. Her eyes fell to the knife in her hand. It clicked before Dani even said it. “You were--” she remembered so vividly how small and broken and scared Morgan had been, collapsed in the backyard in Mina’s arms. How frail she’d looked as Deirdre scooped her up and they’d followed her inside and sat in the living room and made sure she had everything she needed in that moment. Bex looked at Dani and didn’t know what to say. “That-- that was you?” Her gaze even turned back to Morgan, confused. Why hadn’t she told them? Had she not known who it was? She stood between the two and was torn in both directions. “Dani, she--” she reached out a hand towards Dani. “Please put the knife down. Morgan is-- you can’t hurt her. She’s not a monster. A-and neither are you.” Her eyes flitted between the two, one hand stretched towards Dani, the other held out as if to keep Morgan back. “Neither of you are monsters. Please, don’t-- don’t do this.” 

“It was her, yes,” Morgan said quietly. “Are you—are you saying you know her? You know her and you know what she is?” The world tilted and Morgan had to balance herself on Bex’s arm to stay upright. “I—can’t—we need to go. Please. However she is with you, she’s worse to anyone she senses and she isn’t going to leave me alone now that she has a real reason to hate me. We should go, we need to go, we need to go…” Her voice choked with panic as her gaze pin-balled between the knife, the rage, her arms, her feet. She knew how to block a lot of blows but so long as Dani stayed frozen on the brink of attack, Morgan played as many possibilities in her mind as she could and she knew just enough to understand there would be something she hadn’t thought of. 

There was recognition on Bex’s face and Dani didn’t bother to explain herself further. What was the use? The truth was there. If this woman knew Bex, and in the capacity that brought both heartbreak and love to her expression, then it’d only be a matter of time. Why wait for Bex to leave with her? Why not just break whatever grand illusion Bex had set up for herself in regards to Dani? If there had ever been one? Bex asked her to put her dagger away and she bit down onto the inside of her cheek. She regarded Morgan for a moment, finally deciding that the zombie would probably not do anything if Bex were involved. She already looked at the younger woman as if her heart were going to burst. It was written all over her face that there was something there. “Fine.” Dani rolled her sleeve up, a mass of different aged scars visible from fights-- undead, or not. She clicked the dagger back into its sheath and pulled her sleeve back down. Morgan was speaking and Dani barely followed. Her own bitter rage and frustration clouded her head. She’s worse to anyone she senses. Dani suppressed the bitter laugh that tried to claw its way out of her throat. “God-- Can you just--” She shook her head. “I’m not going to fucking hurt Bex, okay?” Dani had nearly killed for her, and the thought of hurting Bex… It made her mouth taste like iron. Another flash of Milo, of all the times she’d had him cornered sent her reaching up to scrub her face. “We better go, Bex.” The longer she stood there, a zombie in proximity, the harder it was to ignore the calling signs, to ignore what she’d been trained to do. The harder it was to not be lethal. 

Bex couldn’t look at Morgan. She felt shame written on her face. There was no need for it. She would choose Morgan in every situation, but right now, she couldn’t. Maybe this was her way of choosing her. If she left with Morgan, would Dani pursue? If she left with Morgan, would her mother find out? Bex steadied Morgan as best she could. “I do,” she said quietly, “she’s my friend.” Her gaze returned to Dani. “Please don’t hurt her.” Ever, at all, in any case. She wanted to beg Dani to settle it right now and promise her she’d never go after Morgan again. But that wasn’t going to happen. The look of hurt on Dani’s face struck Bex through the heart. She’d already lost so much, she didn’t want to lose Dani, too. She turned back to Morgan, looked out across the lot to her car. It was close by. “Go-- go to your car,” she said, backing away. “I-- I’m sorry. I have to--” she gestured to Dani, turning her back on Morgan and scurrying over to the slayer. Maybe, with her face blocking Morgan’s, Dani would calm down. She’d put the knife away, but that didn’t mean she’d stop. The scars on her arms only made her think of Mina. Of the things Mina had told her about hunters. She reached out and put her hand on Dani’s arm, over where she now knew the hidden blade was. Magic seeped through Bex’s fingers and into Dani’s arm and Bex didn’t even know. “Let’s just go somewhere,” she said to Dani, her voice soft, “let’s go sit somewhere or walk through the park. Okay? We can-- we can go somewhere together.”

“No--!” The desperate plea came out of Morgan unbidden as she grasped at the air to get Bex back. She heard Bex’s voice turn soft and kind and suddenly felt sick. Bex would give it to her would-be murderer, but not her. Not Mina. Not Deirdre. “Bex, please,” she called, too hurt and drained to put much force behind it. “Please don’t go like this again. I’ll take you to the ferry, I’ll be however you want me to. Just--” Don’t leave me here. Don’t make me carry this alone. The emptiness she’d been trying to escape was closing in, rushing like water out of a dam. It would take her when it crashed, pull her under and let her drown. And maybe if it was selfish, but she didn’t want to drown alone.

Dani wanted to scream, she wanted to somehow reach through and pull out everything horrible she'd seen because of Morgan. She wanted to force her to watch, to feel what she’d felt. She wanted Morgan to feel helpless. Though ignorant to that fact, it seemed as though Morgan had already begun to feel as such. Dani tried her best to swallow the anger, to push it down. She didn’t want to hurt Bex. She wouldn’t hurt Bex. Not figuratively, not literally, not physically. Dani wouldn’t hurt her. They’d come too far in their friendship for her to even think of attacking Morgan at that moment, and that feeling was only reiterated as Bex reached out to take hold of her arm. Dani looked down at her friend’s hand, now tucked over just where her dagger was. It wasn’t fast, but the anger had begun to dissipate, though unnoticed by Dani. She chalked it up to the fact that somebody, in some capacity, had decided to be gentle with her, and that’s all she needed. Nobody had been gentle with her in so long. Callous and cruel, the look in Jeanette’s eyes, in Eddie’s, in Morgan’s-- Though Dani couldn’t place caring about the latter, it still had something working in her chest to be regarded with such fear. It wasn’t pride. Dani tucked away the thought. She continued to look down at Bex’s hand as Morgan spoke. “I don’t--” She needed Bex, she did. In good conscience, could Dani really allow Bex to walk away with Morgan? No, of course not, but… there was something there, something different. Something that Dani hadn’t noticed before about Morgan. “Let’s go,” Dani finally decided, turning away with not so much as a look towards the zombie. It was better this way, she thought. 

Bex glanced back at Morgan, torn apart by the desperation in her voice. The hurt. It ripped at her, too. Leaving Morgan. But Dani needed a reason to walk away from this, not towards it. And Bex couldn’t be seen with Morgan, not in that capacity. She gripped Dani’s arm and tucked her head and let a stray glance pass to Morgan. “I’m sorry,” was all Bex could say, sticking close to Dani, using her as a conduit to ground herself and not simply run off to Morgan. She missed her. She ached for her. She could feel her hurt even between this vast parking lot. She fell in step with Dani and tugged on her arm and started them off away from the lot. She didn’t know where they would go, Dani’s truck was parked in the same place, but she just needed to take them away from here. Away from where she could hear the pain in Morgan’s voice and away from the place where she wasn’t sure she could protect either of them if they started fighting. Neither would hurt her, she knew that much, but what would they disregard to get to each other if she was in the middle? She chose not to think of it. Not to think of what another knife sliding into her side might feel like, either physically or metaphorically. She looked back once again at Morgan’s defeated form and squeezed tighter on Dani’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and maybe it was to Morgan and maybe it was to Dani. And maybe it was to herself. She didn’t know.

Morgan understood what was happening as Bex gave her apologies, heavy and empty at once, and walked away. But that understanding did nothing to shield her from the wave when it crashed. It sounded a lot like the summer wind and the buzz of locusts and the drag of her feet as she walked to her car, but it was the wave all the same. It flattened what was left of her spirit and tore through her body, lungs, limbs and all, until she was curled up in the driver’s seat of her empty car, drowning in sobs.

[deathduty]

Pain of the Week || Deirdre & Milo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: An alley somewhere PARTIES:  @deathduty & @wickedmilo CONTENT: discussions of addiction, drug abuse and drug use. Medical blood (for first aid), gore (removal of debris from wound), suicidal ideation (death imagery) SUMMARY: A vampire finds a banshee in an alley. A vampire decides to help; a banshee calls him stupid. OR two grumpy people insult each other

Milo wasn’t drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober, and as he wandered down the empty suburban streets of White Crest, he used the alcohol in his system to suppress any memories of Dani, and his parents. Avoidance wasn’t exactly a healthy coping mechanism but he couldn’t care less about that fact. So long as he could stop thinking about her, so long as he could stop thinking about them. If only for a brief, blissful moment in time, he wanted to forget what he was, his new life and the complications brought with it. But when had he ever gotten his way? When had life ever been that easy, especially now? The scent of blood hit him first, followed by the quiet sound of ragged breathing, and he realised the town had well and truly swallowed him whole when his first response wasn’t shock, or fear, or concern. But rather frustration, and resignation. He was growing used to unusual situations, growing used to being chased, or hurt, or coming across others who were being chased, or hurt. It made him wonder whether White Crest had always been this dark. According to his supernatural friends, it had been. And yet, how could anyone be so unaware of the violence? He had been living in ignorance for twenty-two years, oblivious to the things that were happening around him. And now that he was finally being forced to address them, there didn’t seem to be an escape.

Regardless of his annoyance, regardless of another walk home being interrupted by something that was very much not his problem, he knew he needed to offer his help. As selfish as he was, as self absorbed, and inconsiderate, there were certain lines he wouldn’t cross. Sure, he might steal someone’s wallet to pay for a hit, or look the other way during a bar fight he didn’t want to get involved in. But leaving somebody alone, and injured, when there was nobody else around, felt beyond wrong. In the same way he had insisted upon helping Raina, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t insist upon helping this person. Whoever they were, whatever their circumstance. Letting out a pointed huff of breath, he changed direction, crossing the street to head towards the source of the blood. It was easy to follow the scent, and it didn’t take him long to reach a small alley between businesses, the buildings closed and locked up for the night. “Uh… hello?” He called, eyeing the woman he could see sitting between the narrow brick walls. Her legs were flat against the floor, and his eyes were drawn to the pool of blood steadily building beneath them both. “Are- are you okay?” Wow, what a ridiculous question. But he wasn’t exactly well versed in the etiquette of helping bleeding strangers. “I mean, you know... can I help?”

Deirdre was used to pain. Sometimes, it seemed she lived in it—cycles of her pain, other’s pain. Sometimes, it was just a matter of what pain of the week it was. This week: her legs. Some creature had found her to be easy prey. It clawed and scratched and stabbed and bit at her legs, as she tried to kick it away. Normally, she was a killer. Normally, creatures of that sort never got close enough to hurt her. But she stared into its hungry eyes, and knew it was not a creature of malice. And perhaps she had grown tired of all the pain she caused, but she couldn’t bring herself to do more than let loose and harmless scream and stumble away. With Deirdre’s palms screaming red as she scraped them along the rough alleyway brick, she tried to find steady footing. She couldn’t walk like that, she could hardly stand. Soon, she wasn’t doing either. She slipped to the floor, hissing and cursing on her way down. Getting home wouldn’t be as easy as hailing a cab in the night hours. She didn’t know how many minutes passed with her sitting on the damp ground, painting with her blood, only that when she did open her eyes, a boy was staring at her.

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed at the boy. “And I don’t want your help. Do I look like a charity case? Do I look like I need help? I’m perfectly fine, you idiotic--” Her leg protested. Deirdre winced and leaned forward, beads of sweat rolling down her face. “I don’t need…” She reiterated, “I don’t need…” Normally, she never asked for help. As it turned out, she wasn’t her normal self. “...help me…” 

Milo raised his eyebrows, almost shocked out of his hesitance by the venom behind the woman’s words. “Okay, yeah- fuck me, right? The guy asking you if you need any help. It’s not like you’re bleeding on the fucking ground.” He laughed, resisting the urge to give her what she wanted. If he left her alone it would certainly save him a lot of trouble. Moving closer, despite her rather forceful insistence, he realised there was an edge to the scent of her blood, something sweet, and alluring, and decidedly not human. Whatever the Hell she was, he could only hope she wouldn’t pose a threat to him. Not when he was genuinely trying to do the right thing. Without giving the memory permission to surface, he was suddenly thrown back to his first attack, his first time drinking human blood. He had been in an alleyway just like this one, only a stranger had been offering him help. He had killed them. He had watched them die. Apparently good intentions meant jack shit in this town. 

Watching for a brief moment as his company seemed to struggle against the pain she was in, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for her to admit defeat. Eyeing the blood on the ground, taking a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to lose it, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Apparently other people weren’t the only danger now, he was very much a part of it. A new member of the twisted, underground community responsible for so much pain, and suffering. But he was determined not to hurt her, and hopefully, if she became aggressive, he would be able to fend her off in her current state. His parents were doctors, they had basically been grooming him his entire life to follow them into the profession. If anybody could do this, he could. He needed to try, at the very least. “Oh, so now you want the idiot’s help?” He asked pointedly, moving to crouch before her in an attempt to find where the blood was coming from. “Are you going to tell me how you’re injured or would you rather insult my intelligence again?” 

The boy was not human. Deirdre knew this because, as he neared, he stank. Not of sweat and questionable body spray like most human boys of his presumed age range (how old was he? 16?) but the way she had grown up on. A stench that buried deep in her heart, filling her with warmth. Being a banshee meant she knew these things; being fae meant she was tasty to the undead of the world. She groaned. Was he going to use her legs like a water fountain? The last thing she wanted, after being attacked, was being licked by a boy in an alley. “No, I’d rather just insult you,” she hissed, “you pea-brained, piss-filled, wet bread ex-human.” It occurred to her that she should probably be kind to the boy who might help her. It was a thought that didn’t linger for long. “Do you even know what to do?” She asked in more of a grumble. “And I don’t need your help, you prepubescent—” She wheezed again, cursing as she gripped her leg. Don’t be mean to the boy who can help—this time, the thought lingered.

“I’m sorry,” she conceded in a whisper. “It just...hurts. I think...I think there must be something stuck in my thigh. Normally I would be healing now but…” Deirdre winced and knocked her head against the brick. Through clenched teeth, she tried to point the spot out to him. “I was attacked,” she explained plainly, “what else do you think happens in this town? And you can’t see my ass from your angle, but I’m a real snack.” She tried to smirk, but in her state, the best she could do was a tight-mouthed, toothy wince. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

Milo listened to the woman berate him, almost amused by her insults until she called him an ex-human. His expression hardened, and he glared at her. It wasn’t as though he needed the reminder of everything he had lost, especially not now, when he was trying to help someone. “Yes, actually. I’m sure that comes as a fucking shock.” He bit out. “My parents are doctors, they kind of raised me to follow in their footsteps…” Leaning back on his heels, he eyed the woman. The fact that she knew he wasn’t human implied she wasn’t human herself. The smell of her blood had made him suspicious, but her words offered him undeniable confirmation. Usually, he would be annoyed by the knowledge. Where were all the humans in White Crest? Living normal lives? Away from this chaos? But he actually felt a strange spark of hope. If she wasn’t a human there was a good chance she healed a Hell of a lot faster than one. Continuing to glare, he sincerely hoped he didn’t look prepubescent and she was only trying to get to him. Jeez, the thought of being perceived as a teenager forever wasn’t exactly a fun one. “I’m 22, asshole.” He muttered. “Like, actually 22, before you ask.” It felt necessary to add given what he was now, even if it did essentially out him.

Beginning to carefully roll up his sleeves, he chose to ignore the apology. He had a reputation for utilising his sharp tongue when he was angry, upset, or hurt in some way. He knew exactly what the woman was doing, the least he could do was make an effort to be understanding. “Yeah, no shit it hurts. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re bleeding out in an alleyway.” He made an effort to soften his tone, matching the way she had carefully softened her own. “How is your healing?” He asked. “If we get this shit out, are you going to be good to walk?” He knew that healing abilities greatly depended on the severity of the wound, but he figured she would know better than him just how badly she was injured. His mind running through the various ways of dealing with a potential stab wound, you weren’t supposed to remove the item until you were safely inside a hospital but that wasn’t exactly an option here. “Hm, I’m gay. Don’t flatter yourself.” He countered, resisting the urge to point out she could still be considered a snack. Only literally. “Yes, I’m going to help you. Why else would I still be here putting up with your bullshit?” He asked. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to do this- show me where you’re hurt? This thing that attacked you, I’m assuming it wasn’t a person… do you know what it was?”

Doctors... Deirdre stewed the thought in her head. Parents that wanted him to be a doctor, but now he was a vampire. Was that tragic or funny? “You look like a teenager,” she muttered instead, turning her face away from him. Sympathy for a stranger wasn’t her style, she wasn’t about to make it. Yet, as she decided she wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t going to care, was simply going to make this kid help her and then throw cash in his face, something he said stuck out to her. Actually 22. She turned back to him and the annoyance in her features softened. “Are you new?” She asked him, “newly turned, I mean.” Deirdre opened her mouth to say more; part of her wanted to say she was sorry, another part knew there was no point. He must’ve been sorry enough for himself. His parents wanted him to be a doctor, he was a vampire. She turned her face away again. 

“It’ll take me a bit, but I’ll be fine,” the banshee sighed, turning her eyes to the dark sky above. “I don’t heal like a zombie, but I heal faster than a human. And I’ve been hurt worse, and walked in worse conditions.” As he continued, she turned back to him, surprised to find a chuckle escaping her lips. “Well, you’d still know a good ass when you see one, wouldn’t you? Or are you tasteless and stupid?” Deirdre reached down, tearing up her dress to get it out of the way. “It was--” She grunted, the shrill sound of ripping fabric cutting her off. “--something like you.” Deirdre glanced up. “A spawn. Something you very well could’ve been turned into.” She paused, having torn up her dress enough to expose the wound. “Assuming, of course. Maybe you’re of the brain-eating sort, I don’t know.” She pointed out the spot where the cut was the deepest, where she felt the most pain. “I think maybe its nail broke off, or a finger.” 

Milo glared at the woman, giving her his most powerful deadpan stare. If she wanted him to help then she needed to stop insulting him. At least, he spitefully wanted to think that. He had a feeling both of them knew he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. “And thank you for that boost of confidence.” He countered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He opened his mouth to continue, to make it clear how annoyed he was by her consistent mutterings, but he witnessed her expression shift, and was caught off guard by her next words. He wasn’t expecting sympathy, or empathy, or whatever this was. He hadn’t been given time to build up his walls, and the alcohol in his system certainly wasn’t helping him to hide his pain. “New enough.” He admitted. “It’s been a few months, not that it’s any of your business. What are you going to do, plan a memorial? Tell me you’re sorry that I’m going to look like a fucking teenager forever? I don’t want to hear it.” He pointedly turned his attention to her leg as she began to tear away the material of her dress, hoping he could hide his expression.

“Give me that.” He said, holding out a hand, gesturing for her to fully tear away the strip of material. At least then he would be able to stem the bleeding. He could only hope supernatural creatures followed a similar logic to humans when it came to blood flow. Faster than a Human. That was good. Even if stemming the blood flow didn’t help it to congeal around the wound, she would begin healing the moment he removed what was embedded in her flesh. He nodded to let her know he had registered her comment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she continued. Jeez, did she ever shut up? “Well, maybe I’m a bottom and I have more important things to worry about.” He countered, saying the first thing that came to his mind because he couldn’t bear to give her the satisfaction of winning. Feeling his heart sink at the mention of a Spawn, he didn’t need the reminder of how close he had come to becoming one himself. How somebody had killed him, and turned him, not knowing what his fate might be. 

“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped. “Lucky for you, I’m still Milo, and I think I’ll be sticking with blood.” Were there vampires who ate brains? Or was she talking about zombies? Maybe she didn’t know which undead creature he was. He shelved the question for another time. Harsh would know, and the man seemed to have a strange sense of patience when it came to his never ending questions. Wrinkling his nose at the mention of a nail or a finger breaking off, he wasn’t entirely sure which possibility was more disturbing. A Spawn was a person, after all. Or a Spawn used to be a person. His heart broke for whoever had been forced to suffer in such a way, whoever had lost themselves to become such a monster. “I don’t exactly have any tweezers, are you going to be good if I like- get in there and remove whatever it is?” He had no other choice, it needed to happen, but asking for permission first felt like the right thing to do. “I’ll do it as quickly as I can. I’m not out to hurt you, even if you are incredibly annoying.” 

It wasn’t Deirdre’s business. She knew that. This child—Milo—was telling her that. She was telling herself that. And yet, her mouth opened without her meaning for it too. Her voice drifted out soft and warm and apologetic. “Did you get a memorial?” She asked, “you could have one now. All the dead deserve to be remembered; as they were, and in your case, as they will be.” But it wasn’t her business, and she liked calling the brat annoying more than she did thinking about how sad and terrible his life must’ve been. All their lives were, that was just the thing about pain anyway. 

“You would be a bottom,” Deirdre said, hoping it came off as scathing as she wanted it to. Her legs burned, and the only person who could help her was some tragic undead child. That alone was enough to make her grumpy, but as Milo suggested it, she realized the bratty vampire would have to stick his fingers into her thigh. Which was exactly as terrible as it sounded. “Some vampires don’t realize,” she clarified with a groan, preparing herself for the pain to come, “how close they were to becoming something else. If it had just been a different vampire that turned up. If the intention had been different…” Her words trailed off, knowing she had no real point to make. “You’re stupid,” she said suddenly, as she realized she was being too nice to him. “Go ahead and stick your hand inside. I very well can’t do it myself, or else I wouldn’t be here.” 

Milo faltered, opting to feel anger instead of the many emotions threatening to break through and overwhelm him. Who did this woman think she was, asking him such personal questions, questions he hadn’t even considered until now? It infuriated him because he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think about everything he had lost, the fact that he really was dead, the fact that somebody had targeted him, killed him, and clearly walked away from his body without caring what might become of it. “I was born and raised here.” He snapped, an edge to his voice as he tied the strip of material around the top of her thigh. His movements were probably sharper than they needed to be, and he definitely tightened the knot with more force than necessary, but it was proving to be a helpful outlet for his frustration. “Kind of hard to have a memorial for someone you see walking around at night.” When the blood flow had been stemmed, he began using the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away as much blood as he was able to. It was coating her skin, making it difficult to see exactly where the injury was. “I don’t want a memorial.” He insisted, only briefly looking up so that he could glare at her. “I don’t want to be remembered. I’m still here… saving your ass.” 

When he could adequately see the entry point of whatever was embedded in his company’s flesh, he began to roll up his bloody sleeves, ignoring the sweet scent that permeated from them. “Yeah? Don’t be jealous because my sex life is more interesting than yours.” He countered, despite his sex life currently being very, very uninteresting. After becoming a vampire, the last thing on his mind had been getting laid. He was far too focused on maintaining his existential crisis. “I do realise.” His voice was dripping with bitterness, and he made no effort to hide that fact. Her words were drawing out memories he would much rather forget, he was being forced back into the fear, and anxiety he had been drowning in the night his life had been stolen. “I’m stupid?” He demanded an explanation, refusing to let the comment go. “Really? Why? Because I got myself killed? From where I’m sitting it looks like you nearly did the fucking same like, ten minutes ago.” Giving her no warning, the moment she offered him permission he slid his thumb and forefinger into her puncture wound. 

The anger in his chest was almost helpful, it allowed him to concentrate on anything but what he was actually doing. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of heat, muscle, and slick blood, It didn’t take long before he discovered what he assumed to be the nail or finger. Slowly he began to inch it backwards, so that he didn’t lose his grip. It seemed to have scraped against bone, which was definitely why it had broken off, and not been pulled out when the creature had been forced to withdraw. He shuddered to think about how painful it must have been for the woman beneath him, about how painful it must be for her now. As irritating as she was, he couldn’t bring himself to delight in her pain. He wasn’t that person. He had vowed to never be that person. So he was careful, and considerate, his movements slow, and gentle in a way they hadn’t been only moments before. “I’m sorry- If I do this too quickly I could cause more damage… just- a couple more seconds, okay?”

“That’s not true,” Deirdre was quick to retort, wincing at herself. Perhaps it was a sensitive subject for her given Morgan’s death? Yes, yes, that sounded right. Deirdre sighed and clung to that explanation. Morgan had mourned herself and pained over the lack of recognition of her death in the world. The idea of a memorial sounded nice to her. Did it sound that way to this child too? “To move on, to move past it...wouldn’t it be something to face? Memorialize? Wouldn’t you want to? Don’t you think someone other than yourself should mourn you?” Deirdre winced again, this time from the pain and jostled forward with ragged breathing. She could see the child glaring at her through the corner of her eyes, and truthfully, she would too if some lady she was forced to save was trying to philosophize about something she didn’t know. But Death was a force she knew well, better than anyone else ever could. She was born to it. She lived by it. And one day it would claim her servitude. 

But that day was not today, and she wouldn’t let it be. To die in the hands of a bratty vampire would be embarrassing enough to cause her ghost to haunt the alley forever. And she would’ve liked not staring at damp bricks for eternity. “My sex life is very exciting, thank you very much,” Deirdre huffed, “in fact, it’s very active and just yesterday my girlfriend and I—why am I telling you this?” She groaned, knocking her head against the brick behind her. It seemed all she could do was lean forward or back, and both caused undesirable pain. “No you’re stupid because you’re stupid,” she growled, “and I didn’t—I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. I’m not.” She always worried any wheeze or cough of pain would be a scream waiting to rip out of her, but if that was the case, it would’ve happened ten minutes ago. 

Unless it was the child’s shoddy doctor work that would do her in. “I’m used to this,” she confessed, addled with pain that grew sharper and sharper as the child dug around. But what she’d said was true. She knew a life of pain, she had been raised to endure it. Deirdre had suffered far worse than this, and that truth was the only thing that kept her awake and hissing. But in her agony, where the world turned dark and then white, she always thought it was like looking into Death. It smelt like fresh cut grass, and it sounded like the jingle of cow bells. The sort of place she’d like to be, the sort of place that wanted her. Unfortunately, in the moments between her spasms of pain, it was just old brick to look at. “Were you a med student when it happened?” Her head rolled to the side, staring at him. “Bright prospects? Future to look forward to? Boyfriend waiting for you?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to move past it- you know what, no. We’re not having this conversation.” Milo snapped. He had more important things to worry about, he refused to get drawn into an argument. “No.” He insisted, his tone laced with aggression. “I don’t want other people to mourn me. I’m still in their lives, I’m still here, I’m still me. There’s nothing to fucking mourn.” Of course, that wasn’t true. There was an awful lot to mourn, but he wasn’t about to admit that, not when this woman clearly thought she had the answers to all of his problems. Laughing, unable to help himself, the sound was sharp, but not devoid of genuine amusement. He enjoyed the fact that he had clearly gotten to her. The pain might be making her delirious, or keeping any filters she had in place from working, but his attempts to annoy her had evidently been successful. “I don’t know, but you sound awfully defensive.” He replied, ignoring the comment on his stupidity as he focused on his task. For a brief moment he could see an element of fear, or anxiety. Something that made the woman beneath him seem incredibly vulnerable. It didn’t feel right to continue in their back and forth when she was quite literally in agony. 

“I know you’re not.” He assured her. “You’re going to be fine, okay? I just gotta remove this thing…” It didn’t matter to him what she was used to. Be it pain, dangerous situations, clumsily applying first aid while sitting in a pool of blood… nobody deserved to hurt like she was currently hurting. Chewing on his tongue as he concentrated on what he was doing, he was still in the process of carefully drawing out whatever had created the puncture wound when she decided to ask about his past. It seemed every time he softened towards her, she found a new way to upset him. He considered her question, despite not wanting to. For the first time ever his heart was aching for the life he would never have. He wasn’t the type of person who went to med school, and settled down. But until recently that had been his own choice to make. Now he couldn’t do those things. Even if he wanted to, they didn’t feel like options. He wasn’t going to find a stable career, or a boyfriend who loved him. Nobody was going to grow old with him. Choking on an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he dug his fingers into the woman’s injury with an unfair amount of force. “No.” He admitted, his voice cold, and distant. “I gave up any chance of that when I chose getting high over going to class.” Twisting his fingers yet again, he tugged at the object embedded in her thigh, his jaw set, his body tense. “And I don’t date.” 

“Not ‘move past’ but….” Deirdre held her tongue; he didn’t want to talk about it. And she, for that matter, wasn’t supposed to care about it. “Don’t you want them to know how it hurts?” She was speaking partially to herself now, delirious with pain and knowing the child didn’t care to listen anyway. “How much you’ve lost? You’re still here, but you’re not you. Not the same. Maybe you’re better off like this. Maybe it’ll be okay. But don’t you want someone to remember that you had a life? A life that was worth living?” And then he laughed, and the sharp sound broke her train of thought. “Or something like that…” she mumbled.

And then it was her turn to laugh, and she did so readily. How funny to be comforted by a stranger. “I’m not going to die because I woul–“ Deirdre’s sentence halted with a cry of pain, she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she could taste sweet copper simply to stop herself from screaming. Her lungs burned as she swallowed down more gasps of agony. As annoying as the child was, she thought it would be wise not to scream right at him. Maybe she really would die, it almost felt like the child was trying to kill her. “Just take it out, you grape-sized-brain having stinky child!” It wasn’t her finest insult, but control in moments of impulse were her specialty, and so she also thought it was wise to censor at least some of her thoughts around the boy. “Not ‘give up’...” she spoke through clenched teeth, “you didn’t give anything up, you idiot. Nothing is over until–” you die. Or, that was the adage her family imparted. But he was dead, and what did that mean for him? “–until it’s over.” She rasped, “and don’t act like sadness and loneliness is the only choice you can make.” Deirdre huffed. “Idiot.” 

“I am.” Milo snapped, his voice cracking with emotion, giving away how terrified, and upset he was by the statement. His biggest fear was losing who he was, and now somebody was here, telling him he already had. Blinking away tears, he took a deep breath, desperate to hide how badly her words had affected him. “I’m still Milo, and I still have a life. So you can stop it, okay? Just- just stop it. I don’t give a shit about memorials, or mourning… I don’t…” He swallowed his emotion to the best of his ability, focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. He was trying to do something good, something selfless. Why did it have to be so difficult? Glancing up briefly, he didn’t get to hear why the woman knew she wasn’t going to die, but maybe that was for the best. Her cry of pain reminded him of why he needed to be careful, and despite his inner turmoil, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t like hearing how much agony she was suffering. 

Then she was insulting him again, and it was everything he could do not to make his task hurt even more than it already did. Apparently it was going to be a constant back and forth. “Most people are smart enough to not insult their doctors.” He muttered, any bite from his voice long gone, replaced with a melancholy sense of resignation. “And if you call me an idiot one more time I might actually leave you here.” He added, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as the object steadily became visible. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m not sad, or lonely, so you can fuck off with that bullshit-” He broke off as whatever the spawn had left behind finally came free. It was solid, but not enough to feel like bone. More like cartilage, or keratin. The shape vaguely resembled a nail, but certainly no human nail. It was thick, and rounded, as though it had been pulled right out of a claw. Even covered in blood, the sight of it was enough to cause a jolt of disgust, and repressing a shudder, he threw it away. Whatever it was, he wanted it as far away from him as possible. He heard it clatter against the asphalt, but forced himself to focus on the wound. A fresh surge of blood had been drawn from it, but there was no indication that it was still actively bleeding. Wiping his fingers on his hoodie he looked up to catch the woman’s eye. He wanted to say he had done everything he was able to, he wanted more than anything to walk away, but he couldn’t. Not before making sure she was able to walk herself. So he set his jaw instead, letting out a huff of breath. “You know your body better than I do, is there anything that might accelerate the healing process?” 

Deirdre closed her eyes, listening to Milo’s annoyed bursts through the lens of her fatigue. He sounded like he was trying to speak to her through a wall. And she felt like she was sitting in the pasture again. Beyond them, jingling; wind chimes, cow bells, fae running around with their wood-carved instruments. The sort of place she’d like to be. The world stretched thin, yawned and gasped and snapped back to wet bricks and bloody messes. And the child, who sounded a touch more melancholic than she remembered leaving him off. Must be the inevitable loss of her colourful company. To his credit, her leg did feel better. She ran her hand down, and pressed her palm to the wound. “You’re pretty sad,” she said, looking over at him, “and you sound pretty lonely. But I bet you know both those things already.” Deirdre looked at her leg; she would heal in time, but the thought crossed her mind that she really might just owe this child a great deal more than she was willing to admit. She wouldn’t have died. She could’ve fished the damn thing out herself. She was sure of these things, and yet…  “Thank you,” she said sincerely, the first genuine comment to leave her lips so far. “And I’m sorry. And you’re right, you know, you are still Milo. And I’m Deirdre.” 

The banshee turned her attention to the sky, lazy clouds rolling over bright moonlight. Not everyone who died in an alley got such a sight, and she wasn’t even dying. “My jacket,” she gestured to it, “you’ll find some cash. Take it.” But, to her surprise, the boy was still standing there. As if waiting to know she’d be okay. “Oh, yes,” she smirked, “if you let me call you an idiot a hundred more times I’ll heal so much faster; insulting children sustains me.” She eyed Milo, wondering if he just might storm off instead. “I’ll be fine,” she assured, “you’ve done everything you can for me.” 

Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore. The anger, and annoyance was still burning in his chest, but it was clear the woman wasn’t about to believe a word he said. And that was a lot of energy to expend when it meant getting absolutely nowhere. Regardless, he still wanted to open his mouth and insist he wasn’t sad, or lonely. She said the words with such conviction, as though she knew him better than he knew himself. But the voice in the back of his mind, the one usually responsible for whispers of self doubt, had him wondering who he would really be trying to convince. “Agree to disagree.” He muttered finally, glad to see a little colour returning to her cheeks. It appeared as though her pain was fading. If it was still present, it was far weaker than it had been only moments ago. Faltering in surprise at the unexpected thanks, he realised her voice had taken on a new tone, one he hadn’t heard from her before. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how to react. After everything they had said to each other, he could hardly consider her a friend. Yet she was making herself vulnerable, admitting he had done something to help her. “Oh… uh, you don’t have to thank me. It’s whatever...” He insisted, feeling suddenly awkward. And then she decided to tell him he was right, he was still Milo. The relief he felt was difficult to hide. It was almost as though she had been holding his identity, ready to crush it in her fist, and now she was handing it back to him. Intact, and unharmed. “Deirdre.” He echoed, committing the name to his memory. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you but…” He gestured vaguely to the pool of blood she was still sitting in. “You’ve also taken every opportunity to insult me so…” 

Glancing down at her jacket pocket as she insisted upon drawing his attention to it, he wasn’t about to reject her offer. Maybe somebody else would have, but he knew how valuable money was, how easily it disappeared when you kept such expensive habits. “Thanks.” He said quietly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small wad of cash. Shooting her a pointed look as he pocketed it, he should have expected something akin to another insult. “I’m not a child.” He countered, taking one last look at her leg. It already seemed to be in the process of healing, but he had a feeling it would be a while until she was able to put any weight on it. “Are you sure?” He asked, needing to know before he essentially abandoned her. “I mean- I can stay here if you want me to?” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Deirdre groaned, “I insult everyone.” She paused, “actually, do take it personally. I want you to be insulted.” She expected him to run, she hoped he would run. Instead he stood there, staring at her with worried eyes and reluctance. Her stomach tensed. She turned her face from him, sickened. She wanted to tell him to stop, yes he had helped her out but she wasn’t expecting him to care. She didn’t care. And she was sure, more than anything, if she told herself that enough times, it would be true. “Have you ever tried nectar, Milo?” She asked, looking over at him again. “Seems to be popular among vampires. You know, that money you have could buy you a good drink. Take it and go find some vampire bar.” She knew what she was doing, and as her mind protested—if the boy already knew, he didn’t need a reminder. If he didn’t, then she shouldn’t have been telling him. But she grinned, toothy and lopsided, eager to assert to the world that she was still the apathetic woman she was made to be. She had spared the spawn that tried to eat her out of a foolish idea that the creature was pitiable. But she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She didn’t care. Despite it all, she didn’t care. She was Deirdre Dolan, born to an ancient religion of pride and sacrifice. She was not going to die in the alley. She was not going to be kind to some stranger. 

“Go on,” she urged him, “get out of here. I’ll be fine, and I’ll heal better if I don’t have to look at your sad face.”

Milo continued to glare at Deirdre with the air of a parent waiting out a tantrum. The woman could say whatever she wanted to say, she had already managed to ruin his mood. He was tired of trying to decide whether he cared about her wellbeing, or wanted to outright abandon her, so he settled on making it clear she was an incredibly irritating presence. If this was what being a doctor felt like he was grateful he had managed to avoid that particular path. Even if becoming a vampire was the alternative. His expression shifting suddenly at the mention of Nectar, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew what it was. But it was jarring, hearing somebody mention the substance so casually. “Once.” He said, his voice cold, and curt. “I woke up dead.” Finally straightening up, brushing off the blood that had dried on his hoodie, he watched some of it as it flaked away. It still smelled enticing, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that. Not now. “I’m not going to a bar,” he muttered. “I’m going home. Or I was going home before you decided to interrupt me with this bullshit.” 

Feeling a surge of annoyance at the sight of her grin, he could only assume her pain level had taken a dramatic dip. As much as he hated the fact that it apparently made it easier for her to get to him, he was undeniably proud that he had been able to help in some way. His medical knowledge of the supernatural was questionable, but it seemed basic first aid was applicable to most creatures, human or otherwise. Pulling a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, he sparked up, pointedly taking his time now that she was clearly trying to get him to leave her. He was more than ready to go, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t satisfied by knowing he could annoy her a little in return before eventually giving her what she wanted. Exhaling a breath of smoke, he faltered, wondering if he really did have a sad face. He hoped not, the idea of people being able to read him so easily made him uncomfortable. And he wasn’t sad, was he? But he could worry about that another time, maybe spend a few more hours staring at himself on his phone’s front camera, attempting to see what other people saw. Tapping ash dangerously close to where Deirdre was sitting, he finally turned on his heel, resisting the urge to look back as he walked away from her. It still felt wrong, leaving her alone like this, sitting in a pool of her own blood, but he trusted her to take care of herself, regardless of whether he would ever admit that out loud. If she said she would be okay, she would be okay. He had done his part, and if he was lucky, he might never have to see her again. 

All of a sudden, guilt flooded Deirdre’s stomach, choking up her body. Slowly, she dragged her blunt nails across the wet asphalt, swallowing back the apology that wanted to free itself from where it was lodged in her throat. She’d only been trying to hurt him, yet knowing she had succeeded in some regard left her mouth acidic. At the very least, his opinion of her would be soured, and wasn’t that what she wanted? She imagined some measure of control and relief in making someone hate her just as much as she did herself. And she could only hope that he did; anyone who had seen her this vulnerable ought to. But he stood there, letting smoke collect in the air and in her nose--scrunched up in distaste. It went without saying that banshees in general didn’t appreciate smoke much, though Deirdre didn’t share her mother’s venomous hatred for it. She only turned to look up at the stars again, Milo’s smoke occasionally obstructing her vision, to her displeasure. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either. When the acrid smell of tobacco cleared the air and wet footsteps receded beyond what she could hear, Deirdre turned finally to face the world around. If she was lucky, she’d never have to see Milo again. If she was really lucky, he wouldn’t realize how much of a liar she was. 

Her legs were not okay. She was not okay. But Milo had his own problems; people like him often did. He ought to be spared what lived in the shadows, as much as someone like him could be. He wasn’t all that bad, really. Not that Deirdre would ever tell him that. 

After all, she was never going to see him again. 

[one-with-the-floor]

Love Thy Neighbor (or at Least Give Him a Chance)

Day 2 of @ineffablehusbandsweek

Today’s meet cute: Aziraphale has just moved in and desperately needs a favor--and if babysitting his godson is what it takes for Crowley to get his number, heck, that’s just what he’ll do. Also on AO3 right here!

Crowley was watching nothing on the TV when his doorbell rang. He blinked and squinted towards the window. It was still absolutely pissing down rain. Even though it was barely half six, it was dark enough to be the middle of the night. Whoever was out ringing doorbells in this weather was either extremely lost or extremely young and troublesome. But if it was one of the village kids, Crowley reasoned, they wouldn’t ring twice if he didn’t answer. He could continue his mindless evening and not get pulled into something ridiculous and probably detrimental to his reputation as a man who did not walk around the village covered in mud. Crowley stared at the front door, willing it to reveal its secrets without him having to get up. The door acquiesced. The doorbell rang twice in quick succession this time, and Crowley finally groaned and flopped off the sofa.

“Village is down the road to the right, mate, probably drove right through it and didn’t even notice…” Crowley trailed off, staring. There was a man standing on his doorstep, and he was possibly the most bedraggled, incongruous, and gorgeous man he’d ever seen. His pale hair was plastered to his face, looking weirdly Roman-soldier-esque the way it curled on his skin, and somehow his soft grey eyes only added to the image. His face was soft, though, nothing chiseled or severe about it. It was the sort of face that could really carry a smile, and make anyone else want to smile, too. The man didn’t have an umbrella, or a raincoat, or even a normal coat to keep the wet from seeping through to his clothes, and his blue shirt was soaked through. Crowley noticed that the buttons weren’t all lined up right.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” the man was saying, twisting a ring around his pinky finger. “I’m having a minor crisis, I promise I wouldn’t be here without warning if it weren’t an emergency, but Dierdre Young said you sometimes watch her son Adam for her? And the other kids?”

Fucksake, Crowley thought. Those eyes should not be able to get bigger. “Er, yeah. I’ve watched them a few times.” A few times was an understatement. He’d been babysitting The Them since they were crawling.

“I hate to ask this,” the man said, and Crowley was a little bit shocked to find he sounded sincere. “I know it’s horribly last minute, and if you have other plans or—or if you just don’t want to, whatever it is it’s fine, really, but… my godson is with me for a few weeks, and something’s come up for work and I really can’t afford not to go, and that’s terrible of me I know it but I’ve just moved and I’m not quite on my feet yet and I’m already going to have to drive in this damn rain and…” The man yanked on the hem of his shirt. He looked close to tears. Crowley could see it even through the pounding rain.

Crowley didn’t babysit kids he didn’t know. Too many variables, too many parents who ignored issues and then left him to figure out what to do when their kid started having an allergic reaction or a totally preventable meltdown on his watch. Normally, he’d have pointed the man toward Ms. Tracy, the village’s collective odd grandmother and the other usual babysitter.

But the man in front of him was standing out in the rain asking him a little desperately for help, and somewhere in Crowley’s decidedly cold black heart something gave in.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Oh—oh! I’ll be back by tonight. I hope before his bedtime, there shouldn’t be traffic this time of night but the rain might slow me down… but I should be here to pick him up before ten, I promise I’ll do my absolute best for that.”

Something else in Crowley’s heart wiggled and squirmed. “How old is he?”

“Five. He’s the same age as Deirdre’s boy, I’ve been hoping to set them up for a playdate but there just hasn’t been time… ”

“Give me two minutes,” Crowley said suddenly, and closed the door in the man’s face. That was probably rude, he mused, but there were more pressing issues. Namely that his heartbeat seemed to have decided it wanted to try its hand at percussion music, and Crowley’s ears were going to be the drums. He stood with his back against the door and stared in the direction of a wall while he tried to get his mutinous heart to understand that he should not be having palpitations over a man he’d just met, regardless of how pretty his eyes were.

He’s also very considerate and seems to care about this kid a lot, his heart rebutted. All that on top of the eyes. And he looks incredibly soft and huggable, did you notice that?

Crowley had noticed that, thank you very much, and had deliberately decided to not go there. He didn’t need any additional sources of embarrassment.

When exactly two minutes were up, Crowley sucked in a steadying breath and swung the door open again. The man was still standing there, looking half worried and half bemused.

“I can keep an eye on the kid till ten,” Crowley said. The man gasped and pressed a hand to his mouth in relief. Crowley’s heart did an uncomfortable flopping thing. “Does he have any allergies?” he continued, telling himself there wasn’t a squeak in his voice.

“No, nothing.”

“Anything medical at all? Anything I might need to know in an emergency?”

“No, no he’s perfectly healthy.”

“And his bedtime is?”

The man’s face went red. “Well, it really should be half eight. But I’ll admit I usually let him stay up till half nine or ten when he’s with me.”

Crowley shrugged. “No problem with me. He’s your kid. Or, well…”

“Close enough, really. I really can’t thank you enough for this. I promise I’ll pay you as soon as I can, I’m not asking for a favor here—”

“Nope, nope,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head. “I don’t do pay. I’m alright as is, save it and buy the kid an ice cream next time you’re out.”

The man stared at him. His eyes had gone very big again. “Oh.”

Crowley’s face heated, and he felt a sudden urge to pull his own shirt hem. “Just, er, just call me if you’re gonna be late, yeah?”

“Of course! Of course, absolutely, I’ll call as soon as I’m on my way home. Here.” He clumsily passed Crowley his phone, trying to keep it out of the rain. They exchanged contact info, and Crowley tried to tell his idiot of a heart that he wasn’t being given his number, just an emergency contact. His heart, as ever, ignored him.

Crowley snuck a look at his phone while the man ran back to his car to collect his godson. ‘Aziraphale Fell’ the contact page read. “Aziraphale,” he murmured, trying it out. It fit, he decided. An odd, nice sounding name for an odd, nice man.

Fucksake, this was gonna be a thing now.

Aziraphale returned a moment later, leading a little boy in a bright yellow raincoat by the hand. Crowley noticed with amusement that the kid’s hood was made to look like a duck, with eyes stitched on and a little bill sticking out. His boots were orange duck feet. Cute. The kid looked up at Crowley curiously. Crowley gave him a wide, silly grin, and the boy giggled.

When they got inside, Aziraphale immediately crouched down to speak to his godson. Ding! Another point for him! Crowley’s brain yelled. Crowley decidedly ignored it.

“You’ll be good for Mr. Crowley, won’t you, Warlock?” Aziraphale was saying. The little boy nodded solemnly. “Thank you, dear.” He kissed Warlock on the forehead, then stood up again. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise. I really can’t thank you enough—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley waved him away. “Really. If I didn’t want to I’d say no.”

Aziraphale gave him a hesitant smile. “You’ll call me if anything—?”

“Long as you call if anything goes wrong your end.”

“I will. I promise, I will.” Aziraphale crouched down to give Warlock another hug. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Mhm,” Warlock said. Crowley choked down a laugh.

Aziraphale tried to thank him twice more on his way out the door, and Crowley shooed him away both times. Normally he would have found that kind of dawdling irritating beyond belief, but from Aziraphale it was just… it was sweet, he admitted to himself. He thought Aziraphale was sweet. As he stood by the front window with Warlock and waved at Aziraphale’s departing car, he gave himself a moment to sit in the excitement of meeting someone new. Someone who lived close, no less, and would likely come to Crowley to babysit in the future, too. Maybe Crowley could show him around the village, help him get settled. He could unpack boxes or paint bedrooms, if Aziraphale hadn’t quite finished moving in yet. Or he could introduce Warlock to the other kids, and Aziraphale to the other parents—godparents, guardians, all the same to the kids—and maybe… maybe somewhere in there they could go out for dinner. Get to know each other. Just maybe, this might be someone he could build something with.

Then Aziraphale’s tail lights faded into the pounding rain, and Crowley snapped himself out of it.

“Right!” he cried. “So, Warlock. Have you had your dinner yet?”

Warlock nodded. He seemed like a quiet kid. Would probably be a great balance to the rambunctiousness of The Them.

Crowley grinned at him. “Well, if you’ve already had your dinner, then there’s only one thing left to do.” Warlock stared up at him, wide eyed. Crowley leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. “I’ve got ice cream in the freezer. What do you say to early dessert?”

Warlock said yes, very enthusiastically, and they spent the next few hours eating ice cream and watching movies. Crowley had figured he’d have to pull out some games later, or find a book to read him, but by the time movies were getting old Warlock was falling asleep on the sofa. It was an easy night. Warlock was an easy kid. Crowley was already looking forward to babysitting him again.

At 9:57 on the dot, Aziraphale rang the doorbell. Warlock didn’t stir, so Crowley picked him up and brought him to the door. Aziraphale was just as thankful as he had been earlier, and Crowley brushed him off just the same. Aziraphale roused Warlock enough to get him into his raincoat and boots, then let the little boy fall back asleep on his shoulder.

“I… I hope I’ll see you again?” Aziraphale asked softly as he headed out the door. The rain had finally slowed to a drizzle.

“Yeah,” Crowley answered, trying to hide the fact that his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. “And, uh. Doesn’t just have to be with the kid, if—I mean—I mean he’s a great kid, loved having him, was great, but, uh…”

He stammered to a stop, because Aziraphale was smiling at him. “I think I’d like that,” he said.

“Oh. Er… good. Me too.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.” Aziraphale shifted Warlock in his arms and turned towards his car. “Goodnight, Anthony.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said. “G’night. Night, Warlock.” He was immensely grateful for the nighttime shadows covering his blush.

Crowley stayed in the doorway as Aziraphale drove away. Then he fell back onto his sofa and scrubbed his hands over his face. Leave it to him to fall head over heels for a soft man with a kind voice and a sweet kid on the first meeting. This was going to be excruciating.

Well. At least he knew he’d be seeing Aziraphale again. And he had his number. Wriggling around to get access to his pocket, Crowley pulled out his phone.

hey he texted. was really nice to meet you. think we could get coffee sometime?

As soon as the messages were sent he flung his phone onto the farthest chair in the room and pressed his hands over his eyes, pushing the anxiety back with a force. But it was only a minute before the mobile buzzed, and he was lunging across the room to get it back.

I’d like that :) he read. Crowley felt an uncontrollable grin spread across his face. He was just about to whoop and go finish off the ice cream in celebration when the phone buzzed again.

You’ll have to wait for me to find another babysitter, though

Crowley laughed, his grin never fading. np, one sec he texted back, then swapped over to another conversation.

Only a moment later—Ms. Tracy was going to be absolutely insufferable about all this—Aziraphale messaged him again.

Okaaaaay, never mind the waiting then. How does this weekend sound?

It was Thursday. Crowley practically bounced on his feet at the thought of seeing Aziraphale again so soon. sounds perfect he replied. Aziraphale sent him another smiley face emoji, and Crowley really did whoop then. He had a date. He had a date, with a guy he really liked, and who seemed to really like him. And who was really good with his kid, to boot.

Crowley got ready for bed in a happy daze that night. And when he slept, he dreamed of pale blond hair and a rain-dark blue shirt, and of a sleepy little duckling in a raincoat.

[kadavernagh]

Friend Like Me || Regan & Nell

TIMING: Current-ish. LOCATION: The woods. PARTIES: @kadavernagh and @nelllraiser SUMMARY: Sometimes all you need is a friend to get you out of a dark place. (Regan and Nell end up trapped and need to get a little creative in their escape.) CONTENT: Cursed.

Regan had a lot to do before Sunday. She had taken for granted that Deirdre would always have animals waiting in the clearing for her, didn’t question where they had even come from anymore. She should have questioned it. Should have questioned a lot of things. But her curiosity, like everything else, was getting smoothed out of her like a river-battered rock. As it turned out, Deirdre caught most of them, or perhaps paid someone to do it. And now, Regan was to find a fawn or other suitable animal for next weekend, and she had to capture it without killing it. While she’d gone on the occasional hunting trip with her dad and brothers, she had never hunted herself. And her dagger was far from a rifle. She would need to get close, really close, and Regan had a feeling that too was part of her training. 

She had lost track of time, but surely it had been a couple of hours at minimum. And while Regan tracked down several carcasses, and one particularly nice dead fox kit, she had yet to find a large enough live animal. Finally, though, it sounded like there was something big nearby. The twigs snapped, twenty yards away. Her fingers tightened around the dagger. More movement. There was something in the bushes and brush, though there were still enough leaves on them to obscure just what it was. Regan took a quiet step closer -- one more, then another -- as she held the weapon high.

Stealth wasn’t a necessary asset as Nell moved through the forest, only on the prowl for some herbs and assorted tree barks on this particular day. Most of what she needed for spells could be found in her greenhouse, but sometimes wild-gathered was better than homegrown, depending on the magic. As she sensed someone else’s approach, she paused to listen to their movements, as if she could separate friend from foe based on the heaviness and frequency of their footfalls. With a thoughtful frown, a quick and often-used spell was mumbled on her lips, meant to sense living things within a certain radius. Just beyond the brush was...something vaguely human-sized. Unfortunately the spell wasn’t sophisticated enough to tell her exactly what it was. Looking in the direction of the signature the spell had picked up, the witch raised an inquisitive brow before addressing the hidden being. “Are you just gonna stare at me petting this tree, or are you gonna come out? I’ve got dibs on this tree- so if you want some bark, you’re gonna have to find your own.” While she waited, she resisted the urge to check on her knives and their placements on her body, trying to calm the paranoia that came with being approached in the woods by an unknown. After all, that had been the beginning of Bea losing her head.

Just when Regan was beginning to doubt that her own eyes had picked up movement, a familiar voice sounded from behind the brush. Human. Not a deer, or any other animal she could use. And a human whose voice she recognized, at that. “Penelope?” It still could have been her imagination. It wasn’t uncommon for those in solitude to hear things that weren’t there, and it was even less uncommon for her in general. She stepped through the bushes to better assess the situation, but kept a safe difference from -- yes, that was Penelope. And she was petting a tree. Regan lowered the dagger, in hopes of avoiding questions. If she had known the woods would be this crowded, she would have insisted on Millinocket instead of this cabin, like she initially wanted. “I have many questions, but--” her eyes were drawn to Penelope’s wrist, “-- I see your wrist is better. I don’t know if that means you actually listened to my medical advice, or if enough time just passed for it to heal.” Truth be told, Regan wasn’t sure she could recognize a week from a month right now; each day blurred into the next, marked by nothing other than the increasing intensity of what she had to do. “What are you doing with the bark? I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out h--” Something rumbled beneath her, subtle, but very much there. A pebble rolled into her boot. Perhaps a small earthquake, barely noticeable. Maine didn’t have large ones. “Did you feel that?”

“Regan?” was Nell’s questioning reply, though she could plainly see that it was the banshee who stood in front of her with...a knife? That had been a blade, hadn’t it? Confusion paired with intrigue was quick to flash across Nell’s face as her eyes trailed the movement of the now sheathed weapon. Perhaps it was comical on some level that she should be so surprised by this development in nearly the same way Regan had been startled by Nell’s willingness to fight Nadia all those months ago in the morgue. But it was evident that Regan didn’t want to speak about the dagger, or how she’d come to carry one in the first place, and Nell took a long moment to decide whether or not to honor that desire. People carried knives for protection, didn’t they? This thought of concern was the deciding factor when it came to being her usual nosy self or not. If Regan was in danger, Nell would want to help. “You carry a weapon now?” she asked innocently, not wanting to come on too strongly. “I mean- it’s been something like 4 months since I hurt it, right? Thanks for looking at it again, though.” Nell hadn’t realized how long it’d been since she’d seen Regan in person until she’d done the quick calculation of time passed, and a small flicker of guilt sparked in her stomach. Had she been so busy with her own and others’ problems to do something as simple as ask Regan if she wanted to get pie? “Oh- I was just gathering the-” Her own words stopped mid-sentence along with Regan’s as she too felt the earth tremble ever so slightly beneath them. “What the fuck? Is that...an earthquake?” They weren’t completely unheard of, but as the tremors of the ground beneath their feet began to intensify, Nell did the only thing that seemed logical. “We should get somewhere safe! Somewhere with less really tall trees that could crush us.” Instinctively she tried to close the distance between herself and Regan to reach for the other woman’s hand, wanting to tug her along towards a clearing.

The dagger. Penelope had seen it. Any hope Regan held otherwise -- foolishly, against her own training -- plummeted. But then, Penelope carried weapons on her, too, albeit for a different purpose; surely she didn’t find this too unusual, right? “Not all of the time,” she admitted, putting more space between the two of them, “and it isn’t what you think. I would never-- I thought you were a deer.” Too close. Penelope was still too close to her. She hadn’t intended to get as close as she was right now, and rupturing any of Penelope’s organs was unacceptable. “Four… four months.” Regan’s tone was flat as she processed that, but she blinked at the thought. How had that been four months ago? She wasn’t sure whether it felt like that amount of time was too long or too short. Everything had been so different then. “Right,” she added, uncertain, “four months ago.”

Apparently Regan wasn’t the only one who felt the ground shake, which gave her at least some confidence about her mental wellbeing, but made her concern about their current situation grow. “I think-- I think it’s an earthquake.” And it wasn’t letting up. The small tremor grew into rumble powerful enough to make her legs wobble, her wings fluttering to catch her balance. This never happened, not in Maine. Not to this extent. Penelope’s hand shot out toward her and Regan peeled back, her voice a tight hiss. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.” But Penelope was right about one thing; the earthquake was only getting worse, and being somewhere surrounded by tall trees could be dangerous. As if to emphasize the point, a loud creeeeeeeclunfffff from nearby was almost certainly a tree that just fell over. Regan wouldn’t let herself jump, even flinch. Had Deirdre been here, she would have calmly and confidently walked the two of them to safety, the vibrations telling here where not to step. But Regan wasn’t Deirdre... not yet. “I know where there’s a clearing. Come with m--” The earth shook below them again, twice as fiercely, and before Regan could lead the way, it swallowed them up. 

Nell barely had a moment to process any of Regan’s words let alone her severe determination to keep as much space between the two of them as possible. There was only the faint and concerning question of ‘What’s wrong with her?’ flitting through the witch’s mind before she felt the ground drop out from beneath her feet, her stomach lurching like she was on the downside of a rollercoaster. Unfortunately there were no seatbelts on this particular thrill ride.

She hit the cold dirt hard with a grunt and a roll, doing her best to make sure no lasting injuries beyond a bruise would find a mark on her today. “What the fuck?” she repeated less than gracefully, too many questions flitting round her brain as she tried to right herself. The loudest one banging around her head was the first to find her lips. “Regan? Regan, are you alright?” For a moment Nell worried she’d hit her head hard enough to do something to her vision, but it soon became apparent that they were simply too far from the surface for any meaningful light to make its way to them. “Where are you?” she asked, reaching out with searching hands while her eyes took longer than she wanted to adjust to the lack of sun. 

As the earth rumbled and split open beneath them, Regan could barely focus enough to hear what Penelope was saying -- but it didn’t sound like English. Ground fell away, and she felt herself plummet down, further and further. Her wings whirred to life instinctively, and just when Regan thought they would help slow the fall, or even lift her back up, it felt like a weighted blanket was smothering her, pushing her to the bottom of a massive, dark cave, as everything happened too quickly for her to react. She wasn’t sure what part of her struck the ground first -- her side smacked the floor and her left ankle twisted at a painful angle. She heard a scream echo through the cave around them, which might have been her own. She hoped not. Deirdre would have been disgusted by her screaming in fear. Fear was, Deirdre always reminded her, unbecoming.

Regan winced, slowly pushing herself up. There were only pin pricks of light shining down from above. Flying out wasn’t an option, not that she was convinced she would have been able to regardless. And there was the matter of Penelope. Wait, Penelope -- where did-- but before Regan could call out, she heard Nell’s voice echoing, not as loudly as the preceding scream. “Where are you?” She asked, having a difficult time pinning down the source of the voice. She pushed herself up a little further, leaning against the cold wall of the cave for support. She tested her ankle, put some weight on it. Pain shot up her leg, but she didn’t react. “I twisted my ankle. I need to examine it later. No symptoms of a concussion. I likely have some contusions. I imagine you do, too.” She probed her side with a hand, not surprised at the tenderness. It was surprising that was the worst of it, given the fall both of them had taken. “Yourself? I can’t see you. I’m sorry about the-- I don’t know if it was me who scr-- oh, there you are.” She reached out, seeing some movement straight ahead. For a moment, she forgot herself, forgot about the danger of physical contact, and just wanted to prioritize finding Nell and assessing her injuries. Her fingers brushed against something alive, and it wiggled at her touch. “Penelope? Is that you?”

Relief flooded through Nell as Regan’s voice filtered through the darkness, the tightness in her chest easing as it seemed Regan was only minimally damaged. “Okay- okay, do you think you can make it out of here on your own with the ankle? Once we find a way out?” Nell asked, already thinking of ways she could potentially pull off a way to magic her friend out of here should the situation call for it. 

“I’m here,” Nell answered reflexively, moving towards the sound of Regan’s voice, eyes still taking their sweet time when it came to adjusting in the low light of the sinkhole. “No, it’s fine-” the witch said as she counted herself lucky. No doubt if Regan had actually screamed it would be a far different story. “I’m fine, too. Just some scrapes and bruises, probably.” Already she could feel a trickle of warm blood making its way down her leg, but she’d see to that later. Reaching out in the direction of Regan’s voice, Nell found something warm and stable, and certainly alive under her fingertips. “....Regan?” It was close to where Regan’s voice was stemming from, but something about it felt decidedly...not Regan. As if to answer her query, pinpricks of light bubbled up under her fingers, soft, blue, and luminous dots peppering into existence. The pattern of them was confusing, looking as if they curved around a leg, or perhaps even an arm. “What the fuck,” Nell uttered for the third time since her and the banshee’s reunion, instinctively pulling her hand back. If she didn’t know better she’d say the little lights could form a pattern of...stripes.

Penelope’s voice echoed through the cave again, still difficult to pin down exactly where it was coming from. It was alarming, though, that it didn’t seem to line up with the direction of the thing Regan had just touched. Auditory hallucination. Certainly. Right? “Yes, I’ll make it out of here. We both will. My ankle will be fine.” It felt too strange pointing out that she could fly, if necessary. Or at least she thought she could; she couldn’t tell if her wings had been injured or torn in the fall, too. She wasn’t eager to check them and find out -- the less she needed to ever touch them, the better. 

“Where--” Regan could hear Penelope calling her name, closer now, but-- no, very close. She was only feet away, though she only looked like a blurry dark shape in the tiny amount of light afforded to them. Regan sighed in relief, reaching out again. “It’s me, yes. Why are you posed so strangely, like you’re on your knees? Are you injured more badly than you want to admit?” but before Regan could make contact with Penelope, fluorescent blue droplets formed and dissipated across the dark figure. They stretched across the surface in bands, contouring in the approximate shape of a person, though severely disfigured or deformed. Its proportions were wrong -- legs too long, rear too high, and neck craned upward at an unfortunate angle. Had Penelope been mangled? Where was the light coming from? It glowed like a semen stain under a UV light. But Penelope seemed equally as stunned, and Regan’s ears picked up quick movement. The bright blue bubbles expanded, forming clear stripes, and they began flashing like a strobe. 

“That’s… that’s not you, is it?” Regan swallowed back the lump in her throat, reminding herself to muzzle her fear; it had no place in this world. With one last flicker, the stripes went out like an extinguished candle, and all she could hear was a rapid skitter as someone -- or something -- scuttled away like a large spider. Penelope. Right. She had to be close. Regan lurched to the side to see if she could make contact with her, and she bumped into something warm and solid. A quick palpation revealed a human arm and hand, and Regan reluctantly latched onto it, putting the danger she herself posed aside for just a moment. “That’s you, right?” she pleaded, “Please tell me that’s you. I don’t know what that was. But I don’t think it left us alone, and it’s dark in here, and I don’t think there’s a way out, and I can’t see a damn thing, and I can feel you shifting your weight and know you’re hurt.” Muzzle it, Kavanagh. She drew in a long sigh of musty air, and her tone evened back to its new-normal flatline. “Have you ever been stuck in a cave before? What do we do? I only have half a Snickers bar with me.” 

Whatever the hell it was that had come between the pair of them skittered away, and Nell tried her best to track it as it fled, though she lost it amongst the more distant and indistinct shadows of their cave. “Nope! Definitely not me.” But then what the hell was it? “That’s me,” she said with more confidence as she felt the familiar cold of Regan’s touch— doctor’s hands or whatever she had called them on numerous occasions before. “I’m hurt,” Nell admitted reluctantly, knowing Regan might not let it be unless she addressed the subject. “But nothing that’s gonna stop us from getting out of here.” If Nell was being honest...she’d probably been stuck in a few too many caves with all the shenanigans she’d gotten up to in her travels before she’d returned home to White Crest. “You’re in luck— I’m basically a cave breakout expert,” she answered in a tone that was meant to instill some levity back into the conversation, not wanting to worry Regan. Though...perhaps that was the wrong tone to take considering the banshee’s general lack of comprehension when it came to Nell’s figurative speech.

“Don’t worry about the Snickers bar. I know how to get us out of here.” Thankfully, nine times out of ten, magic was always the answer to a situation such as this, though she wasn’t entirely sure how well Regan might take that approach and execution. But did it really matter when it was most likely their only way out? Reaching for the familiar pull of magic that flooded her veins, she gripped it firmly in her grasp, a spell already forming on her lips.  In a moment, Nell had summoned a bag of takis from home into her waiting hand, the crinkling of the chip bag filling the cavern in a sound that almost made Nell flinch. What if that...thing heard it and came back? 

No sooner had Nell thought of it than the glowing and dotted stripes filtered through the cave once more, approaching with what looked to be curiosity mixed with caution and very possibly...hunger. “Shit. Do you think it wants...food?” If they wanted to make it out of the cave, they’d first have to ensure that whatever this was didn’t eat them, first. Ever so slowly...Nell popped open the bag of takis, taking a single and spicy cone out before throwing it in the direction of the mystery creature. It had worked for hellhounds in the long run— hopefully it would work for this thing as well.

A cave break-out expert. Regan didn’t think that was a professional designation, but it seemed fruitless to argue with Penelope on the subject right now. She was more concerned about their injuries and finding a way out of here. At least Penelope had the confidence that she lacked. She stayed clinging to Nell, the risk of becoming separated greater than the risk of a scream at present. “You have a plan?” Regan asked, skeptical. The question was met with crinkling plastic. Was that… it sounded like a snack food bag? Was that the plan? Only to add more food to their stash for them to ration out as they starved? “Water is more important,” she chided quietly, “we can take inventory and ration later, but we’re dead unless we find water in a couple of days. Not to mention, it’s likely we’ll develop respiratory infections, perhaps fungal. And I don’t know how bad your injuries are. Caves are filthy. An infection is quite possible. We could--” But there it was again, the pulsing of fluorescent stripes, migrating down from the ceiling, coming closer and closer…

Regan pushed back against the mounting pressure in her lungs. She wouldn’t scream. Not next to Penelope. Not touching her. The thing might not be dangerous. It might not even be alive. But the source of the stripes only lingered nearby, one flashing limb stretching in their direction as if asking for something. Nell voiced what Regan had been dreading. “It can’t have our food, Penelope. We need it. We might be down here for a long time.” Would anyone be able to find them here? In a closed in hole in the middle of the woods? Kaden knew the general area she was in, but it was vast, and who would think to look underground? She could scream, possibly, but a noise loud enough to escape the confines of the cave would surely deafen Penelope. But there was a pop as the bag of snacks was opened, and Regan could hear Nell’s fingers shuffling around inside to grab something. Her muscles moved in a way that suggested she had tossed it.

The rest happened in a split second. Something long, narrow, and brightly striped shot out toward them, curling around whatever Nell had thrown. It whipped back to where it came from, vanished. Regan couldn’t even hear a crunch. “Did it just-- what did you do? Did you feed it? Did it eat it?” The stripes lit up brighter, and under their glow, Regan could see Penelope’s face. But more urgently, was the creature -- the bands of stripes spread across its body until it was a solid, pulsing white, its shape horribly reminiscent of the thing she saw in the woods with Morgan, and the creature outside of the mime restaurant. “We need to run right now,” Regan barked, pulling on Penelope’s arm, “this thing will eat us next!”

“Regan, it’s gonna be fine. I-,” Nell caught herself before using the dreaded ‘p’ word, realizing her months of missing Regan’s presence almost had her slipping into bad habits around the fae. “We don’t have to worry about any of that stuff, ‘cause it’s not gonna get that far, alright? My sisters aren’t gonna let me go missing for a couple days, let alone hours- and you know Kaden won’t either.” There were a million and one ways she could get them out of here with her magic. And even if somehow that didn’t work, Nell would bet her life that Luce would be out by dusk with a tracking spell to lead them towards her missing sister. They’d all probably been a little too hypervigilant since the run in with Montgomery, but it definitely would have its perks in a situation such as this. “Just trust me, okay?” 

Nell watched as closely as she could when the singular glowing stripe snatched up the taki, trying to ignore the shiver of vague disgust that had worked its way down her spine. “No, I think it liked it!” the witch denied as the thing grew brighter, finally granting Nell the light she needed to see. But perhaps it would have been better if the creature hadn’t come to light. The thing was perched strangely on its toes, as if it was some kind of skinny gorilla tiptoeing around on its knuckles. Watching the creature closely, Nell squinted as she reflexively threw another taki, letting it land directly on the floor in front of the glowing beast. After having made a living of catching monsters for the Ring, and dealing with them for multiple years before that— she was confident in her abilities to read the movements of unfamiliar creatures, even ones as silent and stoic as the thing in front of her. “I think it just...wants more chips?” Now that it was bathed in light, she could take a closer look at the creature, and soon enough her eyes went back to the legs it was stilted on. “Do you see that?” she asked with disbelief beginning to enter her voice, refusing to budge despite Regan’s commands. “It looks like...almost claws on its hands?” Something nearly akin to grappling hooks. “Do you think- you don’t think it could climb out of here, do you?” And suddenly a ridiculous plan had begun it’s formation in her mind’s eye. 

“You’re getting an idea,” Regan said, taking in the shine of Penelope’s voice, “I know you’re getting an idea.” And even through the thick numbness that had taken hold inside of her for the last few months, she could feel a drop of dread spreading through her stomach like blood soaking into tissue paper. Any plan originating from Penelope’s brain would involve substantial risk and danger. There was no question. And Regan, even now, still loathed both of those things. Being near the animal seemed like risk enough for a lifetime. “Stop feeding that thing. I don’t think it-- what if you’re only whetting its appetite? And we’re next?” But even as the creature skittered closer in want of more chips, it didn’t seem to be motioning to attack them. Maybe this one was more timid than the one she encountered in the woods with Morgan. She didn’t have it in her to hope for that.

The creature’s stripes pulsed again, almost rippling with light, and Regan could see that Penelope was studying it closely. She herself preferred not to look at it, and turned away. “It might be able to, but we can’t. Besides, there’s no light filtering through. We’re caved in. I couldn’t even fl-- I mean, there’s no getting out of here unless we dig our way out.” Penelope knew that, right? Surely her question was hypothetical. Surely she wasn’t angling to attempt to train this dangerous animal and try to convince it to dig a path for them. Surely.

Crap.

“For the record,” Regan said, tightening her grip around Penelope’s arm, “I don’t support whatever it is you’re about to do. Would it really be so bad to wait in here and do nothing? You said it yourself: your sisters and Kaden will come looking for us.” Though her concerns from earlier about them not being successfully bubbled up in her mind. “If it pulls your leg off, I can’t save you here.” The blue stripes flashed red for a split second, and every muscle in her body clenched. She reminded herself of Deirdre. She was a storm. She had nothing to fear. Except, likely, dismemberment by way of subterranean cryptic mime. 

The glowing creature scuttled closer, and it took all Nell had in her not to flinch away as it began to pilfer the Taki bag in her hand, it’s tongue growing somehow even longer as it reached into the depths of the plastic to ensnare a mouthful of chips. It wasn’t fear that had her wanting to draw away, but a deep-seated hatred matched only by her disgust for anything striped that made her want to pull apart from the thing. Unfortunately...the creature was the only plan she had at the moment, so the choice of whether or not to be friendly had already been made for her. “But if I stop feeding it, it might decide that it actually is hungry and then want us. At least the chips are distracting it,” Nell refuted. “I’m getting an idea, and it might not be the most...straightforward one, but it could be one that gets us out of here.” Looking over Regan, she let her gaze linger for a moment longer on the woman’s arms. “How good would you say your upper body and leg strength is…” If Nell’s plan was going to be successful, they’d need to hang on as tight as they could when it came to the execution. “I mean- this thing looks pretty good for digging...don’t you think?” No doubt the banshee would know where Nell was going with this now.

Ever so slowly, Nell set the bag of Takis on the ground, thankful that it was one of the jumbo sized ones she’d specially ordered online. Hopefully it’d keep the creature busy for a while yet. Sure enough the cursed and flashing mime-like monster continued to stuff its face, holding the bag steady with the very same claws that had given Nell this idea. “I don’t wanna wait. Don’t you wanna get out of this hole as soon as possible?” And when had been the last time Nell had really gotten to have a bit of fun with little chance of death while still having that delicious rush of adrenaline? Sure, Regan seemed convinced that the creature would go feral at any moment, but the witch was certain there was only one way out at this point. Brushing her hands on her jeans, Nell looked towards Regan with a warning glance, legs tensing to jump. “Don’t freak out when I try this, okay? I don’t want any sudden movements to make it...angry.”

And with that Nell launched herself up the side of the creature, scrabbling for any purchase she could find among the stripes. The mime shifted beneath her, the new and additional weight taking it by surprise. For a moment it reared its head as if trying to see what had saddled itself upon its back. “Give it another chip!” Nell yelled to Regan, having finally managed to settle herself astride the creature, one leg on either side of it. “Before it figures out that it wants me off!”

It liked the chips. It actually liked the chips. By the faint glow of the creature’s stripes, Regan saw its long tongue slither back around, grasping for more food. She had half a mind to search along the ground for the knife she had lost and slice the creature’s tongue from its mouth. That thought made her go cold -- it seemed like something Deirdre would do. “I go for a run every morning. And I’m strong enough to flip a large decedent over if I must. But I’m not-- wait, why are you asking?” She knew from Nell’s tone that she had an idea. That was almost as frightening as the thing eating her chips. “Digging? You expect it to dig us out of here? Is that what you’re saying? Do you know how long it would take for it to dig a tunnel we can climb up? I don’t know definitively. But it would almost certainly take-- we don’t even know how deep we fell.” The creature lifted its flat face from the chips and stared into her for a moment, before slowly lowering itself back down to the crinkling bag. A shiver jumped down her spine. Another one joined it when Penelope told her not to freak out. “What are you about to--”

Penelope leaped. In the dark, there was a black blur of movement springing toward the creature. Nell landed on the thing’s striped back, and it scuttled and bucked in response. The shock of it all tore through the complacency of her training, and Regan felt the scream pushing itself up again. Cave. Penelope. Danger. Before it could escape, she clamped down on her tongue with her teeth. “I will not!” Regan hissed back, the taste of blood filling her mouth. “I think it’s already figured that out. I-- this is such a reckless and-- what would your sisters say if they knew-- I think that thing would rather eat you than the-- oh, fine.” She clambered for the bag, and as it crinkled between her fingers, she fished a chip out and tossed it blindly into the air. “Please don’t tell me you expect to ride it like a horse. Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know. Sometimes not knowing is better.” But as the thing galloped closer on silent toes, Penelope bobbing on its back, Regan knew exactly what she had in mind. There was room on the mime for two.

Nell paid absolutely no mind to Regan’s claims that she would not be riding the mime creature. As the thing continued it’s beeline course for the banshee, no doubt enticed by the chip bag she was holding, Nell leaned over the side of it just enough to reach out an arm. “Grab onto me!” she yelled as the pair got into range, ready to haul Regan up onto the creature as well. Her eyes were bright with excitement as they drew closer to the other woman, chest almost heaving with the promise of adventure. “It’ll be fine! The chips are working!” Would it actually be fine? There was no actual way of telling, but Nell wasn’t about to admit such a thing to Regan while she was trying to convince the woman to make a haphazard boarding of the animal. “You wanna get out of here, right?” Nell dug her heels into the sides of the creature, finding a divet in its sides that almost felt like they’d been made for fitting her feet- something akin to a natural stirrup on the beast. The biggest struggle was where to put her hands. It didn’t seem that the slime coating the creature was becoming any lesser, and it wasn’t as if there were a mane of any sort for her to grip and hold onto. Instead she held onto the thing between clenched legs, thanking the fact that she was made of lean and strong muscles despite her small stature. “Almost there! Just reach out your arm!”

And there it was. Confirmation of what Penelope’s plan was. And it was every bit as horrible as Regan suspected. “Grab onto you? Why? I’m not going to--” But she was forced to swallow those words. It all happened too quickly. Penelope surging onto the thing’s glowing back, the creature charging toward her, and her instincts taking over. She wasn’t sure whether she grabbed onto Nell with the intent to pull her off, or with the intent of clinging onto her, but Penelope wasn’t letting the former happen. Her stomach plummeted with every silent step the thing took, and all she had to hold onto was Penelope. Regan closed her eyes and clung to her, focusing only on not screaming and blowing her friend up along with their mount. She wouldn’t let herself look. But she could feel clumps of dirt flying against her face, and the tension of the beast’s muscles underneath them as it worked through the wall of the cave. “There is no way this is safe,” Regan muttered, still attentive toward keeping a scream from forming, “it’s going to dig a grave for us and then eat us and then there won’t even be any of us left for the grave, and we’re going to die down here, and we’ll never be found.” But the dark field behind her eyelids suddenly grew… lighter. And, for just a moment, it felt like a weak breeze joined the spray of dirt against her skin. Regan blinked open one of her eyes, then the other, as blue skies appeared overhead. 

A bright and careless laugh tumbled out of Nell as Regan found her own place among their new friend, hands tentatively reaching into the air as if she were at the fair. She couldn’t think of the last way she felt so light, a part of her remembering fondly the rush levity that came with latching onto the back of a strange creature and riding it off into the sunset...even if this one was suspiciously mime-like. How long had it been since she’d interacted with the supernatural simply for the fun of it? She’d spent the first of her five years travelling finding the parts of the world that housed creatures such as this, swimming with fish larger than a boat, climbing the side of a beast the size of a skyscraper...When had it stopped? When had life become more about death than the fun of it? “Relax, Regan! Just enjoy yourself!” she chuckled brightly, knowing that asking the former medical examiner to do such a thing was akin to telling the sun not to rise. The light came slowly, peering through the shadows of the dirt and rocks surrounding them until Nell could distinguish the features of Regan riding behind her. “It’s okay, Regan,” she began again, the rush of adrenaline beginning to wear off now that their mount was slowing, and the darkness was disappearing behind them. “We did it. We made it out.” 

[luttare]

You like him for more than his looks, but he will never believe that.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Marley and Me || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Present

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: At therapy, Morgan and Deirdre uncover some secrets between them. So much for telling each other everything.

CONTAINS: references to past domestic (child) abuse, negative self-talk, trauma related panic.

Kelly hadn’t doubted that she would get Deirdre to open up and connect eventually. But given the breadth of the woman’s combative defenses, she hadn’t expected to get genuine admissions from her on a fifth session. Certainly not one that was secret to Morgan. Kelly had almost asked Deirdre to stop, to give herself more time to acclimate to the process and not feel so obliged, but the woman was determined. Kelly could only hope now that this determination would present itself now in their latest joint session.

As they settled in for the hour, Morgan had her notes ready, but her anxiousness to give an itemized progress report had ceced in favor of burgeoning confidence. Maybe it was partly a show, but some patients had to fake it til they made it. Kelly leveled her eyes at Deirdre, the only kind of warning she gave. She was curious to know where her bravery came from, and how far it would take her today. They’d had an understanding, but agreeing to a discussion on one day was different from facing it head on later. “Good to see you both today. Deirdre,” she said her name carefully. “Why don’t you start us off today? You had something you wanted to share with your partner from our last session together, didn’t you?”

Silence could be measured by the clock on the wall, ticking dutifully. It took five ticks for Deirdre to respond, having been focused on settling in beside Morgan, and trying not to look like she hated this room and what it asked of her. “Y-yes,” she snapped her attention up, swallowing thickly. When she’d mentioned it in their individual sessions, she was vulnerable from admitting to Kelly something she couldn’t even tell Morgan, and she hadn’t thought about what it meant. To her, therapy was just one more thing to conquer and get right, she might as well move it along. Yet, she didn’t realize ‘moving it along’ meant talking about it. To Morgan. Right now. “Yes, I did.” She reached for her girlfriend’s hand, taking it into her lap, shifting to face her. She was struck then about how silly this was; why did she think this was a good idea? Why did Kelly? “At night…” she began slowly, voice twisted into a trembling confession. She clamored for a tighter grip on Morgan’s hand. “You know….sometimes I have trouble sleeping….because of….nightmares...usually.” They weren’t even a common occurrence now! She was just a restless sleeper most days and she’d been like that ever since she was a child. Her grandmother told her she cried and wailed in the middle of the night like no other child she’d heard before. “A great set of lungs on you! Even before.” Her mother remained appalled by the sound for crying. Maybe this anecdote was more important to explain, maybe she should have told Kelly this instead, that session past. Deirdre frowned. It took three ticks for her to continue.

“And I don’t like to tell you what they’re about because…” Because one of two subjects that tormented her most was Morgan, her death being a common night terror. At first, she assumed the vision came to her because of her proximity to Morgan as she slept—she could, at the drop of a hat, summon that vision forth whenever she wanted (though she never wanted). But, as she confirmed months ago when a plate slipped from her fingers, just about anything could remind her of the moment. Just as she was sure it was worse for her love. But the other subject, the one the mentioned to Kelly, she dreaded to speak of. Lest she be summoned, perhaps. Or, more likely, Deirdre be embarrassed again by her vulnerability.

Marley Stryder was not a topic she brought up at home.

“Well, I don’t want to worry you and I...don’t want to admit that I...well I…” Deirdre swallowed. She glanced towards Kelly, whose face was patient; she should have just said she’d do this at home. Another tick. “You’ll remember, months ago, at that amusement park…” And another. And two more. “...that thing that happened.” Her eyes fell from their place looking into Morgan’s, focused her hands. She played with her fingers, intertwining them with hers, tugging on them and squeezing. “It haunts me sometimes. In dream, where I see red glow. I’ve had the microwave replaced that time because I couldn’t stand it--that red, cutting through the dark. I can’t--” She swallowed. “And I think about how it felt to be there, on the floor and no one’s ever made me feel so--” Exposed. Vulnerable. Weak. Pathetic. Like a woman that didn’t belong in her own body, like a woman that didn’t want to be. And all of her fears were right there, but the vision of them wasn’t so much what bothered it. It was the feeling, the dread. She couldn’t stop shaking. She was shaking. “Sometimes, the nightmares are that. They’re about her. And I didn’t want to--I thought you’d think it was silly, to feel this way about it. But what happened still bothers me, and I haven’t told you that before. I usually don’t like talking about it.” She looked up, at Morgan then at Kelly. “T-that’s it. That’s what I wanted to say. I wanted you to know, because we talk about everything, and I like that we do that. And I’ve felt so…” She gestured, “guilty that I couldn’t tell you this.”

Morgan sat alert while Deirdre tried to make her confession. She encouraged her eyes, with a gentle smile, with a squeeze of her fingers. It was okay. She could take her time. She had nothing to fear. And then Dierdre told what she had been keeping secret, and it took all of Morgan’s willpower not to pull away. She flinched, and her eyes widened in a very loud signal of no, oh no. Her gaze flitted to Kelly. She wanted to scream at her. What do you think you’re doing? What the fuck is this? What the hell made you put her up to this?

In their last one-on-one session, Morgan had enumerated some areas where her fear was overriding her values with their relationship. And if she were to put the knowledge that she wasn’t really afraid of Deirdre or what she would do into action, she could maybe start by cleaning up those messy areas in the next joint session. Like expressing her desire to make their home into more of a social space, even if Morgan didn’t think there was much they could fix about it. There was no telling for sure, and Deirdre deserved to know, and there was nothing wrong for being upfront about sacrifices being made. Or about how sorry Morgan really was for her days of rage after Deirdre’s return home. Or, yes, the fact that she occasionally spoke with Marley Stryder and even liked the woman sometimes. But none of the plans had been definite. At least, not specifically.

Morgan had imagined she would mull this over, prioritize, maybe drum up the courage to introduce an idea of her choosing. Not this. This awful, staged ‘opportunity’ for them to ‘grow together.’ How much were they going to grow if she had to look at Deirdre in all of her pain and be all, oh, that’s so funny, I’ve been telling the face you see in you nightmares that she’s great! Aren’t our differences so wonderful! She actually deserves to be happy, you know, like everyone else! That wouldn’t make you feel incredibly dismissed or anything, right?

Swiftly, she drew Deirdre into her arms and pressed her tight. She did not speak. She was too aware of Deirdre’s body trembling in her grasp, of the weight of what she had to say if she didn’t want to betray her love in even worse ways than she already had. And it was a betrayal, wasn’t it? She hadn’t known, she couldn’t have. All those times Deirdre woke up screaming, Morgan thought it was her mother or Regan or even Morgan herself that she was running from. Deirdre had said she didn’t like it anymore. One of her meals had come out cold still, so: new microwave. Deirdre had replaced things in the house for less. But none of that would matter, would it?

Morgan’s body clenched stiff, pressing Deirdre tighter still. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked at last. “I didn’t…you never brought it up after that…'' That long awful night in the hotel, when neither of them had slept until sunrise. Morgan had never seen Deirdre like that before. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her like that since either. Low in other ways, yes. But not that deeply frightened, beyond speech, with boundaries no one was ever supposed to cross shattered inside her. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know at all. I had no idea this was still happening for you. I…” Thought it was over. She’d had her revenge outside the bowling alley, right? What else was there to do? “Fuck...” So long as Morgan kept holding her, she didn’t have to say it. If she could just say like this, comforting her…

“Is there something you’re trying to say in response, Morgan?” Kelly prompted.

Morgan fought the urge to growl. She was not ready for this. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “That you felt like you couldn’t say. I don’t want that for us. I truly...I had no idea…” She pulled back just enough to kiss her cheek (was that bad, with what she was holding onto?) “I do… I n-need you to…” Morgan sighed and kissed again. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this was just that fear and this was the best way she had of conquering it. If they seriously made it through this moment intact, what else was there to be afraid of? What other proof could she possibly need that they were safe and strong and fine? And didn’t Deirdre know how she felt about giving people chances anyway? “I have something to tell you too,” she said quietly. “But I really, really, really need you to understand that I...it didn’t even occur to me that she could be the one in your night terrors.”

Kelly was right. Talons lifted their suffocating grip on Deirdre’s body, lifting up and flying away, freeing her from their invisible pressure. It didn’t take away her pain, or trauma, but it had given her a foothold, just like Kelly said it would. Little steps; sometimes those helped. Deirdre relaxed in Morgan’s arms, safe in them. There existed a person who would never hurt her as she had been, and she held on to her just as tightly as she held back. “It’s okay.” Her voice was clear now, confident. She could breathe. Everything was fine. It was okay. She’d said what she wanted to say, and Marley didn’t pop out of some shadow to taunt her, and that feeling of dread didn’t come back. She was safe. It was okay. “Don’t be sorry,” Deirdre was smiling, bright and free. She looked up and found that all she wanted was to smooth away whatever was troubling Morgan. Don’t worry, it’s okay. She lined her face with eager kisses. “It’s okay! It---I just thought if I said it, I’d feel that way again but---” But she had said it, and she didn’t. She felt good, even. Now she really had told Morgan everything, right? Would it all be better now? “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She grinned, and pushed away the small, stubborn question that sprung to mind: why wouldn’t that occur to you? Morgan had seen her then, Morgan knew; Morgan probably meant that she didn’t think it was nightmare-worthy, but knew completely and totally that it bothered her so. Why wouldn’t she? She knew her so well, she loved her so kindly. And there were no secrets now, except the one Morgan was trying to tell her. “Sorry, go ahead, my love.”    

Morgan cringed at Deirdre’s assurances. She didn’t know when ‘the right time’ was or what the ideal format of this conversation could have been. If Kelly had led with her baggage and made her pick from the dropdown menu of fear, how much more or less afraid would she feel? There was no telling now, but at least she wouldn’t have this extra helping of guilt stuck in her throat.

She gripped Deirdre’s hands and squeezed them tight, as her love had done minutes before. “I didn’t realize,” she said again, and cringed again, hating how much easier it was to apologize and enjoy the comfort without paying for it first. She could do this, right? What was she if she didn’t? And what was their trust worth, their honesty, if she didn’t? She met Deirdre’s eyes once, pleading, and lowered them as she spoke at last. “S-sometimes...just, I don’t know, maybe five or six times, I...I don’t count, I didn’t think I was doing anything…”

Wrong? She knew it would be inappropriate to regale Deirdre with tales of how Marley was coming along with her own growth, but she didn’t alert Deirdre every time she had a conversation with someone who’d been hurtful in the past either. That would be absurd. She didn’t need a run down of her talks with Miriam in detail, but that didn’t make the vampire a secret. Deirdre knew Morgan was invested in her well being. Just as she knew Morgan was close with Kaden (another person she didn’t go into detail about, out of respect). Deirdre had been the one to encourage Morgan to see people as people in the first place, even those it was easier to hate. And with the trauma of that dark amusement park in the past tense, in Morgan’s mind, Marley wasn’t any different. Just a person, that deserved the chance to change.

“...as a last resort, or a friend emergency, because we’re not friends but we seem to have almost all the same ones, sometimes…” Morgan swallowed thickly. She wasn’t talking to her mother. Deirdre loved her well. Endlessly, unconditionally. She did. And they forgave each other everything, so maybe Morgan was the one prolonging her own pain for no reason. Right? “...sometimes we talk. Marley and I.” And she’s not that person anymore. She’s so much like you. “We’re not friends, so it didn’t even seem important, a-and it’s usually just because she’s worried about Erin or Anita, or there’s some other thing and there’s just no one else to ask! I thought it would be…” Hurtful to tell Deirdre. Cruel. Was that a paradox, or had she been deluding herself worse than she’d realized? “I wouldn’t have done it if I had known that this was so heavy that it would still be in your nightmares.” Not like that anyway. “I wouldn’t knowingly hurt you, Deirdre. I knew you wouldn’t like it no matter what, but this makes it different and I’m sorry, more than I ever thought I was going to be. I am sorry.”

It took Deirdre seven ticks to reply. As Morgan spoke, her face had gone from bright to eager to understanding to confused to impassive, until finally— “W-what?” Betrayed. Her mind, often an erratic creature, quieted; all she could hear was the thrum of her own heart, pushing blood to her face. This didn’t make sense. Morgan wasn’t making sense. Just moments ago, she was safe, and now she was… “What?” Deirdre pulled her hands from Morgan’s. She pushed herself away. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” She looked to Kelly, wondering if she was just as lost. Morgan isn’t making sense! She wanted to scream. Make Morgan make sense. She turned back, talons upon her shoulders again. The world was small. The world was quiet. “I don’t—how could you not know?” Because you didn’t tell her, something else argued, but by then, it didn’t matter. “Stop. Stop. Stop!” She shot up, hands curled to fists at her side. The room rattled with her voice, her body quivered. “Stop,” Deirdre was pleading to no one in particular. “Morgan, I don’t—that doesn’t make sense. It—“ She began to pace the length of the room, hand pinching the bridge of her nose. Her mind was quiet still, though she was forcing herself to think. “Why would you—how could you—I don’t understand.” Morgan was talking to Marley. Morgan was talking to Marley to help her. Morgan was talking to Marley to give her advice. Morgan was talking to Marley to soothe her concerns. Deirdre paused, she looked at Morgan. Her mind was no longer quiet.

Do you remember, she began asking herself, how you thought Morgan knew you? Deirdre’s nostrils flared, a deep breath filling her lungs. Yes, yes, she said, yes, I do. It was with that betrayal that her voice cut into the air, cracking certificates and diplomas, a framed family portrait on a desk, the vase Deirdre thought always looked a little like a gnome. “You knew!” She resumed her pacing, furious in her march. “You—you saw me! You saw me that day! You picked me up! And you’ve been—you knew what she did to me!” Deirdre’s nails made red marks in her palms, screaming for recognition. Think about me! Think about my pain! “You knew and you still—I tolerated it when you thought being Anita’s friend was—I tolerated it when you and Erin—I can’t believe—“ One of the frames shook off its nail, shattering against the ground. “You knew what she did to me and you’re helping her with her life!? Do you even care about—She hurt me!” Deirdre halted, having just enough sense to know she didn’t want to yell at Morgan, she turned her head up to the ceiling and yelled. “She hurt me! Why does it matter if it was in my nightmares or not? She hurt me! You were there! You knew! I told you! You know how I feel about her! She hurt me! She made me feel like—like—“ Deirdre dropped her head, trembling with rage, crying with the sting of betrayal. “—and I told you. You saw it. And you still—you still thought—of all the people...of all the people to be to be talking to about their life. To be soothing. To be helping. Fates, do you tell her that she’s not that bad? That it’s okay? That her life will be okay? You saw what she did to me and you tell her that? And I thought the last time you—I thought you would’ve stopped—I thought you cared!” Deirdre made it to the door, hand above the knob. She remembered where she was, and why she was here. She turned to Kelly, throwing her arms out. “Well?!” Another frame crashed to the floor.

As soon as Deirdre pulled her hands away, Morgan’s mind decided what was happening. The same thing that always happened. They were fine, and they weren’t. Whole, and then shattered. Just in a breath, in a single word. Because of her. How stupid she was, how hopeless. She had to spoil everything, didn’t she?

Between Deirdre’s half started phrases, she tried to protest. “I didn’t, I didn’t know, not like this, you didn’t tell me! You only just told me! And you said I shouldn’t look at people as monsters and I shouldn’t let it be that easy! You told me to see people! I was thinking about that! I didn’t understand! I don’t understand!”

But she never understood when she was hurting people, or screwing up. Not until it was too late. Her mother had said she was selfish and conniving, playing innocent when anyone else would have known better than to do whatever she’d done this time. Morgan thought she had disproved that theory enough times but maybe she was willfully stupid, maybe she didn’t want to know so she could get her way, maybe she couldn’t help but hurt people…

“Please, I’m sorry….” she whimpered.

Glass broke, stabbing the air as Deirdre screamed. Morgan cried out in a sob and cowered, covering her head. “Please!” More. Louder. Shards pattered the carpet and Morgan drew her legs up, making herself as small and tight as possible. If she cut herself, her mother would think she was looking for pity, or she would hate the extra work of taking care of her. To make her mother do the dressing and the cleaning of her body when she was already mad was so much worse and so unfair. (But this wasn’t like that, was it? Hadn’t Deirdre promised? Didn’t she love her?)

At the last piercing strike of the air, Morgan flinched, her body preparing for a hand to clamp on her shoulder, her hair, her neck, whatever was most convenient. She couldn’t remember if she’d been asked a direct question of if there was a rhetorical statement hanging in the air, if she was being stupid for wanting to answer, I love you, of course I care.  Please stop, I care. Please stop and love me again.

Kelly had known she was pulling a gambit by putting Morgan on the spot, but it wasn’t until her own voice was drowned out by shattering glass that she had to concede that this had been a bad bet. Time moved strangely slow, even if the scene wasn’t especially confusing. Morgan, cowering and probably crying, almost certainly having her trauma triggered. Deirdre, angry and lashing out to cover the extent of her own hurt. Retreating into herself behind whatever maximum security facility she’d started to creep out of, possibly re-living other times her needs had been dismissed under less sympathetic circumstances.

But until the handle rattled and Deirdre snapped her question, Kelly’s mind was flowing in the ocean tide of falling glass stirring in the wind in her fourth floor office. Then, she came back. She had no idea if she could help them repair this, but there was time left in the session, so she may as well give it her best.

“Well, what, Deirdre?” Kelly asked. “What do you need right now? Look at your partner—” Morgan gasped tearfully and shook her head as she tried to cower further into her corner of the couch. She didn’t want to be perceived, or hurt. “I don’t think this is a productive approach to getting your needs or your answers. Do you?” Did anyone? “I think taking a breath to collect yourselves and self soothe, however that looks, is the next logical step before you can try to set up a mutual dialogue. Do you agree?”

Morgan said nothing, but continued to tremble and whimper quietly, waiting for Deirdre’s cue. She would give her the car keys if that’s what she wanted. The credit cards. The clothes. Whatever she wanted back, however Morgan was supposed to pay, she would do it, she just wanted to know how.

“No, I don’t! Fuck you, Kelly.” Deirdre jabbed a finger in the air, finding it easier to shift her anger to Kelly than it was to admit she was right. Partially. Deirdre didn’t want to ‘self-soothe’, she was tired of self-soothing. She was tired of being the only person that ever cared about herself, even though she did such a poor job of it. But as Morgan’s whimpering found a voice under Deirdre’s anger, she couldn’t deny the rest of what Kelly had suggested. “Fine! Fuck.” Her hands shot up to her eyes, pressing them into her skull with her palm as she spun around and looked back at the door—she wouldn’t allow Kelly the satisfaction of knowing that she was following her advice. Deirdre had half a mind to stomp over there and hold Morgan close to her, but the stomping was just the issue. And so, she breathed. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. She spun back around, hands off her eyes and on her hips instead. In. Hold. Out. “For the record, I don’t fucking agree, by the way.” In. Hold. Out. Impatient, pained, she moved to the couch.

“Morgan…” She didn’t touch her, she wanted to ask before she tried, but before she tried she wanted Morgan to see she wasn’t so mad anymore. Not at her, at least. Self-soothing was a load of bullshit; weren’t they both tired of that? Didn’t they do it better together? Wasn’t everything better together? “I’m sorry about yelling, my love. I’m very sorry. I should have known better, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Will you look at me? Can you look at me?” Deirdre hovered away from putting her hands on her, asking with the twitch of her fingers, the furrow of her brow. Is this okay? She needed Morgan to tell her. A fearful, trembling Morgan wasn’t a sight she could be angry at; it wasn’t one she ever wanted to cause. “I love you. I love you even now, I promise. Is it okay if I hold you? We can hold each other and then we can breathe—“ Or one could while the other only pretended, though the act was sure to help anyway. “—just the way you taught me that night on Cece’s porch. Do you remember that? We can hold each other just like then, just like every other time after. Is that okay?”

Morgan flinched at the sound of her name and squeezed her muscles taut to prepare herself. She shook her head at the apologies, those were traps. When her mother apologized, it was still Morgan’s fault for causing the mess in the first place. She wouldn’t have needed to yell if Morgan had just been good, if she acted as smart as she pretended to be. But Morgan didn’t want to make it worse by being disobedient, so when she was asked to look, she shifted her arms just enough to peek out with one visible eye.

And there was Deirdre. Flushed, but soft again. Or maybe Morgan was just making her be that way and she didn’t really want to, she just wanted to get to the end of this. But her eyes were so gentle…

Morgan’s dry lips parted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t….understand. I swear, I promise I didn’t understand what it was still like f-for you.” Her voice croaked and rattled hoarse, deprived of too much air. “I was stupid. I’m always so stupid and I never mean to do anything bad…”

At the mention of love, the tears she had dutifully held back rose up to her lashes. She sobbed, grimacing as she tried and failed to swallow it back. “You don’t have to,” she whispered meekly. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” But she couldn’t swallow down the next sob breaking out of her shaking body. Or the next. Or the next. She sniffled and scraped her hands over her face, but there was no containing the mess in her—stars, it felt so much like grief. “I’m sorry. Will you—?” One of her trembling hands ventured out toward Deirdre’s fingers. But who was she to ask for things right now? Reluctantly, Morgan’s fingers faltered and she whispered, “Whatever you want, that’s okay.”

Deirdre’s lips parted. Her usual response, it’s okay, didn’t feel right. It wasn’t okay. She didn’t think it was okay. Yet, every other time those words tumbled from her mouth, she would have moved earth and Fate to make it true. She still would, but she was less keen on lying. “I know,” she said. “I know that. I do.” She pulled Morgan into her arms and held tight, steady. She made sure Morgan’s head was pressed to her chest, where her heart had calmed to something close to its usual slow rhythm.

“You weren’t stupid. I don’t think you’re stupid. I was hurt, but that doesn’t make you stupid. I’m sorry I yelled. Are you going to breathe with me?” Deirdre began: in, hold, out. If anyone was stupid, it was her. She knew what experiences of anger coloured Morgan’s life, but she’d been so pained by perceived betrayal that she didn’t want to stop to think. And wasn’t that ironic? She thought Morgan should have known better, but even she didn’t. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. She felt more confident now to tangle her fingers in Morgan’s hair; thumb her tears away. She looked up and scowled at Kelly, how could she look at Morgan and think time to soothe herself was what she needed? And how— Deirdre froze. She dropped her hand away. Morgan’s words rang in her ears, desperate, subservient and fearful. Oh, she thought, this must have been what Kelly meant. “My love,” Deirdre pressed a kiss to Morgan’s head. “My love, you’re afraid right now. What are you afraid of?”

Morgan did not relax. But she did let herself be held and then made herself breathe. In. Hold. Out. There were coughs and sobs that had to be expelled on the exhale, and Morgan shivered and shut her eyes, ashamed that she struggled with doing even this much with ease. But there were fewer in the next breath, enough for her to whisper, “I should’ve known better,” and none the breath after.

Soon the trembling eased, no longer coiling through her whole body, but just  in her fingers when she dared press them into Deirdre. At her love’s question, she looked sidelong at Kelly, who seemed to have a few leading questions of her own despite her interest in Morgan’s reply.

Morgan said nothing at first. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “I’m afraid…” Everything around her felt like a threat now, an accident waiting to happen, or worse. “...You’ll change your mind. You’ll take care of me because you love me but when I can act normal again, you’ll remember what I did and that’ll be the end of everything. Or I’ll mess up again, even worse. I don’t know how, but I’m always hurting you when I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong. And I hate it, because how can I say I won’t hurt you ever again if I don’t realize until it’s too late? And—” She gave a thin, humorless laugh. She may have questionable common sense, but she had enough to appreciate the associations leering out from the corners of her mind. Morgan let the sentence drop. Admitting her mother was in the room with them wasn't something she wanted to do just then.

“Morgan, can you speak to where your mind is taking you right now?” Kelly prompted.

“The place I grew up in. The first one,” she mumbled.

“But you’re not just in that place, are you? You’re in a therapist’s office in Maine. What is it about that place that has your attention? What do you see?”

Morgan shook her head. So much for keeping that to herself. “I keep thinking about my bedroom door. The cracks around the frame were the only light sometimes. And I’d press myself against it and ask my mother...what did I do? Or, if I did know, that...I would be better, if she’d let me out and show her. But she never let me out until after dinner. And she never held me after, even when I asked. Even when I fixed what I’d broken.” She turned her attention back to Deirdre, shy and penitent. “I don’t know how to fix this. Nothing feels like enough. Tell me—”

She had enough sense to stop herself there, but the ache in her remained. Slowly, Morgan forced herself to ease her grip on Deirdre. She could be okay on her own. She could pack her things and go somewhere or hunker in the studio until she could think straight. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to leave. But that was too much to consider. Morgan could only hang onto the few miserable and lonely hours ahead and remind herself that she would be able to get through them. Make herself dinner, shower, hold Moira, work. She summoned the mantra she had fashioned with Kelly’s input. I am here, I am complete; I am here, I am whole.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now. Or us.” She said. “That scares me too. Even if...that’s just how it is,” Is that bad? She wanted to ask.

“And I should’ve known better than to yell,” Deirdre reminded Morgan. She wondered what self-soothing Kelly had meant. If she wasn’t meant to hold Morgan now, chasing anxiety away with touch, then she’d like a new therapist. But Deirdre shook her head, she wasn’t going to be thinking about what Kelly’s intentions were, she didn’t care. She took Morgan’s trembling hands in hers, holding them steady. The exchange between Kelly and Morgan played out in a place she wouldn’t disturb. She listened and she waited and she was reminded of her own sessions with Kelly. The therapist thought she closed herself off too much, Deirdre thought she just wasn’t worth the opening up to. But Morgan was, Morgan would always be.

“Hey…” Deirdre reached down to brush Morgan’s hair into place, her voice so gentle that it startled even herself. There was glass on the floor, bits lodged into the rug. The windows sported a fine, thin crack and the vase was just a breeze away from falling apart. Around her was the evidence of her anguish, and yet, her voice held no memory of it. Deirdre wasn’t Ruth; she wished there was a way to let that truth sit without doubt. Morgan was thinking about a bedroom door, Deirdre was imagining the red lashes on the back of her hand. They were both asking the same questions of two different, yet unavoidably similar people.

“You don’t have anything to make better...you don’t have anything to fix…” Deirdre closed her eyes. She had been hurt, yes, but Morgan’s obligation was not to mend her—mend them. “I love you now. I’ll love you when we go home and this is over. I’ll love you tomorrow. You can ask me, and I’ll tell you.” Deirdre smiled, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s temple. “I thought you would know how much it hurt. You saw me after, and you know why I don’t even like the idea of you being friends with Anita, and I thought that all made sense to you, just like it did to me. But I never told you. And it is true, sometimes, my feelings are not the most obvious. And how could I ask you to know something that I had done my best to keep a secret anyway? My mother…she changed her mind often. Like she needed an excuse to be mad, just about anything there was. My hair could be fine one day and then terrible the next. And these moods she had, she always said I should have known. But how could I? How could you?”

Deirdre sighed, eyeing the clock. They still had time, but all she wanted now was for them to go to their home, where it was a little easier to imagine things would be okay. “I don’t know what the solution is, my love. But we can figure that out together, later. When you’re feeling less afraid, and more like yourself again, and we can talk about it more then. And whatever we come up with, it will be enough. And the next time something happens that makes me angry, I won’t love you any less—I don’t love you any less right now. And hurting each other….some of that is inevitable, isn’t it? But it’s okay. I think it’ll be okay.” She looked up at the clock again, then back at Morgan. “We have some time left, what do you want to do now?”

It was all Morgan wanted, to be loved when she had done wrong. Deirdre’s assurances fell like rain at the end of a draught and there was no question of whether or not to give in, but whether or not she would feel ashamed for it later. Her body released the last sobs it had been holding onto and she sagged against her girlfriend, all but collapsing in her lap. But will you stay with me? She wanted to ask. Loving and staying aren’t the same thing. Will you? But that was too far ahead for her to ask. She would deal with the answer either way, in its time.

Kelly eyed the clock with Deirdre. She had half a mind to refer Morgan elsewhere after this mess, but she didn’t want to waste an opportunity, or the rest of their time. “Morgan--?” She asked softly. “Are you okay to talk to us, Morgan?”

Morgan nodded. “Yes,” she croaked, lifting her head without leaving Deirdre’s arms.

“Good.” Kelly said it softly, a gentle affirmation. “I want to circle back to something you said. You’re ‘always stupid’ and you’re ‘always’ hurting Deirdre when you don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. I’m just curious--” Her gaze shifted to Deirdre again, looking to see if they could form an alliance. “Always is a pretty strong word. Do you feel like these statements describe your behavior all the time?”

Morgan shivered. She felt like she’d been caught in something, but she wasn’t sure what. “...Not always-always, but…” Morgan tried to measure out her screw-up to success ratio, but couldn’t decide how to factor in the scale of the screw-ups. The more badly it hurt someone or the worse the consequences, the more value it should hold, right? Or was that something else talking, and objectively, she should flatten it out and worry about the relational stuff separate? And wasn’t it worse if she hurt someone she loved? It felt worse. “No. I don’t know. It’s still…” She gestured vaguely, a lot. Sure, she had long stretches where she did things okay, but still...

“Deirdre, how would you characterize Morgan’s behavior? Would you agree with any of her statements?” Kelly asked.

Deirdre looked up, staring at Kelly with furrowed brow and tight frown. Shouldn’t they just leave now, wasn’t that the better thing to do? But she saw Kelly had another idea, and knowing most of the evidence of her qualifications was on the floor, Deirdre sighed and said nothing. Until she was asked. She looked up again, startled this time. The clock ticked, resilient in the wake of the crack in its face--steadfast in its count of ever marching time. Deirdre blinked. “No, of course I don’t agree but that--” She swallowed. She didn’t know how to go about explaining to Kelly that this was Morgan, and didn’t she understand Morgan by now? Her life had been tragedy, and fear was the festering wound it wrought. But Kelly wasn’t asking because she didn’t know, Deirdre figured. “No, I don’t agree. I don’t think Morgan is stupid; not always, not even some of the time, not ever. And I don’t--I don’t---” She sighed, sagging against Morgan. “I don’t blame her, and I understand why she thinks that way---even if it isn’t true. Morgan’s life has been...” Deirdre glanced down, feeling strange about talking about Morgan’s life as if she wasn’t right there to talk about it herself. She looked back at Kelly and offered a tentative smile. “It hasn’t been easy, and it hasn’t been kind, and it’s told her all sorts of things. I know that. I know that’s why I shouldn’t yell, and I don’t think it’s her fault for thinking how she does, and responding how she does, it’s not---”

Deirdre sighed and looked at Morgan, feeling tired of talking to Kelly, through Kelly. “Mo ghrá, you don’t make mistakes more than anyone else--statistically speaking. And even if you did, it um--” Deirdre shook her head, laughing softly. “No, I’m saying this all wrong. What I mean is...do you remember when the dishwasher foamed over? You put the wrong liquid in, because you were distracted, and it covered the kitchen in foam. And that was a mistake, you made a mistake--and if you wanted to be cruel to yourself, you could say it was stupid. But the bubbles were so pretty, weren’t they? All rainbows under the kitchen light. And you didn’t ruin anything, we just wiped the floor down and it was fine. And didn’t we have fun, throwing bubbles around? And it was a mistake, you didn’t mean to do it, you didn’t realise, but wasn’t it okay? Wasn’t everything okay? Didn’t we laugh about it; go back to the couch; go to bed without worry and wake up the next day to a kitchen that smelled like lemons? And then you made lemon meringue pie, because I said the kitchen smelled delicious. And that was it. You made a mistake, and you were so worried--and I understand why you worry, my love--but that was it. It was just bubbles; harmless, easy-to-clean bubbles.” Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s cheek, holding her face tenderly in her hands. “It’s bubbles, Morgan. We can wipe them away. And I’m not interested in being angry at you, I promise. I was us to go home, and go to bed, and wake up the next day and remember that our house smells like lavender, and that it’s nice. And if it’s not okay then it will be. And I understand why you feel how you do right now, and I’m not interested in being mad at you for that either. I want to love you, better and more.”

Deirdre turned to Kelly and smiled; the only ‘thank you’ the therapist would get from her for some time. Her eyes raked over the glass and the disarray, and she shrugged. “Just--uh--invoice us for the damage.” With a cough, she turned to her girlfriend. “What are you thinking right now, Morgan?”  

Morgan stared at Deirdre with bewildered confusion. But I did it, she wanted to say. She even got as far as mouthing the words. How could she not be blamed? Shouldn’t she have known, isn’t that part of why Deirdre had been so angry with her? But, no, she hadn’t meant to, she’d missed the step where that knowledge had been, and somewhere in the minutes behind her that was supposed to mean something. And Deirdre was kissing her cheek, earnest and loving, and using the softest words, endearments that she normally saved for home, or her letters, places where she really, deeply, let herself love her. Morgan whimpered into her touch, desperate for comfort. She wanted everything to be okay. She wanted to jump right to the place where this had been fixed, and Deirdre didn’t have to push through her pain, and everything was wonderful.

She remembered that day with the dishwasher vividly. She’d almost tripped over her feet running to the kitchen to stop the machine in time. As soon as she saw the mess she’d started apologizing. I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to, sorry, sorry, fuck, it’s off now, I can clean it real fast, I don’t think anything’s been damaged. She’d been so stuck on that anxious loop, Deirdre had to take her hand and pull her away to get her attention. And that moment, with Morgan babbling no, she really did need to clean up her mess right now, she was sorry she’d made such a stupid mistake but if she got to it right away, you wouldn’t be able to tell, Deirdre only smiled and hushed her and kissed her so tenderly. Could it really be that simple? Could she have this back without repenting on her knees or pleading for hours?

“I-I don’t--I don’t know,” she said quietly. She pressed Deirdre’s hands where they held her, trying to hold onto her good, her forgiveness, as much as possible. “I--” She struggled to find the words for what the problem was. Deirdre had been so hurt and angry, and Morgan hadn’t been able to do anything to comfort her yet; until now, she’d been nearly too scared to touch her without permission, just in case it was another mistake she couldn’t figure out in time. But Deirdre said she understood, and she wouldn’t lie about that. And if she tried the scenario in reverse, she’d do anything to make sure Deirdre felt loved, above all else. But Morgan hadn’t done anything this hurtful before, not to Deirdre. How could she take it so easily?

Morgan lifted her eyes to Deirdre’s, pleading silently. She wasn’t sure for what, but it was the clearest feeling inside her besides more apologies. Please still love me, please keep holding me, please forgive me, please be patient with me, please explain again, please kiss me, please… “I’m still...I want to make it better. I want you to know I…” She grimaced pitifully, knowing it was all probably so obvious. “I love you. I want us to be good. I haven’t even been able to comfort you, I haven’t done anything for you, I just hurt you. But I didn’t want to make things worse, and I’m still so sorry...” She deflated. “Even if you’re right about everything--” And with how her counterarguments fall apart in her head, she had a feeling that she was, and that the real trap was in her own thoughts. “--Okay, conceding that you’re…” Her voice caught in her throat and broke. “That you’re...probably right. I think…” She hesitated as her voice caught again. It was difficult to sift past all the mess and worry to get to something that was her own. “I really, really hurt you and I’m not going to feel right about it until I know how we’re going to make it right, but could you please...I want us to be home. I want you to love me like this, like everything’s okay. And...I want to love you too, I don’t want you to hurt by yourself anymore…”

Deirdre’s features softened. She breathed out gently, shaking her head. “You said we help each other, right? You first said it so long ago, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I know I’m not always so good about...letting you help me, but I...want to be better with that too. So, yes, you can help me too; comfort me. We help each other.” Laughter bubbled free from her lips, and she leaned in to kiss Morgan firmly. “Well, thank you for agreeing that I’m right.” And in the interest of not offending Kelly’s sensibilities, Deirdre left the one kiss where it was, knowing she’d steal more later. “I was wrong to yell at you...and to get so mad like that...I’m sorry too. And I know, my love, which is why I promi—“ She tensed and swallowed, eyeing Morgan to see if she really needed to hear a promise now to soothe her worry or if trust could be okay. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Or sooner, and we’ll figure something out, but let’s get home first. And let me love you, and you can love me, and I...I don’t want to hurt by myself anymore.” Deirdre shook, sniffling. “I don’t want to either. And I know you love me, and I don’t want to hurt anymore, Morgan. I want to tell you everything and I…” Deirdre tried to blink back tears, parting her lips for a quivering breath. That had been the problem all along, wasn’t it? All the pain she held by herself—this torment of her humiliation, the sting of knowing she was the only one that cared about how badly she’d been hurt. The betrayal she thought Morgan committed, was committing. The disjointed loyalty. Deirdre sighed, “I just want you to love me. I don’t want to feel like you don’t—I don’t want to hurt on my own anymore. All I want is…” She shut her eyes to echoes of shouts and animal screams. Of a mother with a sharp voice, and a family with one that all sounded like one song; the same song, over and over again. Of her own voice, never able to hit the notes right. Of begging, of blood spurting. Of the silence and the clocks that broke it, one tick at a time. “...to be understood and loved, just as I am.” She opened her eyes to the woman that did just that, and smiled.

“You do know me, my love, better than anyone else. And you love me. And I think that means everything will be okay.” Deirdre pulled Morgan close, breathing her in. She pressed kisses to her temple, cheek, jaw, shoulder—sparing the lips for some imagined idea of Kelly’s prudishness. “My love,” she breathed, “my light, my Morgan—let’s go home.” She lifted her head up, turning to the clock. There was still some time left, and a therapist that might have a thing to say about it. Deirdre saved Kelly from another glare or frown, and greeted her with an earnest smile and pleading brown eyes. “Can we end the session early? Can we go?”

Intrigue settled into Kelly’s features. She turned and surveyed the damage again, then regarded the couple. “I...don’t think there’s a problem with ending the session early.” She set her pen down and rose, careful to avoid glass. “I’ll call in a couple of hours to check in, and if you two would like to be referred somewhere else for a follow up, I can…” Kelly trailed off, Deirdre had risen already, helping Morgan to her feet. As Deirdre smiled at her, nodding in appreciation, she turned and looked at the glass again for a moment before offering a smile of her own.

Deirdre nodded again, “we’ll see you at our next session, right? Do invoice us the damage for everything—It won’t happen again, I just uh...stomp very aggressively.” She laughed nervously and glanced at Morgan for some kind of confirmation before she pressed in with another kiss. “Let’s go home, my love. Let’s go.”

[gumnut-logic]

The Fight (Bit 4)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4

This did not go in the direction I expected. ::blinks:: Not expected at all. Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for reading and keeping me on the straight and narrow. I honestly have no idea what I am doing.

-o-o-o-

Anna knocked on the door and Deidre called her in.

Deidre Enderberg was an interesting character. She excelled at her job as principal of their small school, but she had an odd addiction to scarves...of all kinds. Today she was wearing one in her hair, the bright orange floral wrapped around her strawberry blonde hair, holding it up in a messy bun atop her head.

“Ms Kent...oh, Mr Tracy...” She stood up from behind the desk, her well cut orange suit jacket gaping open to show the green floral shirt beneath it. Walking around on heels that hurt Anna’s feet just by looking at them, she held out a hand to Scott.

Even covered in dust and injured, the Commander managed to conjure that smile of his enough to cause her boss to blush. “Ms Enderberg.”

“I’m sorry we have to meet again under such circumstances.” She nodded towards her desk where Mr and Mrs MacIntyre were sitting. Anna sighed internally. It appeared Mr MacIntyre’s mood had not improved at all. Rory sat in his mother’s lap curled up. She was stroking his hair.

It took Deidre a few extra moments to realise there was a second Tracy in the room. She blinked. But Virgil took a step forward. “I’m Virgil Tracy, ma’am. One of Alan’s older brothers.” He held out his hand.

“Oh, pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand firmly before turning to the other set of parents. “This is Mr and Mrs MacIntyre, Rory’s parents.”

Scott nodded, his expression neutral. Virgil eyed him a second before stepping forward, his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Mr MacIntyre.”

The bearded man stood up, dark eyes assessing both Tracy brothers. Every line in his body was hostile.

“Your boy hit my son.”

Deirdre moved, making her presence known between Virgil and MacIntyre. “Now, Mr MacIntyre as we discussed, there were extenuating circumstances.”

Those eyes turned to Deirdre and Anna had the urge to step in protect her boss. “You said, Principal Enderberg.” The name was said with such derision it curdled the air. “I said otherwise.”

Virgil had withdrawn his offered hand and Anna could see the professional come to the fore. It was like a physical change. Gone was the smiling brother and in its place a powerful emergency responder.

But it was the Commander stepping forward who took her breath away. Scott moved just far enough to bodily intervene between Deidre and MacIntyre. The man’s height was dwarfed by the IR operative…and he knew it.

“Mr MacIntyre, I believe we need to clarify the circumstances around the incident. I have enough faith in my brother to know that he would not start a fight without sufficient reason.”

The man snarled up at Scott. “He broke my son’s nose!”

“And your son gave Alan a black eye. The question still remains…why?”

She had to give it to the Commander, his expression was stony calm despite the dust, the injury and the…asshole.

Okay, okay, it was unprofessional of her and disrespectful of a student’s parents, but every interaction she had ever had with that dark pile of aggression had been bad.

Disrespectful at best, down right rude at worst.

Mrs MacIntyre, on the other hand, hardly ever said a thing. Meek and quiet, Anna was surprised the woman was even here.

Part of her who read those kind of romance novels that she would deny if ever asked, was quite happy to have not only one but two Tracy brothers in the room. If even half of what was said about them in the media was true, it was likely Mr MacIntyre was about to be politely put in his place.

But then that left Rory. Rory was ratty at times, loud and a handful, but considering his father, she understood why. Despite his bravado and need to prove himself, he wasn’t a bad kid – she didn’t think any kids truly were. He just needed guidance and confidence in himself.

But with a father like that, it would be hard earned.

MacIntyre glared up at Scott, obviously refusing to be drawn in conversation by the Commander. He shifted his feet as if to bolster his confidence.

What?

“Who do you think you are?”

Commander Tracy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your boy broke my Rory’s nose. Then you have us here waiting for half an hour. Fortunately, Rory has seen a doctor in that time or there could have been serious implications.”

Scott just stared at him.

The shorter man flared. “Well, are you going to answer me?”

“I owe you no excuses, Mr MacIntyre.”

“Then you, boy.” He glared at Alan who had drifted to the back of the group beside Anna. “Explain yourself!”

The result was immediate. Both Scott and Virgil stepped in front of their little brother. “You will address your questions to me.” The Commander’s lips were tight and his frown dangerous.

Hell, this could get bad.

Anna eyed Deidre, and the principal moved back around her desk. “Gentlemen, please keep this civil. We are adults and should be examples for our children.”

Of course, that only turned the angry man onto Deidre. “I want answers! That boy seriously injured my son and I want him punished.”

“Not going to happen.” Scott’s voice was calm, but edged with strength.

The man’s head snapped around so hard, Anna was surprised it didn’t fall off. A step towards his wife and he literally yanked his son off her lap and shoved him forward. Anna had to force herself not to step in and take the boy from his father’s hands as Rory let out a whimper and burst into tears.

This time it was Virgil who reacted. The responder stepped in arms out, hands placating. “Hey, hey, take it easy. Your son’s injured.”

“By your boy! Look at what he did!”

And Virgil did, crouching down in front of Rory as he cried. Brown eyes inspected without touching. “Broken nose, likely minor, no deviation and he is breathing well. A bit of swelling, but rest and..” He directed his gaze up at MacIntyre. “…care and he will be fine.” Virgil pushed himself back to his feet smoothly.

MacIntyre’s grip on his son tightened and Rory let out a wail.

Virgil took a half a step closer. “Let the boy go.”

“He’s my son. I’ll do what I bloody want with him.”

Virgil took the remainder of that step. “I said, let the boy go.”

-o-o-o-

Next

[wickedmilo]

I JUST NEED YOU | MILO & EVELYN

PLACE: An abandoned building near Friction TIMING: A couple of days before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo is struggling to process and decides to call Evelyn for help WRITING PARTNER: @thronesofshadows CONTENT WARNINGS: Dark themes, anxiety, hints at PTSD

Milo wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to finally sit back up. The effort alone had been incredibly draining, and he still couldn’t bring himself to stand, or leave, or do anything other than stay where he had first fallen to his knees. His legs pulled up to his chest, his hands were still shaking as he wrapped his arms around them, as he continued to play the events of the evening over and over in his mind. He was too close to his own blood, to the contents of his stomach forced out of him by trauma, and the knowledge he had gained during his ridiculous exploration. Why didn’t he know when to stop? Not here. Dani’s implication was relatively obvious now that he understood the context. She didn’t want to tell him where he had died. He didn’t know whether she was trying to protect him, he couldn’t understand why she would ever even want to, but he longed to travel back in time, to shake his past self and tell him her words needed to be enough. He hadn’t gained anything tonight aside from more trauma, more unanswered questions, more pain, more fear… and now Evelyn was being forced to pick up the broken pieces of himself, the pieces left scattered throughout this decrepit, crumbling building.  

He stared at the blood stain, listening to her footsteps as they grew closer, as the scent of her began to mix with the smell of death, and decay. The relief he felt at her presence was minimal, but it was there, and it meant more to him than he would ever be able to say. His phone was vibrating against the concrete floor, and he wondered whether she might be trying to call him. But he knew it wouldn’t take her long to discover the room, it hadn’t taken him long, and he didn’t have the energy to reach out for the device. So he stayed silent, the loud buzz of his phone’s vibrations echoing throughout the room. He knew it wasn’t fair, he knew he should look up, or shout out to her, do something to make her task easier than it currently was. But even when she finally appeared in the doorway, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. He watched her in his peripheral vision, taking his first true breath in what felt like forever. “...’m sorry.” He murmured, his throat raw, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “To drag you into this… I’m sorry.”  

She had meant that Milo could call her whenever he wished when she’d given him her number. It wasn’t something a version of herself would have done, but Evelyn was acutely aware that she wasn’t the same person she’d been back in England. Nineteen-year-old Evelyn only cared about using people for her own benefit, finding ways to get something from everyone she met. She didn’t find so much of a preference for that any more - now it was far more favorable to treat those she cared for with just that - with care. She didn’t have a wide circle of people who she truly cared for (though she was certain at least some of them - Deirdre, perhaps - would have said that she had far more of a capacity to care than she let herself believe.  

Which was why when Milo had messaged her, she hadn’t even thought about what she was doing, and instead had gotten into her car and driven to where he was. Or where he said he was - she wasn’t sure exactly how she’d gotten the information (because perhaps on some level there was a certain part of her that blocked unpleasant things out when they had to do with those she had become close to - attached to - but she’d arrived in not too much time and he was there, on the floor. Evelyn shook her head. “Hey - hey no. It is - I told you to call me or text me whenever, and I meant it.” She knelt down next to him, her voice gentle. “What do you need?” 

Listening to the sound of Evelyn’s voice as she spoke, Milo focused on it, allowing it to ground him. It was genuinely incredible how effective a warm presence could be when it came to chasing away the darkness. The horror was still there, still in front of him marking the floor, and clawing at his chest, but it was loosening its grip, finally allowing him to shift where he was sitting. He took the chance to withdraw, pulling his knees back up to his chest, finally tearing his gaze away from the blood so that he could hesitantly catch Evelyn’s eye. What do you need? He stared at her as she crouched beside him, contemplating her question. The truth was he just didn’t know. He needed to not be dead. He needed to have turned down the vampire’s offer of Nectar. He needed to have not left the house all those months ago. Just once, he needed to have ignored the irresistible pull of alcohol. Swallowing his emotion, his throat still feeling sore, he shook his head in response. “I just need you…” He murmured, turning his attention back to the blood. It still hurt him, it still caused his stomach to churn, but he was no longer alone. And that mattered, that meant something. He needed to face this while he was still able to, while this scene was still morbidly preserved. One day it wouldn’t be. One day it would be gone.  

“This... is my blood.” He explained, reaching out to hold a shaking hand over the site of his death. He sighed quietly, his shoulders dropping as he officially gave up on any pretence. Evelyn knew he wasn’t okay. She wasn’t going to be upset with him for being honest. “It’s my human blood…” Some twisted part of himself was hit by the sudden urge to touch it, to flake it away from the floor, to let it get caught under his nails, and stain his fingertips a deep rusted red. But he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His eyes were dry, stinging uncomfortably, and he knew there would be no more tears to blur his vision. He was emotionally spent, and what came next was organising his thoughts, finding a way to be okay with everything he had witnessed. Everything he had been exposed to. If he pushed himself he might break beyond repair, and what happened then? Letting his hand fall back into his lap, he sniffled pathetically, offering his friend a tired smile. It was a silent apology for what he was putting her through, a plea for her to understand how difficult this was for him. “This is where I died…”

“Yes, yes - I am here.” Evelyn nodded, voice calm, even, and as grounding as she could make it. She didn’t want to force him to move - to talk - to do anything too much. He was alive - or - well, his version of alive and that was what mattered. She’d explain the blood on her clothes to Miriam later. Milo’s safety and well-being was paramount right now. Even if the whole ‘well-being’ part wasn’t going to be entirely there, yet.  

She’d make it okay - she promised herself. Someone she cared about was in trouble, and Evelyn couldn’t deal with that. You do not want to lose someone else, the words spinning around in her head. Too present, these days - even if everything in her life was arguably fine - good, even. Still, it didn’t stop the fact that she could feel her whole body tense up at the sight of anyone in pain. Anyone, especially, who mattered - who deserved good things. “It - yours?” She nodded. “Does that - you?” She blinked again, wholly unnatural, though it made sense, it was a situation that was overwhelming, new, and different. She grabbed a handkerchief from a bag and she held it out to him. She offered him a soft smile, not too much, but one that she hoped would provide him with some level of comfort. “Right here?” She ran her fingers against the ground, not caring if she got dirty (for once, somehow) - she’d wash herself later. “Do - what can I do?” She finally settled on.

For some reason the fact that Evelyn was becoming flustered, and distracted made Milo feel more at ease, more valid in his own current state. He hummed quietly in response to her first question, yes, it was his, and allowed himself to be comforted by the reminder of the fact that she was with him. She had crossed the town in the middle of the night to be there for him, and now she was sitting beside him on an incredibly unhygienic floor. She wasn’t complaining, there was no hesitation. She only cared about him. He had a feeling he wouldn’t truly be able to appreciate what she was doing for him until he had calmed down, until his thoughts were no longer racing, and he couldn’t wait for that moment in time. He longed to thank her, to tell her how much she was helping him, he just couldn’t find the energy to form the words. Turning his attention to the handkerchief he was offered, on any other day he might tease her for carrying one. It was so painfully old-school, what was really so bad about a packet of Kleenex? But the gesture was sweet, and he was far too tired to find humour in anything. He reached out to take it, carefully rubbing at his eyes, and nose, erasing any tear tracks that might still be staining his cheeks. “Do I look as ridiculous as I feel…” He murmured, his voice quiet, and lazy, devoid of any emotion. He only abandoned his task when he registered another question.  

His eyes widening as he realised what Evelyn was about to do, he raised his head to watch in horror as she casually swiped a finger through his blood. For a brief moment in time he was disgusted, though that disgust was very quickly chased away by anger. How dare she run her hands through it like it was nothing more than Kool-Aid? How dare she alter the scene so easily when it had been exactly how he had left it? He was ready to say something, to tell her she had no right, but in the time it took to motivate himself he was surprised to find another emotion shining through the pain, something small, and unassuming, but undoubtedly of importance; gratitude. It was just blood. Old, dry blood that wasn’t of use to anybody, that didn’t actually mean anything. It couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t let it, wasn’t that how things were supposed to work? And Evelyn clearly was ready to do anything within her power to protect him from his own emotions. Without her touching it the scene remained a shrine to his trauma, a strange moment in time that he was desperate to forget, desperate to avoid. Things were suddenly different. The weight, and the power seemed to dissipate. He could smell the blood more strongly now that it had been disturbed, but he pointedly ignored the lingering scent. There was nothing appealing about it. The person it belonged to was dead. The Milo it belonged to was dead, had died in the room he was sitting in now with a mara, a fellow supernatural creature. This was his life, this was the new Milo. “I don’t know…” He said again, unable to look away from her fingers, so obviously marked by the evidence of his death. “Maybe we should- should we go?”  

“I am sorry.” She said as she looked at his face. “I -” should not have done that. That much was obvious, but she couldn’t help it - couldn’t help the fascination that certain amounts of horror held for her - even if it did have to do with someone who she hadn’t known for a very long time, but who she did already care for. She only wanted to ensure that he felt good, and perhaps she’d messed that up. “Sorry.” She finally settled on, and Evelyn offered him a gentle, careful smile. “You are safe now, I promise.” She’d do anything to make that the truth. She had the powers - financially, connection-wise, and with her powers to make that true. “Let us go back to my home. You will be safe there.”

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Learn Me Right || Ariana & Morgan

TIMING: June 2nd, 2020 PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Morgan and Ariana watch some Disney movies on the floor while Ariana is staying over. 

There seemed to be a war waging between mind and body as Ariana was laying on the floor of Deirdre’s guest room. With the full moon rapidly approaching, she could feel her blood buzzing in her veins, the wild side of her begging to run and breathe in the fresh air while the very human side of her felt as if she could barely move. This dissonance wasn’t something she was used to. She’d even tried listening to the itch in her limbs that cried for movement by going for a run, but she’d only found herself opting to lay on the ground outside as well. Maybe she didn’t have it in her to run, but she had talked to Morgan about coming downstairs to cozy up on the floor and watch movies. Moira would be down there, too, and she’d grown to like the fluffy little kitten. She used the palm of her hands to give herself leverage to get up and grabbed the fuzzy blanket she’d been caccooning herself in since she arrived. She rummaged in one of the two mini fridges they’d gotten her and grabbed a couple of sodas for her and Morgan along with some chips and candy. Movies were always better with snacks though she wasn’t even sure Morgan liked human snacks anymore. She still brought them downstairs with her and gave Morgan a weak smile as she saw her. “Hey,” she said softly, “I brought snacks down. Wasn’t sure if you’d want any.”

Morgan was already down in the living room, sprawled thoughtfully as she waited for Ari. She had set out the floor cushions for the wolfling girl, but done little else for her preparation. Everything Ariana could need was already in her room, an embarrassing surplus of comfort she hoped the girl would look back on later as kindly as it was meant. “Hey there,” she said softly, rolling onto her stomach to see Ari properly as she came into the room. Moira, curled asleep at her waist, gave a big stretch and blinked slowly at the two of them. “You didn’t have to do anything for me,” she said warmly. “I’m all set.” She pointed to a Tupperware of diced and half cooked brains. “You’re welcome to try some if you want. It is, if I may say so myself, super gross.” She slid the remote over to Ari’s spot beside her and let her head rest on her folded arms to consider the young wolf. She was never quite sure if she was giving her what she needed, if the lightness of a moment was the kindest offering, or if she had begun to think Morgan didn’t want whatever sad or dark she carried with her. She wasn’t even sure if the girl knew her well enough to say one way or the other. “Come on,” she urged gently. “I think Moira’s been missing your cuddles.”

Though nothing could take away the emptiness that came with losing someone who’d been by your side most of your life, Ariana found the small comforts that Morgan and Deirdre provided in excess helped to a small extent. Knowing there were people who cared did keep her going, but having pretty much everything she needed at her fingertips so she could just laze around and feel her way through this loss was proving to be helpful. Outside of a few finals, she didn’t have to be anything to anyone and could just be. Just feel each wave of emotions until they ebbed away enough for her to do small things like take a shower or put a brush through her messy hair. There was no avoiding the persistent ache that Celeste’s death brought so she’d taken to just riding it out. Today, however, she felt inclined to at least have a bit of a distraction. She took a spot next to Morgan and Moira on the floor and positioned a couple of pillows around her before she extended her hand out for her favorite kitten to sniff. She gave Moira a few scratches under her chin. She smiled weakly and looked at the container filled with brains, she figured Doritoes weren’t quite up to zombie snacking standards, but it felt wrong to not offer. “Right, brains. I’ve eaten those before, usually on a full moon. Occasionally have cooked on them to get full use of any deer I’ve caught. I can start saving the brains for you, though. I tend to prefer rib or leg meat myself.” She clicked on the TV and started going through the different apps. She settled on Disney Plus. Something light-hearted with a happy ending would probably be her best bet. Just not any of the Frozen movies. “Have you seen Brave,” she asked, giving Moira more pets as the kitten settled down next to her.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, kiddo,” Morgan said with a gentle smile. “It sounds like between you and me, we’d be able to clean up a deer perfectly. I love me a good deer heart, or a bowl full of eyeballs.” She waggled a finger at Ariana’s eyes, a little dulled with grief, a little tired. She wasn’t sure how she managed as well as she did. Maybe something they’d done for her had helped after all. “I don’t think I have seen Brave before,” she said, wriggling around to get more comfortable. “But you have pretty good taste. I trust you to pick something good.” She was quiet then, cognizant of how people’s need to feel the silence grated on her after a loss. The compulsion to rush to the part where everything was okay. To where everything was as close to normal as it was ever going to be again. It was the worst game, and she didn’t want to play with Ariana. She reached over and gave the young wolf’s shoulder the slightest squeeze instead.

“Likewise,” Ariana responded, a small smile on her face, “Looks like I’m definitely saving you some goodies next full moon. Between Ulf and I, you’ll be eating nice for at least a week.” She gave a weak laugh as Morgan made joking motions at her eyes. It was still hard to fight how heavy everything felt and to stop replaying everything in her mind, trying to find some way she could have fixed things before they ever got this bad, but not being completely alone made it a little easier. Especially since she knew Morgan understood better than most. Morgan didn’t hold any expectation for how she should be making it through this and it was freeing. They could just sit on the floor and Ariana could feel no pressure to be doing something more productive. A mostly happy movie to fill the quiet spaces would work well. “It’s a pretty cute movie,” she explained, “And Merida definitely isn’t your typical princess.” The small squeeze Morgan gave her shoulder was welcomed and she let out a soft sigh. “Thank you,” she said in almost a whisper, “I know-- It’s not easy to just sit around with someone while they’re sad, but it means a lot that you and Deirdre have been here for me.”

“Hey,” Morgan whispered, lowering her voice to be even softer than Ariana’s. “I’ve spent a lot of time on this floor over the past two months. And a lot of time on other floors before that. Perks of being cursed to suffer.” She gave the girl a bittersweet smile. “It isn’t hard to sit with you, Ari. It’s one of the easiest things there is. And, don’t tell Deirdre I said this, but she knows a lot about suffering too. Where you are--that’s hard. I’ve never had a sister, but I’ve been tired, the way you seem to be tired. Where coming downstairs can take a lot out of you. Where you have to keep moving, or not move at all, and everything is mostly numb or nothing hurt. That’s what’s hard. Sticking with you isn’t.” She brushed back the little wolf’s hair and nestled close as the movie started.

Somehow, Morgan always seemed to know what to say. Her soothing voice and seemingly endless wisdom reminded Ariana of Celeste in a lot of ways. The woman could never replace her sister, but there was something to be said for still having that calming and reassuring presence in her life. She nodded and cozied up more with Moira and Morgan, finding solace in the sound of Moira’s gentle purrs. “You remind me of her you know,” she said quietly, eyes not entirely focused on the screen as the opening credits rolled. She even loved this song, but she didn’t quite have her normal sing-along energy. “She always seemed to understand how others were feeling and knew what to say to make things feel a little better. I’ve always… I think a bit of a temper comes with the wolf package, she was always able to bring me back down to earth.” She looked down at the kitten, now fully stretched out to be touching both of them. “I see what you mean though. Sometimes it feels better to not be alone during the lying on the ground stage of things, especially with someone who’s been there before. Deirdre hides that she knows this feeling well. She must be really strong.”

“I do?” Morgan asked. “That’s a pretty big compliment from you. I’ll try to be worthy of it. Mostly I think it comes from experience, and trying to make something good come out of the bad things. Trying to know better for next time, or hoping that if you see someone else hurting that way, you can take some of their pain, make it a smidgen less bad.” She shifted to look at the screen while staying close to Ari. It was a relief, however small, to be able to find herself on the same page with Ari. To understand enough about her pain to not make it worse. “Deirdre? She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. But you’re pretty high up there too, Ari. People your age shouldn’t have to know how it is to carry so much, but you do. A lot of the time, actually. But you, Ariana, are carrying it pretty damn well.” She hummed softly to the music as it started, the melodies soft and easy to follow. Simpler things were easy to hold onto, and as the scenes started to do their sunshine story thing, she let herself relax into a sense of ease too.

“Yeah,” Ariana answered, “I meant it as one. She was just always good at understanding people and being there. She did go through a lot, but she was kinder because of it. I never understood how one person had so much patience. You’re good at it though. I think sometimes just being there and reminding someone they’re not alone goes a long way.” As hard as it was to stop picturing everything that happened on prom night, Ariana did her best to stay present in the moment. She tried to treasure this moment for what it was. A good friend sitting through the bad parts with her and a cute kitten snuggling up to her for warmth. As exhausted as she was, Morgan’s soft humming brought a small smile to her face. “She must be,” she agreed, “I can hardly imagine Deirdre sad. I hope I never have to see her sad, but I know that’s not how things work. And thanks, I’m doing my best even if right now some days showering and managing to take a final are all I’ve got in me.” She let the opening scenes grab her attention and smiled at Merida riding her horse and hitting her targets through the forest. She understood that wildness. That need for freedom. It was easy to let the upbeat melodies and scenic animations grab her attention. It made dulling the pangs of sadness just a bit easier.

Morgan combed her fingers through Ari’s hair as she thought about what she learned about Celeste. She was a good person by all accounts. Most recently dead people were, but Celeste had helped raise Ariana, had left her as well adjusted and stable as she was now in her absence. With Celeste, Morgan really believed it, and wished she had known her. “When I’m looking back on all my bad things, and what I really needed, a lot of the time it is just patience. Or the space to be...whatever I was really feeling at the time. It’s easy to forget, because on this side, you just want to do everything all at once to make it better. But it can’t be like that. You need to remember what it was like, and remember that, even with all that, someone might need something different than you.” She smiled at Ari’s own thoughtfulness and kindness as she talked about her and Deirdre. She didn’t do it for the gratitude, but appreciated what it said about her. “She’ll probably do her best to make sure you don’t see her sad either. But she really has been. Deirdre’s been just as sad as you or me before. And for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be one of those people who become kinder too, like your sister. You’ve already got the heart for it.” She turned her eyes back to the screen and let the movie just wash over them. It was a sweet story, full with all that big spirit Ariana was normally full of. And at the end of it all, everything turned out okay and no one lost more than they could handle. It was a nice place to be, even if it was only for a little while.

Ariana found the gentle strokes of Morgan’s fingers through her hair to be comfortable. Her own hands softly pet the kitten who was now completely curled up in her lap. These were small moments that made the hard days feel worthwhile. The world still felt hard to navigate right now and she wasn’t sure when she’d have her normal energy levels back, but she wasn’t alone. Even if things were unclear and her future seemed so uncertain now without Celeste, the people around her showed her she’d never truly be alone. Not even when everything felt too heavy to bear. She nodded before letting her head rest on Morgan’s shoulder. “That makes sense. Just giving people patience while they feel their way through things. It helps,” she responded quietly. She meant as much. Having Morgan here to watch a movie and just let her do what felt comfortable for her right now made things a little better. She had to appreciate how much compassion Morgan seemed to possess. “Thanks,” she said hoping she could live it up to it and unsure of what else to say so she snuggled into Morgan and Moira and let herself get swept away by the story playing on the screen. There was something comforting about how all these movies were laid out, especially this one with Merida more on the wild side like here. Things were hard for a bit, but never so much so that the main character couldn’t prevail in the end. Life was never quite so simple, but it was nice to get lost in that sort of story and she supposed in her own way, she was prevailing. Maybe not in the ways she thought she would or at challenges she ever really wanted to, but she was making it through with the help of her friends.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Ready or Not || Solo

From the Fool’s Gold POTW

Wait until you’re ready.

Right. Because that day was going to come. Sure, he was ready to have her out of his hair every waking moment, the times he was used to being alone, all that, but to never see his mother again?

Wait until you’re ready.

It was all that rang through his head the hike up to Hanging Rock. He thought about staying on the beach, get it over with. But there were too many people. He needed to be alone. Well, not alone, but alone enough where he could talk to a fucking ghost.

The small bird chips, the rustle of branches, the sort of ever present hum of nature usually settled him. Now he could only hear the crunch and harsh chips of the stones under his feat, the screech of a fucking seagull down the way, the violent crashes of the waves against the cliff. The last time he’d seen her prior to all this was now over half his life ago. It was hard to learn she’d been there this whole time. And he couldn’t see her touch her or hear her voice

Well he had two out of three now. For now.

Wait until you’re ready.

When he made it to the top of the trail and beyond, he sat there on the edge of the cliff watching the waves rise and fall. From up there, they looked calm, but he knew down there, if he were closer, he knew they were violent and angry, too harsh to swim in, hard to keep your head above water. But from up there, he could trick himself, pretend it was peaceful. Or some shit like that.

“Mon peititou,” he heard her before he saw her and he knew he wasn’t ready. He knew she’d show up eventually. She had to. But he hoped he could delay it a little longer. “Kaden?” His eyes fixed on the sun over the water. He couldn’t say how long he’d sat there, but the sun was lower and the shadows were longer. Probably wasn’t all that long until dark. She’d given him as much time as she could if it was going to be tonight.

“Maman?” He looked to his right and there she was, spectral shape exactly how he remembered form the last day he’d seen her and every day since he picked up that fucking coin. Brunette hair pulled back into a neat bun, blue eyes that mirrored his own, and the silver bullet necklace hanging from her neck. The very one he had tucked away in a box on his nightstand.

“We need to talk, mon peititou,” she replied. He couldn’t tell if it was sweetness or sadness in her voice, but it was soft and gentle.

“I know,” he said, turning back to face the water again. Looking at her was too hard. He could  already feel the tears threatening to make an appearance. Then it hit him, he wouldn't have much longer to look at her. Was it better or worse knowing he had a limited amount of time? Shit. He couldn’t say. Something about this stung worse in a way than it did before. The fact that this would be the second time he would lose his mother certainly didn’t make it easier.

He pulled air into his lungs, slowly, deep, and turned to face her, take her in. He looked at her and all he could see was a flash in his mind of hers and papa’s mangled bodies on the table. He could barely identify them. Focus. He shook it away, tried to rebuild the memory of her like this. He just had to do what they’d always taught him; just focus on what was right in front of him.

“I have things to tell you. Before I go.” If there had been the possibility of sweetness lingering before, it was gone now. It wasn’t harsh by any means, but she was all business. Suddenly he felt 15 again, listening to a lecture on monsters or getting instructions before training.

He scoffed “Might have been nice if you’d done that the first time.” He rolled his eyes and started taking small rocks and chucking them off the side of the cliff. It was so easy to fall back into that pattern of parent and petulant teenager. It was the last one they got to have.

Her eyes snapped on him, fire burning behind them. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Kaden. You’ve been slipping--”

“On my training,” he cut her off. “I know. You told me. Every day for the past week or so. Is there really nothing else you want to tell me? Really?” He turned to her, eyes pleading, searching for any sign of anything more. He was met with the same look he got after defeating his first vampire at age ten. He had expected to find pride, love, congratulations. Instead he saw cold acceptance and criticism. Lists of how to improve for next time. Blow by blows on how many times he nearly died. He turned away, back to the water. “I missed you, too, Maman,” his voice was barely a whisper as he took another rock and flung it off the edge of the world.

“I’ve been with you for over fifteen years, mon peititou, I hardly had time to miss you.” She gave her head a small shake. She sat so stiff and straight, head held high. “That’s not the point. The point i--”

“Of course it’s not the point,” he muttered under his breath.

“Speak up or don’t speak at all,” she scolded.

“I said, of course that’s not the point. But fine, what is the point? Please tell me.” How he resisted the urge to roll his eyes he didn't know.

“My point is that I’m worried for you.” Kaden met her eyes once more and thought he saw a flash of concern, true concern. It was gone as soon as it came. “You need to focus. Remember your duty, hone your skills. Remember why you came here. Stop getting distracted.” She shot daggers at the rock he was about to throw. He sheepishly lowered his arm and rolled the stones he had left in his palms, trying to make it seem like he’d planned that all along. Then released them back on to the ground next to him.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for almost sixteen years. Or did you forget?”

It was like what he said didn’t matter. He could have said anything at all and not a word of what she said next would have changed, he was sure of it. “And then there’s that woman you’re seeing. She’s not even a hun--”

“Don’t,” he cut her off before she could say what he knew was coming. “She's human. I checked.”

“For now,” she said, arms folded squarely across her chest.

“What does that even mean?”

His mother paused, lips pursed in that way he was all too familiar with. The answer was on her lips, she wanted to tell him, but she was disappointed he hadn't found it himself first. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

That sent his head spinning. What was she even talking about? Regan wasn’t fae. Did she mean Deirdre? He wasn’t seeing her. Wait, did she mean? He rolled his eyes. “Maman, that was a joke. I’m not marrying a fae.” His skin crawled at the thought.

“That is not what I meant, mon petitou. Think.” There it was, that same command she always gave. Think. Do. Fight. Be better. He sighed, rolling his eyes again, but he listened and ran through his min what she could be referring to. It had to be in reference to Deirdre still, right? If she was throwing around the word promisee like that. Did she mean the promises the banshee wanted; the promises to never hurt Regan? Even he wasn’t stupid enough for that. “Not now. You’ll figure it out.”

The words hung in the air and he waited for her to add some sort of encouragement or even just something more. Had he imagined it all these years when he heard his mother saying “you can do it,” “I know you can,” or any manner of remotely pleasant phrases? Had she ever said it once? He used to be so sure  but not anymore. The memories had been so washed out and re-tinted in his mind with a picturesque vintage vignetted filter. They were coming back to him in bright unflattering reality now. The edges were sharp and the flash was set far too high.

The light was leaving the sky. Red and pink hues were ready to give way to the dark black sky. “It’s time,” she said simply.

His hand dug into his pocket for the coin. A lump lodged in his throat and his eyes burned.

Wait until you’re ready.

The truth was if he waited until then, he’d never let go of the stupid coin in his hand. His thumb ran over the well worn surface. His vision started to blur and he clenched his jaw. He wasn't going to be like this. He’d mourned and said his goodbyes so many times over. Right? Yes. And he knew how she felt about tears. About outbursts. He could wait.

“Kaden, enough. I’ll still be here.” Tears spilled over, he couldn’t hold them back, no matter how much his teeth hurt trying to push them together to will the water back.

“It’s not the same,” he sniffed. Jagged pieces of rock dug into his hand as he gripped the edge of the rock he sat on with all his strength, pushing the pain into his palm with everything he could muster. Was she trying to make this easier? It didn’t feel like it.

“It’s not. But you’ll have to live with that.” He could chuck the fucking coin at her goddamn ghost head.

“Putain. Can’t you just say you love me or some shit like that?” he said, voice warbling at barely a whisper.

The words hung in the air a moment. For a beat, there was nothing but the sound of the waves crashing far below them. “Do you need me to tell you that to know it’s true?”

Yes. Inside, he screamed yes. Even if he knew it, just fucking saying it. Once. Out loud. He searched his mind and was there a single time he could remember his parents, either of them saying it? Had he made it up like so many other things?

Still, maybe she was right. She had stayed here with him for fifteen years. More than that, even, to make sure he was alright. That was love. That was more than could be held in a four letter word. It had to be.  

He sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his palm. “Au revoir, maman.”

“For now,” she said and placed her hand on his. Not that he could feel it. But that little bit of comfort, it was something. He looked at her one last time and ached to feel her hand on his. To give her a hug. But this would have to be good enough.

He didn’t look down as he dropped the coin. Just watched as her form faded away, back into his memories.