#you can’t convince me that’s not why Deirdre sat there so long

[drewlyyours]

“I guess I’ll have more ice cream…”

Bess groans as she slowly consumes another bowl of bacon blast, sitting down to resume her position next to her subject of interest.

Neither Bess Marvin nor Deirdre Shannon have moved in the last eight hours. Both ignorant of the other’s motivations.

Deirdre watched her test subject return from the Scoop counter yet again. She stares down at her pen, horrified, as she adds yet another tally mark to her piece of paper and whispers…

“Seventy-eight.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Keeping Vigil || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current

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

SUMMARY: When Morgan can’t carry her hope, Eddie is there to help. 

CONTAINS: body horror, discussions of death, mortality, decay

After reaching another dead end in her search for answers, Morgan broke down and took an extra long shower to get rid of her smell and wash the rough parts on her body that had been hurt or picked at by bugs. The water pattered on her just right, steadier and softer than rain. When she let it fall into her ear and make the room feel like underwater, she could hold onto the water and nothing else and the aches and cramps faded, and everything was fine. She savored the change in water temperature as it faded from hot to cool as much as the change in the sky from light to dark.

A little later, as she picked at cold fried rice and brains, the waistband on her sweats started to feel a little tight, and when Morgan looked down her coloring had gone another shade of wrong and when she touched her stomach (first in the middle, then all around) she got the sinking feeling she used to once a month: bloating. Maybe it was water damage, maybe it was just that time in the un-life cycle. It didn’t fucking matter, did it?

“Great. First I’m dead, then I’m falling apart and ripped up like a rag doll, and now I’m a dead ripped up balloon doll waiting to pop.” She thought about how she’d announce this latest development to Deirdre when she got home and decided she didn’t want to. So she made some tea, remembered all the chamomile in the world wouldn’t actually calm her and threw it against her studio. 

The mug bounced off the wall. Tea splattered the yard.

Morgan picked it up and holed herself up inside the four little walls where she was supposed to be alone. Maybe if she disappeared in a book or a playlist she could forget about what was happening to her body. Funny how she’d dreamed of feeling the world again every day for the last fourteen months; now she’d try just about anything to go numb and float off again.

As Eddie approached the front door of Morgan’s home, an unexpected sound from the backyard caught his attention. He took a few steps back and looked over the fence in time to see the studio door close. If that’s where Morgan was, it would be pointless to try getting into the main house. Admittedly, tracking her down would be a nonissue if she knew he planned to drop by, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want visitors in her current condition. Be that as it may, he needed to see her. For all he knew, this might be his last chance.

Eddie reached over the fence’s gate and unlocked it from the other side, immediately re-locking it once inside. Even in his haste, he didn’t want to be the reason something unwanted took an open door as an invitation. Eddie quickly bypassed the garden that usually imbued him with a sense of calmness. Today, all it did was put more space between him and Morgan.

At the studio door, Eddie knocked only to enter without waiting for a response. The second he saw her, his heart fell into his stomach. Morgan, for the first time since meeting her, looked dead.

“I heard about what happened,” Eddie announced. He figured wasting time on small talk would be insulting at this point. “I wish you would’ve told me yourself, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” As he spoke, he walked further into the studio. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people in your corner right now. Is there room for me to throw my hat in the ring?”

Morgan only managed a few minutes of stillness before she heard a knock. She flinched, dreading what she would have to explain to Deirdre, but before she could work up the nerve to answer, Eddie came in. She was so startled she forgot to cover her face. Her blue-purple pallor was growing new colors, black in some places, yellow in others. Somehow, her skin was peeling and shriveled and swollen at once. Her eyes, now clouded like frost on a window, looked smaller than they should and her lids sagged around the empty space. For a woman who would never age, she sure looked like she had outlived her time.

In the brief instant Eddie held the door open, three flies flew in and circled lazily toward her. They knew a good thing when they saw it. She should probably have been more grateful that maggots and fungi hadn’t found her yet, but the only thought she had room for was, Eddie shouldn’t be here.

“W--what? I--” It didn’t really matter how he found out, did it? “I don’t want to be one of those people that puts their bullshit on kids and makes them carry it,” she sighed. “And I don’t...know what I’m going to do about any of this. If I can do anything about this. I went through the books I had, I tried looking through some others and--” Nothing. She slumped back in her corner on the day bed and covered her face with a pillow. Then, feeling ridiculous, tossed it away and settled for pulling her legs up and hiding that way. “You should probably grab some air freshener from the kitchenette,” she mumbled.

Eddie had never seen Morgan look so small before. In the past, her petite frame always seemed like an act of misdirection. When she spoke, the weight of her words commanded attention. Her laugh charmed a sigh of relief from the world around her. Out of everyone Eddie knew, he couldn’t think of a single person he respected more than Morgan Beck. Seeing her this way didn’t change that, it only proved the severity of the situation. It was time for him to start repaying her for everything she’d done.

“Well, this kid would rather help carry your bullshit than let it bury you,” Eddie replied as he took her advice and walked over to the kitchenette. He wanted to tell her he didn’t mind the smell but lying wouldn’t make the situation any better. Eddie pulled the trigger and a clean-linen scented mist mingled with the smell of decay. It would have to do.

“So,” he continued, moving closer to her before taking a seat beside her on the day bed. “Catch me up to speed, I only know the bare minimum.” Eddie didn’t think being told the details would lead them to a solution but that wasn’t why he came here. Other, more capable people would help Morgan in that area. What he wanted to accomplish was simply to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone. Maybe it wasn’t as glamorous of a purpose as finding a cure but believed it to be important all the same. “You woke up and, out of nowhere, you were alive again?”

Morgan grimaced at the hiss of the air freshener. She had suggested it, but smelling it and knowing how little good it would do was another matter. “You might wanna go a little heavier on that,” she deadpanned. “I’m almost a week into this, and whatever is fucking with me the slow, painful way, has a year’s worth of decay to catch up on.” She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes. All her physical senses back, and she still had to endure this latest cosmic ‘fuck you’ in complete sobriety. No rest. No relief.

She curled up a little tighter as he sat by her, as if her death-sickness was contagious. “Uh, if you haven’t noticed, I apparently don’t need to be buried. I can decompose all by myself.” She worked his question thoughtfully, trying to find the right words for it. How stupidly excited she was for so little, and how suddenly it was a little too much.

“I wasn’t alive,” she said at last, face still buried in her knees. “No heartbeat. No warmth. I could just...feel again. The bedsheets were cold. And soft. Weirdly soft. And my girlfriend was soft and cold but different, and the carpet was...coarse and thick and plushy...it was like I’d never been on this planet before. Everything was new. The words I had weren’t enough to describe it. I spent a whole two days convincing myself that whatever was happening it wouldn’t be so bad. Some weird town thing we’d have to reverse. But then I got hurt and it took me forever to heal. And then I didn’t heal at all. And I ate, I had so many brains, but my body was shriveling up, turning color, smelling, all that gross stuff that’s not supposed to happen to me if I do everything I’m supposed to. And do you know how it feels, literally feels, to have your body dry up? Or to--” One of the flies landed on her cheek and began exploring the new terrain. Morgan raised her hand and let it, waiting til it reached her hairline where she wasn’t so sensitive. She slapped it dead and left the goo where it was. “Be food for the bugs? Because that’s something I know now. Can’t wait for everything else to go, or for whatever’s keeping me wide awake for the whole horror science show to...decide what comes next.” She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t be this frustrated if she did. But being nothing but wobbling bones and leather and dust frightened her just as much as oblivion. She didn’t know which she was really supposed to hope for.

Eddie listened as Morgan described the past few days. At first, her condition sounded like a gift. He remembered when she told him how badly she missed being able to experience the world as a living participant. No heartbeat or warmth meant certain sensations were still off limits but, other than that, he imagined those first two days felt pretty damn good. A false sense of security, obviously. He hated this.

Morgan swatted the fly and Eddie’s lips pursed in response. “Hold on,” he announced, standing up to make his second trip to the kitchenette. Facing the counter, he tore a few paper towels from the roll and wetted them in the sink. After wringing out the extra moisture, he carried them back to the daybed and took his seat again. Eddie tentatively reached out and, as gently as he could, washed away the insect’s remains. When his hand lowered, he kept the damp wad of paper in his hand in case another decided to land on her.

“Morgan, do you remember what you said to me about hope, that it’s a choice?” Eddie asked. Of all people, he knew how unqualified he was to preach the importance of hope but he wanted to try. “You also said that to stop believing in the future is to stop believing in existing.” Even if he lacked the experience to explain the importance of looking for good, he knew Morgan didn’t. He could use her own words to help him navigate the situation.

“This isn’t the first time life’s given you its worst,” he said. “Obviously, you can roll over and accept hopelessness. Or, you can do what you do best and tell death to go fuck itself.”

“Yeah, this is an anomaly—so are you. Nothing is written, right? Don’t give up. Not yet.”

There were a lot of words Morgan had spoken in the past that haunted her now. Magic is going to save my life. All I need is to break the curse. Hope is a fucking choice. What was there to hope for when the only thing on the horizon was another shade of suffering? How could she continue believing in existence, when existence seemed to be shutting her down at both ends? Was she supposed to bone-jangle her way downstairs to breakfast every morning? Or be carried on a stretcher in so many pieces, to and fro? Or would the magic take away her mind too, and this was simply a farewell tour she didn’t have a say in? Morgan didn’t see much hope in that. What had all her suffering been for? A year of half a life, and then this?

Morgan scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and said nothing for a while. Then, just peeking over her knees with dead, swollen eyes, she said, “Death comes for everyone, Eddie. That’s what gives life balance. We end. We go...somewhere. Home. Even if it’s not until this planet implodes or gets struck by the right meteor. Everything is change. To stay stuck one way, that’s the biggest waste of what we have.” She shrugged. “But...stars in the fucking sky above…” Her voice drowned with held-in tears. “I couldn’t find anything about this, Eddie. I haven’t figured it out. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to imagine to hope for. And I’m so tired...I am so tired of climbing back up, of fighting the universe for one scrap of good. And right now...I almost wish I could give up. But I don’t even know what to give up on. All of it looks like giving up something right now.”

Eddie knew death came for everyone. Until recently, he clung to that fact with everything he had. Even now, his grip was only a little looser than before. Death, to him, sounded like a release. Morgan was tired, it made sense for her to want rest. A few months ago, Eddie might not have argued that it wasn’t the answer, but now he knew what loss felt like. If Morgan died, a piece of him would too. Ironically enough, the more he cared about someone, the more selfish he became.

“Lots of things that happen in this town don’t have books written about them. That doesn’t make them impossible to handle,” Eddie insisted before adopting a softer tone. “I know you’re tired. If anyone deserves rest, it’s you, and you’ll get it.” Eddie reached out with his free-hand and took hold of Morgan’s. “Like you said, death’s inevitable but it doesn’t have you yet. As long as you’re here, there’s a chance for things to get better. And—and, no, I don’t know what your pain feels like, but I know my own. Most days, getting out of bed is a fucking triumph, but I still do it; for you. For Alfie, for Bex, and Kyle, and everyone else who’s been kind to me. I don’t know what I’m hoping for exactly. Maybe I’m just hoping for hope.” Eddie paused before speaking again. “Think about that scrap of good, are you ready to let it go?” He meant the question genuinely and without pretense. “If you do, there’s no getting it back. No more garden, no more Deirdre, no more laughter, no more anything. Is there really nothing left worth fighting for?”

Morgan hid her face again as it crumpled with grief. But she let Eddie take her hand, and though her fingers were stiff, she squeezed his back. Mina had told her once that life was a curse of its own; Morgan had brushed it off as a flash of witty irony. But it came to her again now: was this living? Was crawling out of one hole only to fall into another what life looked like from the inside? She couldn’t think of a person she knew who wasn’t crawling out of something right now. The difference was only in terms of degree. When she was alive, human-alive, she had coached herself into accepting happiness as a stolen gift, a thing she would be caught red handed with and have to surrender. It would all be okay, because when the curse was over, she could have as much as she wanted and more. She could chase down every bright thing and know that however it turned out, it was fair as anything on earth could be, and she had given her best. It made her dry organs shrivel just a little more to suppose this was the way of all things, not just a thirty-nine-year blip of existence.

And yet there was no better choice before her. It was just like Eddie said. If she tried to will this bullshit to the end, she would be releasing everything she’d fought so hard to hold. And if she surrendered to the thought of an eternity of true living death, it would be much the same. The world struck no natural balance in the course of a life, and in White Crest it arched toward cruelty, and yet there had to be another horizon. These scraps of good had to be enough because they were all she had. And maybe In another week, a month, in a decade, things would be different. Magic always had a key to unlock itself. What was done might someday be undone. (Might, and with so little evidence to make it feel like anything at all.) She tried to imagine it, coming out of a stupor like sleeping beauty, kissing her own skin for holding its shape and keeping her here just enough to try and make a better balance in the world, kissing Deirdre, and the cats, and having every fresh memory from those early days to guide her toward contentment. She couldn’t hold the image very long. It burnt in flashes. Somehow, it hurt worse than either path of doom she saw. Morgan nodded and let hope in and sobbed, breaking with the weight of it.

She tried to muffle her cries with her other hand, but it was no good. She shook and soaked her sweatpants with her tears and turned Eddie’s fingers red with her grip. At last she noticed the change in the feel of his hand and let go. “Sorry. I’m...s-sorry. Um.” She wiped her face on her sleeve and tried to look at the boy. “You know you’re...a really kind, brave kid, right? And that’s why we all want you to be more careful? Because we need more of that around. We need you. And I wish you could be there for yourself like you are for me right now.” She heaved another dry sob and scrubbed her face again fighting for composure. It was always harder to show up for yourself, especially when you were alone.

“I’m not--uh, this isn’t because--” She gestured vaguely at the mess of herself. “I mean, you’re right. You’re right and I know you’re right and it’s just--” Kind of wish you weren’t. It would be so much easier if you weren’t. She shook her head, abandoning words in favor of meeting his gaze. What she didn’t know how to say was this: it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, holding out for hope and hoping for its own sake. But Eddie knew dark almost as well as she did; maybe he would know this just by looking at her, too.

When Morgan broke down, Eddie knew he’d struck a chord. He could only hope that meant something good and that he hadn’t made things worse. Her grip on his hand tightened exponentially but the pain barely registered. All he could focus on were her anguished sobs—he wondered how long she’d been trying to swallow them. Despair like that didn’t come to term in an instant. It laid in wait, brewing and accumulating more grievances both big and small until it could no longer be contained. If he had managed to help her rethink the release of death, maybe a release like this one would suffice for now.

“No, no, it’s—” Eddie’s dismissal of Morgan’s apology cut off when she spoke again. His expression slowly relaxed, brows raising in gentle surprise. A few people had called him brave now but he never seemed to get used to it. After spending so much of his life in hiding, he didn’t think he deserved that kind of praise. At the same time, he wanted to believe he was wrong. Eddie smiled sadly at Morgan. “One day, maybe. It’s a work in progress.” He didn’t know what to say about being needed but he tucked the compliment away somewhere he could find it when he lost sight of what mattered.

What she said—or, more accurately, didn’t say next resonated exactly as she expected it to. “It feels impossible, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked before his smile returned. “Kind of like when you’ve been in the dark for so long your eyes adjust to it and suddenly a light comes on and blinds you.” He gingerly rubbed the back of her with his thumb. “We’ll adjust to the light the same as we did the dark, just gotta give ourselves some time.”

Morgan nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she unfolded her legs. There wasn’t much of her left to hide, and the second fly was already crawling along her skull. She thought about what Eddie said when it came to the light and the dark, and wondered how long it would take for her vision to get screwed up from so much back and forth that everything hurt. It would have to be a long time from now, wouldn’t it? She would have to make it that way.

After what seemed like a long time she said, “You know, for someone who lumped in hope with the evils of the world, you’re getting pretty good at being hope’s cheerleader.” Then after another silence, “You don’t have to stay with me though, okay? I’m not gonna go off the deep end, or do anything I shouldn’t. Deirdre will probably be home soon anyway.” Time had a way of moving funny when you were miserable, something Eddie was probably familiar with too, but the last thing she wanted him to carry was more worry about her. She nearly reached over to pat his arm, reassure him in a performance of her good ol’ self, but she remembered how she looked and let it fall empty instead. “Thank you though,” she said quietly.

Since Eddie last gave Morgan his opinion on hope, a lot had changed—was still changing. He didn’t find comfort in misery as much as he used to. Now, he understood happiness took a little elbow grease and that brains need to be re-wired every now and then. Some days were harder than others, he didn’t always believe his positive affirmations, but he was trying. For himself and everyone he loved, he was trying.

“When you’re wrong, you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I might as well give your outlook a shot. It’s going pretty okay so far.”

When Morgan next spoke, Eddie considered her carefully. He didn’t want to linger if she needed time to decompress but he also didn’t want to risk leaving too soon. Finally, he said, “Okay, if you’re sure.” Eddie stood up and took a deep breath before turning to face her. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I know it sucks to feel like you’re weighing people down but I love you, Morgan. I like helping you.” He leaned down to wrap his arms loosely around her. “Don’t ever feel like a burden.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” Morgan whispered. “Go on now. Be good and I’ll see you soon.”

Eddie straightened up and walked over to the kitchenette to toss the wadded up paper towels in the trash. Afterwards, he headed for the door. “See you soon,” he said, glancing back at Morgan before taking his leave.

[inspirationdivine]

Take My Hand || Remmy and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @whatsin-yourhead @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Remmy take time to talk wounds and fears. Remmy comes home Triggers: Mention of food poisoning, head trauma

Lydia’s phone buzzed with a picture of Remmy at the front gate. She was lying on a recliner in her garden, with a glass of lemonade. She had a large evening gown on, covering the brown thick chitinous layer that had covered her back. She was settled on her front with a parasol and very dark shades. It was a step up from a few days ago, certainly, but the pain that raked her body was still unbearable. She looked up at one of her security guards standing just enough feet away to not be looming, but close enough to feel secure. Unfortunately, he was The Mime, and wasn’t a great conversationalist. “Can you go and get Remmy and invite them into the garden, please?”

Remmy had let Morgan drop them off halfway down the block and walked-- well, walked at first, then broke into a paranoid sprint a few seconds later-- up to Lydia’s place. They needed to learn to be okay being outside again, that they were safe. That, yes, something could happen, but they would be okay. Everything would be okay. Remmy rung the bell, flowers tight in their hands-- Nell had given them a nice assortment, some white, some gold, a few purple-- and waited, looking up at the camera she’d had installed. Gave a little wave. After a moment, a stoic, silent man opened the door and ushered them in. They followed slowly at first, before their eyes caught the staircase-- and remembered nail marks and bloody footprints-- and the hallway-- where there had been a pool of blood large enough to slip on-- and the doorway-- that had sagged with its broken frame-- and they scurried faster, past it all, and out into the garden where the man pointed them. Lydia was on a recliner, seemingly basking in the warm sun. She looked relaxed, if a bit tired, but Remmy knew better. “I um--” they looked over at her gadren, where flowers were sprouting, then down at the ones in their hands, “--brought you flowers.”

Lydia pushed herself up onto her elbows to look at Remmy with a soft smile. The blackened bruising had turned yellow on her face, at least. Dr. Oakfield was happy with the healing of her hand, ankle, and the fracture along her jawline. Seeing Remmy in the flesh was different than seeing them as icons in the screen. She knew they weren’t going out much at the moment, that they weren’t leaving Deirdre’s house often at all. To see them here, at the site of two of their recent traumas? It was astounding, and a tragedy, and a reminder of how much she’d failed them. “Thank you darling. Mime, could you possibly pull out the other recliner?Wonderful.” Why was his uniform the only one that was striped? How was he supposed to blend in like that? Lydia had no idea, and no desire to ask. He was the easiest to ask to do errant chores, that was for certain. “How have you been, Remmy?”

Remmy felt their eyes scan Lydia’s face before they managed to look away. It pained them to see her like that. If they’d just stayed with her, this wouldn’t have happened. If they’d just been able to get over themself, they couldn’t been there to stop whoever did this. Their hand tightened momentarily on the flowers, before the Mime dragged a chair over to them and they sat in it. He took the flowers and put them in a vase. Remmy didn’t like looking at him. They turned to focus back on Lydia. She was smiling, but they knew she was in pain. After all the kindness she’d given them, they’d failed her in her one time of need, and now they had no idea what they were supposed to do. “Um...better, I guess?” they shrugged, looked down at their stomach, swallowed. “No one’s tried to gut me recently, so that’s nice.”

“No one has drowned me this week, so things must be on the up,” Lydia replied with a blasé smile she didn’t quite feel. She held out her hand, which was almost entirely healed by now, for them to take. “I love you, you know. I hope you’re finding what you need at Deirdre and Morgan’s.” Lydia hadn’t, but that was because in those five days at the doctor’s, a new pain had grown, radiating out from her chest. It had started dull, and had grown sharply with each passing day. To be away from the humans she had attached herself to was as painful for her as it was for them, and when she’d returned, she’d held them close until that pain had healed. She felt no safer here than she did at Deirdre’s, but this was the place she could keep her secrets.

Remmy took Lydia’s hand and fought back the urge to squeeze it. It looked like it still might hurt, even if it was healing alright. They looked over at her, not all too surprised by her nonchalance about being attacked, although they knew the fear was still there. They knew because it was still there for them, too. In their gut. Their chest. Their fingertips. They shifted in their spot. “I know, Lydia,” they said quietly, “I love you, too.” They didn’t know how to answer the second part, because they didn’t know what they were looking for over at Morgan and Deirdre’s. Safety, they supposed, but if they could’ve been poisoned inside Lydia’s home by someone they trusted, what was stopping anyone from doing that over there, too? “I’m...trying.” They glanced sideways. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

In a single breath, Remmy reminded Lydia just why she loved them so much, and why at the same time she wanted to shake them. THey really did have a truly pure heart, and it was a terrible thing that that was killing them. “I don’t think that was an accident, Remmy. I think a night was chosen where you weren’t there deliberately, so that I was alone and helpless. Which is why I’m paying multiple people to ensure that isn’t the case ever again. Even if one of them is, well, a mime. Turns out they’re much more frightening than I had given them credit for.” Lydia squeezed Remmy’s hand tightly. “It’s not your job nor your duty to be everywhere to protect everyone. Don’t apologise for having a life, Remmy. I’m sorry that this has made things worse for you.”

Remmy was silent. They watched Lydia as she talked, but their brain hadn’t come up with anything to say yet. She always had a way with words, always knew what to say to them. And even if it didn’t immediately make them feel better, they knew they were true. They squeezed her hand back. “You know I did used to work security,” they teased quietly, shifting a little closer. They almost wished they could lay down next to Lydia and just feel the warmth of another person beside them. “If I can’t apologize then neither can you. This wasn’t your fault, either. It was just...shit timing, I guess.” And shit circumstance. If Remmy ever saw whoever did this to Lydia, they weren’t sure they’d be able to hold back the anger and pain this had caused. They stiffened a moment before letting their muscles relax. “But we’re both okay. We both survived. And Morgan found out who tried to--” they stopped mid-sentence, shook their head. “Who did that to me and is making sure it’ll never happen again.” Whatever that meant.

“Mm, but I’d enjoy your company much more as a friend than as someone towering behind me.” Lydia replied with a soft laugh, shifting her weight slightly on the recliner, so that she was almost resting on her side rather than her front, elbow propping her up. She nodded, conceding their point. “Fine, I won’t apologise anymore,” Lydia said with a small smile. “Shit timing sums it all up. But with the fence being installed and all the extra security, we’ll keep this place safe as can be.” Just not safe enough by either of their standards, not anymore. “Morgan found out who it was? Who was it, Remmy?”

Remmy quieted. How were they supposed to tell Lydia they didn’t feel safe in her home anymore? How were they supposed to believe she did? How had people so easily ruined that for them both? They squeezed her hand subconsciously and glanced away. “Yeah, it does. It will. Be safe again…” they rubbed at their face with their free hand and felt the patch still on their eye. How many months had it been? Since Morgan died. When would any of them get a break? “It was-- “ they started, then stopped, “someone I thought was a friend. It’s...it’s okay, though. It won’t happen again.” The thought of it stung their chest and Remmy thought of Nadia and her smile and her motorcycle and the betrayal that had seated itself in their heart from her actions. “I just wanna...move on.”

For all their many virtues, Remmy wasn’t a convincing person when they weren’t convinced. How could they be, when Lydia barely was. “We’ll figure it out. In time. There’s always a home for you here, Remmy. You don’t have to use it, but it is always here for you.” But in her gaze, even through the sunglasses, it was apparent that Lydia would understand why Remmy wanted to stay away. They’d seemed so light when the collar had come off, but even then, the poisonous vines of their PTSD had lingered, and it had only been exacerbated now. They needed help, and Lydia was no longer the best person to give it. “I’m so sorry, my love. But that’s alright. We can move on.”

“I hope so,” Remmy said under a whisper, hoping Lydia’s words would sink in further and actually take root. They hadn’t yet, but maybe soon. Maybe soon. They sat a little closer, held her hand just a little tighter. “How do you do it?” they asked after a long silence, chancing a look over at her. They couldn’t quite see her eyes behind her sunglasses, and if this was pushing her too much, but they needed an answer. They needed to know what to do next. “Stay here? Isn’t it-- don’t you--” see him everywhere? Did his shadow not exist inside her mind, everywhere she looked? Remmy’s shadow never left them alone. They were everywhere and everything and everyone. “Will it get easier, you think? Staying here?”

Lydia took a deep breath, that rattled through her chest, trying to think of an answer that might satisfy the truth, and satisfy Remmy. “I see him everywhere,” Lyda agreed. “I can’t use the bathroom in which he drowned me anymore. I can’t-” Lydia paused, “I can’t stand the sound of Chopin, which has a certain ring of irony.” She laughed weakly. “But it hurts more to be away than it does to be here. He took my wing, I can’t let him take my home.” She rubbed her temples, her smile wavering into grief. “I hope it does. It has to. I will do anything in my power to make this place feel safe for me.”

Something ached deep down inside of Remmy and they curled their knees up to the chest, holding onto their legs tight with their free hand. “Why do people do things like that?” they asked absentmindedly. It wasn’t really directed at Lydia, a thought that just drifted from their mind into the ether. “Why do people hurt other people?” They remembered the first time they’d been asked to hurt someone. It was a gun and a quick pull trigger and it was to protect someone else. It had still felt violent and wrong. Every shot after hurt more. Sometimes their bones still ached at the thought. “Would it feel safer if I came back?”

“I think it made him feel powerful,” Lydia quietly, although she wasn’t convinced Remmy had been looking for an answer. It wasn’t as if Lydia wasn’t asking herself that constantly, from the moment she’d realised he was following her. Sure, the first meeting had been chance, but what had she done to draw so much of his attention? It was more than the promise, more than her faeness. Something about her screamed target of a serial killer Russian vampire, and Lydia had no idea how to even begin to work out what. Remmy’s question gave her pause, as she stared into the far distance, trying to work out what the true answer was, and what the answer Remmy needed was. Whether she could make them overlap. Did Remmy want to feel useful? Or were they just offering to feel better themselves? “I don’t want you to come back to make me feel safer. You’re not my shield, Remmy, you’re my friend. You’re like family.”

That was true of a lot of people, wasn’t it? The need to feel powerful. It was why Remmy had fought in the Ring, wasn’t it? Why they’d kept going back to that place? It gave them power. It gave them purpose. As much as they hated the thought now, it had been true at one point. It grated their insides to know that. “I just want to feel like I’m good for something,” they finally said, not looking over at her, “that I’m not just wasted space.” That they kept surviving these things for a reason. There had to be a reason they were the one that got bit, right? That they were the one who woke up. That they were the one who Jax chose to save when he could have let that gargoyle tear them apart and be none the worse for it. That they were the one who had survived being poisoned. There had to be a reason for it all. “You’re my family, too, Lydia. I’d be so lost without you.” 

“Why do you think you’re wasted space?” Lydia asked softly, squeezing Remmy’s hand as much as she could. “I don’t mean that to tell you you shouldn’t feel like that, I want to understand why.” They had been through so many things, and Lydia had seen as each one had torn them apart a little more. For someone supposedly so indestructible, they had been so close to destroyed so many times. “Don’t worry, you won’t lose me.”

“Because I’m not--” Remmy started, unsure of how to explain. “I’m not the best at anything, or like...the smartest. I can’t do magic like Cece to help and I’m not good at talking like Morgan. Everyone has these qualities that make them better and good people, and I’m just--” useless, as their father had said. A waste of space. Underachieving, below average grades, no extra cirriculars. Remmy had never been extraordinary, had never stood out. So why did they keep getting these chances? “--I don’t know why it was me that woke up that day. I don’t know why I got to live and everyone else had to die when I can’t do anything to help anyone.”

“Is Morgan good at talking?” Lydia scoffed slightly. The woman was excellent at projecting her assumptions on other people, and if that was what some considered empathy, well. That was concerning. Lydia didn’t see it that way at all. Despite that small interjection, she was listening to Remmy, trying to piece it all together. It was so very human of them. Everything had to have order and reason. Everything had to have a purpose, even them. Lydia wouldn’t say it, but it was a truth about Fae, they saw the world as it was. Chaotic, unpredictable. There didn’t have to be rhyme or reason to random perturbations. “Can I ask you something?” Lydia said softly. “Is it not enough to bring joy and comfort to other people’s lives?”

Lydia was being oddly quiet and Remmy could feel the anxiety buzzing under their skin, like little bugs. They worried they’d said too much or said something wrong. They were so used to putting themself in a little box and tucking in the corner. They had to always live such a contained life. Make themself small so they didn’t take up space and disturb the people around them. Being invisible was better than being hurt. Taking up space without having a purpose meant they should be punished. So when Lydia asked her question, they didn’t have an answer. Not one that they liked and not one that they wanted to tell her. “It doesn’t feel like enough. How-- I--” they looked over at her. “I wish I was like you. I wish I’d known about this world earlier. I want-- I want so bad to help people, but I don’t know how. And no one ever let’s me. They all look at me with those sad eyes, like I’m too fragile.”

Lydia smiled softly. "So what I hear is that you're being unkind to yourself for circumstances outside your control." There was a delectable irony to her commenting on that, she knew, as her friends had made clear many times. The attack wasn't her fault, they had explained, over and over. Similarly, Remmy not knowing until recently that this world even existed was not their fault. "Remmy, you have so much time to learn and change. You'll get there, one day. But the truth is that you're new to this, and you are still struggling with the recent terrible things that happened to you. Both of those things are okay. Both take time. It's important for you to help yourself too, right?"

“I--” Remmy started, but paused mid word when the thought hit them and they realized-- Lydia was right. She kind of always was. They knew she was, but convincing themself was a whole other thing. They wanted to try though. For Lydia, they wanted to try. They scooted over closer to her, turning to look at her, this time square in the eyes. They weren’t often good at that, meeting others’ eyes, but they knew this was important to say to her, face to face. “I want to move back in with you. You’re-- you feel like home. And I-- want all those things you said. To help myself, to be...to get better.” 

Lydia held Remmy’s gaze for as long as they were comfortable. Eye contact was easy for her, but she knew it wasn’t for them, so she tried to keep her look mild and welcoming here. “I want you here.” Lydia replied, squeezing Remmy’s hand. “You have all the time you want in the world. We’ll heal together, hm?” One step at a time. They deserved someone they could trust unconditionally. 

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

You Are the Stripes Beneath My Wings || Regan and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s Apartment PARTIES: @kadavernagh and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Regan comes to check up on a “very sick” Kaden.

Tylenol, Advil, Benadryl, Dayquil, Nyquil -- Regan had stuffed half a convenience store in a bag and headed over to Kaden’s with some fresh chicken soup in hand. It was... strange. They saw each other just yesterday, and Kaden hadn’t been exhibiting any symptoms of a cold or flu, or even seasonal allergies. He said he was sick, very sick, but in that case, why not take advantage of the fact he was dating a doctor and let her come over? Was it really about not wanting to get her sick? Regan almost scoffed at that. She’d been exposed to pretty much anything, and rarely had a sniffle to show for it. As she turned the corner to Kaden’s apartment, what she saw made her freeze. The hallway was coated in black and white stripes. They were stretched across the walls, replacing the wallpaper. Down under her feet, the geometric carpet had been replaced by something only a mime would have selected. Even the paintings of sailboats and flowers now held striped subjects. “O… kay.” She said aloud, blinking at the dizzying change in scenery. She held her breath and headed for Kaden’s door. Knocked. She could hear Abel give an alert woof behind the door, but it was taking Kaden quite a while to come open it. “It’s Regan,” she called out, careful not to speak too loudly, “Did a mime move in? Is that the problem? I brought you soup! And medicine. All of them.”

Kaden knew that the soap and sponge wasn’t going to get the stripes out at this point, not if they hadn’t before, but that didn’t stop him from furiously trying to scrub them away. There was a knock on the door and his heart leapt in his chest. No. There was no way he could possibly have anyone over. Was it Blanche again? What if she had a camera ready this time? He turned off the water and went to the door to look out the keyhole. Oh no. It was worse than Blanche. It was Regan. Kaden grabbed the blanket again, wrapping himself up again, holding his grip much tighter than he did when Blanche came over. He had no plans of opening the door, but just in case. “Can you leave it at the door?” he yelled through the door, hoping she could hear. He tried to do a very loud fake cough. That sounded sick, right? “Mime? Why do you say mime? What mime? There’s no mime or stripes anywh--” Kaden remembered what the rest of the hallway looked like. Putain. “Sorry. I’m really sick. You shouldn’t catch this. It’s fine. It’ll go away.”

Was that fake cough really supposed to convince her? Regan exhaled a sharp breath and shouted again -- one of the hallway lights breaking, this time. “Kaden, I’ll remind you again that I’m a doctor. I can recognize a fake cough. Are you lying to me?” What was up with him? Since when weren’t they honest with each other? “Your hallway, Kaden. And your hallway carpet. And the paintings. Was this a neighbor’s doing? Are they a mime, or did they just hear the rumors about your sexual tendencies? Uh, not that those rumors are true, obviously. I would know.” She ran a hand through her hair, considering. She couldn’t force her way into the apartment, but she could play the long game. “Fine. I’ll leave it at the door, along with the rest of me.” Regan frowned down at the black and white striped carpet. Did he seriously think she was just going to dump the medicine and soup here and then leave without seeing him? She sank against the door until she was on the ground. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Putain. She wasn’t buying it. Kaden wasn’t sure what to do. “No, I mean, I--” This was entirely too humiliating. Wings were one thing, but these were stripes. And face paint. And he didn’t know if it was ever going to go away or what he’d have to do to get rid of it. But if he could avoid having her see him like this, that would be preferable. “You just can’t see me right now. It’s not-- It’s bad, alright.” He sighed as she described the hallway. Even if he did leave his apartment, he couldn’t escape the reminder that he was black and fucking white right now. Would that go away? Putain de merde. “I don’t know, it was like that when I woke up this morning and when Queenie came to check my arm. Which is fine, by the way. Did she tell you?” Fucking hell, this was going to do absolutely nothing to alleviated her assumptions about his sexual tendencies, as Regan had so eloquently put it. “Thanks, you can just leave it th-- Wait, what?” She was sitting at his doorstep? No, why? He wasn’t even this stubborn when she first got her wings and she locked him out. That wasn’t fair. “Really? Why? I pro--” Merde. “I’m fine. I mean I’m not-- Are you sure you can’t can’t just leave it on the doorstep? There’s really no reason for you to see this.” Somehow he had a feeling this was going to be a losing battle. Considering it was pretty clear she hadn’t left and wasn’t going to. “If I open the door is that good enough?” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to negotiate, there was no way she was leaving after she saw so much as one striped finger let alone the rest of him. Well, assuming she didn’t run away screaming. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t open the door.

She couldn’t see him right now? What the heck was he talking about? Regan swallowed the growing lump in her throat as memories of several months ago dislodged themselves. Hiding in her apartment with wings, trying to keep Kaden away, fearing his touch against her cool skin. Was it something as bad as that? Did he have wings? Was it contagious after all, and it had just taken this long? She sank further against the door, eyes wide open, as the thought made her marrow ice over. “I’m glad your arm is fine,” Regan said, harshly but with sincerity. Queenie had told her. That didn’t matter right now, though, since this was seemingly unrelated. Was it wings? Please let it not be wings, for so many reasons.

“I’m not leaving you. If you don’t want to open the door right now, that’s… it’s fine. But I won’t leave.” The back of Regan’s head thunked against Kaden’s black and white door. Darwin, it had to be wings. It was wings, wasn’t it? “I would have given anything to just have you sit outside my door and keep me company, talk to me, when I was stuck in my apartment. It’s not your fault that you didn’t. I kept you away. But I’m not going to let you do that.” When she heard his question, she sat up straight. “You’ll open the door? Really?” There was that lump again, and this time joined by mounting pressure in her lungs. “No, it’s not good enough! If you’re as sick as you initially claimed, I want you examined, whether by myself or someone at the hospital. And if it’s --” She sighed, pressing a hand to her head, “Kaden, do you have wings?”

Kaden’s heart sunk hearing that she had wanted him there all those months ago. “I would have, you know. I didn’t want to push because I thought--” He could barely even remember what he thought. Beyond that he didn’t want to be desperate or controlling or anything fucking else. Though admittedly, there were a couple times he lingered on her stairs a little longer than he should have. Maybe this was stupid, keeping her at an arm’s length. He knew damn well how much it hurt being on the other side of that door. Only he knew his, uh, “condition” was only temporary. Because if it wasn’t… No, there was no alternative. He wasn’t going to be striped for fucking ever. His hand hesitated over the door handle, blanket wrapped firmly around as much of him as he could manage. Maybe he should find gloves first. Did he own a ski mask? Could he make one in the next five minutes. Putain. “Okay, okay, but only if there’s no hospital, got it? I am not leaving this fucking apartment for anything, got it?” His pulse pounded in his chest as he considered opening the door. Couldn’t he just give it one more day? Fuck, no, he wasn’t going to have her sit out there all day. Maybe he could just hide behind the door. That could work. Deep breath. He almost turned the handle when he heard her next question. “Wait, what?” His brow furrowed and he hated knowing it was only emphasizing the stupid facepaint plastered there. “There’s no wings. In fact, I almost fucking wish it was wings. Trust me, that’d be better.” He let out another sigh. There was no way this was going to go well. What if she screamed? Oh shit, what if she screamed? What an inconvenient time to not be able to make a fucking promise. “I’m about to open the door. But I need you to stay calm. I’m only opening this if you don’t scream. Deal?”

No hospital? Regan couldn’t promise that, even if she wanted to. “If you’re dying or severely injured, you’re going to the hospital. I’m not arguing.” Kaden usually had more sense than most of the people in this town -- what was happening right now? He wished it were wings? Regan scowled, remembering the fear and even disgust balled into his face when he first saw them. None of that was there now -- she even pretended not to feel his fingers tracing over the veins at times -- but the thought that Kaden found them preferable to whatever was happening now was alarming. Regan pulled herself off the floor and grabbed the bag and soup again. She could hear movement from the other side, and his voice sounded close. Was he actually going to let her in? Her heart quite literally stopped beating for several seconds. The word deal brought Deirdre and Lydia to mind, their warnings about what such an exchange was capable of. Kaden… knew that. He really thought she was going to scream, and she couldn’t exactly assure him that she wouldn’t -- not when she could feel the beginnings of one stirring in her lungs, churned up by her nerves. What would happen if she screamed despite the deal? Or would she not be able to scream at all? Would it even work? The “word binding” nonsense that Lydia spoke of still seemed impossible -- surely it was all psychosomatic. “This is me, not screaming,” Regan said quietly, trying to push the rising sound down further. “Deal.” How bad could it possibly be?

“I’m not really worried about now but--” Kaden grumbled. This was a terrible idea. But she’d said deal. It should be fine. Kaden shrugged the blanket above his shoulders and held it tight around his face, hoping it covered the majority of the fucking mime makeup that wouldn’t go away. With his other hand he turned the handle and pulled open the door, trying his best to stay covered by it as it swung inside. “There. Door’s open. And I’m still alive. You can just leave the stuff inside now, right?” He knew full well that there was going to be no closing the door now with her on the other side, but he could hope, right? Maybe she’d just run away. Shit, no, that didn’t go well the last time she did that and he wasn’t about to go running after her this time looking like a goddamn mime monstrosity. He peeked his head around the door, hoping the blanket was covering the worst of the face paint, and saw her. She, uh, she wouldn’t notice right? It wasn’t that bad.

The door was opening. Finally, it was opening. Regan scrutinized it, realizing that Kaden was hiding behind it rather than standing right there to greet her. “You know I’m not doing that,” she said curtly, stepping inside. She peered around to the other side of the door and saw… Kaden under a thick blanket, completely swaddled with only his eyes peeking out. “Are you sure you don’t have wings?” But -- there was something around his eyes. A dot of black underneath each, surrounded by what looked like smeared white facepaint. They were certainly his kind, clear eyes, but she wasn’t sure what was wrong with his skin. “Did something happen to your skin?” A spike of concern shook her voice, and for a second, she lost her hold on the scream twisting in her chest. It rose up a little, but she caught it in time to pull it down. Carefully, she approached her cocooned boyfriend and patted his back through the blanket, trying to feel if there was anything new and flittering underneath. Nothing. Though her own wings quivered in concern. “I’m not leaving, Kaden, so you might as well show me what’s wrong and actually let me help. How many times have I reminded you that I’m a doctor this week? I mean, I’m a doctor all the time. But -- you know what I mean. And I’m also your girlfriend.” Her voice was tight with worry. She tried to assess symptoms, but she couldn’t exactly take stock of Kaden while he was hidden like this. She reached out for his hand, which was buried under the blanket with the rest of him. “Come on, drop the blanket. You don’t have wings and you’re not five inches tall. I think I can handle anything, at this point.” Why did that feel like a lie as it left her mouth?

Kaden tensed and waited for a loud pitch sound to pierce his ears on top of everything else. Only, no scream came. Okay, this was fine so far. He could just keep the blanket on until the stripes went away. It’d be fine. “My skin?” he asked, eyes growing wide. Fuck, there’s no way that wasn’t emphasized with that stupid black paint around them. “Uh, well, it’s-- Hey, hey! There are no wings!” he shouted as she tried to pat him down. He tried to swat her away, with his hand still inside the blanket but it wasn’t exactly expected. “If it was wings I would have told you!” He would have freaked out because there was just as much reason for him to have wings as there was for him to have stripes on his skin. “I know, I know,” he grumbled. If he thought she could help, she would have been the first person he called but this? This couldn't be treated by a doctor. He wasn’t sure a spellcaster could fix this shit. And his girlfriend shouldn’t have to subject herself to seeing him like this. Still, she was worried, that much was clear. Fuck, in her position, he’d be worried, too. “Please don’t scream. It’s better than being five inches tall, but it’s….” His heart was racing at the thought of dropping his blanket. What if he was stuck this way? She should probably know what she was stuck looking at. Maybe she still never had to see it. He could live life like the invisible man, wrapped in bandages all the time, right? Putain. He took a deep breath and decided to start small and held out his arm from underneath the blanket so she could see it, skin dry and rubbed raw, but still covered in black and white stripes. “I’m pretty sure it was the mimes.”

Please don’t scream. Regan had to tell herself that, too, as Kaden was building this up to be something horrific. What could it possibly be? Not wings, she believed him now, but was it a gruesome injury? Had someone left him scarred or mangled? Had the coyote come back to finish the job and pulled off one of his arms? Had someone shaved his head? Had his face been horribly disfigured? Was that why he was hiding it? Regan considered some of the decedents she’d had on her autopsy table. Was Kaden covered from head to toe in hair? Did he grow extra digits? Was his skin coated in boils or did his pores ooze mucus? So many borderline impossible things flicked through her mind, each more awful than the last as the decedents in her head started to look like her boyfriend. She held her breath tight in her chest as there was motion from underneath the blanket, and a shaky, black and white striped arm poked out in her direction. Regan froze, staring at it, not understanding. Had the mimes… painted him? She took a closer look at his skin, noticing the abrasions on the white stripes. They were on the black, too, she noted -- just more difficult to see. She held his arm, thumb rubbing against the stripes. It didn’t seem like paint -- it was almost tattoo-like. But it had to be paint. “I don’t understand,” she finally said, dropping his arm and hers, “they painted you? I’ll help you wash it off.”

No scream? No scream. Okay. That was better than expected. Only she clearly didn’t understand what had happened. Regan seemed entirely too calm about the whole thing. “What do you mean you don’t understand?” Kaden started. “Look at my arm! It’s striped!” He pulled up more of his sleeve, forgetting that his other hand was holding up the blanket. Putain de merde. He froze as the blanket fell away, revealing the whole horror. Shit. No hiding it now. He winced a little, waiting for her reaction. “It’s not paint. It’s my skin, it’s in my skin or something, I don’t know,” he said, voice pitched with panic. “I tried to wash it off but it won’t go away. I took so many showers, I scrubbed, I’ve used dish soap and sponges and that make up remover shit you left here once, nothing worked. It won’t go away.” His heart raced and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. “What if I’m stuck like this, Regan? What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t be a mime! No fucking way, that’s not happening!”

“Yes, your arm is striped. Someone painted--” But before Regan could finish, Kaden was pulling up his sleeve and the blanket fell away and… what. She gave Kaden’s face a hard stare, barely recognizing him for an instant. Her mouth fell open, silently, as she took in his appearance. The white makeup on his face. The black and white stripes covering every inch of his skin. His words washed right off her and all she could focus on was the way his painted lips moved and the creasing of white paint as his face contorted in emotional agony. Kaden. Was. A mime. This had to be his worst fucking nightmare. But after the list of possibilities Regan had drummed up in her head, this was almost a relief. And-- and-- Kaden was a mime. Kaden was. A mime. Not only was he unharmed, not only did he not have wings, he was a mime. How did this happen? Did he actually have a-- wait, did that make her a mimefu-- oh, no.

Laughter exploded out of Regan like a scream, shattering several lights, as she bowled over, palms against her thighs. She couldn’t focus enough to even think about forming a coherent sentence; all she could see behind the dark fields of her squeezed shut eyes was Kaden wearing mime makeup. Something else cracked and the laughter kept erupting out, until finally, at long last, it slowed down to a small, sharp trickle of glass-breaking giggles. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” She approached Kaden, setting a hand over his stripey arm. They really were close to the skin, if not in it. “We’ll fix this, I just-- I--” Snrk. She couldn’t hold it. “Sorry!” She was no better than Blanche, was she? Regan wouldn’t forget how annoyed she was at Blanche’s laughter when she was five inches tall. “Okay. Okay,” She said, mostly to herself, as she tried to get a grip on the explosive laughter. “I’ll clean that glass up. But, Kaden, I’m confident a good shower will do the trick. Or, uh, alcohol! Have you tried rubbing alcohol?”

Kaden couldn’t anticipate how she was going to react, but he was prepared to cover his ears at any moment, just in case. Not that it would do much. If she screamed, that meant his eardrums would be fucking busted and he’d be striped. What a fucking week. He braced himself and waited as she put the pieces together, saw his face, which had to look fucking horrifying. Was she going to run? Or-- Wait. She was… laughing? Was she really fucking laughing? “This isn’t funny! Regan, come on!” He jumped as the glass in the picture frames in the hall cracked and shattered. And probably some of the glass in his apartment, too. Putain de merde. Just pile it up, why the fuck not. “Look, Blanche already laughed at me, I don’t need this from you, too. What if I’m stuck with this?!” She kept cackling. Was she even listening? He grumbled and picked up the blanket to cover up the stupid stripes again. “Regan, I just said I took five showers! Five! I used every solution I can find! It won’t go away! I tried everything, it’s not painted on, it’s my skin! My skin is fucking striped!” Somehow the laughter was worse than panic. At least if she was panicking, she’d be taking this seriously and be on the same page as here. “Fine, you saw me. Got your laughs in. If you’re just going to laugh, just go, alright?” Didn’t need this from her of all people. He felt stupid enough. There was no way he was stepping foot outside of his door until he was no longer a fucking mime.

She knew she’d made a mistake as Kaden’s painted face burned with irritation and he buried himself back under the blanket. Regan’s mouth snapped closed, and she tried to smother any of the remaining laughter that was dying to come out. Crap. This was really bad, mostly because of Kaden’s past mime-related trauma. Hadn’t he just said the other day that he’d rather die than become a mime? He really did seem terrified, and a deep pang of guilt and regret hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. Kaden didn’t laugh when she was small, not once. And while it was too late to take that back, she’d treat this with seriousness moving forward. But -- but the face paint. And the stripes. No. Don’t laugh. Wait, the paint wouldn’t come off in the shower? “When… when did this happen? And how?” She said, reigning in the last traces of amusement from her voice. “I’m sorry I laughed. I just-- I thought you were dying. Or horrifically injured. But you’re not! We can fix this. This is fixable. Entirely.” Her words stuck in her throat as she took another step toward him, setting a hand on the blanket. They were the same ones he’d said to her. Once when it was true, and once when it was false. In this case, she hoped it was true. She wanted to give him a hug, but she could tell the laughter had stung. Best to wait. “Not water, then. We’ll find something, okay? I-- we can try different solutions with alcohol in them, or even a small amount of bleach. In the meantime, I’m going to bring over some foundation. Um, I might need to stop at a store and buy a lot more, though.” There was a lot of surface area to cover. “Have you tried, uh, screaming? It might help. Not with the stripes, but with, you know.” She breathed out, her mind clearing so she could approach this like a doctor. “Kaden,” she said, meeting his eyes, “We’ll fix this.”

It was pretty fucking clear that Regan still wanted to laugh; Kaden could tell she was holding back. He sighed and rolled his eyes, settling the blanket a little tighter over his shoulders. “It happened right after Queenie checked my arm. I went outside and there was a bag full of black and white cookies and I opened the bag and then this happened.” There was also a creature that formed out of the crumbs that crawled off likely to eat cats but that seemed like way more than she was ready to hear. Or believe. And the stripes were far worse than the potential new mime monsters. “How? How can we fix this? I tried everything, Regan. I really did.” He felt stupid being so upset about this but this was fucked up and he couldn’t go out in public like this. Who the fuck would take him seriously? How could he do his job or even just go to the fucking store? What if he was stuck working at the mime bar because that was the only career path left to him? Was this the mime’s ultimate revenge? Putain de fucking merde. 

“I tried rubbing alcohol, I tried dish soap, laundry detergent, shampoo, I even tried carpet cleaner just in case. They won’t go away.” Kaden grumbled and walked back to the living room to plop on the couch, still covered by the blanket. This clearly wasn’t going away. At least Abel wasn't laughing, just curling up to him and wondering when dinner was. “Screaming?” he asked, one brow raised. “You think screaming will--” Oh. For a minute he was hoping that would be the solution to get rid of the stripes. “I did a bit, but I don’t know. I tried asking Isabelle but there was nothing helpful coming from her.” Not surprising. Of course she wasn’t fucking helpful. It was probably her fault in the first place he was black and white all over. “What the fuck am I going to do if it doesn’t go away?”

Kaden’s cracked and defeated voice made the pit in Regan’s stomach grow. Her guilt continued to eat at her as she realized how serious Kaden thought this was. And maybe it was. If he tried as many things as he claimed, and nothing got the stripes off, then… no, they’d figure it out. And soon. He wasn’t going to have to resort to being an actual mime. She didn’t even want to think about what that would mean for him. “There are always more things we can try. I’ll buy out a convenience store if I have to.” Regan followed him into the living room and, sensing that he probably wasn’t as irritated with her now, she sat down next to him. “I think it might help you feel a little better,” she offered lamely, “but the solution to this is going to require some, well, solutions.” Was he sure alcohol hadn’t worked?

Regan frowned at the mound of blankets sitting next to her. Kaden was buried underneath it, too humiliated to even poke an arm out again. “Kaden, I won’t laugh again. Really. You-- this will go away. Hey, look at me.” She met his eyes, trying to catch them peering out from underneath the blanket. “I’ll do anything I can for you in the meantime, but we’re going to get rid of these, uh, stripes. And the face makeup. You’re not going to stay like this.” For a moment, she considered mentioning that she’d stick by him regardless, but that would indicate uncertainty in what she was saying, right? Crap. She extended a hand to him again, though she still wasn’t sure she was ready to see his striped arm and fingers emerging. This was weird, too weird, and it didn’t make sense that it was all because he opened some bag of cookies. “This can’t be the first time this has happened to someone. We just need to see what others in your situation have done. We’ll -- we’ll get this fixed. I pr--” Her mouth clamped shut against her will, and she bit her tongue. “Ow. Uh, you know what I was about to say.”

Looking into her eyes, it was easy for Kaden to believe this was going to be fixed, that things would get better. He wasn’t sure if that was true but it was nice to feel some confidence in the idea that this would be temporary again. And there was no harm in trying as many options as possible. “Okay. Okay, if you say so,” he said with a nod. His hand looked like it belonged to some deranged Dr. Seuss character as he wriggled it out from the blankets to take hers. Kaden was pretty sure this was unprecedented. Unless this was how the mimes created those other monsters in the alleyways, with black and white cookie crumbs and glitter bombs. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. “Are you alright?” Maybe the no promise binding promise bind still had its own faults. “But yeah, I do.” He squeezed her hand in his, trying not to look down at his weird striped skin any more than he had to.

“Thanks for…” Kaden met her eyes once more as he trailed off, unsure of what he was even thanking her for. Part of him still wanted to be alone and hide under the covers until it all went away. Still, another part of him knew that was stupid. Regan always made things better. Surely, that would apply now, too. Even if he had a feeling Bea or Cece could offer more help in this particular situation than any doctor could. Maybe he was just still reeling from the laughter from earlier. He sighed and settled further into the couch. “If you’re sticking around, we’re going to need more wine and cheese. Bread, too. And way to cover some of this,” he said, gesturing to his black and white hand. “And we’re watching more Meerkat Manor.” After all this, he earned a decent distraction and no way was he watching March of the Penguins right now. He needed a little less black and white in his life.

[childrenoflight-darkness-nothing]

Only A Matter Of Time...

before I couldn’t find the post and made a new thread. 1278 words

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Aislin glanced down at the bandages on her wrists when he left her alone, his clothes folded in her lap. She hadn’t meant to do it. To claw and pick until old long since healed wounds reopened. She hadn’t even known she was doing it. Not until he’d grabbed her wrists. Not until he’d wiped the blood away and carefully bandaged them. He’d been so gentle. So soft…

She hadn’t meant to do it.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

His words swirled in her head, an echo to her own thoughts as she glanced down at the bandages again, forcing her vision to refocus. She tried to convince herself that they didn’t feel like another pair of cuffs–

Trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

‘I’ve got you. It’s alright, I’ve got you now.’

She pulled the soggy mess that had been Adair’s shirt over her head, forcing her hands away from the bandages on her wrists. She’d leave them be for now, at least until the bleeding stopped. Or Adair fell asleep. Aislin took a deep breath as she changed, feeling his scent drift around her. He smelled like home.

Not what you needed. Not what you needed. Not what you needed.

‘You saved me. It’s okay, don’t worry.’

Ewan. Ferret. Clarissa. Thane.

Not you. Never you.

She couldn’t meet his eyes when she pulled open the door, instead she crumpled against him as he placed a kiss in her hair. He held her for a moment, as she stood there shaking. It wasn’t the cold. She knew. Still she couldn’t get herself to stop. He guided her to the bed, and with a sigh he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders taking her hand.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Apologies stuck themselves in her throat. She couldn’t get the words to come out.

Ewan. Ferret. Clarissa. Thane.

“You saved me,” he finally said, taking her hand in his. And when she’d opened her mouth to argue he’d gently shushed her. “Please, let me talk…”

And she did. And she listened. And she tried really hard to take his words to heart. To believe him. He wouldn’t lie, not to her. Never to her. This she knew deep into her soul.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

You shouldn’t have to be dealing with this. With me. Not now. Not after everything. I was supposed to be strong for you.

‘He’s accepted you and your burdens. Trust him to help you carry them.’

It was Deirdre’s voice this time, sounding like a bell quieting her thoughts as she focused on his words.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be made of stone,” he said. And the sentence stuck with her, twisting itself into alternate meanings as the tears came anew.

You don’t have to force yourself to be so strong. You can bend. You can crumble. You don’t have to be made of stone with me. I’ll pick up the pieces, help you back together.

With me. With me. With me.

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

“I’ll be your strength just like you are mine.”

Ewan. Ferret. Clarissa. Thane.

Not you. Never–

“No, you were there. You kept me strong.”

Adair brought her hand to his chest, his flannel unbuttoned to reveal the tally marks on the right side of his chest. Her eyes focused on one single scar, she’d watched it be carved into him. The one that she couldn’t ever let herself forget, as his captors said her name. Her fingers combed over it before she tried to pull away. Her expression twisting with guilt. Sorrow. Regret.

But he held her there. His grip firm. Gentle.

“You give me strength. You are a part of me now,” he said, translating his Scottish. “That scar? That reminds me of how strong you are. How you overcame so much more than I ever could, and how much I love you for that. It reminds me of why I keep fighting; it reminds me of my promise to always return to you.”

She couldn’t say anything, only say there looking at her hand on his chest as she cried. He leaned forward kissing away every tear as it fell.

“You don’t have to worry about ‘not being enough for me’, because you are my whole world. I love you. All of you.”

‘You’re worried about being a burden to him, but you’re not. Everyone has their struggles, he’s accepted yours.’

“You are strong in so many ways I can’t even begin to describe.”

Strong. Strong. Strong.

Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

Not enough to save him. To save yourself.

“You’re such a powerful force, no one would ever stand a chance against you.”

‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

‘Always will.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to be made of stone.’

That one thing. Helped her more than he could ever know. I’m here, it said. I’ll be here while you put yourself back together. She sobbed into his shoulder, clinging to him. If his wounds pained him he didn’t let it show. He only held her, whispering a mix of English, Scottish, and Irish in her ear.

Six years she’d held herself together. Only letting things out on quiet abandoned streets and in bathrooms. Six years and she’d finally found a place to rest. A harbor to weather the storm in.

He’d be there as she scooped the pieces of herself back up. Not to fix her. But to keep her safe as she fit everything back into place.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

——

She wasn’t sure how long she cried for. Only that he held her the entire time. I’m sorry, she’d try to say after they’d sat in silence for a while. But he’d quickly silenced her with a kiss to her temple.

“Nothing for you to be sorry for, mo chridhe.”

“Then thank you,” she’d settled on, her voice raw. Tired. She couldn’t get the words out. So many things she wanted to say. Thank you. For everything. For taking my hand and sitting with me in the dark. For loving me through it all. She couldn’t get the words out. She hoped he understood anyways.

——

They’d found their way onto the front porch, watching the stars. The night still relatively young as they studied what they could of the constellations. They could see more then they ever could’ve in the heart of the city, where they had been before. Their little corner of the world away from the worst of the city's light pollution. Aislin leaned against his good shoulder, Adair’s hand wrapped up in both of hers as she drew mindless shapes over his knuckles.

The storm from earlier had faded, leaving… not clear skies… but a sense of peace. Aislin sighed into the night air. Content.

One look at you, my whole life falls in line. Oh, I can’t believe it’s true sometimes. I get to love you, it’s the best thing that I’ll ever do.

Aislin hummed the words as the song popped into her head, the lyrics seeming to fit her feelings exactly.

I get to love you. It’s a promise I’m making you, whatever may come your heart I will choose. Forever I’m yours, forever I do. I get to love you.

The night was silent around them, save for Aislin’s singing. And Adair wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

And they say love is a journey. I promise that I’ll never leave. When it’s too heavy to carry, remember this moment with me. I get to love you...

[deathduty]

The Zombie in the Room || Deirdre & Lydia

Lydia finds out about Morgan

Deirdre had been packing away boxes of salt and iron rods for what felt like the better part of the day. She left their personal items for last, unable to truly set about touching Morgan's things and packing them away until the salt was gone, the iron moved, the wards boxed up and nothing left to distract her from what she'd actually come back for. Morgan's books were strewn about, her belongings intermingled with Deirdre's, and all the will and hope she had left untouched in their hotel room. Deirdre picked her things out of Morgan's and packed them first, pulling a suitcase out into the hall. Then she stood there, looking into the room from the open door. If she could forget, it was almost like Morgan hadn't lost anything at all. Picking apart all her hope and optimism felt wrong. She had books marked in the places she thought important, magical ingredients kept safe in special boxes. The cup she'd been drinking from sat undisturbed on the table. Beauty and the Beast still sat in the DVD player from their viewing a few nights prior. In that way, almost, that part of Morgan wasn't dead, and Deirdre couldn't find the strength to enter the room again and rip that away from her too. She sunk to the floor in the hall, looking up only as someone else entered her vision. "Lydia?" Her fingers twitched. She should close the door, hide any evidence. But she was too tired, too far into the acceptance that she'd failed to try and fight it any longer. "Why are you—why are you here?" 

The last time Lydia had been here, it had been in quite a different mood. Now as she slipped past the reception without saying a word, her face was set in grim determination. Deirdre had screamed, and now she wasn’t answering her phone. Of course, people died all the time, and the banshee here were probably more prolific than elsewhere. She might not have worried, if Deirdre hadn’t been odder than usual in the past couple weeks. If Deirdre had answered her phone, or her email. If this town wasn’t swarming with warden who jumped at every scream. When she turned the corner, Deirdre was just there, crumpled on the floor of the hallway. The chimes in her chest were so quiet as she hurried over, kneeling beside Deirdre. “You screamed, and you weren’t answering your phone. I was worried. Darling, what’s wrong?”

Lydia was here. Lydia was concerned. Lydia was here and concerned. Deirdre tried to swallow back the lump in her throat. Would Lydia still be concerned if she knew? Or would it be the same kind of babying concern she held for Regan? Deirdre gulped again. “I=I’m fine,” she croaked. How convincing was that between sunken features and red, sleep-deprived eyes? Her gaze fluttered from Lydia to the open door and then back to Lydia. “What are you doing here? This place isn’t exactly…” she gestured around at the decor, “upscale.” 

“Pardon my french, dear, but bullshit,” Lydia replied, one eyebrow raised as she pointedly looked Deirdre up and down. The woman was a mess, at the very least sleep deprived and at worst seriously unwell. She followed Deirdre’s gaze to the hotel room full of packed boxes, but it was hardly her concern right now. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’m here because you are. Come on now, darling, when did you last sleep?”

Lydia's comfort was odd. Deirdre knew all affection to be conditional, even from a fae. Especially from a fae. Would she turn cold the moment Deirdre failed to perform her duties? Would she cast her out? The banshee looked up, hoping answers might sit in Lydia's eyes. "Regan wants nothing to do with me," she said first, hoping this was a pain Lydia would accept and understand. But Jeff was right. Fae were a certain way, and certainly Lydia only cared so long as Deirdre retained her faeness. Morgan had taught her how to care, how to love without conditions and open a heart she was taught to disregard. She liked to hope that change was for the better, but it was so hard to tell, so close to all the pain it wrought. And though she couldn't say the same for Lydia—Deirdre cared for her beyond their shared superior species. "Being fae….is there a point to it if we can't fulfil our roles? Do what's asked of us?" She turned back to the open door. "I can't sleep." 

“What? Why? My darling, I am so sorry.” Lydia wondered if she could reach out to hold Deirdre’s shoulder. She knew that Deirdre and Regan hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, but this was a long step in a strange direction. Somehow, though, Lydia could see that wasn’t the full cause of Deirdre’s pain. It wasn’t even the beginning. So Lydia gently extended a hand, to cup the back of Deirdre’s shoulder. “What on earth are you talking about? Being Fae is so much more than duty. Deirdre, what happened?”

Deirdre gulped, the lump in her throat insistent on staying lodged down there. Her eyes, tired of fighting, began to water. She glanced back at the room; Morgan’s belongings urged her tears furthur. All being a fae meant was her duty, all she was meant for was her duty. But why was it that fate had to be the cruelty she served? She looked back at Lydia, comforted by a touch she knew the woman would wrench away. “Someone died.” This was obvious, but Deirdre feared trying to explain the gravity of it. “Human. I grew so fond of a human.” Her voice caught. With shame, she turned her gaze again. She didn’t explain she was still fond of that human, she didn’t explain how fond. But there was no telepathic bond she could blame here. She had chosen to love a human. She had chosen to fail her duty. “Maybe this explains my failings with Regan better. What it means to be fae…” She didn’t finish her thought. She didn’t know anymore, what anything meant. 

“Oh. I see.” Lydia replied softly, frowning. Her hand stayed on Deirdre’s shoulder. That would explain it, though perhaps not what Deirdre thought. She sat in silence for a long moment. “This is what you’ve been hiding, isn’t it? Deirdre, darling, look at me.” She waited until Deirdre did, or approximated close to it. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve failed you, my dear. I’d made it perfectly clear how I think of them, but all that… it is just an opinion, darling. Frankly, no human matters enough to me to change my opinion of you. If you’ve found one which is worth your affection, darling, and now you’ve lost them, then I am so sorry for your loss. I am equally sorry that I made you feel like you had to hide it.”

Deirdre tried to look at Lydia, her head simply couldn't lift up from its dropped gaze. And then she went on and filled with shock, Deirdre snapped her attention up. Her mother wouldn't say the same thing. Her family might even not. But Lydia was...different, somehow. And all this time Deirdre never thought to ask why, or how. "You didn't—I just thought—I was raised to understand that humans were the lowest of—I thought—" she gulped. "You didn't just—what the fae do to the ones that turn out too human...I was raised in—I saw all of—" Her sentences melded together, bits and pieces choked out between startling revelation. Lydia was okay with this, somehow. And she was here, caring, somehow. "This community is so precious to me. Being fae is so...important. I didn't want to lose it, or you, and so I didn't…" she gulped, "that human isn't entirely gone. But….I... you're really not...horrified?" 

Lydia smiled wrily, her eyes lit with sympathy. “What was I going to do, ceremonially remove your wings?” She asked teasingly. “Oh, darling, come here. For every fae circle that tries to rebuild the unseelie courts of old, there’s a community of bleeding heart fae who think humans are perfectly precious. I’m in no position to excommunicate you, even if I did want to.” She leant forward until she could wrap her arms around Deirdre, holding her close and safe. “Which I don’t.” Lydia gave her a squeeze. “I’m not horrified. I can’t say I’m not questioning your tastes,” she added with a chuckle to soften the blow, “but that’s hardly the most pressing issue here. What do you mean they aren't gone?”

Yes, Deirdre tried to croak out. She’d watched it happen before, the wings she didn’t have plucked from the unworthy. Admittedly, their crimes were greater than loving a human, but the message was clear. The banshee, tired of the weight of carrying this, collapsed against Lydia’s embrace. Why was Lydia so kind? So perfect? And why couldn’t she be like this? “Thank you,” she mumbled against her, “it--um--she’s a zombie now.” Deirdre paused. “How are you like this?” She leaned back, “didn’t you...grow up like me? Why are you--how are you--I--” What words conveyed the breadth of her awe? Of her gratitude? “You do it so well. Everything.”

“That’s… good, isn’t it?” Lydia asked softly, stroking Deirdre’s back as she tucked her head against Deirdre’s shoulder. “She isn’t dead. It might not be easy for a long time, but she isn’t dead.” She isn’t human anymore, Lydia didn’t point out either. She was so sure Deirdre could hear her thinking, as much as she could hear Annelies talking to Sammy about the blossoming rhododendrons in the garden. Spring was growing. “No. I was raised to respect humans. My mother was one, remember. We were better, of course, but not by much. If I wasn’t able to accept my family’s views, and they mine, it would have been too painful to bear. No human is worth that. Oh, my darling, we don’t have to talk about this now. How can I help?”

“I know...it’s just…” Deirdre trailed off. She was too tired to explain it, even if she could find the words exactly. The weight of the shame she’d carried, the fear of being found out and banished away from the only family she knew...lifted. With each word, each second Lydia spent not pushing her away, the pressure rose off her. How much time had she spent imagining the worst of this scenario? Even if her mother’s reaction wouldn’t be the same, in that moment, knowing this was Lydia’s, she felt whole again--renewed in her station as a fae, if only so long as Lydia held her. “Oh,” she squeaked, burying herself in Lydia’s arms. “This...this helps. I--I have to go back in there and pack her things but I--” she sobbed gently against Lydia. “Thank you. Thank you.” She murmured over and over again, just until her voice was too hoarse to continue. 

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 84

Chapter Summary -  Danielle end up discussing their fight and the relationship

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​​ @wolfsmom1​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sat in the car waiting outside the airport. "Why are you still here?" She looked to Siobhan who was in the back seat.

"I want to meet him."

"And why are you in the backseat?"

"Because he will want to go upfront with you. So are you guys fixed now?"

"No."

"So he's here to fix things?"

"No."

"Then why is he here?"

"To prevent me committing murder." Siobhan laughed. "He insisted because he knows when I am stressed as hell."

"I heard Richard spoke to him."

"Yeah, he answered my phone, but Tom didn't leave a message. Do you know, he actually thought Richard was some guy I met," Danielle laughed.

"Really? How did that conversation come about?"

"I guessed why he seemed odd after I said Richard's name on the phone," Danielle explained. "He honestly thought I would just drop him like that and find someone else."

"Okay, you two seriously need to talk things out…ooh, that's him, okay he is sexier in real life. Maybe you should have fixed this over the phone, how can you stay mad at that?"

"You are literally no help, Siobhan."

"I am not here to help, I am here to be as nosy as fuck at my cousin's sexy celebrity boyfriend."

"He's not my…" Danielle corrected as Tom looked at the car, recognised her and start walking towards them.

"Yeah, bullshit, that is why you are getting a pinkish tinge to your cheeks and you look like all your birthdays have come at once, pull the other one, Danielle. You are smitten."

Danielle was relieved she had no time to respond because she had nothing she could argue to that. Tom opened the back door of the car to put in his bag but paused, seeing a person inside. "Oh."

"Don't mind her, in fact, hit her with the damn thing," Danielle stated, earning a glare from Siobhan.

"Don't mind Danielle, she's just moody because I am calling her out on her bullshit, Hi, I'm Siobhan." Siobhan beamed in the backseat, extending her hand to Tom.

Tom was slightly taken back by her forwardness. "A face for the name, hello." He shook her hand.

"He's taller than I'd have thought." Siobhan half-whispered to Danielle.

"Jesus, will you ever just go back to your plaything in Dublin." Danielle shook her head as her cousin made a show of herself. "Let Tom put in his bag."

Siobhan got out and made room for Tom to put his bag in, Danielle putting her head in her hands as she watched Siobhan, utterly unashamedly stare at Tom's ass as he put the bag in the car. "So, are you two heading straight back to Nan's?" Siobhan asked as Tom opened the passenger door.

"Have you eaten?" Danielle asked. Tom shook his head, she turned to Siobhan. "We'll get something to eat."

"Murphy's?"

"Murphy's," Danielle confirmed.

"Ooh, get me an order of wings."

"If you leave now, I'll get you a double," Danielle promised.

Siobhan looked at her for a moment, "Bye." And ran off towards her own car.

"Did she not come here with you?" Tom asked worriedly as he got in.

"I just got this rental while waiting for you. It's handier now," Danielle explained. "She drove me here."

"That was nice of her." Tom smiled, looking over at her. "Hello."

"Hi." Danielle gave a small smile back. "How are you?"

"I thought I was tired, but you look like you are completely worn out, do you want me to drive?"

"No, I'm fine." Danielle dismissed. "I just need a good nights sleep."

"Is it far to this Murphy's?"

"An hour or so, the food is proper, nice and tasty, you'll love it." Danielle smiled as she drove through the parking area of the airport.

"Takeaway?"

"No, a bar and restaurant not too far from my parent's place," Danielle answered as they joined the traffic on the main road. She sensed Tom looking at her. "What?"

"A regular restaurant, a public place?"

"Tom it's in rural Galway, no offence, but most of these people wouldn't recognise Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore and Sean Connery if they sat in front of them discussing Bond, and if they did, they would not care, I can assure you."

"But on the off chance, you are okay with being seen?" Danielle bit her lips together and her eyes began to water slightly. "Did I say…?"

"I was...um, I was talking to Siobhan the other day, and I spoke about you, and…" She shook her head. "I really fucked up," Tom said nothing, he just listened. "I thought she told Deirdre about you, and I got a little annoyed and confronted her, and she told me she only mentioned that I had someone, I don't even think she mentioned your name, much less who you are and I realised that I was so scared of people telling the media that I never noticed how much it sounded like I was ashamed of us, and then I thought of how you must have felt." She glanced at him for a moment. "I wasn't ashamed, Tom, I was so happy, I loved it, but I didn't act like it. I guess I just got scared." she began to feel her eyes water more. "Shit." she indicated in and pulled in next to a field gate.

"Are you alright?"

"I can't see." She explained. "I am such a sap."

"Elle." Tom took her hand in his. "I know you were scared, I know it is so daunting, I should not have been so horrible as to say that, and no, I was not aware of how much effort you were putting in, and believe me, if I had, I…I said stupid things, I dismissed you. I should never have argued whether or not you should have been hurt by something, only you can say whether or not you are, and no you have not changed, too much, you have a little, I mean, I think I am slowly convincing you to organise your books better, but that's a change for the better." He grinned cheekily.

Danielle laughed. "Idiot." she looked at her hand in his. Tom thought it wise to gently give Danielle her hand back. "So, we better go and get something to eat," she stated awkwardly before beginning to drive again. "It's really nice."

"Can I ask something?" Tom asked.

"Yes."

"Yes, I can ask or…?"

"Yes, ask, though I think I know what it is," She clarified.

"Are we going to try and talk about us?" Tom ventured.

"Do you want to?"

"I do, I know I seemed somewhat desperate and yes, full-on last week Elle, but that is because I do genuinely love you, I want to try and fix this."

"So you didn't find a model to run away with in Milan?" She queried, her tone very much indicating she was joking.

"No, definitely not." He looked at her to convey his honestly.

"We need to fix a few things."

"Yes, we do. We will, won't we?"

"Honesty and communication are what will get us back I think," Danielle stated. "I hope."

Tom was unsure she meant to say the last part aloud, but her obvious wish to fix things was all he needed to hear. "I had no idea she would focus so much on Taylor."

"It was the first time you mentioned her and all of that…situation, I was stupid to think she wouldn't."

"My out of character, I suppose morose demeanour is almost the correct term for it, when she was there, it was because I was trying to deal with the dynamic of us, I am not used to being the one left behind, before this, I did the travelling, it is different for me now, not negative, but an alteration, I am so used to my routine, then it changed when you came to stay, then you left for work, and I know you will have to again when you get more jobs, but it was hard coming to accept that for me, it was not what I am used to."

"Do you regret asking me to come to stay with you after Christmas?"

"No." She gave him a momentary glance. "No Elle, I would never regret that. I hope I never made you feel like I did, because honestly; I loved it, I love having you there with me, us being a team, you doing the laundry as I fled the room at the most 'convenient' of times." Danielle laughed and shook her head. "Remember how you said that your house didn't smell enough like me over Christmas?"

"Yes." She admitted.

"I feel like I was so worried that that would happen, I want things to remain as it is, us together, I suppose I sabotaged things slightly too."

"No one is perfect." Danielle shrugged. "Not even me."

Tom said nothing for a moment, thinking over everything. "The time apart has done us both some good so."

"Yes, lesson learned there." Danielle concurred. "I am sorry I went and said I was done rather than say I needed space, that was unfair. I should never have toyed with you like that."

"Why did you feel like you had to call it quits?" Tom probed, in all honesty, he was terrified of pushing her away again, but he needed to know, he needed to see if it was something she did because of fear or if there was some other issue at play.

"I don't know, I…I need to figure that out. I was willing to hurt myself to get away from something that was not hurting me, not overly. I mean that article hurt, but that was one little scrap of a thorn while looking at a gorgeous rose." Tom smiled at the comparison.

"When you were younger, what would happen when something went wrong?" Tom asked.

"What do you mean?"

"If people would be nasty to you if you felt let down, what would you do?"

"Go to my room or go running or something," Danielle answered, not seeing why it mattered too much.

"So you fled the situation?"

"Yeah, don't most people?"

"They tend to take a step back, not run for their lives, darling," Tom explained.

"According to who?" She gave him a small glance to convey her curiosity.

"My counsellor."

"You have a counsellor?"

"No, had, when I was school and trying to get over mum and dad getting divorced."

"Makes sense." She shrugged. "So I went too far. I need to fix me."

"Fix?"

"Since you mentioned me changing, I have been looking over myself."

"Elle, I said that because I was mad."

"But I feel like I have, and I don't like it." He said nothing. "I just need to find me again. I had to be the old me with Bernie recently, and I miss the confidence I had."

"I don't make you feel confident?" Tom felt deeply hurt by that.

"No, this isn't you Tom, this is me."

"That sounds like a particularly common line."

Danielle laughed slightly. "I suppose it does. But people use that to break up, I don't want that."

"So what do you want?"

"I need to take some time to fix me, Tom, I feel kind of lost."

Tom looked at her sadly. "Country mouse in the city?"

"I think so. I can adapt, I just need time."

"I understand." It was true, he did, but it hurt nonetheless.

"I think hiding was doing me no favours." Tom looked to her. "If, after the Kong tour, you want to…maybe Luke could…" She glanced sideways again and saw Tom's face. "Sorry, it was stupid…"

"You...you want to consider…"

"I want to go to the shop with you, go for dinner, lunch, coffee, walk the fucking dog and that means in London, we are going to be seen, and I need to either grab it by the balls and get over it, or say here and now that to go any further is wasting our time. We both said already we want something serious, something to last, it's not going to last if I am hiding. I don't want to be a show dog but like Ben and Sophie. I know it means being under fire but in all fairness, bar my stupid little tantrum at being called a brat, I think I can handle it."

"Are you certain?"

"I know there are going to be hard days, but yeah, I think I can." she looked at him to convey her belief in her words.

[qm-vox]

Sigilverse Fanfic - In It To The Death

The completely unasked-for continuation of What You Think Of Death, this time without pay or prompting, and still set in @periakman‘s Sigilverse. Go poke her page, find out what it’s all about! I can vouch for Warlocks of the Sigil and Heroes of the Sigil as fun and unusual reads.

As before, we have content warnings for violence, suicide, and child abuse, as well as a certain amount of imprisonment. Do as thou wilt.

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Early Autumn

“Tell me what you think of death,” Deirdre ordered. Monika spat a thin line of blood into the dirt of the training yard and shook her head; the older warlock beckoned another soldier into the ring, bringing it to four on one. Her teenage apprentice squeezed the handle of the dulled practice knife in her hand and lowered her stance. “They will hurt you, kid. Last chance.”

“Eat me,” Monika growled.

Deirdre shrugged. “Have it your way. En garde!”

The first soldier in caught a stomp to the side of his knee that shattered it with a grisly snap; Monika turned with the motion, clocking him upside the temple with the hilt of her knife. The teen whirled, seizing her victim’s falling body and using him to catch a pair of slashes directed at where her torso had just been; the man’s fellow soldiers recoiled.

Their mistake. Monika threw her shield at one, forcing the soldier to drop her knife and catch the man, and faked a lunge at the other. He fell for it, moving to meet her; the teen faded past him, slipping through his peripheral vision. The dull edge of her knife touched his throat (”Kill” she muttered in a quick, low voice), before she turned and kicked him in the small of the back, sending him sprawling.

At the sidelines, Deirdre’s eyebrows raised beneath her red hair. “Good!” she called out, even as her apprentice ducked. Her attacker now was a friend she’s made here at Fort Vellkill, a greyshade named Sasha, but you couldn’t tell from the way Monika took them out. The teenager locked their arm and brought them down into a vicious knee that broke the soldier’s nose and sent blood spraying all over the dust.

“I yield!” the last soldier said quickly, still holding her friend. Monika nodded, breathing hard, and sat down in a heap.

Ysabelle, the Fort’s healer, ran over from the sidelines with the look of pure malice they generally reserved for any and all times Deirdre was in their presence. Their assistants brought stretchers to haul the wounded away.

“You know I’m just going to keep asking you,” Deirdre said after a moment, but she got up and brought a canteen of water over to her apprentice. Monika doused her frizzy hair with it, then took small sips. “I can always throw more soldiers at you.”

Monika swallowed a gulp of water. “Sounds like child abuse to me.”

“No shit. Would you like an award for that amazing discovery, you impertinent ass?” Deirdre paused briefly, then switched topics. “You gonna be okay with Sasha?”

The canteen was passed back. Monika swallowed hard, took a deep breath to get air back in her lungs, and nodded. “We talked, awhile ago. They know how it is. I’ll check on them after we’re done for the day. If this is a day when we’re done?”

Deirdre snorted. “I’d ask where you found the nerve but I damn well know where. Let’s -”

“Deirdre!” the unmistakable voice of the island’s master called out, thick with outrage. “What in the rippling Void are you doing to my men?”

“Run,” Deirdre muttered, and Monika got up and ran.

*

In the nearly six months that she’d been on Vellkill, Monika had come to know the infirmary intimately. It was state-of-the-art, as these things go; spacious, well-stocked, in possession of a pair of warlocks with healing affinities and trained staff besides. Though the island rarely had to deal with military attack or mass monster incursions, it was prepared for them.

These days what it mostly dealt with was her and Deirdre and the latter’s idea of training exercises. Monika winced as she passed the guy whose knee she’d broken - he’d be in here for the better part of a month. Ysabelle’s main power was to speed up natural healing, essentially passively, and the Fort’s other healer was away getting some license or other renewed and wouldn’t be back until spring at the earliest.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Ysabelle snapped, the moment Monika crossed into the threshold. The teenager caught a bundle of medical supplies. “Go dress Sasha’s nose. You and that Master of yours are a plague on honest people.”

“I didn’t choose this!” Monika protested.

“She says, knowing damn well she could have just answered Deirdre’s stupid question,” Ysabelle mocked. Monika let out an exasperated sigh and went to go treat her friend.

|She’s stressed.| Sasha signed; the greyshade was mute, and had been since birth. |That was a good hit.|

“You coulda slipped it,” Monika chided, as she got to work. “You haven’t been keeping up on your practice. That’ll get you killed.”

|By what?| Sasha asked; the look on their face made Monika laugh so hard she had to stop what she was doing. |Things don’t happen to Fort Vellkill. We happen to things. Deirdre, mostly, happens to things.|

Monika sighed and got back to work. “Yeah, I bet. We still haven’t worked on unlocking my affinity. It’s been months, but I haven’t exactly brought it up to her either...”

The greyshade soldier tilted their head at their younger friend and signed a question. |Why not? You bring up other stuff, like when you wanted to learn rappelling.|

Sasha drew back, gingerly touching their nose to check it while their younger friend sighed and looked away. Monika seemed to sigh a lot any time she wasn’t around Deirdre. The young warlock’s master got her blood up like nothing else, and Sasha wasn’t the only once concerned about that. It was, what, Midsummer that Monika’d lost her temper during a sparring exercise and fucked Otoya up bad enough that she’d been sent home with a medical discharge? The kid had been torn up about it for weeks. Now she just looked out the window instead of at the people she’d so recently maimed.

Monika looked back over at her friend. “I guess because she said we can only do one at a time. I keep telling myself she’ll stop this part when I’m ready, but what if it’s another test of...of...my nerve? My judgement? Am I overthinking this?”

|You could talk to Lee| Sasha pointed out.

“I could -”

Shouting, through the window. Deirdre’s voice, her usually flat and dead inflection colored by a hate only rarely heard from her: “You cannot give orders to me about my apprentice! I have absolute authority over her education and if you think for one fucking second -”

The master of the Fort cut her off, his own voice a deep bass roar: “You forget yourself, Silencer! I own you and all that you have, are, and could be. If I tell you to drown that brat you will.”

Monika rushed to the window, Sasha close on her heels. Deirdre had her employer’s head by the hair, her dagger - glowing a dull cherry red, like forge-metal - pressing into his throat. All around them, soldiers leveled crossbows.

“If she so much as scratches me, throw her bitch from a window,” the man snarled.

“You can’t play this game with me forever,” Deirdre warned, her voice back to its low, lifeless tone. “You lay a hand on my apprentice and I will cut that hand off. You speak her name and I’ll rip the tongue from your mouth, and before I do it I’ll call the dogs in so they can hold you down for me. Are we clear?”

“Stand down,” the island’s master ordered. “My threats move faster than yours, Silencer.”

A heartbeat. Two.

Dierdre let go of her superior officer, who immediately backhanded her hard enough to put the pale warlock into the dirt. His men started forward, only to be halted by a sharp gesture.

“From whom do you take your orders?” the island’s master demanded.

(Up above, Monika’s fists clenched hard enough that her nails cut her palms, drawing blood.)

Deirdre drew in a shaky breath and picked herself up. She sheathed her knife before standing at attention with a sharp salute. “Colonel Jared Ashe, sir.”

“Good,” the Colonel spat. “Tame your cur. Dismissed.”

Monika took off running for the stairs back down. She didn’t stop long enough to catch Sasha’s hurried |Wait!|.

Or the greyshade’s resigned |Goodbye then.|

*

Deirdre’s furious bellow of “to your quarters!” had shocked Monika enough that the apprentice obeyed without even a token argument, running like a little girl from her mother’s wrath. Hours later, with the sun setting, she was still up with a mixture of anger and worry, trying and failing to focus on her book. She hadn’t touched her fiction in months (admittedly in part because she’d read and re-read it to death); the book on the bed in front of her concerned locksmithing and lock-breaking, not that it was doing her much good, both because the door was unlocked and because she’d read page fifteen six times now.

A knock at the door, and then Lee’s voice: “May I come in?”

Monika smiled to herself. Deirdre did the same thing but she always made such a big deal out of it. At first Monika had thought her master was trying to impress her with how tolerant and accepting of the teen’s need for space she was being, but lately the apprentice had come to the conclusion that the person Deirdre was trying to convince of that was, well. Deirdre.

“Yeah, it’s open.” Monika sat up and closed her book while Lee slid in and closed the door behind him. Deirdre’s factotum looked as sharp as ever, though on base he’d traded his traditional suits for a sharply pressed uniform. You could shave with the creases.

“You are not in trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Lee began. “Deirdre wanted me to assure you of that earlier but I...needed to be certain she was okay in her own company, before I left her side.”

“That man had no right,” Monika whispered.

Lee nodded. “But the situation is more complex than that, to the great misfortune and sorrow of many. And there are those who would say your master has no right to treat you as she does.”

“I picked her.”

“No. She picked you.” Lee crossed the room in slow steps and put a hand on Monika’s shoulder. “I have been asked to reiterate the offer Deirdre made when you landed on this shore. Do you wish to leave?”

The apprentice laughed, a bitter sort of laugh that sounded all too much like her master’s to Lee’s ears. “Don’t insult me, alright? If I wasn’t going to leave when she told me point-blank that she picked me up as a human sacrifice, I’m not gonna leave now. I’m in it to the death, Lee. You hear me? To the death.”

Lee closed his eyes and sighed. “You have no idea what that means,” he murmured. “But so be it. You are summoned to Deirdre’s quarters to begin your magical training. Sasha and I will take over your physical training regimen. I will not lie, it will be greatly reduced. I believe you discussed this with your master before?” Monika nodded. “Then attend to her, quickly.”

The apprentice stood, shook Lee’s hand, and then left as quickly as possible. She still wasn’t certain of her own technical rank, but no one seemed to expect her to salute and she wasn’t about to start until someone told her the rules. Lee would close her door behind him. He always did.

Deirdre’s quarters were in the highest room of the tallest tower, because of course they were. They weren’t used to meet or instruct Monika a whole lot, in part because no one wanted to deal with the amount of stairs they entailed. Still, the apprentice felt almost lighthearted when she ascended to the top floor and found the door open. She’d been looking forward to this for awhile.

Her master was more of a wreck than usual. Deirdre had cloaked herself in metal again, the full rusty regalia she favored out in the field, and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Monika stopped at the door with her hands folded behind her back.

She’d long since given up on trying to comfort her master in moments like these.

“Lee told you it’s time, then,” Deirdre croaked. “There’s a couple of options, and surprisingly enough it’s not between bad and bad. Just annoying and frustrating. Option one is I take control and burn you through this. Now, that could be nothin’, or it could be an instant eternity of searing fucking agony that will scar you for life. Based on your ball, I’m leaning more towards nothing, but the risk is always there. Or you can try and breach on your own, which takes longer but has no risk. You can come in, by the way.”

Monika stepped fully into the room and pulled the door shut behind her. “Why offer to take control here when you wouldn’t for my combat training?”

“This is just to open the door, kid. Training with your affinity can only happen once we’ve got an idea of what it is.”

Ah. Monika nodded and drifted over towards the window. She could see the spot down below where earlier, Deirdre had -

“I’m not entertaining other conversation topics, kid.”

“Fuck you too,” Monika said in a light tone. “Why didn’t you kill him? How is it that you just hate everyone all the time without trying but you can’t stand up to that piece of -”

Deirdre appeared behind her apprentice. Monika hadn’t heard or felt her move

“It is the business of the dead to hate the living,” Deirdre murmured in her apprentice’s ear. “And I am not having this conversation tonight. What’s it gonna be?”

Monika thought it over a while longer, and then turned to meet her master’s dead green gaze. “Burn me through it.”

Deirdre nodded and slid away from her apprentice. “Never did lack for guts. Step into the center of the room. Safest for us both, all things considered.”

Monika did as instructed, clasping her hands in front of herself. She shifted uncertainly in place. Deirdre’d never actually used the tattoo before. Was there a warning? A build-up? She tapped a foot and her mind was slip-zip-slip-sliding, grease on grease on rubber, look closely, look closely, watch it bend, watch it flip!

When did the floor become the ceiling?

Wait. Monika was falling.

“Ah fuck,” was the last thing Monika heard from her master before her head hit the edge of Deirdre’s bed and she blacked out.

[lfthinkerwrites]

Endgame

Title: Endgame

Fandom: Batman

Rating: PG for some mentioned, but not explicit nastiness courtesy of one Joker.

Pairing: Scriddler, Harley/Ivy and BatCat mentioned.

Summary: Nothing lasts forever. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Notes: I have two main ‘verses’ I write. One is PI verse and the other is my Oneshot verse, where most of my Scriddler stuff is set. This won’t be the last Scriddler oneshot I do by a long shot, but it is how I see their story ending.  You can also consider this a happier antidote to what’s coming in PI verse...

On some level, Edward always knew he and the rest of the Rogues gallery were operating on borrowed time. 

Life in Gotham, as a civilian, crime fighter or rogue, was a delicate balancing act. There was an unspoken understanding that there was only so far the game could go, only so many lines the players could cross before game over. 

One day, everything finally fell apart. One day, the Joker went too far.

Edward always knew the clown would ruin it, somehow. 

Joker had, in his infinite ‘wisdom’, decided to make Gotham over in his own vision. To that effect, he had poisoned Gotham’s water supply with his venom. Hundreds of people had been hospitalized, including Commissioner Gordon. Edward wasn’t sure how many had died. In the ensuing scuffle with Batman and his foes, the youngest Robin had fallen ill as well.

Even after seeing his own son in the grips of Joker venom, Batman still would not kill the clown. Batman would never take a life, not even Joker’s.

Batman wouldn’t. The boy’s mother was another story entirely.

A week after the Joker had been taken into custody, he’d been taken from the Asylum by the League of Assassins. What exactly happened after that would remain unknown, but Joker’s mutilated body had been found hanging in front of City Hall the following morning. A clear message to the rest of the Rogues.

In his own way, Joker had been a stabilizing force in Gotham City. As long as he lived, the mob bosses would only go so far to antagonize the Rogues, while the Rogues’ ability to team up together was tempered by the desire to keep Joker out of their schemes. Now that the clown was irrevocably gone, chaos ensued.

Joker would have enjoyed that too, the bastard.

Falcone, Maroni and the few other mob heads still active in Gotham City saw an opportunity to reclaim what they’d lost when the age of the Rogues had begun. They’d entered into an alliance to forcibly take over Joker’s old territory. A group of Rogues, headed up by Dent, were mobilizing to fight back. Factor in the dozens of jumped up thugs who were left unemployed by Joker’s demise and the city was spiraling into anarchy. Some of his fellow criminals saw an opportunity. Edward, always three steps ahead of everyone else, saw the writing on the wall.

As tempting as the thought of clawing his way to the top of heap in Gotham’s Underworld was, Edward was rational. He was forty now. He wasn’t getting any younger. While he wasn’t a shrinking violet, the amount of violence he was witnessing was making the prospect of getting involved in this war very unappealing. And truth be told, he’d been active for nearly twenty years. He’d had a good run. Perhaps it was time to consider a graceful retirement.

“You’re absolutely certain about this Edward?”

Edward nodded and took another sip of his drink. “I’ve considered every possible scenario Oswald. This is the only option I have that leaves my freedom and wealth intact.”

Oswald didn’t look convinced. “Surely, people have made you offers.”

“Of course,” Edward snorted. “Falcone offered me a permanent position in his organization if I helped them. Dent was more honest at least. He said, I could join with them, or I had the choice between being shot or being run over by a truck. I never did care for taking orders from anyone.”

“No you certainly haven’t.” Oswald agreed, puffing at his cigarette. “You know, there is another option. As you know, I’m staying out of this petty squabble.”

Edward knew. Oswald was a smart man. He knew that no matter which side ‘won’, it would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. Losses would be sustained on both sides, and Batman and his cronies could be counted on to deal with the winners. And when both sides were taken care of, it would be Oswald Cobblepot ruling over the remains. “I could easily offer you a position Edward.”

Edward shook his head. “Thank you, but no. To tell the truth Oswald, I’m not enjoying the game much anymore. I haven’t since before the Joker got what he so richly deserved, but now...”he sighed. “I’m tired. I’m ready to move on.”

“And what does Crane intend to do?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. The gold band he wore under his glove had never felt heavier than it did now. “I...we haven’t discussed it yet.”

Oswald mercifully said nothing about that. “Well. I don’t agree with your decision, but I respect it.” Oswald held out his hand. “My door is always open to you my friend.”

Edward shook his hand. “Until the next lifetime Oswald.”

“So it’s true? You’re leaving Gotham?”

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it Selina?”

Selina shook her head. “No. Honestly Eddie, I’m relieved. This city...sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.”

Edward thought a certain masked vigilante had something to do with that, but didn’t say anything. “Harley’s not still in town, is she?” Harley had left Joker for good years ago, but Edward didn’t think Talia al Ghul would ignore her past association with him.

“No,” Selina answered. “She and Ivy left last night. Said they were going to South America for a bit. So, where are you and Jonathan going to go?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. “I don’t know. I...I don’t know that Jonathan’s coming with me.”

Selina looked shocked. “Jonathan’s not seriously going to join in this mess, is he?”

“I..we haven’t talked about it.”

Selina slapped her palm against her forehead. “Eddie! He’s your husband! How have you not talked about this?”

“He’s been shut up in his basement since we heard about what happened to Joker!” Edward snapped. “He hasn’t talked to me!” Edward could and should insist. But there was a part of him that felt that if he did, then Jonathan would want to stay. The longer he out it off, the longer they could stay together.

Selina sighed. “Ok. This might be the last time I see you for awhile. I don’t want to spend it fighting. But you will talk to him.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yes Selina.”

Selina nodded. “Good boy.” She paused. “You’ll need to go soon,” she said seriously. “Batman thinks that things are going to start getting bad in the next few days. He’ll be so busy trying to help contain it that if you and Jon take off and lay low, he won’t come looking for you.”

Edward nodded. “Right. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid like trying to be a hero.”

Selina laughed. “Who me? Please.” Selina got up out of her chair and hugged Edward then. “Don’t completely disappear. I’d like to stay in touch with you.”

Edward returned her hug and pretended his eyes weren’t welling up a bit. “I won’t. Stay safe Lina.”

Two days later and all of the necessary arrangements were made. Edward had moved his money into an offshore account, barring a few thousand in cash, he’d sent Nina and Deirdre the last of his old equipment and he’d let go his last few remaining henchmen. All that was left was to decide where to go. 

And to talk to Jonathan.

Jonathan was sitting on their sofa, reading an old textbook of his. His eyes looked up at Edward as he entered their home. “You’re home late,” he drawled. “What have you been up to?”

Edward fiddled with his ring finger. Now or never. “Jonathan,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Jonathan put his book down and looked Edward straight in the eyes. “Oh?”

Edward wet his lip. “It’s about what’s happening in Gotham.”

“You’re referring to the upcoming war I assume.”

“Yes, yes I am.” Edward took a breath. “I can’t stay here Jon. I’m leaving.”

For a long moment, Jonathan said nothing. His expression was as cold and impassive as ever. “Did you hear me Jonathan?” Edward asked. “I’m leaving!” Surely, Jonathan cared about that. Why wasn’t he reacting?

“I see,” Jonathan answered. “That’s a relief.”

Edward blinked. “It...is?”

Jonathan got up off of the sofa. “Edward,” he said. “Follow me.”

Edward did as he said and followed him down into the basement. What he saw made him audibly gasp. Jonathan’s basement was almost completely bare. All of Jonathan’s papers were packed into boxes on the floor, his chemicals were stored away and his desk was cleared off. Nightmare sat in his cage, observing the two men.

“This is what you were doing?” Edward asked. 

“Yes,” Jonathan answered. “I’m fifty years old Edward. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.”

“But-what about your research?”

“I’ve spent over twenty years collecting data. That should be more than sufficient. If more is required, I don’t need to be in Gotham to do it.”

“And just when were you going to tell me about this!?”

“Tonight. I wasn’t sure what you were intending to do. If you had said you wanted to stay and get involved in this nonsense, I was prepared to sedate you and take off with you.”

Edward’s mouth opened, then shut again. Jonathan took advantage of his silence and grasped his hands. “I married you Edward,” he said softly. “There was no scenario in which I would have ever left you.”

Now tears were freely streaming down Edward’s face. “Jon...” he wrapped his arms around him and Jonathan held him tightly.

“So we’ve ruled out Metropolis, Keystone City, Central City and Star City for obvious reasons. You don’t want to go back down South, which I’m in full agreement on. What about San Diego? The weather’s nice, it’s close to the Mexican border if we need to flee-”

“Too many damn Californians,” Jonathan interrupted. “What about Maine?”

Edward pulled a face. “Maine? Jonathan, the winters there are godawful. You’d freeze to death! What about the Southwest?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “You want to live in a desert?”

“Alright, fair point. What about Boston?”

Jonathan considered this. “I think that would work.”

“Boston it is.”

The next evening, the car was packed. Edward had sent most of their things off to their new address in a Uhaul, leaving only their personal effects and Nightmare, who was cooped up in his carrier. “Nightmare hates that thing,” Jonathan groused.

“Well he’s not flying loose in my car. I spent over $300 getting the seats cleaned the last time.” Edward took one last look at the house. They’d had some good times in that place. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Edward started the car and began driving along the main road. In no time at all it seemed, they were on the main bridge out of Gotham City. Edward took one last look at the Gotham skyline reflected in the rear view mirror. He’d spent his entire adult life there. Were they doing the right thing? What would they do with themselves?

Edward felt Jonathan’s hand grip his shoulder gently. “We’ll be alright Edward,” he said. “As long as we’re together, we’ll be alright.”

Edward took his eyes off of the rear view mirror and looked at the open road ahead of them. “Of course we will be,” he said. “I am a genius after all.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are.”

Five years later

“Darlin’ I’m home!” Jonathan called out as he entered their apartment. Thanks to the fake credentials Edward had managed to secure and his own powers of persuasion, Jonathan had managed to get a job teaching psychology at a community college. It might not be as prestigious as Gotham University had been, but it was still satisfying. Jonathan had almost forgotten how much he had genuinely enjoyed teaching. “Edward? You here?”

“I’m in the bedroom!” Edward’s irritated voice called out. Jonathan walked in to find him scowling in front of their mirror. “Look at this!” he complained. “I found another gray hair!”

“It’s a natural part of aging Edward,” Jonathan said, placing his briefcase on their bed. “You should take it gracefully.”

“You’re one to talk,” Edward groused. “You’ve been going gray for the better part of ten years!”

“Beats dying Edward.”

Edward’s face softened a bit. As they had both predicted, the gang war that had erupted in Gotham had more than a few casualties. Sionis, Falcone, Elliott, Walker and Lynns had died outright, Freeze had disappeared and most of the others had been transferred to an out of state facility after the fighting had destroyed Arkham. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. Oswald Cobblepot was the undisputed king of the Gotham Underworld now, defanged as it was. Harvey Dent had apparently finally reformed. Harley and Ivy had visited them in between their travels. Selina kept in contact too, constantly sending them pictures of her daughter, who was now three years old. And of course, Jonathan and Edward were still together. “I suppose we did get a happier ending than we probably deserved, didn’t we Jon?”

Jonathan leaned down and kissed the top of Edward’s head. “I’m not complaining.”

Edward smiled and pulled Jonathan down for a proper kiss. Life was a bit boring at times, but life was good.

What neither man knew was that someone had been watching them. Bruce Wayne had arrived in Boston after receiving a tip that Jonathan was teaching there. He’d been observing them for almost a week now and the worst thing he’d seen them do was bicker over the copy of a Boston Globe. Bruce walked away from where he’d been watching their apartment building and back towards his car. He’d been away from Gotham and his family long enough. He’d keep an ear out for any potential trouble, but as far as he was concerned, there was no need to bring in Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Soul in Our Brains || Morgan & Bea

The Un-Dead Witches Club holds its first meeting.

Morgan had hoped that taking Anya on a hunting walk in the neighborhood would make her feel more at ease, and convince her that, no, she wasn’t a body snatcher, she was herself. To sweeten the deal, Morgan had even put on some of her old things and brought along a bag of treats to pepper down the walk. So far, Anya was cooperating, but with a fair amount of suspicion. She kept glaring at her, like how dare Morgan know her weakness for treats and leverage them against her. But she was willful enough, at least, not to let her irritation get in the way of her hunt. If anything, she sniffed and dug harder that the mounds of dirt for blood-crusted feathers, or still fleshy bones. Or, her favorite, baby rabbits in their burrows. She was sniffing out one now, circling a loose patch of grass, sniffing and wriggling in preparation to pounce. Rather and pull her away for the rabbits’ sake, Morgan lingered and let her try her best. It was the circle of life, the way of all things. Deirdre had tried to explain that to her before, but she often felt too sorry for the rabbits. Too small, too helpless. Anya couldn’t help her bloodlust, but at least pigeons had the strength to put up a good fight.

Anya backed up two paces, eyes focused. She pounced.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Morgan jumped back, jerking Anya off her balance.

She could have sworn there was nothing in front of her before, but suddenly, clear and real and very headless was Bea Vural.

“Uuuhhh…” She stammered, covering her mouth lest she scream again. “--Bea? Are you--? I’m seeing you, right--?”

There was very little to do as a ghost. Bea could not sleep nor eat nor speak to most people. It was boring, to say the least. She had taken to simply wandering, sometimes through the woods in search of her head. Today she found herself in front of her parents’ house. They had no idea the fate that had become of her, her sisters couldn’t tell them until after the ritual. Bea hoped there would be nothing to tell her mother. By the time Nisa returned to White Crest, her eldest daughter’s fate would be sealed. Either finally back from the dead or put to rest. Turning very quickly, she gaped at Morgan. The former witch had become a zombie. Morgan could see Bea. The relief that swept through Bea was clearly visible. “Yes. You are. I’m here. It’s been so long since I could speak to anyone,” She admitted. Blanche had been around, but she hated to put the medium through it looking like this. “Is that a cat on a leash?” She asked, suddenly distracted by the seemingly annoyed animal.

“Speak to anyone,” Morgan repeated, still trying to process. “Because you--” Only kind of have a head? That definitely didn’t come up in the talk she’d had, but then, why would it? Who would want to mention something awful like that? It took Morgan a few moments to digest the sight--it was different, knowing what Bea was supposed to look like. Knowing how confident, how certain and warm she was, how animated made her wispy form so much more eerie than the ghosts she saw at the cemetery. To Morgan, those spirits had always sported holes in their chests or cracks in their face, it was how they had always been. This Bea stood in painful contrast to who she knew, floating not in the spotlight but invisible, holding up her head to feel whole as the world phased right through her. “You’re a ghost,” she said at last. “I...I’ve heard from Nell. But not about...this. Uh….” Morgan fumbled for what to say next. Maybe she really had been too hard on her friends for not knowing how to talk around her own death. She looked down at Anya, circling the rabbits and fretting on her leash.

“Yes! That is...exactly what it looks like! That’s Anya, she’s--well, she was my familiar, and now I’m either on her shit list for dying or she thinks I’m some kind of evil body snatcher. She has a lot of energy, most of the time. Uh…sorry, it just feels weird talking about my cat in the yard while--” She paused to wave at one of the neighbor kids. Becoming known as the bounce house lady sure had its drawbacks when you suddenly needed to be discreet. “While Braylee and her brother walk their dog. Can we--is it weird to just invite you to my place for a bit? Deirdre’s at work, it’ll just be the two of us. And the cats.”

“It took awhile for me to make it back here. And at first I wasn’t tethered here so I kept fading,” Bea explained, glancing down at her feet. She half expected herself to begin to fade away just from speaking about it. She glanced around them, understanding Morgan’s hesitation quickly. God she had forgotten people would think Morgan was losing her mind if she sat there in the front yard talking to someone they couldn't see. “Of course, probably best the neighbors don’t think you’re losing it.” Glancing around, she pointed at the house nearby,“Is this one your’s?”

As Bea explained the time she’d been having, Morgan realized she didn’t know the first thing about being a ghost. They looked so idle and peaceful, she hadn’t thought that it would take just as much effort for them to pull themselves together into a shape as it did for her to make it out the door on her low days. Seen through their struggle, it was hard not to wonder if all the undead weren’t straining against some ancient curse. “That must have been so exhausting,” she murmured. “That must be…” she shook her head, at a loss. “No, we’re down the road, but it’s not far. Although I guess for us, time and tiredness is all relative and--” She couldn’t help but look at Bea in earnest, however strange it was. “I hate it when people tell me they’re sorry about what happened to me, but I don’t know what else to say, except...I am glad to see you. And...stars, I wish you didn’t have to hurt like this. But we can talk about all this inside, I think.” She pulled on Anya’s leash and turned back in the direction of home. “Come on, Anya,” she cooed. The black cat stiffened and glared before sulking along. Yeah, definitely wasn’t going to be winning any points with her today.

It had been exhausting. Pulling herself to Blanche had made her fade for days after. However, it was getting easier for Bea as the days went and as they got closer to the ritual. Having a reason to stay tethered her, though she hated the idea of what would happen if the ritual failed. She didn’t want to be like this forever. “I’m sure there’s worse to go through,” She answered mildly, instead of giving Morgan the truth, having no desire to spread her misery to other people. “I know what you mean. I’ve been able to see more of this town as a ghost because I never have to sleep.” She was glad that Morgan didn’t offer a sorry. Bea wasn’t particularly sorry for what had happened. She had made the decision to save her sisters and she would do it again, even if there was no chance she could come back. She was sure they felt guilty over it all and frankly, she hated it. “Thank you. It’s a breath of fresh air to be seen and heard.” After visiting Felix, she had been rather sure she would only have Blanche. Morgan took a certain amount of ache out of her chest. “I didn’t know you lived near my parents,” She said softly as she followed behind Morgan. “It’s a nice neighborhood here.”

Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle. With Bea behind her, it was almost like she was really here, just having a normal talk. “Yeah, I didn’t either, until I ran into your mom at the shops. I think she got the entire store’s attention on us, just so she could say hi. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed she got someone to position one of those fans to windsweep her hair just right as she came over to hug me. It was uh, a lot of questions to field about my love life, but you can’t really dish about inter-species relationships when you're just on a run for fresh blueberries, so--” She shook her head, a sheepish smile just visible as she stopped herself from looking back to face Bea fully. “...Does she know? Your mom?” She asked, turning the corner and coming up to the white house she shared with Deirdre. “Nell said not to tell anyone, and I figure everyone needs their privacy, but I just...I know how hard and awful it is, to have to spread news like that.” She cleared her throat, not knowing if this was the sort of thing Bea wanted to talk about. She’d been fading in and out for how many weeks now? Without anyone to talk to? “We’re um, we’re here,” she said awkwardly, leading them up the walk and through the front door.

“She does everything like she’s on stage,” Bea chuckled. “I wouldn’t be shocked if she had some magic going to make sure she always looked like that.” Her mother had so many tricks that she did to make sure she always looked her best, it honestly impressed Bea at times. Nisa had a spell for everything, even the things no one else seemed to think of. “Probably not the place to do it,” She laughed again. Her mother would probably approve of the relationship if only because it had Morgan in this side of town. Nisa did put a lot of importance on money. Bea knew the right thing to do would be to let her mother know, but she knew what would come after. “No. I asked my sisters to wait to tell her.” She was tempted to spill the details of the ritual to Morgan, but the risk outweighed the reward at this point. She couldn’t have a wild card when it came to knowing about the necromancy. She wanted to trust her, but Bea didn’t know enough about the other woman’s connections to the coven to trust it. “She’ll blame them,” She admitted. Her mother would take her grief out of her younger daughters and Bea wanted to delay that as much as she could. Following Morgan in, she smiled. “It’s a beautiful place you guys have. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, because she’s away? Is there no getting her back sooner, or--” Morgan sighed. Much as the Vurals had tried to welcome her in, she really wasn’t privy to the inner workings of their families. She waited for Bea to come in before closing the door. She could phase through as well as any other ghost but it somehow seemed more polite to give her the kind of gestures she would have been afforded if she were still alive. Morgan stopped short of offering her something to drink. Even she, almost two months dead, struggled to feel anything but resentful of food she couldn’t taste, unless the mood for texture really struck her. So, only one cold glass for this visit. Morgan let Anya off her harness and lead Bea into the great room, promptly deflating onto the couch. “It’s my pleasure. And hey, if you ever get lonely, you can count on at least one whole undead friend to always be able to see you. My girlfriend too, actually, but I don’t know if that would make you feel too...vulnerable, or something. How--how has it really been, Bea? From my experience, waking up dead is kind of a bitch.”

They were lucky this all happened when their mother was away, Bea wasn’t sure how they would hide this all from Nisa. The matriarch of the Vurals was far too nosy to ignore Bea’s presence being missing from the theater. “She’s in Turkey with my dad for the solar eclipse and I have a thing I want to settle before they find out.” She hoped it was vague enough that Morgan wouldn’t be suspicious but there was no good reason for Bea to avoid telling her mother that she was dead. “It really is a relief to know that you can hear me. I ... I had someone very close to me find a way to see me but we couldn’t speak. And I can’t speak to Blanche for too long, not looking like this.” The fact that Morgan wasn’t repulsed by the sight of her was a blessing. She wasn’t sure how she would do if another person vomited at the sight of her. A pained smile took over Bea’s face. “To say that it’s lonely is a gross understatement. And some days it feels like I’ll lose myself with how angry I am.” She shrugged, “I’ll be fine though. There’s not much to do about it.”

“A thing, huh? Okay.” Morgan’s brow arched with interest, but she didn’t press. Talking about anything to do with life was fraught, worse so when the death was recent. But Bea’s remark about seeing the people in her life gave her pause. “I’ve seen my fair share of ghosts by now. As you can probably guess, you’re definitely still one of the pretty ones--” Her face was at least fully intact, although it was still hard to redirect her eyes to Bea’s head rather than the empty space above her neck. “You can come here anytime you feel like it. And you don’t have to...I mean it does suck. I’m trying to be all well adjusted, but it’s...worth being angry about. I don’t think that’s a bad thing to feel. I mean, we were witches, and now the only magic we can touch is the magic that’s keeping us on this plane of existence. Which, I’m grateful for, for both of us, but...it feels cruel sometimes.” But her state, like Morgan's, might be permanent. Adjusting and managing might be all that was left. She looked at the oldest Vural thoughtfully, considering her own brand of courage and determination, reaching out for people, trying to have something, even like this. It reminded her of something. “Bea...do you mean Felix?” She asked.

“I can’t say much about it.” Bea knew she was technically lying to Morgan, but this was something she couldn’t admit to just yet. It put the whole plan in danger if Morgan didn’t agree with it. She wasn’t going to let her chance to come back slip through her fingers because of friendship. “Even so, she has a weak stomach and I know she doesn’t like to look at me when I’m like this. I can’t actually blame her.” She was sure she would feel a bit queasy herself if someone she cared for showed up without a head. “It’s certainly cruel. There are moments where it feels like the universe is trying to get back at me for something.” It was nice being here with Morgan. She understood better than anyone else what had been lost. The disconnect Bea felt from magic had been like losing a part of herself, it was indescribable, but she didn’t even have to try with Morgan. Bea was glad that Morgan had seen her like this rather than anyone else. She looked at Morgan in surprise,“Yes I do. How did you know?”

Morgan’s look widened, gaping with delight. “Oh my god! You’re the girl!” She gasped, then covered her mouth, trying to cover the look of awe and gossip on her face. “Oh, that’s---that’s wonderful. Maybe not now, yet, but it will! We’ll...figure something out, somehow. You will, Bea.” Then, remembering her question. “We got to talking recently, and he said something about a girl. How you didn’t get to say everything plain and clear before you passed. And that it was complicated now, because of that. And you told me he was your best friend one, pretty excitedly too, I gotta say.” She looked at Bea thoughtfully, dropping her hand to grin. “Maybe there’s something about witches and fae that make them hard to resist. Maybe we just found the best ones there are. I wish it could’ve happened for you sooner, Bea,” she sighed.

It was bittersweet to know that Felix had spoken to Morgan. Bea smile became tight as she remembered how difficult it had been to speak to him. “I might have had to tell him the depth of my feelings through a board. He couldn’t hear me.” Looking back at it, she felt terrible for how she told him. He deserved more than her admitting her feelings like that. “It was in front of my face for years. When he found out that I was a witch and he let go of his glamour around me, I knew something was changing. I just didn’t realize what until I was gone.” She sighed along with Morgan, “If we can’t find some way to work it out in the end, could you make sure he knows I want him to be happy?”

Morgan looked sorrowfully at Bea as she explained the rest of the story. She couldn’t imagine sitting like something on that for years, but maybe when someone made you feel that safe all the time, you didn’t notice the pull between bodies or the exact texture of warmth or longing between an embrace. She’d heard these things were said, at least. And maybe it was a tragedy in its own way, to take such things for granted without realizing. Morgan had never considered the alertness and sensitivity that came with her series of losses might be a good thing. She couldn’t help but notice when she was getting attached, even if the realization was followed with dread or nervousness. But maybe it was. “I’ll tell him, Bea,” she said gently. “But don’t give up yet, okay. Hey, how are you with holding things as a ghost? Have you thought about sending him a letter? An old fashioned guy like him, maybe it’ll make him brighten up a little. And…” she tried to think. “I don’t know. There’s got to be some magic to make you a little more...you. If you could possess a radio, or a phone, that might--I don’t know. But you were the one who thought being dead didn’t mean I had to stop being a witch completely. I can try to look, if you want.”

Bea knew that she would know whether or not her message should be delivered soon enough. She would refuse her sisters if they failed and wanted to try again. She had read about people who refused to give up and how even after succeeding their loved one was wrong. She didn’t want to come out of this wrong and twisted. “I haven’t been able to hold anything yet. Blanche said it may take me a while to learn. Since I’ve lasted more than two weeks I think I’ll start to get strong enough to do it, but it can take a long time.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to wait that long, she didn’t think she could wait that long before she turned into a bitter ghost. She smiled slightly at Morgan,”I did say that. If you have the time to look, I wouldn’t mind it if you did. I can always use more opinions.”

“I’m a zombie, Bea. I have nothing but time,” Morgan said. “The ocean fills with ink, the sun blinks on the hour, my girlfriend goes on a mushroom ring bender, and I’m still here, somehow still with enough time to feel bored. Or sad. But Felix has been helping with that, purely in the medicinal sense, so we’re clear.” She regarded her thoughtfully. It wasn’t fair, how she could see the furniture through Bea’s back, how her expressions were limited without the use of tilting her head on her own. “I’ll do whatever I can that you think will help, Bea,” she said softly. “It’s the least I can do. We...stars, I know we weren’t ever, you know, the closest or anything. You always seemed to have things together, while I was running around like a headless chicken, but I know...something about how isolating it is to be dead. Those pieces inside you that feel like they’ve been cut out, where your magic was. It’s...the worst thing, feeling how much a part of you it all was by feeling the hole it leaves. And I can’t say that I’ve found a way to fill mine yet either, just that it’s scabbed over. But I know we didn’t do anything wrong. Well, you didn’t, anyway. Maybe there’s not a way to fix everything, but if there’s a way to make this good, I’ll help. Even if it’s just someone to talk to who knows where your eyeballs are.”

“I might not understand it at the same level, but I get having so much time you don’t know what to do.” Being a ghost was boring in ways that Bea couldn’t explain. Not being able to rest was something that bothered her much more than she realized it would. If she came back, she was going to appreciate her sleep much more than she used to. “I think we could have been great friends if things hadn’t worked out this way.” She hoped that if things went well this would make them great friends. Bea was sure that she would need friends who understood dying as something more than an abstract construct. She couldn’t help the slight laugh at ‘headless chicken’,“Well, I’m the headless one now, so don’t worry.” She listened to Morgan carefully, finding a bit of solace in knowing that she didn’t have to be okay so soon. “Scabbing is good… It means it’s healing right?” She considered Morgan for a few moments,“I don’t think you did anything wrong either. Neither one of us deserved what happened.” It was unexpected, how this conversation made her so happy. She hadn’t felt quite so light since her death, though she supposed being heard for the first time in weeks by someone other than Blanche would do that. She’d have to thank Morgan for this if she came back. “Speaking to someone who can see my eyes is a perk. I didn’t realize how important that was until now,” She told her with a soft chuckle.

Morgan’s face dropped. She would have blanched with embarrassment if there was any circulation left in her, but as it was, she covered her face, eyes wide and parted her hands enough to reveal a grimace. Sorry, she mouthed. But Bea took it nicely in stride and she felt just brave enough to let out a nervous laugh. “I want to be your friend too, Bea. The dead witches club is very exclusive, you know. I don’t think they’ll be admitting more members anytime soon. We gotta celebrate what we’ve got.” Her coy, wry smile turned sad, because sometimes it really was like there was so little. All they could do was hang on, but it was hard, on the worst days, not to feel like she was being a desperate fool. She hadn’t felt that way in a while, thanks to Felix’s magic pills, but it was in her, buried like a corpse in a shallow grave, like bones just waiting to be found. She managed a smile at Bea, knowing she understood the strain behind it, however bright she seemed, however earnestly it was meant. “Healing is good, yeah. And I’m glad--” She reached out and gave Bea’s nose a gentle boop, approximate to the cold wisp of air that formed it. “--to be able to offer something. Even if it’s small. We need all the good we can get, I think.”

“I would hope we add no others anytime soon. The witch community needs a break,” Bea said with a raspy laugh. Her smile turned sharp as she thought of August’s soon death. He wouldn’t be admitted to the club, she’d make sure of that. The coven wasn’t losing anyone important with his demise. They were doing the world a favor getting rid of that worm. Even if Bea didn’t end up coming back, she’d be glad that he’d be wiped away from the earth. Her hand went to her nose, a bit surprised that Morgan was so casual with touch towards a ghost. “Not many people out there that understand. Being around you has been good. Really good. I think I needed this a lot more than I thought I did.”

[deathduty]

Chill! At the Sudoku || Alain & Deirdre

Alain and Deirdre enjoy the wonders of Sudoku together! Except they’re in a cemetery at night and Alain hates Deirdre’s “wanting to see someone get eaten” guts.

Gallow’s Grove was nice, as far as cemeteries went. The feeling of death was strong, washing over Deirdre far before she even set foot inside. The urge to let her eyes roll back into blackness and see all the the cemetery had to offer was strong, but the danger of letting a man like Alain see her out-ruled it. It was more work than she bargained for, trying to see what Alain was all about; what kind of a man agreed to a thing like this, anyway? Thankfully, she didn’t have to think about it for long. Glancing up with her flashlight and Sudoku booklet, she smiled at the man as he approached. He looked like the pictures she’s seen online, though nicer in person. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she confessed, hoping the darkness hid her mischievous grin. She knew Alain wasn’t going to die, there would have been a scream out her throat if he was, but even so she delighted in all the possibilities the evening brought with it. “I thought a cemetery would be too scary for you,” she teased, snapping away from her thoughts. “Did you bring your Sudoku?”

Alain, although his eyes did not require him to use any device in order to see, was carrying a flashlight with him, to keep appearances normal. Obviously, if a vampire decided to come by and say hello, his cover would be probably blown, as he would have a lot of trouble rationalizing why he was carrying stakes and a coutelas. Oh well, the woman was rather rude, and he doubted they would get along. In fact, he only had come here to keep her alive, if he was not too late. As soon as he arrived, he looked at her from head to toe. A part of him expected her to look entirely different, considering she was probably a professional con artist, but it made sense. Only a pretty white woman could get away with this kind of bullshit. “Yet here I am,” he wondered for a moment why she was harboring such a smile on her face. This could not be good news. The hunter looked around him. Maybe she did not come alone. Still, there was nothing. His radar was silent too, which was good news, for them. “What gave you the impression that I would be scared by a cemetery ?” His eyebrows raised with false surprise. Her question had him scoff. Of course she would make people pay, and also bring their own supplies. This was ridiculous, and a part of him almost regretted coming here instead of leaving her to be torn to shreds. Yes, that was not very nice of him. Another part of him felt guilty he ever thought such a thing. No one deserved to die. “Yes, I figured that you would provide them,” rolling his eyes because he knew that he couldn’t be seen behaving poorly, the hunter pulled a sudoku book from his coat, along with a pen. “Now what?”

‘Now what’ was a good question, Deirdre really didn’t think she’d get this far. She’d hoped, of course, but like all things she hoped for, she was rightfully cautious. “Most men find cemeteries to be scary,” she added, casually flipping through her Sudoku booklet. “I figured, since you’re so old, you might want to play it safe, live what little of your years you have left in the safety and warmth of your home.” Was it odd to lure a human to a place she knew to be teeming with vampires just to watch him struggle? Maybe. Maybe it went against her carefully crafted rules, but her stay in White Crest could do with some excitement. Besides, this Alain seemed to be a little more than what he claimed, and curiosity alone propelled her forward. “I’m joking!” She added with a forced smile a moment later, “I’m happy you’re here! Doing Sudoku gets so lonely. I guess now we just do math in silence? Maybe we should trade secrets? You tell me something devastating and I’ll try my best not to turn around and share it online. Hey, do you believe in vampires?”

“Well I’m hurt. People usually think I’m younger than my age,” Alain’s eyebrow raised, a shrug followed, and he had a look around. There was no way he would sit down on a tombstone. That would be too disrespectful and he had been taught better. Her explanation that men usually were scared of cemeteries did not really convince him, but he didn’t comment on that, or on that creepy thing about enjoying the few years he had left. What the fuck was that? Who said shit like this, the hunter asked himself. She probably was trying to spook him, he figured, and so he gave her a grimace of disapproval. “And that is supposed to be worth $20?” Scoffing, he flipped through the pages of his booklet, until she started, seemingly out of the blue, mentioning vampires. Original. “Why do you ask? So you can tell people online that I believe in them? Or maybe you brought me here because you thought there would be vampires?” He raised an eyebrow at his sudoku grid, filling out a blank space.

“Can’t imagine why they’d think that,” she hummed, starting on her own Sudoku. Deirdre was seated comfortably on the gravestone of someone whose name she didn’t care to learn, one leg crossed over the other and attired in a dress that didn’t suit the grime and dirt of the cemetery. She always did delight in looking better than her surroundings; she delighted in being better in every way imaginable. “Why? You’re not having fun? Oh! Look I finished a row. Keep up, Alain.” She grinned, working through her puzzle with ease--a nonchalance she only vaguely knew was odd. “I asked just because I’m curious. I’ve heard rumor this place has a lot of them.” She filled another square. “So I thought I’d make conversation. This is what makes the experience worth twenty dollars...you get this colorful commentary!” Another square. Another row. The pen she had moved with a kind of vivacity she reserved only for Sudoku. “I don’t see you trying to make conversation here. Do you believe in vampires?”

"Me neither," she was too damn rude and part of him wondered if she should not be the one paying for other people's company. Alain glared at her as she sat down on someone's grave, blowing through his nose as if to suggest that he was just about to go and leave her to die like a piece of garbage. Why was he here again? Oh right. Because he was supposed to protect humans. Well she was a bloody demon. "Not really. I'm bored to be completed candid," he glanced down at her sudoku grid. "Should I give you a medal for doing one single row?" Rolling his eyes, again. This was going to be the worst evening he had in a while, wasn't it. Or maybe not. "You've heard well. They usually get out of their coffins when the sun has entirely vanished beyond the horizon. I wonder where they are tonight." Maybe they saw you and left, struck with terror, he almost added. No she did not deserve his sympathy. And at least he did not have to struggle about whether he should trust or not. "I do believe in vampires, and so do you, am I correct?" He had some trouble with one of the 3x3 square of his grid, and his brows furrowed as he tried to figure where he went wrong. Maybe was it his radar going on and off that disturbed him, or his questionable company…

Deirdre got the striking impression that this man wasn’t enjoying this as much as she was. If she cared at all about making humans happy, she might have apologized. She might have tried to mold herself into being better company for him. She didn’t care, and so she simply sat on the gravestone and finished off her puzzle with a saccharine grin. “Well, I’m sorry. Should I take off my clothes? Usually that spices up an evening.” She paused, glancing up at the moon above them. “I’d like a medal, I’d like a medal for a lot of things” she responded in a moment of seriousness, considering the nature of being praised silently in her head. Thoughts of medals and ribbons left her head as she glanced back down at him, lifting up her flashlight to flash it around the cemetery. He was right about one thing: where were the vampires? “I don’t believe in vampires,” she explained, “that’d be like believing in a tomato. You don’t believe in anything that’s real.” Of course, it was how she’d worded the question in the first place but she wasn’t going to comment on her motivations. “Huh, maybe the math scared them off. Vampires certainly lack a little...brain,” Deirdre spoke a little louder, hoping to anger the right kind of egotistical new vampire. “Oh, the answer for that one is six, by the way,” she pointed to a square, “and the one over there is three.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” she would find him to be less interested than he was now, the sight of bare skin leaving him completely stoic in most occasions. “You might catch a cold, however. We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he dryly went on, scribbling over a 3 to turn it into an 8. Alain could tell from a tone that she thought so highly of herself that she probably would have accepted a medal for breathing. Well, she certainly was not raised in the same kind of household as him. Spoiled brat, he thought to himself, only lifting his eyes because his radar was back on, and this time not switching back off. “I would not bet on that. You are thinking zombies,” technically spawns were as dumb as a doornail, but that should not mean that they weren’t dangerous. “That’s great, but I think you’ve managed to draw their attention toward you,” a couple of Vampires along with a handful of spawns were approaching the pair, and Alain saw himself stand up and shove Deirdre off her tombstone in order to get her behind him. “Do you think you could run?” His voice now a whisper, the hunter glanced around, looking for more of these things.

Deirdre pouted. Alain was no fun, and she’d finished her Sudoku a while ago. He wasn’t being horribly maimed, and she couldn’t even get to bask in visions of death when she wanted it. Now he was denying her a chance for nudity? Humans could be so boring. At the very least he could have indulged that for her. “Oh, I don’t get cold…” she sighed wearily, about one more exaggerated display of annoyance away from actually fainting. “Any undead creature is idiotic. Zombies and the other twenty kinds of vampires, or whatever.” She sighed, again, clearly growing increasingly bored until Alain jolted up, shoving her aside. At that, Deirdre smirked, normal humans didn’t put themselves between vampires---normal humans wouldn’t be able to notice them in the dark, anyway. She’d felt the chill of them minutes ago, the only thing she was surprised about was being shoved. “Oh, I knew it!” she taunted back, “no bloody idiot comes to a cemetery at night unless he wants to see boobs or knows how to stake a vampire.” Alain wouldn’t die today, that much she knew. Those creatures were a different story, however, and it was one she was keen on witnessing. “Run and miss watching those things die?” she whispered back, happy to sit back and watch as the creatures of the night pulled closer to them. She might not have thought humans were particularly useful, and she might not have agreed with ‘slayers’, but she didn’t like the undead much---for obvious reasons. What was a little death to her, anyway?

“ Why ? Because you are dead inside?” Alain’s eyebrows raised and his eyes rolled so high he could have been able to tell which were the stars visible in the sky tonight. She was not making any sense. First she did not believe in vampires, and now she was aware that there were many kinds, and that most of them were stupid. Full of shit, she was. “Will you shut your goddamn mouth? Nothing useful as gotten out of it since the minute I got here,” even if he whispered those words, they came out as harsh. He did not make it an habit of getting angry, but his last nerve had been hit right now. Who the hell did she think she was, luring people into coming here so they could get killed by vampires ? Was she working with them? She spoke again and his hypothesis fell into a puddle. Nope, not helping them. A strong taste for the macabre, probably. Still, she had something fucked up about her, and it rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe he could find time to discuss it later, for now, he had to get rid of them. His jaw still clenched with annoyance, he asked : “What were you going to do against these had I been one of those losers looking for nudity ?” He was extremely upset that she thought for a second that he was this kind of person, then, did he really care about her opinion? “Do you even know how to defend yourself?” Probably not. And the first spawn was already rushing toward them. The hunter felt the sting of its claw on his shoulder and grunted as he swung his own hand toward that creature’s neck, stabbing and cutting the head off with the short sword. Rolling his wounded shoulder to make sure it was okay, Alain swiped his foot across the pile of ash, and gave a look at the rest of them, a big smile on his face. “Don’t keep me waiting like that, bring it on.”

“Actually, yes! I am dead on the inside,” Deirdre retorted, whatever feeling that she got that this guy hated was quickly replaced with the fact that he definitely did. Oh well, she wasn’t here to make friends. And certainly not with the ‘kills vampires’ kind. As he fought, Deirdre flipped calmly through her Sudoku booklet, trying to find another puzzle to do in the meantime. “I came prepared,” Deirdre smiling, filling out a row and then a column. Deirdre wasn’t the best fighter, but it really didn’t matter with her abilities...or the obvious fact that when it came to the undead, the fast-beating heart of a human was the more alluring target than hers. Even now, the creatures found themselves more enticed by lightly wounded Alain--the scent of his blood no doubt permeating through heavy night air. “Yeah, bring it on,” she half-cheered, half-yawned, not bothering to look up from her puzzle. Another box filled out. Then a row. She did have her knife with her (never mind where she kept it when the only thing she’d worn was a jacket and a dress) she could help, but Alain seemed capable enough. A column. Another row. She was done the puzzle. “Are you done yet, Alain? I need a ride.”

"Elle va fermer sa putain de gueule?" Was he really above murdering someone he shouldn't be? Heh, he had done it before. And if he threw a spawn at her, was he truly responsible for what would follow? He would not feel responsible. Non. Alain smiled to himself, kicking away the beast and turning to check on her briefly. Was she doing more puzzles? His cheek stung as he was hit in the face by that same spawn he shove away. Well that would teach him. His blood felt warm against his cheek, dripping from the shallow cut. Great. Alright, he was done caring for this woman. Slashing open the spawn's abdomen, he ignored the creature's shriek and instead switched for the stake (he'd never been to fond of those but they could come in handy) pushing it under the flesh until he only had dust left in his hands. Another spawn came at him and another, and they found the same fate, again and again, and again. The two higher vampires had stayed behind, expecting, he assumed, that spawns would do their dirty work for them. The advantage with those vampires who still had their wits, was that they usually thought themselves to be really clever, when really, they were usually average and garbage when it came to strategy. This would not take too long. Then he would deal with that woman.

Fortunately for Alain, Deirdre’s French wasn’t what it used to be. Though she didn’t guess he was saying anything nice. She hadn’t led him here to die (well, she had in some way, the fact that he wasn’t going to was a disappointment she hid poorly) and she thought that might have made some sort of a difference to him. Bored, she glanced up in time to watch his face get slashed, hissing out sympathy for him. She didn’t notice the two vampires approaching around her sides, all feelings washed out by the general sense of death around her. With a growl, they tore the puzzle book from her hands and bared fangs she didn’t care for. Somehow, she got the impression that swinging around her knife wasn’t going to make them go away. “Cover your ears, Alain,” she called out, not bothering to check if he had. With the same practiced ease she’d been filling out puzzles, she opened her mouth and wailed. Stunned into fear, the vampires stumbled backwards before scrambling up to run away. “Not so hard,” she turned to the hunter, “If it’s any consolation here, I’m not a fan of the undead either.” She dug into her pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out and pointing to his cheek. “Those vampires did steal my Sudoku book so I do expect to be compensated, though.” Even though this was all her idea.

Alain had not noticed that they had taken an interest in Deirdre. Of course someone who was not waving a sword and a stake around probably was more interesting. They must have known that he would make a very poor meal. If he could have been satisfied to see that damn sudoku booklet taken away from her, this was not the case. His instinct still told him that he should have been protecting her from that. “Cover my ears?” His hand went from his cheek to his ear, and the other dropped the stake to cover the other, still it was not enough to shield him completely from her … vocals. Jesus Christ, what the hell was that? “Bravo Celine,” he replied with a Quebec accent, taking the handkerchief with a puzzled look on his face. He was not sure what shocked him the most : her screaming or her gesture of kindness. “Well look at you being nice. I knew you had it in you,” he gave her a smug smile. Laughing light heartedly, he walked back to pick up his weapons and put them away. “Let me guess, it was worth $19.99,” he glanced at the dust the spawn had turned into. “You know, if you sell that dust, you’ll have your money, probably more than what that book was worth.”

“I wasn’t being nice this whole time?” Deirdre smirked at him, navigating around piles of dust she glanced between them and him. “You’d think I’m so desperate I’d start selling drugs? I have heard it's great for the skin though…” And she might just have bent down to scoop some into her pocket. It could be useful, at some point. Deirdre rolled back her shoulders, stretching her arms like a cat after a particularly long nap. “Who spends that much on a Sudoku--oh, never mind. Did you drive here? I wasn’t kidding about needing a ride.” She moved up beside him, a smile on her face, “I like Céline. I think we can be very good friends, Alain.” Of course, the smile betrayed no sort of friendly intention. Only the kinds of intentions that lead to a fun time: like watching him get eaten, or kill things that did the eating. In her mind though, this meeting could only mean good things for the both of them.