#| 'keeps playing in my head' (deirdre music)

[briingmayflowers]

ooc; The fact that this fits Deirdre pretty perfectly is...really sad but also sweet.

#| 'keeps playing in my head' (deirdre music)

[rostovs-lover]

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,, 

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

     A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

     Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

    When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

    “One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

    “What is this?”

    “Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

    He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

    “That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

    He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

    “Mum said what?”

    “You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

    “Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

    “First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

    Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

    You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

    The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

    “Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

    The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

    The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

    “Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

    “Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

    You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

    The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

    Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

    “Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

    David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

    “Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

    David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

    “We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

    A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

    The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

    “Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

    You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

    “Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

    “Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

    David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

    “Because I like stability David,”

    “[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

    “If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

    David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

    “Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

    “Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

    “Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

    It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

    “You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

    David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

    David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

    Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

    “Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

    “Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

    You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

    “Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

    “Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

    His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

    David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

    Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

    It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

    “I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

    You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

    He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

    You considered, “Where is it?”

    “The Cameo, downtown London.”

    “It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

    “Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

    You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

    “It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

    You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

    “Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

    “He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

    Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

    The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

    “What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

    “Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

    Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

    Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

    You nodded, “It is,”

    “Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

    “His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

    She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

    It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

    “Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

    “You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

    You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

    The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

    “It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

    “You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

    Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

    Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

    Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

    “I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

    He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

    “Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

    When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

    “Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

    He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

    You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

    The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

    “You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

    You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

    “Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

    You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

    His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

    You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

    “With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

    “He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

    “No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

    Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

    “I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

    He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

    He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

    “Absolutely,”

    He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

    You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

    He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

     He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

    David would never let you hear the end of this either.

#Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #queen #lennie writes

[macbetha]

below the cut, you'll find an interest check chapter for quatervois, a nancy drew pc fic. it's francy and also my idea of my absolute dream game. please let me know what you think and enjoy!

+++

After Ned breaks up with her and she loses her father, Nancy struggles to find her old vigor for detective work. While on vacation in London with Bess and George, Nancy accepts the urgent invitation to return Blackmoor Manor. Her English getaway quickly turns into an investigation once Nancy realizes the true reason Nigel Mookergee asked her back to the moors. Finding Deirdre Shannon at the manor under the same pretense only sets Nancy’s nerves further on edge. It isn’t until the Hardy Boys show up in Blackmoor that Nancy gets a glimpse of who she once was. With a manor full of suspects and a glass heart cracked open, Nancy is determined to find the truth.

Dear Ned,

How are you? It’s been a while. I’ve always started off my letters telling you about my latest case, but I’m not on one right now. I’m sure that’s hard to believe. Bess and George have whisked me away to London. I’m sure you would love it here. This is the first time I’ve seen Bess and George since I sold the house in River Heights. I stayed with Kyler and Matt in Ireland for a while. I needed a change of scenery. Their daughter just turned two. I’m somewhat jealous I’m happy for them. Anyways, I miss you I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure New York is lovely at Christmas time. I hope Stephanie is I wish Stephanie well How is Stephanie? I hope Stephanie is doing all right. I appreciated the card Stephanie sent when dad passed away. Warm regards, Merry Christmas, Love Nancy

She stares down at the letter as if the red ink were her own blood. It feels just as wounding, seeing her emotions made physical in the words on the paper. Only when a tear splatters on the page does she break free from her trance to the past. Nancy is the only person in her hotel suite, yet she works to rid the evidence like one of her own suspects. She pulls her feet up in the desk chair and crosses her ankles, holding the arch of her right foot – it recently became the victim of her latest culprit. Nancy’s foot got caught under the getaway car’s tire, and she is lucky to even be able to walk after the event. Months later, it’s stiff as hell with the most intense cramps she’s ever endured. Heart racing to forget the night it happened, she focuses on the snowfall out the window – counting little sparkles of snowflakes, though the world blurs when she squints. The doctor thought her failing sight as well as the daily headaches were on account of being hit in the head so many times.

She busies herself with choosing a postcard to send Hannah and Nancy selects one with a cat dressed up as a royal guard. The cuteness puts a smile on her face, however small – she hopes it’ll do the same for Hannah, but there is no telling. Nancy had the gut-feeling Hannah was lying about recognizing her the last time Nancy visited the nursing home. Torment swirls like wind to fallen leaves. She doesn’t have Hannah or Togo to come home to. Togo passed just before Nancy’s thirty-second birthday, and Carson fell ill soon after that. Nancy looks to her hotel bed where Mr. Woogle Woggle sits tucked between two pillows. It seems he is the only one that hasn’t left her. A knock on her hotel door reminds her that is simply not true. Nancy rights herself, fixing her posture to the stance of someone passionate, and she opens the door. Bess and George greet her with blazing smiles; Nancy gives silent thanks for their presence in her life. She would still be in Scotland with Kyler and Matt, had Bess and George not insisted to take her on a vacation. Nancy imagines that their insistence was due to them wanting to keep Nancy from spending Christmas alone on the road again like last year. “Nancy,” Bess stresses. “You’re never going to guess who we ran into in the lobby!” Horror strikes dull and loud in her ears. Surely, it’s not Ned. Please, don’t let it be Ned. George says, “Give you a hint: they were involved in one of your cases.” Nancy’s despair leaves her throat tight. She glances down the hallway, preparing to yank Bess and George into her room and dial her Cathedral contact to get them set up in witness protection.

“That didn’t narrow it down at all, George,” Bess says with a roll of her eyes. “Nancy’s been on hundreds of cases.” Nancy’s strain creeps into her one word: “Who?” Bess and George beam. “Maya Nguyn!” ++

Nancy follows Bess and George to the elevator in a hurried stupor. No thoughts can she conjure as she steps free from the elevator walls which seem to close in on her; Nancy marches into the lobby and notices a woman in the crowd of tourists. She stands with her back to Nancy, her hair drawn up in a bun, and her chin is lifted high with no time for games. Maya turns around and her bright red mouth stretches into a smile. “Nancy!” “Maya,” Nancy huffs in disbelief. She tenses in Maya’s sudden embrace before all but falling into it. This is something good I did; Nancy cherishes with shut eyes. This is someone I helped. When Maya pulls back, Nancy says, “What are you doing all the way out here? You said in your last letter, you were still in Washington.” “My house is technically there,” Maya nods. “But I get to work on the road more these days.” Her brows crease over a sympathetic smile. “Bess and George tell me you’re kind of in the same boat.” Nancy shrugs, struggling to hold Maya’s concerned gaze. “It’s just easier,” Nancy lies. Maya seems to see right through it, but she doesn’t speak on it. Nancy will have to thank her later. George says, “Maya offered us free tickets to a play she’s reviewing tonight and get this – it’s at the Globe Theater!” “Remind me what’s so special about a globe theater,” Bess sighs, checking her nails. “Not ‘a’, Bess, the.” George shakes her head. “The Globe Theater – well, technically it’s a reconstruction of the first one, but it’s where Shakespeare wrote his plays.” “It’s the opening night of a new play,” Maya explains. “And Nancy, you’ll never guess who the star is.” Nancy cannot take anymore guessing games. “Brady Armstrong.” Maya blinks. “Well – yes, actually.” Nancy frowns. “Wait, really?” “Yes,” Maya laughs. “I’ll be conducting an interview with him after the show if you want to go backstage and chew him out for all the stunts he pulled back in the day.” A spark of vigor heightens Nancy’s senses. That doesn’t sound bad at all. Still – “Are you sure we won’t be a distraction or –” “Nancy.” Maya’s hand falls on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You’re the furthest thing from a distraction.” Gratitude floods her before Nancy nods. “All right, then.” +++ The walk to the Globe would be depressive what with the sky being the color of a soaked napkin, but the Christmas decorations lift everyone’s spirits. Nancy limps by a shop playing Christmas oldies through the open door and she is borne back to her father listening to records over cocoa on Christmas morning. She tries to push the memory from her mind, then she thinks of building snowmen with Ned and having snowball fights that turned into the sweetest kisses she’s ever received. The music won’t stop. There are three Christmas trees in the display window and their flashing lights strike pain behind Nancy’s eyes. She pants through a sensory overload before someone squeezes her hand. Maya smiles in understanding as Bess and George walk obliviously in front of them. “It’s hard,” Maya says. “This life on the road. You pick up a few habits.” Nancy squeezes her hand in thanks before tucking her own in her peacoat’s pocket. “I want to enjoy this,” she admits quietly. “But I think the holidays are always hard.” Maya nods. “It won’t be this way forever, Nancy,” she promises. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.” Cross your fingers, there’s a story behind this door! Nancy swallows around the lump of panic in her throat. She plasters on a smile. +++ The theater is packed with noise and touching and all-around boisterous patrons. They find their seats in the crowd and Nancy doesn’t watch where she’s going – she must keep her eyes on the open ceiling to remember how to breathe. She sits down at the end of the group and Maya passes out programs. Quatervois, the title reads. Bess says, “What does that mean?” “It means you’re at a crossroads,” Maya says. “A turning point.” “Sounds a little dramatic,” George grumbles. Nancy traces the swooping lines of the title with

her thumb, repeating the process until the lights go down. The masked chorus emerges from the shadows and gives a synopsis: Down from Olympus a great hero emerges, Mighty in his strength and courage! A choice he must make Shall he ignore fate? Will he choose love, Or follow his destiny there-of? When Brady saunters on stage in an impossibly short silk chiton, it’s an out-of-body experience for Nancy. He still hasn’t grown his ponytail back, so Simone could very well be in the audience right now. Nancy rubs her aching temple at the thought. Brady begins his journey as the character Diogenes, a demigod that was supposedly – according to the play’s plot – written out of ancient Greek mythos. Diogenes must defeat those who want to leave him forgotten in history, lest he admit that he can’t win this fight and live his life like everyone else. Nancy assumes the play’s ending too soon. She imagines this will be a droll experience written only to paint Brady as a glorious hero that can conquer anything – but she is quickly surprised. Brady is stabbed in the final act and addresses the audience in a wail: And so my story ends a breath too early, No time to even be weary! The moon shall pass over my corpse, And the sun will beat down on my ashes with no remorse. Today, I have failed my quartervois Alone, forgotten, and lost. When the curtain falls, Nancy’s mouth is parted in disbelief as a tear burns down her cheek. They don’t receive a proper goodbye with Maya since the rest of the crowd is bustling toward the exit. She does have time to say that Brady is producing a new television series and will be scouting some locations further into Essex; Maya will be following the film crew there for test shoots. She embraces each girl individually and holds Nancy for a beat longer, whispering, “You’ll call if you need to talk?” “Of course,” Nancy says by impulse. “Same to you.” +++ Nancy is proud of herself for going out, but when she closes the door to her hotel suite, her back thunks against the wall and she must take deep breaths for several minutes. She decides to treat herself to a bubble bath even though it’s nearly midnight. She rolls her hair up into a bun and looks at it in the mirror, how haphazard and messy hers is in comparison to Maya. Nancy isn’t jealous – but she can’t help but notice when people are thriving. She wants to figure out how to do it herself and hasn’t found the cure yet. The bath is claw-footed and deep. Nancy sinks into the steaming water before goosebumps rise on her arms, and her freckled skin blushes in the heat. The water does wonders for her foot. She eases her head back on the lip of the tub and nears a light doze when her cell phone rings. It rests atop a stack of towels by the tub. Nancy wipes her damp hand off before looking to the screen. Frank Hardy. Nancy answers and taps the speaker button to relax back in the tub. “Hey.” “Hi, Nance,” Frank says, his voice a familiar balm after such a stressful time. “What’s going on?” “Things aren’t too different from last week’s call,” Nancy smiles. “But I’m on vacation with Bess and George.” “Oh wow! That’s awesome. I hope it’s been fun.” Nancy’s glazed eyes blink. “Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s nice.” She clears her throat, searching for her old enthusiasm. “But what about you? How’s Joe?” “Same as usual, a pain in my ass.” Nancy chuckles before a distinctive lift raises Frank’s voice. “We’re actually getting ready to get on a plane for a case – but I wanted to make sure everything’s good with you.” Nancy’s hand closes in a fist on her raised knee. “Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a case.” “Not really. You just took a few months off to stay with Kyler, right?” “Yeah, but that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without a case since I started.” “I’d give you ours if I could,” Frank says. “Really not looking forward to such a long plane ride. Oh, they’re calling for our gate – but do you want me call you when I land?” Gratefulness is a warm glow in her heart. “No, that’s okay – but

thank you. Be safe on your trip and tell Joe I said hi.” “Can do.” Frank pauses. “I – tell Bess and George I said hi.” “Can do,” Nancy repeats. She chews her lip. “See you soon?” She feels foolish for saying something when Frank is headed to a case. While the weekly phone calls have kept Nancy sane, it would be even better to see the Hardy Boys. “I’ll make it happen,” Frank promises. “See you, Nance.” After they hang up, Nancy struggles to get out of the tub with her swollen foot. She gets into a pair of sweats and wraps up some ice in a washcloth, then holds it against her foot. Nancy mulls over her conversation with Frank, wondering how much of her poor mood could be due to not solving a mystery. With a deep yawn, she tosses the soaked washcloth in the wastebasket, not able to walk to the bathroom to put it in the sink. She cuddles up to her teddy bear and flicks the lamp off when her phone rocks to life on the nightstand. Bewildered, Nancy turns the lamp back on to look at the screen. The number is unknown; she sees her hand tremble around the phone. She lets the call go to voicemail before the phone vibrates to life once again. Bracing herself, Nancy answers. “Hello?” “Yes, hello – I’m trying to reach a one Nancy Drew?” The voice is British and eerily familiar, like Nancy heard it in a dream. “This is she.” “Splendid! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to in order to find your number.” “Sorry? Who is this?” “Why, Nigel Mookergee. We met at –” “Blackmoor,” Nancy whispers. “Nigel, hi. What’s going on?” “I’m afraid the manner of my call is not a jovial one,” he says. “How should I explain this? Well, I suppose from the start. You see –” He sighs. “Don’t tell anyone I’m speaking of this, but the Penvellyns have fallen into a bit of… financial trouble.” Nancy says, “’Financial trouble’?” “It’s certainly not my business to spread, but yes. It’s not that they are a poor family by any means, but one diplomat’s salary is not enough to keep up a castle.” Nancy sits up, grabbing a pen and notepad from her bedside table. She jots as Nigel continues. “The Penvellyns began to host historical tours at the manor – much to Mrs. Drake’s dismay, I might add. Jane wishes to expand the business to the paranormal side of things, and I don’t quite agree with the idea myself, but she insists it’s just what the manor needs.” Nancy finishes scrawling and says, “So, you’re working for the Penvellyns now?” “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been some situations – inconsequential events, if you will – that need a glance over.” Nancy arches a brow. “You mean an investigation.” “Ah, such a serious word. I simply want to make sure we are fully prepared to expand the business.” Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Right. When would you need me there?” “As soon as possible -” Nigel catches himself. “I mean, at your earliest convenience.” Nancy glances over her notes, running her hand over the page filled by red ink. She closes her eyes against the sight and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think and stay safe. and please consider following me here and on twitter! xoxo

#nancy drew #nd #nancy drew pc #nd pc #CUR #clue crew #blackmoor manor #curse of blackmoor manor #francy #frank hardy #nancy drew fanfiction

[musette22]

minnie, do you think seb decorates his apartment with Christmas stuff? and if he does, does chris help him?*-*

Whoaaa, you guys are in my brain!! It just so happens that last night’s falling asleep Evanstan fantasy was basically about this lol. I was going to keep this short but as usual I failed, so I‘m going to put most of it under the keep reading tag, so I won’t clog up everyone’s dash.

So, imagine that at an undetermined point in time, in early December, Chris happens to be in New York, and he calls Sebastian to see if he has time to go for a coffee or grab a bite to eat. They haven’t seen each other in a while, and Chris- well, he misses Sebastian. Seb immediately agrees, telling Chris that he didn’t really have any plans today anyway, except for getting a Christmas tree, but that can wait. But Chris, since he’s somewhat of a Christmas fanatic, enthusiastically tells Sebastian that they can still do that, they can go get Seb a tree, he’ll just come with him! Sebastian laughs and goes, “Well, if you’re sure...” and gives Chris the address of a vendor near his apartment, telling him to meet him there in thirty minutes.  

Sebastian is already there when Chris arrives, and they greet each other with a hug. 

“I like your coat,” Sebastian smiles, gently tugging on the lapels of Chris’s navy winter coat.

“Oh thanks, I like your hat. It looks- cute,” Chris blurts out, and then bites his tongue, because cute? 

Sebastian just laughs in that way that makes his nose crinkle, and mischievously asks, “Cute, huh?”

“Yeah, well, it is, it’s a nice hat, with the.. the cable knit...” Chris splutters, hoping Sebastian will blame his blush on the cold. 

When they’re done flirting-but-pretending-their-not-flirting, they go to pick out a  tree. Chris interrogates the vendor about whether or not the type of tree Sebastian likes sheds a lot, and Sebastian looks on with amusement, eventually interrupting with a gently hand on Chris’s upper arm. When Sebastian pays for his tree, the vendor asks him if they need it to be delivered, or if “you and your partner can handle it yourselves?” 

Sebastian’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say, “Oh, we’re n-”, but Chris interrupts with a “We’ve got it, but thank you,” giving the man a smile. 

The look Sebastian shoots him is slightly surprised but not offended, thank god, and he doesn’t say anything. When they set off towards Sebastian’s place, Chris insists on carrying the heavier end of the tree, which makes Sebastian joke, “Oh, you think you’re so much stronger than me, huh?” Chris chokes on thin air and almost falls over himself to ensure Sebastian that’s not the case, he didn’t mean that Seb couldn’t...! - but Seb just laughs and goes, “Relax, Chris. I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping me with this.”

It’s a good thing they’re both wearing gloves, and that Seb’s apartment is just a few blocks away, because the tree might be pretty, but it’s also prickly and a lot heavier than is looks. Chris heaves a sigh of relief once they get it inside Sebastian’s apartment building, into the lifts, and finally into Sebastian’s home. They find a nice spot for the tree, near the window, and then they take off their hats and scarves and coats, Chris plopping down on Sebastian’s chair while Seb goes into the kitchen to fetch them something to drink. He tells Chris he’s got mulled wine if he wants some, which he got especially for the occasion. When Chris frowns and asks him if he was going to drink it by himself, Sebastian confesses he’d been planning on getting his tree and decorating it with his friend Deirdre, but that he’d cancelled their plans when Chris called. Chris immediately starts apologizing for interfering with Sebastian’s plans, but Seb assures him it’s fine, he’d seen Deirdre just last week.

“I just... thought it would be nice to spend some time with you, you know?” Sebastian says, turning away from Chris to fidget with a pillow, fluffing it up and putting it back on his blue armchair. Chris thinks he Sebastian might be blush a little, but he can’t be sure.

“I could’ve just joined you and Deirdre, though, “ Chris insists. “I wouldn’t have minded.” 

“Yeah, I know, but... I kinda wanted it to be just the two of us.” This time, Sebastian shoots him a small smile, almost embarrassed.

“Oh,” Chris says, his heart skipping several beats in his chest. “That’s... yeah. It is nice.”

They smile at each other bashfully, and then Sebastian quickly goes to get them their drinks and puts on some old-timey Christmas songs. He already took out his box of Christmas decorations earlier that morning, and for the next half hour, the two of them busy themselves decorating the tree with all kinds of shiny gold and red baubles, sparkling tinsel, and a gold star on the top. There’s even a Captain America ornament, painted red white and blue like the shield, which a fan once gave to Sebastian at a con. Chris feels strangely pleased when he sees it and takes it upon himself to hang the ornament in the tree, giving it a place of honor at the front, near the top. When he turns around, he finds Sebastian looking at him with a strange look on his face. From where Chris is standing, his eyes look almost a little glossy. 

“Hey, you okay?” Chris asks, concerned.

Sebastian nods, swallows. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just...” He hesitates, before taking a breath and finishing, “It’s just really good to see you again.” 

Oh, Chris thinks, almost melting into a puddle right there and then. “I know,” he breathes, unconsciously taking a step closer. “I- I’ve missed you.” 

“Me too,” Sebastian says, too quickly. 

Chris doesn’t let himself think about it too hard when he opens his arms and says, “C’mere,” beckoning Sebastian closer. 

Sebastian comes immediately, fitting himself against Chris’s chest and winding his arms around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. They stand there like that for a long time, much longer than a hug between friends usually lasts for, but Chris can’t bring himself to pull away. When the music changes and Sinatra’s ‘White Christmas’ starts to play, Chris gently begins to rock them back and forth, until they’re swaying, almost dancing, still wrapped up in each other while the gentle notes drift through the air like snowflakes, all around them. 

Finally, Sebastian stirs, slowly lifting his head from Chris’s chest to meet his eyes, and Chris’s heart swells in his chest when he sees his own feelings, feelings he’s been trying to suppress for too long now, reflected back at him. They look at each other silently for a minute, saying without words what they should’ve said years ago. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Chris murmurs finally, already starting to lean in.  

Sebastian’s breathy “Please” gets lost somewhere between his lips and Chris’s lips, in the kiss they’ve both dreamed about too many times to count, but which surpasses anything they could’ve imagined. 

🎄💖🎄💖🎄💖

#I don't even know what this isssss but I hope it makes you feel soft and warm #evanstan #rpf #minnie answers #Anonymous

[stones-x-bones]

It’s Only Blood (Night 1 Cont.) || Mina and Bex

TIMING: Current (continuation of this) PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween SUMMARY: The eye of the storm. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, References to child abuse 

For a moment, Mina allowed her nails to change again, growing sharp and dangerous. She’d never been taught to use them as weapons, but they’d honestly served her better than any knife. They’d ripped the head off of a harpy well enough. “I make a piss poor sword,” she said, lightly. She hadn’t been a good weapon, too anxious, too afraid, too cautious. But she’d put her body in between enough people and danger to know that she made a damn good shield. As much as she could, anyway. She made the claws go away, the effort not as bad as it had been before. “I hate them for hurting you, and I hate them for making you go back to them,” she murmured. Not even for herself. She couldn’t care less about herself. But anywhere was better for Bex than being with her parents. She’d prefer her to stay with the Youtuber, Eddie. Anyone but her parents. Mina tasted blood at Bex’s words. She’d bitten into the inside of her cheeks. “I--” Of course she loved Bex. It was a fact of life. Pi was infinite, music sounded best when it was played by someone who was passionate about it, and Mina loved Bex. And Bex loved Mina because it didn’t matter if Bex could lie. She wouldn’t lie to Mina. Not about this. Not about something that hurt so much. “I love you, too. So much. It’s like a hole in me. But I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t get rid of-- If I could make it easier for you, I would. I will. Please tell me how. I’ll do anything. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ll do anything. I’ll leave town if you want. I won’t come back. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean selfish that way,” Bex said. They weren’t selfish because they wanted more for themselves, or because they wanted to keep things for themselves. They weren’t selfish in the way small children who refused to share were, or old businessmen who hoarded their wealth were. They were selfish because they chose their fear over everyone else. They were selfish because they hid themselves away, afraid that any gentle touch or voice was just a lie. Bex turned her head to look over at Mina on the couch. Thunder shook the cabin and lightning momentarily lit up the inside. Bex used to be afraid of thunderstorms, as a child. But the one time she’d tried to find comfort in her parents, she’d learned the lesson quick that she was alone in life, that she had to deal with her fears alone, and that’s when her closet, and the shoes on the floor, and the small hidden space behind the shelf, had become her sanctuary. Fear had always meant safety. “You’re not greedy or mean or anything like that. I just mean...you’d rather hide than let someone in. Or run, then let someone hold you. It’s the kind of selfish that keeps you safe. The kind of selfish that comes with being afraid of so much. We hide and we keep ourselves to ourself because it’s easier and it’s familiar...and it’s selfish.” 

Bex looked out the window and squinted into the dark, wondering if she might see Frank’s shadowed form waiting for them just outside. But all there was were trees and rain and dark. “I’m so scared,” she whispered, “I’ve been afraid for so long. I don’t even know what life would be like without. I thought leaving them would make me less scared, but it didn’t. I thought going home would make all of this stop happening, but it didn’t. I don’t know what to do anymore. All my life all I wanted was the chance to make my own choices and now I’ve made all the wrong ones and I don’t know what to do.”

Her eyes drew down as Mina’s hands turned to webbed claws again. “Swords aren’t the only tools,” she said back quietly. She turned herself so that her shoulder was against the couch and she could look at Mina more fully, before she slipped her hand out from under the blanket and prodded at Mina’s fingers, still clawed. They turned back to her human looking ones and Bex turned her hand palm up to let Mina’s fingers rest there. She hated her parents, too, she realized. As desperately as she wanted her mother’s love, she hated her for it. She hated how much she ached for just one iota of love from her. Just one real moment where her mother would look at her and see her and love her. It would never happen, but still Bex wished for it. She hated Mina’s dad for making her feel the same. She knew Mina felt the same. The lengths they would go to to convince themselves of a parents’ poisoned love was too big. “Please don’t leave,” was all she said, and she blinked as a tear fell from her chin. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Is that not self preservation as opposed to selfishness?” Mina asked. Maybe there wasn’t a difference. Maybe it was selfish to want to guard one’s heart, one’s mind. Mina didn’t know. It did feel selfish, sometimes, when she knew that Morgan needed her but she just couldn’t make herself go home. “Sometimes it’s just-- it just seems like it’s for the best, to run or leave or take care of myself. I don’t want to bother other people.” And she didn’t. Her whole life, Mina was taught to not be a burden. She walked on broken bones, she found her own shelter, she taught herself. If she needed something, she figured out a way to get it for herself, and if she wanted something… she figured out just how desperately she wanted it, if it was worth it. And it hadn’t always been hard; she’d been given nice things, but she knew to provide for herself first if she wanted to be provided for. That’s just how life was. “I don’t want you to be afraid anymore. I wish I could help you. I would, if I could.” If you’d let me.

“I know they’re not. There’s also knives and crossbows and guns and…” she trailed off, and she’d almost been joking, but not really. She wasn’t raised to be a tool. She was raised to be a weapon. Whatever Bex’s parents had wanted her to become, whatever tool they were attempting to shape her into, it probably wasn’t a weapon. She put her trembling hand in Bex’s palm and, before she could think about it too much, she let the webbing reform between her fingers, even if she kept the claws away. She felt exposed in ways that she hadn’t, even though there were plenty of people that had seen this. But it was Bex, and she wanted to prove that she trusted her. She didn’t think that Bex would shy away, not in the way that Mina would have shied away from herself. “I won’t leave unless you tell me to. I won’t. You’d-- You’d have to give me a few days, regardless. I don’t think I’ll be traveling in the immediate future.”

“I don’t know the difference,” Bex admitted. And truly, she didn’t. Her parents called her selfish for wanting something more. They called her cruel for not giving them what they wanted. They told her she was selfish because she couldn’t be the way they wanted her to be. She’d believed them, she still did. She’d started to wonder, to change, but she still believed them. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” She was still angry, but her weary body had stopped gathering up enough energy to be that way. She laid her head on the side of the couch. Mina still needed to be stitched up, she needed to check the pots outside, and go down to the boathouse to check for buckets before it stopped raining. She should check the level of the basin outside, maybe there was enough to fill the tub halfway. Mina could soak and they could try again in a bit. There was still so much to do, she had to keep going. But her body wouldn’t let her move. She closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re not a bother, Mina,” she said absently, “I can’t think of one situation where you were ever bothering anyone. Morgan agrees, I think even Deirdre would agree. And Rio, he likes you, too. He said you’re a good person and a good fighter. And Nell. She likes you. You guys both really like knives, too. I think Nell likes talking to you.” The words were partially slurred and Bex remembered the bottle next to the couch. She wondered what it might be. “Even Adam seems to like you. You’re not a bother.” But being taught to be small and not a burden or a bother was just another thing Bex understood too well, too.

“People,” Bex added on to Mina’s list. Money, wealth, power. Influence. They were on opposite sides again. Where Mina was raised with metal and blood, Bex was raised with smoke and shadow. “Whatever you did while with your dad was never your fault,” she mumbled absently. She opened her eyes when she felt Mina’s hand shift again. “You just wanted him to love you. You’d do anything if he just told you he loved you.” Why were parents so cruel? She smothered Mina’s hand with her own and ran her fingers along the silvery scales on the back of her hands. “I don’t want you to leave. I didn’t drag your unconscious body miles through the forest in the rain just so you could leave.” She scooted a little closer, close enough to bring Mina’s hands up to her lips. Her skin was cool. “I want to stay with you.” She said, barely audible. The fire crackled, the rain poured, but her voice could still be heard. She wanted to stay, but they weren’t people who got things they wanted.

“I don’t either,” Mina said. Perhaps the difference had been that Bex had been taught to believe in selfishness whereas Mina had only known self preservation. She only knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t know how to lean on other people. Even in the field, she’d still had to watch her own back. It was nice being in White Crest because she didn’t have to perpetually be on guard, but old habits didn’t go gently; even with Adam in the portal, even with her plans to make sure he got out no matter what, there’d been a part of her that still didn’t know if he would have her back the way she had his. She picked at the hole she’d made in the couch, unsure of what to say. She felt like a burden, just like she didn’t feel like a person. It wasn’t about anyone else, not really. It was about her and how she saw herself, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe she was wrong, but that didn’t change anything. She could be told that all day long and there would always be a part of her that still wouldn’t believe it. Instead of commenting on it, she said, “You need rest.” She could probably make room on the couch for both of them. Bex was injured, too, and Mina didn’t forget about that. Falling asleep on the floor wasn’t going to do her any favors. 

“People,” Mina echoed. People could be tools, too. She could be a person. She was a person. She reminded herself of it again and again until it almost felt real. “I don’t think that’s true. I still did it. I’m still accountable. I wasn’t always a child. I was never really a child.” She knew what she was doing, even if she hadn’t. She’d always felt that it was wrong. She should have known that it was wrong. “He could have changed.” She was just repeating what she’d said in her dream, what she told herself all the time. “He wasn’t given a chance.” And how could he have been, when his upbringing had probably been something similar to her own? He didn’t talk about the way he was raised, but Mina could only assume. “Then I won’t leave.” She flinched a bit, though. “I tried to stay awake. I just-- I couldn’t, and I couldn’t hear what you were saying even though I know you were talking. But I did try.” She wished she’d been able to try harder. “That’s good. I don’t-- I don’t want you trying to get out in this.” And, more importantly, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Then, maybe, there wasn’t a difference. Bex didn’t know. Mina didn’t either. She wished she could ask Morgan. She wished there was someone else here, helping. They’d know what to do. Bex didn’t know what to do and she was so tired and Mina was ignoring her again. Ignoring some of the things she was saying. She furrowed her brow. She couldn’t make Mina understand that anymore than someone could make her. In the end, it had to be them to make the decision to feel that way. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. Bex understood what conditioning was, she’d read about it so much. She knew it’s what her own parents had done. So of course it’s what Mina’s father had done to her. Maybe worse. Mina thought she was nothing more than a killing machine, something made to destroy. She wished she could show Mina that she could heal, too. That she could create. That she had life in her touch. Bex drew in a breath. “I’m fine,” she said, “I slept a little earlier. There’s still things to do. And the fire--” she turned to look back over at it, and it was dwindling, its heat disappearing before she could feel it. “The fire needs tending. And I can’t sleep if-- in case he comes back.” She wouldn’t let him just come trudging in here and kill them both.

“You were a child,” Bex said, a bit harshly. She had been a child, too. “Whether or not you actually got to be one, you were a child.” It didn’t matter how many times Mina tried to excuse him, she would never let her get away with thinking what he’d done was okay. If what her parents was doing wasn’t okay, then nothing Mina’s father had done was, either. It was worse. He had taken a child and made her hate herself and her species and made her feel less than a person and used her to kill other people. So much so Mina thought it was her own fault. “I’d never put that on you. I don’t think any of that was on you.” But what did she know? She wasn’t really a part of this world. She wasn’t a part of Mina’s world. “He doesn’t deserve a chance.” She said darkly. Her parents didn’t deserve a chance, either, but she was giving them one, wasn’t she? She was a hypocrite, but she knew that already. She moved her hand from Mina’s and pushed herself up with a great effort. There were things to do. Maybe she could find a real bed for Mina. She looked down at her, eyes soft. “I’m not leaving you.” Not right now, at least. “It’s okay, Mina. You were--” dying, so close to dying. She had practically been dead in her arms and Bex couldn’t forget what it looked like. “It’s okay now.” 

“You’re not fine.” Mina frowned, looking Bex over. “You’re only doing marginally better than I am, actually.” She sighed. “If you get any water, save what you boil and clean for yourself. The only water that’s harmful to me is saltwater. My body could use a puddle to heal, at this point.” And she didn’t want to say that she’d done that before, years ago when she’d had a cut on the bottom of her foot and hadn’t been able to find water for kilometers in any direction. “You need to drink more than,” she glanced at the bottle, the strong scent of alcohol reaching her even from a distance, “that.” She looked at the door, almost expecting Frank to be conjured into existence, but he didn’t show. She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s coming back tonight. He expected me to die, when he left. If he comes back, it won’t be until tomorrow to retrieve my body. Now that he knows what I am, he might even wait longer if he thinks that the rain will keep me alive.” He didn’t expect anyone to come for her, and he’d wanted her to suffer. That’s why he’d taken the knife out. He hadn’t wanted the iron to kill her; he’d wanted her to bleed out. But she hadn’t, and he’d made a mistake, not watching her die. Mina was going to kill him. She was going to kill him.

“I was… It doesn’t matter, not anymore.” But Mina didn’t think that children were brought up to think the way she had. She didn’t think she’d ever been a child. She didn’t know if she would have been a child even without her dad. Her mother might have made her into something much, much worse. “I still… I think about it all, a lot. Morgan asked me, once, how the hunters I grew up with would have treated her, and… they’d have tried to kill her. They wouldn’t have hesitated. I did because I knew her before. I did because I’ve never been able to kill anyone.” And that made her weak, so weak, but she couldn’t regret it. She couldn’t. Not if it meant that she got to know Bex. Not if it meant that Bex didn’t see her as a monster. She remembered the relief, from her dream, when the blood had faded away and Bex seemed to realize that none of it was real. Mina didn’t know what Bex would think of her if she’d actually killed someone with her own hands. (The little voice in her head reminded her that she was going to kill Frank. She was going to. She was going to. If he walked in right then, she’d have given it her damnedest, regardless of her injuries.) She looked down, and maybe she understood why Bex hated her dad so much. Maybe they were both destined to hate each other’s parents. “He-- He’s dead now. It doesn’t matter.” She reached for Bex’s hand even as she stood up and pulled away, and she couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice as she just said, “Bex, please.” 

“I’m doing much better than you, actually,” Bex pointed out. But only because Mina had been nearly dead, so close to dead, so close to dying. Bex hadn’t actually made it in time. If it hadn’t rained, Mina would have died. Bex choked on the thought. “Don’t. Don’t-- stop. Please don’t talk about him, I can’t-- I don’t want to--” think about him, talk about him, anything about him. Even if her mind still tried to bring him back to the forefront every time she glanced at the door, she needed to not think about him. About what he’d done to her, about how close he’d come to killing Mina. About what he might do next. She swallowed. “I just want to-- focus on you. On getting you better.” She gave a little laugh, and it didn’t sound or feel as hollow somehow. “There’s a boat out front full of water. I used it to drag you up to the house with all the supplies.” She was reminded of the pots again, and she went to move, but her body gave out and she stumbled to her knees, shaking. She didn’t want to think about Mina dying anymore, she didn’t want to think about Frank trying to kill her. She didn’t want to think about it all being her fault. She wanted to go back to yelling. Or maybe just talking. Or maybe she could get away with just sitting with Mina in silence. Or maybe drinking. Her eyes went back to the bottle. “I need to go get more water.”

She lifted her gaze to look at Mina again. “It does matter,” she said, “but..we can not talk about it anymore.” She didn’t really want to talk about any of it anymore. She didn’t know how she’d feel in the morning, but maybe things would sort themselves out. There was still so much to talk about. She had to keep going. She lifted herself back up. “Not killing someone doesn’t make you weak. I think, in the face of what you were made to be and how you were treated-- I think that makes you stronger.” It certainly made her a better person. Not that Bex would have thought less of Mina had she killed as a child. It wasn’t her fault. She was a child who had been tainted. She moved away from her but stopped, chewing on her lip. “I’ll just-- I'll be right back. I pro--” she paused. It was such a simple thing to promise, but it made her tongue taste sour. “I’ll be right back.” And she pushed out the front door again. She left it open so Mina could watch her, shaking with such an exhausted tremor, water spilled over the edges of the pot. She made it close enough to the fire before collapsing, setting the pot inside it before throwing another log on. “I can see if there’s enough water in the basin to fill the bath, if you need.” She turned to look back towards Mina. She looked so tired. “We still need to stitch your side up.” She prodded her own side. “And...maybe mine.” Definitely hers too.

“Much better is a stretch. Though, to be fair, I’m only doing marginally better than a corpse,” Mina said, and she flinched a bit. “I’m sorry. That was morbid. And I don’t particularly want to talk about it, either, but I’ve lost a lot of the control over what I say, recently. I-- I lied, too much, and now I have a hard time shutting up. But we don’t have to talk about that. We can talk about anything else.” Whatever Bex wanted to. Mina was willing to do whatever. “You… dragged me up here in a boat? I-- Wasn’t that heavy? How? Where did the boat come from?” She looked around them again, still trying to figure out where they were. The house was small, smaller than her own near the lake, and dingy with disuse. She couldn’t help but feel impressed that Bex had managed to drag both her and a boat up to it, as well as getting Mina inside and on the couch. She reached out when Bex buckled in on herself, but Mina was useless. “Bex!” She worried the inside of her cheek with her teeth, trying to figure out what to do. “You’re exhausted. Please, just-- You need to rest, too. You’ll be no good to either of us if you pass out.”

Mina took a breath and looked away. “Thank you.” She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It didn’t matter. She didn’t think that it mattered. It had happened. There was no getting that time back. There would never be any sort of reclaiming of childhood, no rediscovery of her inner kid. Such things didn’t happen; such things didn’t exist. “It-- I’m glad I didn’t. Kill anyone. I’m glad. But it would have made things easier. I would have had an easier time when I was younger if I’d proven myself more.” She might have gotten nicer things, more rewards for doing her duty. Of course, there would have also been satisfaction in herself over the fact that she’d done what she was trained to, that she’d been good. She would have been more than a monster; she would have been a monster that slayed other monsters. She watched Bex go. “Just-- please be careful.” She didn’t care that Bex wasn’t going far. She just wanted her to be careful. There was nothing she wanted more than to help Bex, and she was so frustrated at how useless she felt. She was tired and in pain and useless, and she almost wished she had that jar of pain reliever that Nell had given her when she cracked her ribs. The thought of resting in a bathtub sounded lovely. “I’m fine with whatever. I probably just need to soak my leg and my side. After the stitches.” She sighed, knowing that Bex wasn’t going to let her do them herself. “I can help with yours if you’d like, after we do mine.”

Bex winced at the analogy. “You’re not a corpse,” she said in a low voice. She’d made it in time and Mina wasn’t dead which meant Mina wasn’t a corpse because Bex had made it in time. She’d made it in time and that was all that had mattered. She’d kept going, beyond the point of exhaustion, and something inside of her had pushed her more and further, and she’d made it. Adrenaline and her magic had left her empty, drained from all the things she’d used it for to get here. “There was a boat house, down by the dock. By the-- we’re by a little lake. I don’t know where. There’s no trail signs or anything.” She moved the pot to sit on top of the fire, watching the pot turn red hot from it. “I couldn’t carry you anymore. And I needed to find supplies. I couldn’t carry you and supplies. So I dumped it all in an old, wooden boat-- more like a...canoe, like those wooden boats they let you take out on the lake at the Cryptid Corner-- and dragged it up here by the tie rope. I don’t have a lot of life experience, but I’ve read enough books about what to do when you’re lost in the woods that I knew what to look for, I guess.” She licked her lips and looked back at Mina. “Magic helped, too.” She’d seen Nell use her magic to make herself momentarily stronger, and she’d read the spell on how to do it several times in one of the books. Maybe it was books that had saved her life.

She ignored Mina’s pleas for her to rest. She couldn’t rest yet. She wondered what time it was, but the only clock in the house-- an old analog that looked older than the cabin, even-- wasn’t working. Had probably stopped working long ago. “Don’t thank me,” she murmured, scooting over back towards the couch after she’d gathered up the medical supplies. She didn’t make any comment on how Mina felt about her childhood. She couldn’t understand that decision. She couldn’t understand wanting to add more hurt to the world when it hurt so much already. Even if that’s what a parent wanted, she could never do it. That was the one line she’d always drawn with her parents-- she would do no harm. She didn’t want to hurt or kill anyone. She wanted to kill Frank. Blinking, she looked up at Mina on the couch. Her thoughts had made her mind drift for a moment and she needed to concentrate. Her eyes dropped to the bottle next to her foot and she made to grab for it before pausing. She needed to be clear headed for this. Drawing in a breath, she looked up at Mina again. “I’ll fill the tub and hope there’s enough water in the basin to reach your side. The tub is a little small, but it’s better than nothing.” The bathroom was small, too, but there was room between the built-in sink and the tub for Bex to sit or lay. She started unraveling the thread that was already hooked through the needle. There wasn’t much. Her eyes went to Mina’s side, the gash that was hidden underneath old, poorly applied bandages. God, she really was exhausted. They’d have to do this before Bex really did pass out. “Only if there’s enough thread,” she mumbled and reached forward, beginning to pry the bandages gently away from Mina’s side. She shook as she touched her, conscious, for the first time, or her fingers grazing Mina’s skin. It’d been so long since she’d touched her. She bit her cheek and kept going. “I don’t...there’s nothing for the pain,” she said, her voice worried. “This is probably gonna hurt. More.”

“No, I’m not. Because of you. I’m not.” Mina didn’t think she’d ever truly get over this, even after she healed. She’d never get over Bex doing this for her. She’d never really understand it, either. But, then again, wouldn’t she do the same for Bex? Wouldn’t she do more? Wouldn’t she tear cities and walls and people for the girl in front of her? Wasn’t she already planning to kill the boy that put her in this position, even if it wasn’t for herself (especially if it wasn’t for herself)? This was love, and it was painful, but somehow it was what the two of them had, wretched and awful as it was. If Mina could, she’d take it away from Bex. It was hurting her. The last thing Mina ever wanted to do was hurt her. “Well, knowledge is power. I think we’d both be in considerably worse shape if you didn’t know what you know.” And there was something like pride in her voice. Bex had managed to do all of this, on her own, with no prior experience. Sure, magic helped, but magic was an innate part of who Bex was. Of course she’d been able to utilize it to help herself. 

“Sorry,” she said, more of a reflex than anything. She stayed still as Bex checked everything, her fingers trembling as she touched Mina’s skin. She was so close. Mina just wanted to reach out and hold her. That was it. She just wanted to hold her. The featherlight touches were a good confirmation that she was alive, though. That this was real. She’d known it was. Of course she’d known it was. Still. It was nice to be sure. “As long as there are stitches and I can cover my side up with a towel or something, all that matters is that we soak my leg.” She was going to have to reset it in the morning, something she wasn’t looking forward to at all. “It’s definitely going to hurt, yes,” Mina said, unable to sugar coat the situation even if she did keep her voice soothing. “But I’m not going to move while you do it, so it’s going to be fine. Don’t worry about hurting me, and don’t worry about making the stitches pretty; just make them functional. Have you read up on how to do a continuous suture? That’s what you’re going to try and do here.” She looked at the bottle that Bex had been reading for. “And maybe let me have some of that, please.” She wouldn’t drink much, but it might help a little. 

“You wouldn’t have been hurt, either, if it weren’t for me,” Bex mumbled off-hand. This was her fault. In every sense of the word. Frank would have no reason to go after Mina if it weren’t for her. He’d never even have met Mina, probably. And then, when they’d had him, Bex had made Nell let him go. And then, when he was clearly running rampant, stabbing people, she still hadn’t told anyone. This was all her fault. She felt her cheeks growing wet again and she had to stop for a moment, wiping at them. “I should’ve let Nell kill him,” she whispered. Mina would be dead if Bex hadn’t been able to do what she’d done. She hadn’t known she was capable of doing what she’d done, but she had. Some deep desperation inside of her had pushed her to be able to do what she’d done. Still, her mind toyed with what ifs. What if she hadn’t even made it to Mina in time? What if she hadn’t been able to get her out of the trap? What if she hadn’t been able to carry her for so long? What if when she’d fallen down the hill, she’d lost Mina? What if she’d never been able to find water? What if, what if what if? If Bex hadn’t been a part of her life, none of this would have even happened. 

She needed to listen. Mina was explaining how to do the stitches and Bex needed to listen. But it was hard. She was crying-- sobbing, really-- and she couldn’t listen. They didn’t need to be pretty and they didn’t need to be good, they just needed to be there enough to hold Mina together. She looked at the wound in her side and remembered how painful the knife had felt sliding into her own side. How much more painful it had been coming out. How it had torn at her insides. How the doctor’s had looked at the wound in worry, and the mangled muscle, and how Bex was looking at Mina’s now and it was so much worse. Bex felt her heart gurgling in her throat. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured, and she reached out absently for one of Mina’s hands and squeezed it as she buried her face in the side of the couch. “I’m so sorry he did this to you.” She needed to keep going, but her body suddenly had other plans. It had stopped moving and it was really all she could do to not let her sobs grow too loud, repeating the apology like a mantra. Like maybe it might make everything magically better. If only, if only.

Mina started shushing Bex gently. “Hush. If not him, I’m sure I would have run into someone else. And a lot sooner, too.” Hers was never supposed to be a long life, not with the way that she was raised. Mina knew that. She’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Her dad hadn’t made it to fifty. She’d always thought that thirty would be her cap. “Something like this would have happened regardless. It’s not your fault. It’s not.” Honestly, if she’d encountered Frank without Bex around, he still would have tried to kill her. He might have not been as vindictive, as vengeful about it, but he would have still gone for her. She was a threat. She was something to be disposed of, and he probably would have gotten rid of her in that alley behind the theater if Bex hadn’t intervened. Mina shook her head. “You were standing by your beliefs. That’s what mattered. It’s not on you. It’s not.” And even though Mina wanted to kill Frank, she was glad that the decision for his death wasn’t going to weigh on Bex. That was going to be Mina. Because she was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. If there wasn’t anything else to keep her going after this, then that would. 

“You don’t have to apologize. You don’t. You don’t.” She squeezed Bex’s hand and used her other to slowly brush it through Bex’s hair. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t stab me. You didn’t tell him to stab me. This isn’t on you. It’s not. It’s not.” She took the needle and thread out of Bex’s hand and set it down before she put her hand on Bex’s cheek and nudged her to look at her. They weren’t going to be working on this any time soon. There was no way that they could, anyway. She’d tend to her injuries, later, if she had to, if Bex fell asleep. She’d wake her if she needed to stitch her up as well. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for any of this. I don’t. Please, Bex, I don’t.” She didn’t want Bex to cry. She didn’t want them to have to do this. She wished that Bex was somewhere safe. She wished that Bex wasn’t hurting like this. That was Mina’s fault. She was the one that should be apologizing.

It wasn’t a comfort to know that someone else could’ve-- would’ve-- done this to Mina. Bex felt a strange fury building inside of her. She hated the unfairness of it all. Why was it okay for people to run around killing other people? Why was she so powerless to help Mina? She’d gotten there too late. She could’ve stopped Frank if she’d just told someone. If she’d just tried to do something. If she wasn’t such a coward. If she had just let Nell kill him. If she had just-- if she had just. There were too many. “That doesn’t really make me feel better, you know,” she sniffled, trying to keep the quiet rage out of her voice, “and this time-- this boy-- it is my fault. I had so many chances to listen to someone and to stop him and I--” she squeezed tighter before remembering Mina’s condition and trying to relax her grip. She’d never felt so angry before. It reminded her of her mother’s anger. She didn’t want this anger, but how was she supposed to get rid of it without being just like her? Bex tried to swallow the rage and the tears and she choked on them. “My stupid beliefs keep getting people hurt,” she croaked, “maybe I need to...rethink them.” She wished she wasn’t such a coward.

Bex shook her head. “It is! I do! I have to because it’s-- it’s my fault! It is! And not just because-- not just because I stopped him from dying. But because-- my mom-- my parents--” she stuttered and felt the words catch in her throat. Mina’s hand on her cheek felt so warm it almost burned. She shouldn’t have this, she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve a happiness like the one she knew Mina could give her. She turned her face away. “You should. You should. If you’d never met me, none of this would’ve happened. None of it. And I--” she watched Mina set the suture aside and tried to bring a focus back to her mind, but she couldn’t. She was so tired. She needed to sleep. “I need to fix this. I can do this. I can, I--” her body shuddered when she tried to breathe in and she could feel her chest seizing up. No, fuck, no, she couldn’t have a panic attack right now. No. Mina needed her. Mina needed her to be here and be present and make sure neither of them died in this stupid, dingy, abandoned cabin. She held her breath and closed her eyes and realized all she really wanted to do right now was wrap herself up in Mina’s arms. “This was all supposed to stop when I went back, and it hasn’t and I don’t know-- I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mina said again. Again and again and again, it seemed like sorry was all that she could say. “I know it’s not reassuring, but it’s the truth. It’s-- That’s how my life is.” She shook her head. “But no, this boy is not your fault. You don’t control his actions. You didn’t make him attack me. You didn’t make him do anything. That’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” She squeezed Bex’s hand back, enough to let her know that she was still there. Enough to let her know that she still could. She was only still alive because of Bex. That was it. She was the reason. And Frank might have found another time, another place to kill her whether Bex was involved or not. “You can’t control other people’s actions, Bex. It’s just not possible. And your beliefs had nothing to do with it. You gave him the benefit of the doubt. It’s not your fault he was a disappointment.”

Bex turned her head, but Mina pulled it back towards her. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “You’re not responsible for him. You’re not responsible for your parents. This isn’t on you. You didn’t stab me. You didn’t do this.” She stroked Bex’s face with her fingers, keeping the gesture soothing, simple. “If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be genuinely happy. I mean, I’d been happy before knowing you. Only recently, really, mostly because of this place, but I have known genuine happiness because of you. Even right now, I’m-- there’s a part of me that’s okay because you’re here, and I hate that, and I hate that this is what’s happening right now, but I am glad you’re here, even if I wish you were somewhere safe.” She watched as Bex started to panic, and she felt her own. She sat up even more and made room, trying to get Bex closer to her on the couch. “Hey, hey, it’s-- Breathe, please. Just breathe. Let’s just breathe, okay?” She exaggerated her own breathing, making a show of doing it, even as it made her side hurt. “It’s okay. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay.” 

“He almost killed you, Mina!” Bex exhaled. If she’d had more energy, she would’ve yelled it. But she didn’t. “That’s not just-- it’s not disappointing, it’s-- it’s-- if I had just done one thing! Just one thing differently, this wouldn’t have happened. I-- I could’ve talked to him sooner, o-or told him what was going on, or if I’d just gone home sooner or never stayed with Morgan or let Nell kill him or fuck-- done it myself! One thing was all it took. One thing and I couldn’t even do that.” Her chest heaved. Mina was trying to get her to get up onto the couch with her but Bex’s eyes stuck to each of her injuries individually and she tried to pull away, too exhausted to even really fight. She felt her body sink into the couch. She tried not to lean on Mina too much. She didn’t want to hurt her more. She couldn’t hurt her more. Her eyes went to the knife on the table. “It might as well have been me,” she said, “my decisions keep getting people hurt.” 

But this wasn’t supposed to be about her. This wasn’t. Mina was still on the fringes of dying. She needed water, she needed medical attention, she needed more than Bex could give her. She tried to stand back up off the couch, legs shaking with such great effort she couldn’t even get them to support her weight as she tried. She tried to breathe in time with Mina, but all she could think about was the pain in her side and how much worse Mina’s must be. “I can’t-- I can’t sit here. I have to-- do something. I have to-- I need to be doing something. I can’t sit here and watch you in so much pain and not do anything.” She was losing it, losing the grip on her focus as the adrenaline began to drain away. It would leave nothing behind. She had no more reserves to pull from. “Please don’t hate me,” she choked out, “please don’t hate me. I-- I ruined it. I ruined your happiness and I’m sorry. I just wanted you-- want you-- so much and it hurts and all I do is cause you pain. I’m sorry.” The words were jumbled, slurred. Her exhaustion felt more like a drunken stupor than any of the ones she’d been in lately. She was still too afraid to touch Mina, to get too close to her, so she wrapped her arms around her own stomach and repeated the words. She just needed to rest a moment. Just a moment. Then she’d be okay. Then she could go back to taking care of things. The rain outside felt like nothing compared to the rain on her face. 

“Yes, well, he somehow didn’t.” Despite literally having the perfect opportunity. Mina couldn’t think of a more foolish thing to do. When she killed him, she was going to make sure that Frank was dead. What kind of hunter didn’t know to make sure their quarry was properly killed before claiming victory? She hoped he raged when he found out her body was gone. She hoped he felt panic. She hoped he felt fear. Because she was going to destroy him. She still had a hand to take, after all. But none of that mattered, at the moment. None of it mattered. Not right now. “And it might not have mattered at all. It might be that nothing would change. If you’d gone home sooner, things might have even been worse.” She pulled Bex’s hand to her lips and kissed it softly, though she followed Bex’s eyes to the knife. It was impressive that her blood had managed to cling to it, despite the rain, despite the lake. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t.”

Mina kept her focus on her own breathing, hoping that, if she did, Bex might possibly follow along with her. “If you try to get up right now, you’re going to be of no use to either of us. I’m not going to keel over if you take a few minutes to breathe, okay? I’m not.” Not unless Frank jumped in through the window and decided to finish the job. But he wouldn’t. He was probably gloating over his victory. Mina leaned forward and put her forehead against Bex’s. “I don’t hate you. I don’t. I could never hate you. I love you. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you.” She couldn’t hate Bex if she tried. She would never try. She didn’t want to. “You don’t only cause me pain. You don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. I don’t hate you.” She didn’t know what else to do, what else to say. She couldn’t fix this. She could only hope that Bex would take some time to breathe before she started moving about the cabin again. Honestly, Mina hoped that Bex would just fall asleep. She needed to sleep. Mina could tend to herself as much as possible and then try to rest a bit herself. It probably wouldn’t be wise to go to sleep again. She needed to make sure she made it through the night.

Somehow didn’t make the millions of possibilities floating around Bex’s head quiet any, but the conviction in Mina’s voice made her quiet a moment. Somehow she’d made it in time. Somehow it had rained and helped Mina’s wounds from getting worse. Somehow Bex had found the strength within her to get Mina to water and to safety and to here, on this couch. They were all somehows and there was nothing definitive about it, but here they were. Both barely alive, bleeding on a couch in the middle of the forest, tired and exhausted and pushed beyond their limits. But they were alive. She was alive. Mina was alive. Whatever scenarios Bex wanted to concoct in her head, this was the situation they were currently in, and no amount of speculating or wishing was going to change anything. Frank had tried to kill Mina, but Bex had gotten there in time, and now all they had to do was make sure it stayed that way. She would make sure it stayed this way. Mina’s lips were warm on her knuckles and Bex realized again how cold the house was. Without insulation or a heater, the rain had chilled the entire place to match the temperature outside. Aside from the fire, slowly fading. Bex shivered. ”I won’t let him hurt you again,” she croaked. “I won’t. I’ll kill him if I have to. I won’t let him hurt anyone else.” And she’d do it-- she would. She’d almost killed that Warden for just breaking Mina’s arm. She’d rip apart Frank’s brain memory by memory if he even got near Mina again.

Bex was trying to breathe. Really, she was. It was harder than it looked. But Mina was so close to her now and how could she not be calmed by the other girl’s presence? Even when she could clearly see the pain and worry in her eyes. Her forehead was warm. Maybe too warm. Could Nymphs get fevers? Bex didn’t know. The thought strangled her insides, but her exhausted mind tucked them away for later. She couldn’t freak out about another thing right now. “D-don’t promise me that,” she stuttered out between sobs, “don’t. You should. You should hate me.” She reached out tentatively, placed her palm on Mina’s chest, fingers pressing lightly into her skin. “I broke your heart. I knew what would happen and I still did it. I just wanted to save you. I thought I could spare you the pain. I didn’t know,” she said, drowning in her grief, “I didn’t know I loved you, too. I didn’t understand.” She was so close. She was right there. She shouldn’t do it. Mina was in pain. Mina had nearly died. She was with Eddie. She shouldn’t do it. But Bex couldn’t stop herself. She closed the distance-- the oh so short distance-- and kissed Mina. And she’d craved her so bad. And she remembered how it had felt in her dream and this was better. So much better. This was real. And so she kissed her and she cried and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

“He’s not going to hurt me like this again,” Mina said, her voice quiet and cold. “And he’s never going to hurt you again, either.” He was dead the moment that he told Mina what he’d done, what he planned to do. He died right then. His heart was just still bleeding. The second that she was able, though, she was killing him. And she’d draw it out, and she’d make it slow, and she’d make him suffer, but she wouldn’t leave knowing there was still air being forced into his lungs and a heart pumping blood through his body. Frank had made many mistakes. Mina was smart enough to learn from the mistakes of others, sometimes, when she set her mind to it. She pulled the blanket closer around Bex’s shoulders, fighting off her own chill. Her skin was hot, her mouth was slightly parched, but she felt the cool air working its way through her body. “You’re not going to have to kill him. You’re not.” She wouldn’t. That was all on Mina. She wondered if it was the fever that was making her just focus on this or if it was the rage that she still couldn’t get over. He wanted to kill Bex. He was going to die.

“I can promise it because I want to, because it’s true, because it’s never not going to be true. I don’t hate you. I don’t. I could never hate you.” She wondered if Bex could feel her heart fluttering under her touch. She wondered if Bex knew it was hers. She had to. She had to. Mina had all but told her. “I’d let you break it again. More than once. A thousand times, I don’t care. I wish you’d let me help you, but I understand why you didn’t, why you don’t. I know how hard it is to rely on other people. It’s okay. It’s okay.” There was a moment when Bex was right there, and Mina could see her move, and her heart might have stopped, just for a moment, but then Bex was kissing her, and, oh, that. She missed that. She missed that so much. Yes, she was a bit in pain, and yes, this probably wasn’t smart, but Mina deepened the kiss a bit more, and maybe it was a little selfish, but she didn’t care, in the moment. This wasn’t self preservation. This was selfishness. She was selfish. She wanted this. She’d been wanting this for so long.

There were things that needed doing. The fire was dwindling, the pots outside needed to be pulled in and dumped somewhere to store the water and refilled, the bed needed to be checked. Mina needed tending still, her wounds were so raw. Bex needed to check the basin and see if there was enough water for Mina to soak in. She needed to look for some sort of food. She needed to drink water. They needed to rest, to sleep. They needed to talk about so much more. But, instead, she just kissed her. She just kissed Mina because fuck she’d been wanting to kiss her for so long now. For weeks now. Her hands went up to hold Mina’s face so she could kiss her better, kiss her more. There was a pain in her side as she twisted to get closer, but she didn’t care. She just wanted this. She just wanted to kiss Mina. Even when she had to break away to breathe, all she wanted was to kiss her more. She needed to say something. She just kissed her again instead. What else was there to do? They’d started and now she didn’t want to stop. She shouldn’t have kissed her at all. She didn’t want to stop.

There was so much that needed to be done, but maybe it could wait until tomorrow. Once the rain stopped, it would be easier to portion out the water that would have gathered in the basin. She could dump whatever was left in the boat into the tub, potful by potful, first. Portion out the rest for drinking. Maybe there was a fishing pole down at the shack. Bex didn’t know how to fish. They could re-assess the wounds tomorrow, once Mina had made it through the night and was more stable. There was so much to be done, but it could wait until tomorrow. So Bex just kissed Mina instead, and moved further onto the couch and tried her best not to hurt her or herself but she just wanted to kiss her because it had been so long and she needed it. She needed her. She loved her.

The only thing that Mina was worried about, aside from kissing Bex, was making sure that she didn’t bleed everywhere. Really, nothing else mattered. Not the pain from all the wounds, not the old bruises that still hadn’t healed, not the fact that there was still so much to say. There was still so much to say. Mina wanted to tell Bex what she was. She wanted to explain herself. She wanted to try. Just… not right now. Later. They could do it later. She was happy with them doing it later. Literally nothing mattered more than this. Nothing mattered more than pulling Bex as close as she could without injuring her or herself, hands running up and down Bex’s arms, feeling the softness and the heat of her skin. This wasn’t comfortable, by any means. Both of her legs were injured. Her shoulder hurt. Her side was a mess. She was a mess. Bex was a mess. They were both messes, truly. They always had been, when they were together. She’d never minded. She didn’t mind any of it. If anything, she just wanted it more. She’d missed this so much, and it wasn’t like the hole in her chest was healed, not completely, but this made it stop aching as much. That was really all that she could ask for; it was more than she could ask for.

Bex needed to have some semblance of self control. There were so many reasons she needed to have control but she couldn’t remember any of them, because her entire mind was taken up by concentrating on just kissing Mina. And the taste of Mina’s lips and her tongue and the feel of her skin under Bex’s fingertips. The feel of Mina’s hands on her own as she moved them from her arms to her sides, her bare stomach. And if she didn’t stop soon, she was going to lose herself and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that. Bex broke away to breath, panting. Her head was pounding, her side was jolting with pain. Her lips felt raw, they were tingling. She leaned in to kiss her again, but managed just enough of herself to restrain, lips just barely grazing Mina’s. “We have to…” she breathed, “we can’t…” They had to what? They couldn’t what? She couldn’t remember. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She kissed her again. Slow, soft. She didn’t want to move. She needed to move. “If we’re not doing...the stitches tonight…” she mumbled against her lips, “we at least need...to get you in some water…” She wondered if Mina would change again. She didn’t wanna think about it. “At least let me do that for you tonight.” It felt like a small plea. She knew she needed to take care of herself as well, but Mina came first. She was dying under her fingertips and Bex needed to do everything she could to make sure that didn’t happen. Neither of them were going to get much sleep tonight, but maybe they could rest. Just a little. They could rest.

“You’re right. You’re right. We have to… We have to…” Mina trailed off, too distracted to remember what they had to do. Because Bex’s lips were on hers, and she could feel Bex’s skin beneath her fingertips, and this was real. This was real. It was painful and wonderful and real. She splayed her fingers over Bex’s heart, feeling it beat. This wasn’t hers. She wasn’t going to get to keep this. It was real, but it wasn’t for her. She wanted it to be. Mina wanted a lot of things. She’d learned to do that, want things, and she’d learned just how useless that was. She wanted to keep kissing Bex. She… wanted to not be hurting. Desperately. She’d really enjoy that. But it wasn’t that important. “If you get me water, you should let me look at your side. Since you can’t heal like me.” It was the least she could do. She wanted to do more. She wished she could, but Mina was all but useless at the moment, and her brain wasn’t working like it was supposed to, and she knew that was only partly from kissing Bex. “I can do that. And you need that more than I do.”

Bex felt her body shudder as Mina’s fingers grazed across her chest, her heart. She wished she could rip it out and give it to Mina. She wanted to give it to Mina. Maybe she already had it, maybe that was why Bex felt cold and empty when she was away from her. Mina had her heart and when she wasn’t around her, she was nothing. She was heartless. It wasn’t fair to Eddie. She needed to tell him. But she needed him, too. She needed him to pretend like her life was normal. She needed him as her shield. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Swallowing, she nodded stiffly. She wanted to keep kissing Mina. “I’ll…” her breath was still thick in her throat. “I’ll fill the tub and you can...look at it in there.” There should’ve been enough water in the basin by now. The rain outside was torrential. She could hear it. And if it wasn’t enough, she would carry in the water in the boat, pot by pot, until the tub was full enough. “Just--” she pulled away, pushing off the couch slowly, “stay here. I’ll be--” her heart hammered. Despite the pain in her side and the tremor in her knees, she leaned down and kissed Mina again, softer this time, slower, a silent promise that she’d be right back. She wasn’t leaving. Not yet. 

She stumbled backwards for a few steps before turning to head to the bathroom, supporting herself with walls and doorways as she did. She needed to clear her head, otherwise she was going to turn right back around and go back to that couch and to Mina and to kissing her. She needed to do this first. She sank to her knees near the tub and reached out for the faucet, struggling to even turn the knob with exhaustion pulling at all her muscles. Finally, it broke, and water poured from the spout into the tub. She let out a long sigh of relief as she rest her head on the edge of the tub for a moment, watching the water slowly fill it up. They had water and everything was going to be okay. Greedily, she stuck her hands under the faucet and filled them up with enough water to drink. It soothed the ache in her throat and she wanted more. The pot in the fireplace should’ve been done by now. Standing back up, the tub about half full now, she made her way back out to Mina on the couch. “There’s enough,” she said, coming back over to her and sinking onto the couch, her body deflating. “Just...give me a minute. And I can help you...into the bathroom…” 

“I can stay here,” Mina said. “I can do that.” It wasn’t like she could do much else, anyway. Her eyes were still heavily lidded by the time Bex went towards the bathroom. She could have just stayed like that, in a state of waiting and watching and hoping, but she needed to do something to make this easier. She’d need to be able to walk a little bit, to not make Bex have to drag her all the way to the bathroom, but she couldn’t do that when her feet were barely even feet. She moved on the couch, covering her legs with the blanket again, and she started trying to shift the bones in her legs back. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But before Bex got back, they were feet instead of fins, and that was really all that she could ask for. Walking was still going to be a struggle, seeing as how one leg was mangled and the other had been shot, but, at least she’d be able to semi walk to the tub. She curled forward a bit from the pain, some of her wounds starting to sluggishly bleed again. She was running out of blood, though. It was fine.

She felt Bex sit on the couch before she saw her, opening her eyes and glancing at the younger girl, who looked almost as bad as she felt. “Take your time,” Mina murmured, clearing her throat when her voice came out pained. She hadn’t realized how much that would hurt. She didn’t think it was possible to be in more pain, but her body was truly surprising her. “I need a moment, too, before I can try to get up. Even with help.” She put a hand over her side, trying not to flinch at the stickiness that she could feel now that the bandages were gone. It was fine. It was going to be fine. “I think I would be fine with a puddle at this point, if I’m being honest.” And she was. Being honest. She really had no choice but to be.

Bex sat up immediately at the sound of Mina’s pained voice. She looked over and saw old wounds reopening, thick, blackish blood draining from them. “Fuck…” she muttered. They’d gotten distracted, they’d been stupid. Mina was dying this was no time for Bex to have kissed her. How could she have been so stupid? She pushed herself up from the couch, ignoring her exhaustion and the burning pain in her legs as she did so. “This is bad…” They didn’t have nearly enough supplies to take care of both of them. Mina was getting worse. Every moment she wasn’t in the water, she was getting worse. Bex should’ve just stayed in the lake with her. But how was she supposed to know? No one told her. Mina hadn’t told her. She shook the thought away and grabbed the towel, pressing it to Mina’s side in hopes of quelling some of the bleeding while they waited. They couldn’t wait much longer, though. She drew in a breath and tried to find something inside of herself, something had to be left, right? She couldn’t have used it all. Maybe some of it was back by now. “It’s fine,” she said suddenly, “I can-- I’ll carry you.” She’d carried her here, what was a few more feet to the bathroom?

Bex wasn’t particularly strong, but she didn’t need to be. That was one thing Nell had taught her that had stuck the fastest. Even though her specialty was mental magic, there were plenty of practical spells she’d been taught that were easy enough. She hadn’t purposefully practiced magic in so long, and while she knew she’d used some intentionally in order to get Mina here, it wasn’t exactly the same. Control seemed nearly impossible, but she had to try. She had to get Mina into that tub where she was sure, if she did accidentally fall asleep or pass out, Mina wouldn’t die. The water wouldn’t let her. She reached out to touch her arm, wrapping her fingers around her wrist delicately. “You’re getting worse, we have to get you in the water,” she urged. “Just let me do this. I can-- if i get you there, I can rest, too. Okay?”

“It’s not as bad as it was,” Mina said, trying to sound reassuring, but she knew it probably wasn’t working. It was bad. It was really bad. It was bad enough that Mina would be forced to acknowledge it. She’d thought that the wolf, the cliff, the ocean was bad. But none of that had been iron. None of that had burned quite like this. Some things didn’t heal right. There was a reason Mina was covered in scars. She knew pain. She knew iron. But not like this. Still, she gritted her teeth and struggled to put her feet in front of her on the floor. “No. No, I can’t ask you to carry me. You’re exhausted. That’s not fair.” Not when she thought Bex herself was in absolutely no shape to be trying to lift anything, much less Mina. She attempted to stand. 

It was a useless endeavor. Mina gritted her teeth as she managed to stand on shaky legs for half a second before she ended up collapsing back to the couch. She hated this. She hated it. She hated being useless. She hated being aware of the fact. It was different, when she wasn’t conscious, when she had no awareness of what was happening. She needed help, then. She knew she needed help. But she wasn’t struggling to stay awake. She was just struggling. She looked at Bex’s fingers around her wrist and then to Bex’s face. Finally, she hung her head. “Okay. Okay. Please help me. But if you start to hurt yourself, stop. Seriously, just put me down if it’s too much. I can probably walk with some support.”

“Hey, stop-- stop it!” Bex tried, but Mina was Mina, and that meant she would try on her own anyway. Bex let her and watched her fall directly back to the couch. They really were two peas in a pod, weren’t they? “I might be exhausted, but I’m not dying. Or bleeding out or covered in--” she swallowed. She absolutely hated seeing Mina like this, it made her blood boil, knowing the boy who’d done it wasn’t far off. Knowing that he probably thought he had been in the right to do this. She tried to not let her anger flare too much. If she was going to use whatever trickle of magic was left in her, she couldn’t waste it on being angry. She couldn’t afford to waste anything right now, and that included brain power arguing with mina. Finally, the other girl relented. Bex nodded and moved herself into position, scooping an arm under her legs and the other around her back. “Just-- hold on. This might...feel weird.” She knew when she used magic it felt weird, but not if having magic used on you was weird.

She tried to picture the rocks she’d dropped off ledges with Nell, how heavy they’d felt in her hands, and how light they’d been a moment later. She poured that intention into lifting Mina, struggling only for a moment before she found her footing. Her arms shook, her legs shook, but she could make it. She could make it. She wanted to hurry but was too afraid to jostle Mina, and too afraid if she went faster than one step at a time, she herself would collapse. She tried not to think about either of those, as she made her way over slowly, arms gripping Mina tightly, like they had in the lake. Like they had when Mina had changed. She made it to the edge of the tub and set Mina down as gently as possible before her legs gave out. The tub faucet had water barely trickling out of it, but it was full enough to submerge her. Bex smiled, tired. “See? I told you I could make it.’

“I’m not dyi—“ Mina choked on the word before she bit her tongue, trying not to scream in frustration. She wasn’t dying. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. But maybe there was a part of her that was still worried about that, worried enough to believe it. She was worried what would happen if she fell asleep, if she lost consciousness for more than a few minutes. She’s never been stabbed like that before, and especially not with cold iron. Mina allowed Bex to maneuver her until she was in the younger girl’s arms, the wound in her shoulder twinging as she wrapped her arms around Bex. Something washed over her, something warm and comforting that made her feel fuzzy around the edges. She sunk into the feeling, burrowing her face is Bex’s neck. “Not weird. It feels nice.” It felt so nice. She almost didn’t think she needed the water as the feeling wrapped around her, soft and caressing and distinctly Bex. It ended when Bex put her down, though. 

The relief was instantaneous as the water touched Mina’s skin. She was still in pain, but it was no longer excruciating. She no longer felt like the knife was still inside of her, something she hadn’t even been aware of until the water touched her wounds. She sighed, eyes closing minutely before she opened them again to look at Bex, a smile of her own crooking it’s way onto her mouth. “I didn’t doubt you could. I just… I just didn’t want you to strain yourself.” Scales were breaking out across her skin again, but there was little Mina could do to stop them. She rested her head on the side of the tub instead. “Are you alright?” She asked, concerned at the way that Bex had collapsed. It wasn’t good for her to use that much magic. It wasn’t good for her to stress her body and her mind when she was already injured as well. 

Not weird. Nice. Bex clung to the words a little. She hadn’t known what it might feel like for Mina, she was worried it might hurt her as much as it had hurt other people. As much as it hurt herself sometimes. She laid her head on the side of the tub as she watched Mina sink in, the relief palpable on her face. She almost wished there was something as soothing for her to lay in, besides, perhaps, Mina’s arms. 

So this was what Mina had meant by fast healing. Bex could almost see the water holding her wounds together, it was strange. The bleeding stopped, the only red from the dried splotches on her side. Bex’s eyes stayed transfixed on whatever piece of Mina she could find that wasn’t covered in red. It was all washing away, hiding beneath silvery scales. She wanted to reach out and touch them again, remembering the feel of them against her arms in the lake. Mina's voice startled her and she looked up, lifting her head. She blinked, let a tired smile fall on her lips. She was too tired to feel upset anymore, even if she still felt like she wanted to yell at Mina. She just wished she’d told her earlier. She wished she’d trusted her enough. She wished for a lot of things, but wishing didn’t change anything. So she just scooted closer, and laid her head against the side of the tub as well, on the outside, looking at Mina. She reached a hand up and brushed it through Mina’s hair gently. “I’ll be okay now,” she murmured, already feeling the fringes of exhaustion pulling at her eyes. Her entire body was deflating now, now that she knew Mina was safe, that Mina wasn’t going to bleed out or keel over. Her job for tonight was done. She could rest, if just for a bit. She knew she needed to assess herself-- there was a dull ache in one of her wrists now, and she distinctly remembered landing on it when they’d fallen, and her head was killing her, there was surely a bruise; and her side, god, her side hurt so much-- but maybe that could just wait until morning. Maybe it all could. She closed her eyes. “I miss you so much.”

It was draining, to feel her body knit together, even if it was slow. Mina knew it was a good thing; she was healing, she was going to probably be fine. It hurt, though. Faster healing didn’t take away the hurt. She was used to pain. Maybe not to this caliber, but she was well acquainted to the feeling of iron slicing through skin. This was just a bit more intense. She was more worried about things becoming numb, blurry. That would make things bad. That’s when they’d need to panic. But for right now, there was just the pain. Mina closed her eyes for a moment as she leaned into Bex’s hand. “Are you sure? It’ll only take a moment. We shouldn’t leave it like that.” She needed to make sure Bex was alright. She needed to make sure Bex was taken care of. At least, she had to do as much as she could like this. She had to. She felt useless. There was nothing Mina hated more than feeling useless, like she couldn’t do anything at all, like she needed help. She didn’t need help. She didn’t. She… did. Desperately. She needed Bex’s help. But that didn’t mean that she wanted this to be one-sided. She couldn’t let this be one-sided. Mina’s eyes stayed closed, though, and she said. “I miss you, too. All the time. Just… Really, all the time.”

Even if Bex wanted to, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to lift herself from this spot anymore. She wasn’t even sure she could go get a blanket, she should’ve brought a blanket with her. Or one of the couch cushions, or something. Anything. Oh, she’d brought the towel in. That would do. She reached over limply and grabbed it, pulling it up over her shoulders as she felt a chill settling in. Once Mina was okay, they could worry about her. She just hoped she could stave off an infection long enough. Her wounds didn’t close like Mina’s could. She swallowed and her mouth felt dry again. She just wanted to sleep. She looked at Mina, her head resting against the side of the tub, so close to her own-- but it was on the other side. Mina was always on the other side from her, wasn’t she? They were just two souls reaching across a line that neither of them understood. If she hadn’t been so dehydrated, she was sure she would’ve teared up at the thought. At her words. She blinked and turned her head down so she didn’t have to look at how painful and sad Mina was. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, so quiet in her throat she’d wondered if she’d even said it at all. Her eyes drifted closed again, and this time, they stayed that way. She didn’t have the energy to fight off sleep anymore.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: mina #it's only blood #child abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #//i"M SORRY THESE ARE SO LONG #and that there's SO MANY #mina

[ofhoneyblood]

BRYCE ATLAS WINSLOW

pronouns: HE , HIM , HIS

age: THIRTY - EIGHT

species: HUMAN

nationality: IRISH , ITALIAN , AMERICAN

sexuality: PANSEXUAL / DEMIROMANTIC

sign: AQUARIUS SUN , LIBRA MOON , VIRGO RISING

occupation: OWNER & BOUNCER @ RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS

+ traits: INVITING. FAIR. FUNNY. OPEN-MINDED. TOLERANT.

-- traits: GUARDED. DETACHED. DESPERATE. SELF-DESTRUCTIVE. 

faceclaim: MILO VENTIMIGLIA

soundscapes: HERE

aesthetic: HERE

yo yo you yo , it’s lydia ( yes , that’s my real name ) here with my noble beast bryce winslow ! i have had bryce as a muse longer than any other and it’s been literal years since i’ve written him so i’m extremely excited. this is the first time he will be milo though and i’m super hype to get things going ! i have headcanon after headcanon for him , so hit me up if you want to do something bc i am ready to do some shit !! again , i’m lydia ( or nary , nettle , snottie , etc. ) and i love a good name change , twenty five years old , pansexual demigirl ( she / her & / or they / them ) residing in the central timezone.

this is THIRTY-EIGHT year old BRYCE WINSLOW , the OWNER OF & BOUNCER AT RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS BURLESQUE AND BOOZE who uses HE / HIM pronouns. he grew up in DUBLIN , IRELAND but came to pleasance in JULY 2006 ON HAPPENSTANCE AND TO RUN AWAY FROM HIS PAST and now enjoys spending his time at FOR KEEPS AND RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS. BRYCE is written by LYDIA.

PERSONALITY

element: air ruling planet: uranus — planet of originality body part: ankles good day: communicative , original , open-minded , fair , logical , inviting , tolerant , funny bad day: guarded , detached , self-destructive , out-of-touch , irrational , desperate , lonely favorite things: dancing , teaching , team sports , anything with a cause or mission , independent films , working out , baths , animals , preserving plant life / flowers , reading least favorite things: injustice , drama queens , feeling isolated , owing money or favors , having to choose just one thing , personal questions , gossip , cigarette smoke secret wish: to experience total freedom how to spot him: a cute smile lighting up a tired face , quirky movements , tired eyes , long legs , big hands , flannel , old beat up truck where you’ll find him: backpacking or hiking , protesting , coaching a team , revolutionizing the industry he works in , the gym , red hot pussy liquors , alone at home , working on a project , taking a walk by northwood lake keywords: friendliness , eccentricity , teamwork , humanitarianism , technology , groups , avant-garde

first thing to know about bryce winslow is that he’s a free-spirit that prizes individuality and plays well on a team. he has been known to do things his own way , moving on a path different from everyone else’s. some call him eccentric , others appreciate his cutting-edge originality and authentic style.

one of the many ways that the irishman is a paradox ? he’s highly individualistic , but also an amazing team player. he might look like the fresh-faced guy next door on the outside , but inside he marches to his own beat. naturally popular , as he’s vibrantly social and loves to be among people , telling jokes and introducing thought-provoking conversation topics.

people truly do make his world go round , and he can become friends with the most random strangers. can be a bit of an alien — a little “ out there ” in his approach to different things. not that he cares about offending anyone ! loves a good casual connection , bryce can disengage as quickly as he connects. in fact , platonic pals sometimes get better treatment than romantic partners. 

while he can be a bit unsentimental on a one-on-one level , he can be moved to tears by the plight of animals , the environment or other social justice issues. yes , this big irishman is a bohemian at heart in some ways , but he also gets the job done. as a tenacious aquarius , he can be quite hardworking when he devotes himself to a goal. 

a competitive ( and lesser-known ) type a streak can emerge when he really wants something. nothing turns him on like progress , especially in the name of his grander ideals ! playing hard to get REALLY works on him lol

philanthropic and objective , bryce is in a lot of ways innovative and avant-garde. from experimental electronic music to community-oriented living , there’s nothing that this man hasn’t or won’t explore. as someone who loves being a part of a good group or team , bringing people together is also one of his specialties. 

intense bryce energy is cutting-edge , “ out there ” and even a little strange at times. a total nerd for all things futuristic , science fiction and wacky inventions. no topic is too cutting-edge with this irishman: extraterrestrials , stem cells , cloning , robots taking over the earth…yup , bryce will go there. 

while he likes to influence rebellion and detaching from reality ( c’mon bryce , back to earth ! ) , he likes to help others see possibilities they wouldn’t otherwise. the essence of his true energy is: community-oriented , original , open-minded , fair , logical , humanitarian , connecting , and inviting. 

the negative expression of bryce’s energy can be: guarded , detached , destructive , out-of-touch , irrational , and desperate.  reluctant to express emotions — the irishman prefers rational reasoning and cool-headed logic to the messy tapestry of the human feelings. 

one of his favorite authors is ayn rand , founder of the objectivist movement , and that’s pretty much all you need to know. objectivism has been a major influence on the libertarian movement , which has a real bryce flavor. it’s an organized system that also preserves individual freedom and limits government intervention. it’s very “ fringe ” and mainstream all at once , a fascinating paradox and something that really intrigues him.

playful gusts and a social butterfly whirlwind combines into a gale force of humanitarianism for all. bryce is a visionary , dreaming up quirky utopias and alternative realities that can shake up the status quo.  emotional detachment , unpredictable energy and rebellion are major factors in the irishman’s personality. not going to lie , he can be “ type a “ and totally quirky all at the same time ??

a stabilizer — the one who sets up a solid goal or foundation then starts building. bryce can take the enthusiastic idea that someone else sparks and craft it into something real. he picks up the ball when another passes it , running the distance to the goal. 

the trustworthy type who likes “ to-do ” lists and fancy titles. if a friend says , “ let’s go on vacation ! ” he’s already calling the travel agency , booking the tickets and hotel , and sending everyone a list of what to pack.

true believer in friendship and teamwork , so bryce tends to be more focused on a group than an individual. freedom is important to him , which is why he likes to keep things light on an interpersonal level. that way , he won’t feel bad about running off to the opposite corner of the world at a moment’s notice. 

at times , this nomadic strategy backfires , leaving him lonely and disconnected. in truth , the irishman is uncomfortable with too much intimacy. this free spirit belongs to the world and feels off-balance giving his considerable energy to just one person. 

while bryce’s friends get first-class treatment , family and lovers see a different side of him: moody , brooding , anxious and neurotic. he may pick one ( and only one ) person to open up to , getting attached to the point of obsession. 

learning to accept and express his emotions would help him avoid the massive freak outs and anger flashes that come from pretending everything’s cool when it isn’t. bryce appreciates a quirky or eccentric twist , enjoying colorful characters and people with counter cultural personalities.

BIOGRAPHY

bryce atlas winslow was born into a very straight lace , play by the rules , catholic family.  his father , matteo winslow , was an italian military man and his mother , deirdre winslow , was a cold irish homemaker. matteo was every bit the ‘ man of the family ’  and bryce grew up only answering to his father. deirdre would only every answer a question with ‘ ask yer da ’ or  ‘ dija’ ask yer da ? ’

she was a mostly spineless , god fearing woman that was afraid of her own shadow and that’s what made her such a good puppet for matteo. bryce’s father was a stern , angry man that only grew angrier when drunk , no one dared put even a single toe out of line with him around. 

( TW: implied child abuse ) with bryce being the first born and only son he was expected to be perfect , from a very young age he felt the pressures of that. it was like walking on eggshells , always afraid of making a mistake or displeasing his father. he did not have the fun , happy-go-lucky innocence a child should expect of their early years ; instead for bryce winslow there was not much more than discipline , hard work , and punishment.

for the most part , bryce succeeded at being the perfect son his father expected him to be — a robot more than an actual living boy. nothing more than a machine , a machine being bred for war. 

it wasn’t until the beginning of his secondary school , when puberty and hormones began blossoming , that things became precarious. voice cracks , uneven patches of hair…. oh , and a sudden sexual desire for the same sex. 

( TW: suicide ment. ) now , the winslows were catholic - extremely devout catholics - and bryce grew very self-loathing and afraid in this confusing time. he contemplated suicide , all because ‘ homosexuality was wrong ‘ and ‘ you go straight to hell ‘ if you engage in anything associated with it. it didn’t matter how good of a son you were , because ‘ man shall not lie with man. ‘  he kept it hidden for years , he also managed not to act on it until well into the last year of secondary school. 

despite bryce’s fears and shame , when he was sixteen he fell in love for the first time. first loves can be explosive , dangerous even and this one was nothing short of just that. the boy kept his forbidden love a secret from everyone , his family and father above all others.

all good things must come to an end though or so they say , for the boys it came far sooner than later. matteo , bryce’s father , happened upon a note from the boy bryce was seeing , cian , and in said note was all sorts of information including a meeting spot. as you can imagine , matteo flew from the house in a drunken rage in search of his “ sinner “ of a son only to catch him red-handed. 

( TW: assault , child abuse ) bryce managed to save cian from his father’s wrath , taking the brunt of the attack. cian watched as bryce was beaten , begging and screaming for the man to stop , that he was killing him. the drunken bigot was turning on the younger boy when bryce told him to leave and never come back , so that is what he did. 

( TW: implied abuse ) to this day , he has never laid eyes on his young lover and that was probably for the best. after his father had tired himself out and satisfied his rage , he left his son there in the dirt and the beaten boy didn’t bother moving. 

( TW: suicidal thoughts , conversion therapy ment. ) will to live depleted , too tired to go on , pain too much to endure — he just slept there until the next morning. he was awoken with a kick of dirt in the face , his father telling him that he was being sent to a ‘’ special ’’ facility where they would get rid of his ‘’ ailment. ’’ 

( TW: conversion therapy / facility ) time melded in the facility , but he estimated nearly a year of his life was wasted away in there. resistant and defiant for most of his time there , it wasn’t until his father visited him , the one and only time . that things changed. 

( TW: suicide ment. , homophobia ) his father brought news that his mother had killed herself but this was a vicious lie , a last ditch effort to get bryce to change his ways and boy , did it work ! hardly a month later , the young man was discharged from the facility only to find his mother was indeed very much alive.

matteo up and moved his entire family to england after bryce got out of the facility. his father gave him nonsense about wanting to get away from the bad memories , starting over new , and ‘ lead not into temptation ‘ by sending him back to school with ‘ sinners ’ and ‘ sodomites. ‘ 

so , bryce finished out the remainder of his schooling in england and went straight into the forces as per his father’s wishes. sadly for him , he would never become what he so longed to be. he had just finished boot camp and life had just started to seem somewhat normal - if you can call anything the winslow’s had normal - when he lost it all.

( TW: eye injury ) the young man was honorably discharged after an accident that left him legally blind in one eye , when he returned home after his short stent in the defense forces there was no longer a place in the family for him. his father quite literally disowned him all for something he had no control over , a mere accident , but there was nothing more disappointing to matteo than a son that was ‘ kicked out ‘ of the forces.

( TW: gang ment. , human trafficking ) fast forward a year , bryce had found himself in a gang. this part of his background is the most unresolved seeing as it’s not part of his original backstory. long story short , he was involved with the gang until he was twenty three but it all became too much for him after his boss tried to involve him in human trafficking. 

( TW: gang ment. , suicide , death ) when you join a gang you don’t usually do it thinking someday you might one day retire or quit said gang , but then as you get older you realize you’re not as tough as you thought. bryce was twenty-three when his mother finally really did ‘ commit suicide ‘ , the first time his father spoke to him since he returned home from the forces was only to blame him for her death. 

( TW: death ment. , implied murder ) honestly , it was just the straw that broke the camels back. bryce wasn’t allowed at the funeral or anywhere near it , he’s almost certain his mother’s death wasn’t by her own hand or an accident but he’ll never truly know. after he was certain she was in the ground , bryce fled to america in the hopes of outrunning the gang and getting lost in the melting pot. 

once in the land of opportunity , he got his hands on the cheapest ride he could find first and just started driving. it was well after his twenty-fourth birthday , right smack in the middle of a hot ass summer in ‘06 ,  that he found himself in pleasance of all places. he never had any intention at all to grow roots there , it simply happened.  

other than that , the man busies himself with drying and preserving flowers , taking baths , working out , and playing with his dog.  he parades around like this big , tough hard ass when in reality he’s quite the domestic goofball type.

ETC.

has a dog ,  it’s a beagle named shiloh literally 

a big hobby of his is preserving flowers in his spare time , he keeps a small book of pressed flowers and plant life on him a lot of the time in the chance he comes across something he wants to preserve

can play guitar and doesn’t have a bad singing voice either

legally blind in one eye , but doesn’t wear his glasses often

has a younger sister that he does keep in contact with , but not very well ( WC ? )

a guilty pleasure of his is taking baths ; he enjoys adding bath salts , flowers , and other so-called ‘ feminine ‘ products like bath bombs , etc. to them and honestly takes one nearly every day

he was born and raised mostly in dublin , ireland and has a thick accent that only gets thicker when intoxicated or angry. he does use a lot of uncommon terminology to american’s ( yes , i own the feckin’ book of everything irish. . . it’s that serious ) but i’ll lyk in the tags what it means unless i forget

@phqextras​

#DOSSIER. #phqintro #phqextras #am i doing this right ? #idk

[cryxmercy]

This Year’s Love {Flashback}

When: A couple of weeks ago, immediately following Arthur’s Birbday chatzy.  Where: Arthur’s house Who: Mercy & Arthur @arthurjdrake​

TW: none

This year's love had better last Heaven knows it's high time I've been waiting on my own too long 

****** The water was warm against Mercy’s hands as she stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing and drying the last of the plates and wine glasses from Arthur’s party. Her own glass was still in use - it sat half-full beside the sink - and Mercy herself was just a little bit (see: a good bit) wine drunk. The guests were gone for the night, Mercy declining any offers of help when it came to cleaning up. Evelyn had done the majority of everything else, so Mercy could do this. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask Arthur to do it. It was his party after all. And it had been a good one, if Mercy said so herself. Arthur had looked happy. He had even seemed to relax a bit, and she’d seen him smile and laugh more over the course of the evening than she had in awhile. She smiled to herself. It was a good night. 

So Mercy hummed along to the music that still played softly in the background, her dress swaying slowly against her knees as she moved absently in time to the slow, melodic strains. A few solitary blossoms had found their way into her hair over the course of the evening, and she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way, but she couldn’t be bothered to find them. She liked being barefoot. 

She liked being here. With Arthur. It felt good. It felt… like coming home.

Leah had suggested he wait to open his gifts until after other guests had left and Arthur had tucked them away until that was the case. He’d fawned over the large book on libraries of the world sitting on the floor looking at the images before being entirely taken by the phoenix print she’d had done for him. It was beautiful and he wanted to get it framed. Maybe have it put in his office. 

Eventually, Arthur folded the book shut and placed it on the coffee table. Fully intending on getting started on reading it later. But he was curious as to where Mercy had gotten to. He hadn’t seen her since the last person left, explaining why he gathered his wine glass and wandered in the direction of the musical refrains. He leaned his shoulder on the door jam, watching as Mercy swayed back and forth. His head tilted to rest lazily on the wood, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he looked at her. In the fashion of the woman that was her namesake, Freyja, goddess of love, beauty, war, gold and magic she was beautiful and bewitching. And Arthur? Well, it was easy enough to say he was utterly entranced.

“You do know we have a dishwasher,” he eventually spoke up, though not loud enough to interrupt the music or her focus. 

Mercy had slipped off earlier, saying her own goodnights and thank yous to the departing guests before giving Arthur time to do the same. And to become absorbed in looking over his gifts while she straightened up. She was almost done by the time he joined her, but she didn’t realize he was there until he spoke. When he did, Mercy smiled softly. “I know…” She dried the last of the glasses - still humming quietly - and then her hands before calling the task complete. Snagging her wine, she turned to lean lazily against the counter, raising the glass slowly to her lips as she gazed across the kitchen at him. He cut quite the figure, she thought. His tall, lean frame backlit by the soft light from the hall, long fingers gripping his wine glass with casual elegance. An almost smile playing around the corners of his mouth. But it was the way he looked at her - familiar blue-grey eyes the color of faraway storms brewing over the ocean - that made something in her chest flutter softly. 

Maybe it was the wine, or the warmth of the evening. Maybe it was the music, or the lingering happiness from the party. Whatever it was, for once, Mercy didn’t push it away. Instead, she took a step towards it. Along with a step towards Arthur. Her own expression was soft, cheeks flushed with the same hint of pink as some of the flowers tucked into her riotous hair. “What we don’t have…” Mercy slowly drained her glass before setting it aside. “... is a birthday dance. Unless you’ve had too much wine to keep up...” she teased, though there was a hint of gentle uncertainty in her words even as she held out her hand. 

For a while Arthur was content in his silence, happy to simply stand by and observe lost in his thoughts and memories of today and times past that they had shared like this. But the messages he’d received from Deirdre lingered in the back of his mind, was Mercy really so unhappy here that she’d taken to letting out her frustrations to people she barely knew? Or maybe she did know them… She had been in town a lot longer than Arthur had, maybe she valued this Deirdre as a highly viewed confidant that Arthur was not privy to.

Today had been enjoyable, and for a while Arthur had forgotten about everything that had been playing on his mind. But standing there a part of him couldn’t help but yearn for more. Questioned what would really be so bad? As always his friends had gone above and beyond. But he pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to ruin a lovely day with uncertain sentiments especially as she stepped towards him. His temple remained resting against the door frame a smile growing as she neared. “You’re right.” He finished the final sip of his own wine, pushing with his shoulder off the doorframe and slowly closed the distance between them. “I might’ve…” he admitted but the smile remained as he offered both hands out and wiggled his fingers “wanna test me?”

Mercy had found herself becoming lost in her thoughts a few times throughout the evening. As a result she’s been more quiet than usual, but still utterly content to watch Arthur enjoy the party and his friends. More than anyone, he deserved peace and happiness. And more than anything, Mercy wanted to help him find it. Even if Mercy herself never did. That didn’t mean she was unhappy; gods no. Mercy felt happier than she had been in centuries. It was just… was wanting more really all that bad? Was she selfish for it? For being unable to not feel the way she did? The way she’d always felt? Because how many years did they have left together in this lifetime? Forty? Fifty if they were extremely lucky and nothing terrible happened? Again.

Mercy had meant what she said to Deirdre about not wasting the time you were given. That it would never be enough. But saying and doing were entirely different things. Mercy had no idea that Deirdre had said anything to Arthur about their online conversation. Especially in regards to… certain subjects. If she had… Mercy wouldn’t have been very happy with the other woman. Especially if she’d gone and put ideas in Arthur’s head. Ideas that made him doubt certain things. Doubt her. Besides, Mercy frustrations weren’t from unhappiness. Her frustrations had grown partly from being so uncertain. So unsure of where things stood after everything that had happened. And not wanting to humiliate herself by assuming. Or worse, asking.

But most of those thoughts weren’t able to penetrate the wine drunk happiness of Mercy’s current mood. Her smile grew too, lazy and crooked, as Arthur waggled his fingers at her. Mercy took his hands, giving him a small pull towards her. “Always,” she said, letting her head fall back so she could look up at him. Gods he was so tall... “Good thing one of us is perfectly sober…” 

Arthur wasn’t going to let himself get carried away with those thoughts. Not right now. Not today. Mercy had gone above and beyond so there was no point getting caught up on anything other than the here and now. So he swayed a little as she took his hands in her own but held them firm, an anchoring point to focus on even as the rest of the room tilted a little on its axis. He wasn’t sure how much wine he’d gotten through but it was enough that he was feeling lazy and relaxed.

“Pah” he snorted as she pulled him closer stepping slowly along to the music that drifted out of the speaker. “Mm, yes- me.” His grin was playful as he took her hand and raised it over her head to encourage a twirl before pulling her in gently once more as they stepped in lazy circles around the kitchen. “Because I’m very sabre… sober right now.”

Moments like this didn’t happen all that often. Not in Mercy’s experience. Moments to just… be. To not worry about the past or the future or any thousands of other things that may or may not happen. It was hard when you’d lived as long as Mercy - year after year, century after century… with survival the only thing between moving on and looking back - to slow down and just… live. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. 

But tonight had come close. So Mercy laughed as Arhur spun her around, twirling effortlessly (except for a slightly drunken tilt) on her toes before moving close again. “You… are very drunk…” she grinned lazily as they swayed. “But I think I might be too.” Enough wine had disappeared from her glass over the course of the night that Mercy felt quite the same as Arthur: lazy and relaxed. The music played softly in the background, and after another small spin with drunken tilt, Mercy found the pleasant warmth of skin beneath her fingers as she steaded herself with a soft, lazy laugh. Her thumb brushed the nape of his neck as they started to sway again. 

A quiet giggle escaped Arthur as she spun, and he gripped her hand to stop her from tilting too much off kilter “woahhh,” setting her to rights he grinned the act softening the lines of his features. Years that were starting to make themselves known in the creases around his eyes or the grey that was starting to dash his temples. But there was no helping the affection that bled into his expression when he looked at her. “No I’m not silly,” he giggled again, leaning in and resting his temple against her own.

It was a lazy pattern they wove around the kitchen, and Mercy was very warm. It drew Arthur in and he nuzzled affectionately against the flyaway strands of her flower braided hair. His hands wrapped around her waist, eyes closing as he settled into the warmth of her presence. “You happy?” it was an important question to ask. And one he needed to know the answer to.

“‘M’okay…” Mercy laughed as the world tilted a bit before Arthur steadied her. Her own broad smile softened as she looked at him again. Saw so many of her own feelings reflected across his face. A face that was more dear to Mercy than anything in this world or any other. Though where Arthur had started to show the first signs of growing older - gracefully, as always - Mercy remained as she had always been. And would always be. Unchanging and eternal. 

She laughed quietly as he defended his sobriety. “Whatever you say.” Mercy’s own eyes closed as he rested his temple against hers, and she let her arms slip lazily around his neck as they circled absently to the music. He was so very very warm, and so very very close. Her fingers stroked soft patterns along the back of his neck, occasionally finding the wispy ends of his hair in their idle travels. Her heart might have beat just a bit faster as he nuzzled against her, or as the warm, gentle weight of his hands circled her waist. Mercy might even have made a small, soft sound of approval. 

When Arthur asked his question, Mercy slowly opened her eyes, but otherwise stayed just as she was. Still pressed close, still swaying in lazy circles, still unable to control the rising beat of her heart or the flush of her skin. Idly, she wondered why he was asking. Did she seem unhappy? Had she done something or said something that made him think she was? It was a simple question, so a simple answer seemed best. 

Mercy closed her eyes again, and tipped her cheek against his. “I’m with you.” As if that should explain that yes, of course she was happy. Another moment passed, Mercy holding Arthur just a bit tighter. 

“Are you? Happy?”

“I say… M’not as think as you drunk I am.” How many times had that line been used over the centuries? Far too many. But it was true, and Arthur settled feeling a sense of contentment as they step-stepped around the center island of the kitchen. It was a haphazard pattern but that was often the way of things with them. It always had been. They were the counterbalance to each other’s lives. Mercy made Arthur opt for more chaotic choices in life whether Arthur brought some semblance of order to her decision making. They made each other better.

Even if they hadn’t properly talked about things. The kiss, the memories, her moving in. Or anything else. Not in detail. But at some point they would have to breach that conversation. Approach things and make a choice to decide whether they were on the same page of things, wanted the same things. But it didn’t make the notion any less terrifying. And if Arthur was being honest with himself he was afraid. No matter how many people told him it was silly. He couldn’t help the feeling.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of her answer, but surely if she wasn’t happy wouldn’t she have said so? It was a bit of a non-answer that left him stewing in thought until she returned the question and Arthur answered without needing to think about it. “Yes. I’ve never been happier in my entire life.”

Mercy laughed quietly before becoming completely absorbed in the slow sway of their gently erratic steps, and Arthur’s familiar warmth. The feeling that settled over her was one she’d not felt in almost two hundred years. It eased over her, soft and welcoming, and Mercy didn’t try to stop it. If she were honest, she didn’t want to. She wanted to let it consume her. Consume her and burn away the armor she’d surrounded herself with over the last two centuries. 

Though as much as she wanted it gone, without her armor, Mercy was vulnerable. 

And that terrified her more than anything she’d ever faced. 

But being here with Arthur, and slowly starting to find their rhythm again… despite everything that had happened, everything that she also knew they needed to talk about, past and present.... Mercy was starting to feel that armor loosen. No matter how hard she tried to hold it together, to pull the pieces back around herself with whatever excuse she thought made sense, Arthur always found his way between the cracks. Mercy wondered if he knew just how many fingerprints he’d left behind over the centuries. 

On so much more than just her carefully constructed defenses. 

So when he answered with such absolute surety, Mercy let out a small breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She was probably the only other person in the world who knew the weight his statement carried. Gods, but when had her heart started to beat so fast? For a moment there was only the gentle strains of the music in the background, and the soft shifting of their feet against the floor. Mercy’s fingers drifted to dance lightly over Arthur’s jaw. “Me either,” she breathed, eyes still closed as they danced in a small, ever-slowing circle.  

The lazy haze of booze and happiness of simply sharing some time with friends was enough to put Arthur in a good frame of mind. One that didn’t want to worry about the dangers of the outside world, not when he had the world wrapped up here in his arms. Had this been what it was like? The time before he’d finally gotten the courage to ask her that one question. To tether their lives together in a way that couldn’t be put into words. His head tilted, resting his temple back against her own as he settled into the comfortable warmth that radiated from her. A warmth that seeped into his bones and warmed any ice that had settled over the last two centuries.

Two hundred years of feeling as if he had to atone for some sort of mistake. It brought with it it’s own set of complicated emotions that left him wondering more often than not if this was the ending he was deserving of. To be alone after so long.

And yet once again, by fate perhaps, or maybe the will of their Gods or perhaps in a greater faith than even the Old Ways kept; a faith in what they shared had brought them together once more. He didn’t dare question it, whatever it was. His fingers kept a gentle hold in the small of her back as his face pressed close into the crook of her neck inhaling shallowly and letting the wash of her perfume settle over him. “Hmm,” the laugh rumbled against her neck as he nuzzled her again “you smell good.”

Mercy didn’t believe in fate. At least not in the sense that the pathways of their lives were already laid out before they were born, that they had no free will, or that their choices were not their own. Because every choice Mercy had ever made had brought her here. From the moment she’d decided that eternity without Arthur was not an option. The moment she’d given up her mortal life so that she might see him to the halls of their ancestors. The moment she realized that Arthur too, was eternal, and would always come back to her… no matter how much time or distance separated them. So if it was fate of some kind, then it was a fate they had made for themselves. A fate they had chosen. Because they chose each other. They found each other. In every lifetime. Even if that lifetime wasn’t their time.

But maybe this one was. 

Maybe they’d finally suffered enough. 

For now, Mercy's thoughts didn’t drift any further than the man in her arms. And the overwhelming desire to never let him go again. Because the last time she’d let go, she’d spent centuries trying to tell herself it was for the best. That he was better off without her. That he would be happier that way. And all she’d done was hurt him. And lie to herself. Over and over again. So now, Mercy wanted nothing more than to keep him right here with her, safe in this perfect, peaceful moment. Where there was no danger, no terror waiting in the shadows, no evil that wanted to tear them apart. Where they could just… be. For however long they had. 

They’d wasted enough time, after all.

His warm breath on her neck made her own catch in her throat. Her fingers curled against his skin and in the fabric of his shirt, nails catching ever so lightly. Goosebumps pebbled her skin, and once again her traitorous heart threatened to beat out of her chest. But her head tilted to the side anyway, unable to stop herself from wanting more. “Do I?” 

Over the years fate and destiny and the paths of their lives had been a topic of passing night-time conversation. Sometimes they were peaceful and other times they brewed into heated debates about nature and the course their lives had taken. Arthur wasn’t sure what he believed these days. Fate wasn’t predetermined, it couldn’t be otherwise what was the point of it but some things seemed rather inevitable in the end.

But those things were a far away concern. Notions for a time that wasn’t filled with hazy happiness and warmth. A warmth that flared like a beacon to him and reeled him in without question. It always happened, even moreso when he was in a rather inebriated state and unable to control his natural affinity for any kind of warmth and he wanted to sink into the warmth he’d found. Stay right there til the end of time.

“Mmhm,” Arthur sounded again, feeling the pressure at the nape of his neck as the material of his shirt was pulled a little more taut. “Honey, lavender, chamomile” the proximity caused his lips to ghost over her skin, butterfly touches before he affectionately nuzzled the wild tangle of her hair threaded with flowers such as it was. “Jasmine… lily of the valley.” His head softly bumped her own again, eyes closing as they continued to sway barely an inch between them. “Stunning.”

Mercy’s skin soaked up Arthur’s warmth, growing more flushed and bright with each passing moment. When she felt the gossamer brush of his lips against her neck, there was no denying the soft, breathless sound that rose from her throat. Or the way she pulled him just a bit closer as he finished his list. 

Her fingers trailed over his cheek with gentle affection, and Mercy tilted her face just a bit, brushing her nose softly against his. Her voice was warm and soft, gentle… even as it trembled: “Careful…” Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, fingers cupping his face. They  trembled too. 

“... a girl could fall in love…” 

And then she was kissing him, soft and slow and sweet. 

A few words and the lightest motion it transpired were enough to bring Arthur’s focus crashing back down, surrendering him helpless and completely at her will. It should’ve been terrifying, it was terrifying; the power that she wielded, the things he would do if she simply spoke the word and yet he found himself entirely at peace with the notion. After all, nothing beyond what she wanted truly mattered, did it? He should tell her now. He should tell her the truth of all the thoughts and fears that rattled inside his mind, the fear that left him so terrified of taking that leap. But that would summon old ghosts, and aren’t their lives thick enough with ghosts already?

He had no answer for her. Only the look of a man lost in a trance, struck dumb by heaven’s light itself. Their faces were close, eyes glassy and lips parted equally mesmerised, held in thrall as the entire world beyond fell silent.

The touch of her hand against his cheek was soft, and his eyes fluttered half-shut, pressing his face into the curl of her fingers. How long has it been since anyone touched him like this, with softness and gentleness? He could feel the hundreds of years of solitude tremble in anticipation and a hundred more etched in the painful sinews of their skin begin to unravel. For a moment the simplest touch took his breath away. 

They were so lonely, the both of them. They had lost so very much.

The touch to his face was guiding, and by now he was boneless, unresisting to any way she wished to mould him. The trace of her thumb parting his lips a fraction and then--

Their lips brushed for the first time, the barest, lightest peck, and an almighty shudder trembled through his frame from head to toe. Stunned, eyes still half-closed and a tension that vibrated through him as his hand floated up to cup her chin, long fingers stroking the underside of her jaw reverently, ghosting her skin in a gentle response before responding in kind with a kiss that was soft and searching.

More than once, Mercy had torn the world to pieces, bled it dry, and then burned what remained to ash… all for him. She would do it again and again and again, without hesitation or regret. Because without Arthur, the world meant nothing. It was cold, and empty, and cruel. And it  deserved to suffer as Mercy suffered when everything she loved was ripped from her grasp, over and over and over. No matter how hard she tried to hold on. 

But a world with Arthur? That was a world Mercy would protect with every fiber of her being. It was the only world worth living in. 

So she welcomed the way anything outside the ever-slowing circle of their dance started to fade away. And they descended into a place that was just for them. A place where time was meaningless, and where it was impossible to tell where one soul ended and the other began. Because they were bound together. And even Death herself couldn't keep them apart. 

Mercy made a small, soft sound when he turned into her touch. A touch that turned from hardened steel to gossamer the moment she felt his skin against her own. A touch that told a story. One that stretched across a millenia… overflowing with more life, more death, more loneliness and loss and fear - and more love - than anyone but those that had been there could fathom. A story that deserved a soft epilogue.

For they had suffered enough.

The first brush of their lips sent fire coursing through Mercy’s veins. Gooseflesh rippled along her neck and arms, and the world narrowed to the one single point where their mouths met. Where Mercy felt him tremble. Felt the tension that moved through his frame, like the slow draw of a bowstring as the brush of his fingers moved along her jaw. The last time she’d been touched so gently… was several lifetimes ago now. But the hands were the same ones that had touched her then. As if she was something beautiful and precious and worthy of someone like him. Someone good and kind like Arthur. So powerful was the memory, that it was Mercy’s turn to tremble as Arthur kissed her back. His mouth was warm and pliant, and She made a small, soft sound low in her throat before pushing slowly up on her toes and deepening the kiss.

Arthur’s fingers caressed her skin delicately, along her jaw and the column of her neck while his other hand steadied at her hip. An anchor point to stop himself from getting lost in the maelstrom that a simple act had stirred up as Mercy rose up onto her toes. Their heads turned at the same time, spontaneous and searching, and abruptly the kiss deepened into something that no words could describe.

Arthur was sure in that moment no other act felt more right than this. The slow, sensual kiss that had Freyja fast overtaking his every sense. The grasp of hands or press of his tongue; skilled in rhetoric yet right now put to far better purpose than delivering a smart retort. His fingers flexed and curled, brushing down the side of her neck until the need for air made him draw back from her lips a fraction of an inch and breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.

His head tipped, reverently pressing his temple back against her own lost and savouring these moments. Committing them to his memory so he might never forget them. “Come with me?” he asked, searching out her hand so that he might take her to his favourite nook in the house. A cosy corner in the sun room surrounded by windows that looked out over the river and had a comfortably wide sofa. Somewhere that if only for a moment they could just be.

The need to breathe was secondary to the need to stay right where she was for the rest of her life. Mercy would gladly lose herself right now, and stay lost, if it meant they never had to leave this moment. Never had to leave each other. 

But breathing came anyway. In a series of soft, gasping breaths that did little to soothe her burning lungs as they briefly pulled apart. Mercy felt light-headed and drunk, but the wine was no longer to blame. Arthur was. Arthur, and the way his fingers pressed ever-deepening divots into the warm flesh beneath her dress. The way the warmth of his mouth molded itself so perfectly against her own, stealing her breath in a slow dance of give and take.   

There was no stopping the frantic beat of her heart, or the way she trembled as he pressed his temple to hers. She held him close, fingers in his hair as she inhaled the familiar smell of his skin. Like Arthur, Mercy committed the moment to her memories. Where it would exist as long as Mercy herself did. So there was no protest when he asked her to follow him. Mercy merely nodded, flushed and breathless, and let Arthur lead her where he would.  

Arthur was almost certain his heart would thunder out of his chest right there and then as they drew a fraction of an inch apart. Could she feel it? The things her very presence alone could accomplish and bring about. The chaos of her being stoking the embers that so typically remained a carefully gated inferno, pushing the gates open and allowing some of his warmth to transfer. Unbridled and blazing, like standing too close to an imploding star, beautiful but destructive.

He pulled on her hand, a gentle pressure but his steps were unhurried. In fact, they were rather slow, as if afraid that pushing too hard or fast might make her run away. It was far from a baseless fear given her track record. Yet after a small coax they were drifting to a secluded area just off the kitchen and Arthur turned back to her. Dark stormy eyes gauging her expression, fathoming what she wanted and wrestling with the conflict about his own desires.

Eventually, Arthur pulled her close, a hand bracing on the curve of her hips the other cupping her jaw and drawing her mouth to his once more. It was easy to pick up a similar rhythm to where they were before, even if this was all they shared tonight… It was enough. It was more than enough for tonight at least.

If Mercy was the storm, then Arthur was the calm. The port to which she had willingly tethered herself for centuries. Lest she rage out of control without him there to hold on to. Without him there to calm the troubled, chaotic waters of Mercy’s existence. One word, one gesture, one glance was all it took for Mercy to bend to his will. She did so by choice, because of all the beings in the entire universe, all the people that had lived and died and would live and die in the centuries to come… Arthur possessed something they didn’t. Something they never would: 

Mercy’s heart. 

She wondered if he knew the things she would do for him - the things she had done - and how the thought scared her to death sometimes. She wondered if he knew she was his, wholly and completely. Body, mind, and soul. She wondered if he knew just how much she’d missed him. Just how lonely she’d been, and how many nights she’d lain awake wondering if he was lonely too. Wondering if she’d made the right choice in leaving, or if she’d simply been a coward, too scared to face the possibility of history repeating itself. So many things she wanted to tell him. So many things she wanted him to know. 

That she wasn’t going to run away this time. She didn’t want to run away. That she was scared… terrified even… but only because she loved him so, so much. And because she knew she didn’t deserve for those feelings to be returned, and that she would never be good enough for him. Even if the only thing she had ever truly wanted. 

So many things she wanted to say, so many terribly important things… but they all faded to the background as he turned to look at her once more. As if he were trying to read the faded pages of her life, her thoughts, her wishes. Her desires. It was a look that set her heart back to thundering in her chest. A look that she wanted to bare herself to… in every way possible. To tell him everything. To show him… 

So when they fell so easily back into another soft searching kiss, Mercy raised her hands to his face, stroking along the line of his neck as her fingertips searched gently over his skin. She didn’t know what would happen next, tonight, tomorrow, or a month from now, but this was more than enough. This was… perfect. 

So it was almost effortless as Mercy found herself giving Arthur a gentle push onto the sofa. Even more so as she followed, dress riding up her thighs as she slid a leg across his lap and settled flush against him before leaning in to kiss him again. 

Perhaps this time the story would be different, Arthur hoped it would be but the amount of times they had come so close and had it snatched away wasn’t lost on him either. And a small part of him, a part that was shoved away from the light of day worried there might just be a reason for that. But maybe this time it would be different. If the Gods even did exist he’d pray to whichever one was listening, just one chance. One more chance to get this right.

But right now those thoughts of deeper contemplation were tucked away, out of sight and out of mind. The barest pressure of her hands pushing him back was met with a willing and complete yielding of control as he sank back, fingers digging divots into her waist and pulling for fear that any space between them might cause her to vanish or for this to end and Gods he didn’t want it to end.

Because this was life, blooming soft and bright, a delicate warmth that needed tending and care. Arthur reclined, guided by Mercy’s touch and actions making space as she settled atop him with a grace rarely shown yet stunning enough to steal any coherent thought or comment from him. His right hand gently settled on the outside of her knee, an anchor as he took some time to simply look at her, eyes dark and filled with a complex array of emotions and thoughts. They stayed that way for a little while, the air around them static until it crackled and as if drawn by a magnetic force, his fingers curled once more around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss that left him reeling.

It continued that way, give and take for several long moments until the passion settled into something quieter and with a final soft peck he turned his face to nose against her affectionately once more. Hand smoothing reverently over the ridges of her spine before he reached for the blanket that hung over the back of the sofa, drawing it down and up over them. Comfortable. Content. In love. Even if they hadn’t had that conversation yet.

Mercy had wondered too - in the darker moments that stained the long ribbon of her life - if there was a reason they always fell short. But for the life of her, Mercy could never work out what it might be. The simplest solution was that it just hadn’t been their time yet. Mercy often wondered when it would be. When would they have finally lived long enough? Suffered enough loss and heartbreak? When would the price for being allowed to be together and be happy be paid in full? 

Perhaps they would find their answer in this lifetime. 

Perhaps they would find each other again. 

Mercy followed Arthur onto the sofa, settling across his lap as if she’d done it a thousand times. The warm press of his fingers arching her back just enough to pull her flush against him. His skin blazed hot as embers beneath her, and Mercy knew she would gladly burn herself to cinders if only they could stay here for a little longer. If only they could have one more chance. Just one. Mercy promised whoever was listening that she would do whatever it took to be worthy. To finally be deserving of this life… to finally be deserving of Arthur. 

Arthur who was so solid and warm beneath her. Who she wanted to hold close yet devour all at once. The way he looked at her, and the gentle touch of his hand against the bare skin of her knee… the smallest of gestures… but they were enough to steal away what little breath Mercy had left. Along with any thoughts that were outside this moment. When he pulled her in again, Mercy gripped him just a bit tighter this time. Her hands slipped just so beneath the collar of his shirt, fingers dancing across his shoulders as she pulled him closer to the oh so subtle movement of her hips. 

Still, Mercy didn’t protest as their touches turned softer again. Her back dipped lazily beneath the play of his fingers, and she closed her eyes, humming her contentment - her love - into his ear as he pulled the blanket around them.

The comforting warmth of her presence was enough to still the rush on thoughts from overwhelming him. There were so many potential what ifs. Questions lingering from things that had been but also the possibility of what could be. Possibility of a chance at finding happiness with the person he was quietly convinced was the only one he should ever be with. Arthur’s history with relationships in this lifetime set a poor track record after all that he hadn’t met the right person. 

After all, why should you settle for less? For a person that concedes to your limits and never encourages you to push through them and persevere for more in life? A partner that challenges in equal measure to the support they provided to the structure of your life? It had been the lack of these things that had resulted in his past relationships breaking down and left him uncertain he might ever find the right person that would fit into his life. Fit and understand.

But Mercy understood better than anyone. Perhaps even better than he did himself.

So Arthur settled into quiet and comfortable contemplation, curling his arm around her as they lay there together. Finally with her in this moment, finding a sense of peace in this shared space that he hadn’t felt in several lifetimes prior. Closing his eyes, Arthur smiled. Maybe this would be their time. He truly hoped it would.

~

#wickedswriting #chatzy #p: arthur #p: this year's love #//literally just soft idiots being SOFT

[forfuchssake]

Batbear to the Rescue || Bri & Morgan

TIMING: Present PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @honeybugbearbri SUMMARY: A hunter tries to capture and kill Morgan and Bri comes to the rescue. 

Bri found it funny the way hunters worked. Always so concentrated on their prey that they forgot how quickly they themselves could become the prey. She’d been watching Jack for a few days now, ever since she saw him stake a vampire outside Nightshade. That simply wouldn’t do. It was easy enough to keep somewhat on his trail, get a feel of his routine, and slightly play with his reality. Men like that, they never dreamed that they could be on the other side of it all. They thought they were the biggest predators out there and their own ego would be their downfall. He was in her forest now, her domain, stalking after some girl who seemed to be hunting a rabbit. Brianne knew she must have been some sort of undead, but that mattered little. The priority was turning this hunter into her own trophy. She lurked quietly behind the trees, waiting for him to spring into action.

Morgan was reluctant to call Remmy the moment she felt herself coming a little too unglued. They had only just started talking again, and this wasn’t a disaster of a day. This was just a time when the nothing of the world around her grated, when she felt the pull of the death-pit inside her a little harder than she had the last few days. And dammit, she didn’t want to go straight back into bed, or worse, the floor. Remmy said to keep trying. So, while Deirdre was out, Morgan returned to the woods. She was hoping to practice the lessons Ulfric had given her, but the smell of death was distracting her. It was just the right kind, she could tell by spotting it in the distance. Not too fresh, not too rotted. Morgan turned her attention away from her live prey and towards another. She didn’t even have to be quiet. Morgan leapt--and felt a stiff wire around her neck, yanking her onto her back. Morgan scrambled, kicking her feet uselessly at the grass. She didn’t even think about calling for help. Who would hear her? Who even knew where she was? Morgan tugged at the wire, her fingers slipping on the smooth cording, scrambling for purchase. She pawed back, searching for the rest of the lasso. The person on the other end tugged, dragging her across the ground. Morgan tilted her head back, eyes pinballing through the woods in panic. She couldn’t see anything. Just a shadow. A no one shadow.

“Don’t fight,” they said. “You’re only gonna make this harder on yourself.”

Morgan squeaked, grunted mutely. The cord was digging too deep into her neck for her to speak.

Any suspicions she had that Jack had been on the hunt were confirmed when Bri saw him attack. As he sprung to capture the woman with some sort of cord, her body shifted and Bri felt herself become larger than life. With a roar, she leapt for the distracted hunter, claws tearing into his sides. The pitiful little yelp that came out of his mouth was music to her ears. The bear looked him straight in the eye, loving how palpable the fear radiating off of him was. His grip on the wire he was using to trap the undead woman loosened and fell from his hands. A quick paw swiped it away from him, leaving gashes in his hand, as he tried to reach for it again. With a booming roar, Bri lowered her now bear shaped head right into his face. The fear coming off of him was delicious. The righteous poetic justice of watching the wretched man realize he had become her prey. If bears could smile, her grin would be wide as she could smell the stink of urine on him. Jack really was quite easily frightened. Seemed surprising giving his occupation, but when faced with the reality of death, they were all the same. As he whimpered, she slashed her claws into his throat and watched the blood pool into the grass beneath him. Confident he was dead, the bear backed away from the hunter’s body. Jack was effectively dead and she contemplated finishing off a bottle of Jack Daniels. She could place his teeth and smaller bones inside once she finished. It’d make a great centerpiece. A true bottle of Jack. Sensing the girl’s eyes on her, she focused on shifting back to her now nude human form. She quizzically looked the other woman over. “Are you hurt?”

Morgan felt the cord loosen first. Whimpering like a frightened animal, she tugged and clawed at it wildly until she could get it over her head and as far away from her as she could throw it. It was a fucking metal lasso, like the kind they used in zoos for the big cats. Morgan touched her throat, grimacing with a horror she hadn’t felt before. Her stomach tightened. Fuck, was she going to be sick? She backed away. She couldn’t remember where the dead rabbit was, which way she’d come from, where she’d put her phone in her pocket. She fumbled to pat herself as she backed away, but her hands were shaking too much to dig through anything. When she heard a strange voice, she cried out, backing further away. This was--not the scary murderer in the woods. Mostly because the scary murderer, and his stakes and sword were on the ground. So-- “Who are you?” Wait. She’d asked her a question first. Right? “U-uh…” It was a little hard to speak. “I’m fine. I’m...not hurt. I can’t...really get hurt anymore. Mostly.” But it was hard drawing enough air in to speak. Her throat ached. “Where did you come from?”

Bri looked at her with narrow, quizzical eyes. It was clear she was in pain, but she supposed it would heal quickly considering what she was. Her questions were valid, it wasn’t every day a bear came out of the woodwork and killed an undead hunter before your eyes. Catching wind of these guys was rare for her. Most of her collection had been werewolf hunters, but she always believed variety to be a virtue. Plus, now the woman before her could go about her way and hopefully stir fear in those around her. As she answered, Bri crossed her arms over her bare chest and answered, “I’m Bri. I live closeby. I do these woods a service and keep them as hunter free as I’m able.” Looking her over, it was clear she was going to be okay. The undead had a way of healing quickly. “I’m glad you’re okay. A hunter victory is a loss for all of us.” With a slightly sinister grin, she said, “Why? Did I startle you?” With a gesture over to a cluster of trees, she answered, “From over there. I’ve been trying to keep tabs on this one since I saw him stake a vampire outside of Nightshade. He wasn’t quite so brave in the face of fear itself it seems.”

Bri was taking all of this very weirdly in stride for Morgan. Just standing naked in the woods and talking about the woods and asking questions like why and what’s up. Just another day in the life of...whatever she was. Morgan didn’t know where to put her eyes. Looking at the person talking to you good, gawking at naked women, bad. No winning here, and Morgan’s brain was still frazzled from how suddenly the world had literally fallen out from under her, how quickly she could’ve been chopped or caged away from the life she was just barely getting a grip on. Morgan risked a look down at the body. Not much of a looker anymore, but he didn’t seem familiar. “I don’t think I even know that guy,” she said faintly. “How does that even work? When did he meet me?” What did hunters like him do? Prowl the woods for zombies looking for dead critters? Because that was super threatening. “H-hunter victory,” she repeated. “That’s...that’s a thing. The thing that almost but didn’t happen. Right. Um...no, not startled, exactly, I think that started somewhere around the wire noose in the middle of what I really thought were deserted woods.” She swallowed, touching her throat again. Then risked an awkward ‘promise I’m not a creepy lesbian staring at you naked’ look in her general direction. “Thank you. For saving me. That was...I mean, you don’t even know me. And, um, sorry, my brain is lagging with the sudden near second-death--I’m assuming you know, somehow, I’m already kind of dead, and if not, weeeell--um, but: what is Nightshade? And can I--get you anything. Do anything or...whatever, for the random rescue favor? Do you do this a lot or something?”

Nudity was no stranger to Brianne. It was never something she really thought much of until seeing more of the human world. For bugbears and she had to imagine for other shifters, being naked was not something that was inherently sexual. It was just a natural state, the most natural if you were constantly shifting between bear and human forms. Her short stints of socializing did help her learn most others were uncomfortable with nakedness, whether it be their own or the nakedness of others. “You can look at me,” she remarked, “I was just a bear, societal norms mean little to me.” Bri supposed if she was still uncomfortable, that was her own deal. As expected, she had a lot of questions. “It’s hard to tell if he had been previously tracking you or not. I had been tracking him which was quite easy. He was overconfident.” She looked down to Jack, he looked like a work of art the way he was mangled on the grass. If she could paint, she’d paint Jack as he was right now. Her shoulders shrugged as she looked back to the undead woman, “I gathered as much. I presume undead seeing as dear Jack here was after you.” She listened momentarily as the other woman seemed to gather her bearings and asked more questions. It was understandable, some lesser man had just tried to turn her into prey with a cowardly metal lasso. With narrow eyes studying her, she answered, “Nightshade is the farmer’s market in town. It’s a nighttime market that’s open on Friday’s. I’m a beekeeper, I have a stand there called Honey Bri. You don’t owe me anything, I take joy in bringing hunters to justice. I’m Bri, a bugbear if you were curious about the whole bear thing.”

“Just a what?” Morgan was so surprised she looked Bri square in the face, trying to understand. “Did you say bear? Like...uh...a real bear? A bear who’s sometimes a person or a person who’s sometimes a bear?” She went on, something about tracking the hunter, or the hunter tracking her, she couldn’t keep track of which was which. When had she been tracked? Had someone really reported ‘woman playing dead in the cemetery’ to the police? Were there creepy pictures of her yoinking her arm out of its socket with Jane? Morgan started to tally up her outings in her head, trying to figure out how few pieces someone might need to put together who she was, what she was. “Honey Bri,” she mumbled, coming out of her thoughts. “I’ve never been to...there. The uh, Nightshade Market. I thought there was just...the normal farmer’s market.” She stared at the woman again. She had definitely, definitely said something about bringing hunters to justice. And not through giving them a good talking-to, but murder in the woods kind of justice. Morgan’s insides were still clenched with fear, but she couldn’t help being relieved. She would have wanted this to happen to him. It was what he deserved, dragging her across the forest floor like a mangy animal. But Bri had done it with so much calm. She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. And yet the thing Morgan could summon the words for was, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what bugbear means.”

“A bear,” Bri deadpanned. At the visible still very present confusion, she cackled slightly, She supposed her kind wasn’t as well known as most among the supernatural community. “Both, I suppose. Some bugbears live their lives mostly in bear form, others live mostly in human form. Depends on who you ask. I live mostly as a human. Still am very comfortable with nudity considering I transition between forms often.” She quietly allowed time for the woman to process what had just happened. Near death experiences seemed to throw most for a loop. Learning of a new species was probably also a bit on the strange side, especially if she was new to life as a zombie. Bri’s head was tilted as she watched her process everything. “Nightshade is a night time market that’s open on Friday’s. You can find ordinary stuff there as well as some out of the ordinary things. If you think of it, you can probably find it there. My stand is straightforward though- it’s honey and beeswax candles. I just like bees so I keep them.” She shook her head lightly, the woman was still disoriented and likely still hungry. “Yes, a bugbear. That’s what I am. I eat fear, spook people, and turn into a bear sometimes. The stopping hunters from killing people like you is more of a personal hobby.”

Processing was coming a little easier. Morgan caught the part where Bri’s ratio of animal-to-human was more fifty-fifty than, say, Ricky’s. She understood about the appetite, and how that might open some doors to aggressive tendencies, friendly as she seemed now. “Oh, like a Mara. Only...not. Okay. That’s neat.” She caught the part where Nightshade was a supernatural farmer’s market, and Bri smelled beeswax candles, and had enough brain cells working together to suppose it might be a good thing that she was only finding out about this after she’d lost the magic to compete with her. Bri didn’t seem the type to take kindly to a monkey’s paw. The part where Bri was some sort of superhero vigilante gave her more pause. She wasn’t sure why someone fighting back or helping strangers was the hardest thing to believe since she’d moved here, but it boggled her mind enough to fill her with a distressed wonder. “That’s...I mean, that’s kind of amazing, but...well, don’t you...don’t they ever try to hurt you back? Don’t you ever get scared about what they’ll do? I mean, not that I’m not grateful that I’m not—” she gestured vaguely to the hunter’s body. “Like that. Or in the back of some truck or being cut up for bone goo—” her voice trembled as the wide variety of potential awful started to sink in. “I just mean. That could be you too. That’s a lot to do for someone you don’t know.”

It seemed the initial shock of being hunted was starting to wear off. Bri nodded slowly at the mention of mara. She was familiar with them, primarily because of the shifts she’d pick up every so often at Misery Manor, but she found some of them to be a bit uppity. She paid little attention to their superiority complex. “Not quite. Similar in feeding on fear, but still different. Most mara and bugbears wouldn’t like to be compared. I don’t care much, but there is a little bit of rivalry there.” Bri found her question to be funny. Fear wasn’t something she experienced herself, but she craved other’s fears. Hunting hunters was dangerous from time to time, but it was rewarding work. There was a certain satisfaction that came with snuffing out someone who would choose to eliminate the supernatural altogether if they had the choice. As if they didn’t have the right to exist in their true nature. Whether it was safe was of little concern. Her body shifted as she shrugged and the light crack of twigs beneath her bare feet could be heard. “Nothing scares me. I’ve gotten hurt a few times, but I do not fear pain or death. They’re part of life. Most of the time, they don’t suspect someone is tracking them on their hunts and they don’t typically look for my kind.” While Bri felt righteous in her ways, she wasn’t quite sure how to accept the thanks. It didn’t feel like much. Jack had been easy enough to take down as a bear with the element of surprise. Her head shook slightly, “Don’t worry about it. I’d rather see you alive than Jack here.” She bent down to examine his body. The only part she really cared to save for herself was his teeth. She turned back to Morgan, “Would you care for his brain? I have little use for it.”

“Well...jinkies, Bri,” Morgan said, somewhat at a loss. “I guess that makes you the hero Gotham needs. And a heck of a lot better to look at than Batman.” A little wry humor always helped her keep her balanced on the edge when she thought she might fall over. And, well, this was as on the edge as she’d been since she’d died. Morgan dusted herself off again and backed away from the body. She’d had enough of a taste of what the hunter was capable of  by feeling its wire rope around her. She didn’t want to know what his taste in music was, what sports he liked, how much of a person he’d been, and still hurt her like she was nothing. “I’m good,” she said. “I don’t...do that, not a lot, anyway. But I don’t think I’d want to feel someone like that inside of me anyways. Chop it up for the scavengers to eat, if you want it to go to use.” She swallowed thickly, searching for her footpath out and heading that way. “Even if you say I don’t owe you, I’ll find you, maybe? At the market, or...around. You’re a good person, you know. I hope there’s someone who looks out for you too.”

Bri blinked slowly. She had never really thought of herself as Batman. The only reason she’d even seen any of the films was because the Joker had a certain level of appeal though Harley Quinn was the far greater figure in the movie. She’d rather be Harley Quinn than Batman, but she supposed she could understand the comparison. “Thank you… I guess I am a bit of a vigilante of sorts. I would hope so, but then I don’t find men to be very… appealing to look at it.” She could hardly blame Morgan for not lowering herself to eat hunter brains. There had to be some sort of contagion for their staunch superiority complexes. Still, she felt the need to offer since the woman hadn’t gotten a proper meal. Then she was on about making it up to her. That wasn’t why she did this, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Morgan again. “You really don’t owe me, but I’d love to have you by the stand sometime. I can introduce you to my friend, Glen. His stand has some… things that may suit your appetite. Be safe out there, friend.”  

#morgan #batbear to the rescue #wickedswriting

[briingmayflowers]

#[Because apparently this is in Deirdre's head rn] #| 'keeps playing in my head' (deirdre music) #[...huh that tag is apt.] #| 'he is intelligence and determination' (casper)

[thebigladjake]

AX3001: Oddyssey - TV Show Research and Development: Giygas and the Intrigue of having an unexplainable villain

When it came to making a TV Show, I always had an idea for an Earthbound spiritual successor since 2018 and over this last Summer when we were briefed to make three TV Shows. I had to really think about what ideas I wanted to do. However, during my downtime, I suddenly remembered one specific thing about my Earthbound experience...

Giygas

The Embodiment of Evil, the Universal Cosmic Destroyer or the Almighty Idiot according to who you ask, Giygas is the main antagonist of Earthbound and appropriately serves as the game’s final boss before your adventure comes to a close. Granted, him being the very last thing you fight leads to you leaving with that boss fresh on your mind. But, I hadn’t played Earthbound for a few years... And Giygas just suddenly popped into my head. And a lot of the questions were “Why is he like this? This cute and friendly game has a boss that looks like a nightmare?” I was absolutely fascinated by this boss and it led to my second playthrough of the game.

Onett, the start of the Adventure

This is the hometown of our main character, Ness and effectively our window into the world of this game. We see the town he lives in, it’s so bright and colourful with all the town essentials! A burger shop, a town hall, an arcade, hospital, police station and library, it’s familiar to us as our hometowns most likely have similar locations. The vibrant colours of all the buildings is eye-catching and welcoming! 

The music is also worth noting as it’s very peppy and upbeat, it feels like the theme of a small town with a nice community. Most of the music follows this formula.

Most of the towns in the game follow this design and it does feel like you’re exploring more and more of the world, like you’ve ventured further than you have ever gone before and you’re not going to stop because this world is so interesting and welcoming!

Some towns deviate from the formula, but the good people in the towns help to established the same welcoming energy that we’re used to.

Now, let’s take a look at the final map before Giygas’ lair...

The Cave of the Past, the end of the Adventure

Complete contrast to what has been established this entire game. There are absolutely no colours, there are no buildings, no operations of Giygas’ in the background. It’s just a path to the end of the journey and it’s so simple... But, it’s super effective! The lack of colour helps to make it feel otherworldly, makes it feel alien to the world that you’re used to and that’s exactly what Giygas is, he’s not from the world. 

Even our main cast of heroes could not be transported back in time without being transferred into robot bodies, all of their colour is gone too. All except Ness’ hat, showing a small bit of colour almost as if it’s that one bit of hope of beating Giygas.

At the end of games, usually going to the final boss’ lair will be some huge event where you see all of their plans, what they’ve built over time and will be accompanied by some epic score. Earthbound does things differently.

Just give that a listen, it’s a eerie, droning piece that doesn’t sound like a great confrontation theme. It sounds like ambience more than a score to me and I think that makes it scarier, like you are in the positions of the kids who are probably incredibly scared of what they are going to have to face once inside that cave. It’s so incredible and it’s a sample of the Beach Boys song, ‘Deirdre’.

It’s the opening note and I find it amazing how a single sample can do so much! There is another Earthbound track that I will link here which features a sample of the trumpet in the intro of the Beatles song, ‘All you need is Love’ and again, it sets up so much with just a tiny little sample.

This is used just before going to the Cave of the Past, instead being the Cave of the Present. It’s technically just two notes with a reverb, but the sample adds so much and it just feels uncomfortable. However, we don’t need to talk about this for long, let’s go right to Giygas’ lair!

Giygas Lair, the true contrast to Earthbound’s style!

I apologise for the size of the image, but it’s pretty much a straight path but LOOK AT THIS! A trail of organs and entrails twisting and turning through this dark void until you find this uncanny monstrosity of a machine made of the same organic material you were walking on. This. This is what made me come back, it’s such a disturbing idea. 

This is open to interpretation, but the way caves are represented in Earthbound is to only make sprites of the ground and walls. All the stuff you can’t see is black, just like how a cave should be. Giygas’ lair has this same motif, but there doesn’t really appear to be any walls around. So depending on your view, they’re either walking through a tunnel or entrails or walking through the void as previously stated. Personally, I think both are terrifically terrifying but I definitely see the void more.

The organs pulse as you walk up them, the only noise complimenting the atmosphere is the clanking of robo-feet and the breathing of Giygas which is what I feel gives it the whole void feeling. It’s so unnerving that this is the final confrontation, but the fact that it is actually puts us in Ness and his friends shoes.

Getting to the Machine causes everything to stop, the ambience vanishes. Giygas’ intro music plays as the Machine changes to show the robots a picture of Ness’ face. Ness was prophesied to be the one who brings down Giygas and the first thing we see from the Machine is Ness, already suggesting to us that Giygas knows that we’re here...

Pokey, Ness’ childhood friend and eventual enemy over the course of the game, descends in a Spider Mech and just like that the Final Battle is about to begin!

The Final Fight

Of course, the final boss begins with Pokey standing before you with Giygas’ number one thought right now... Ness is here and he’s come to defeat me. This is a pretty standard affair for a boss, only Pokey can be harmed and he is much more a threat in this Spider Mech than he was previously in battle. 

Giygas has a shield that is impervious to any kind of physical or psychic attacks and cannot be destroyed or disabled. He attacks using the special power that only Ness knows ‘PSI Rockin’’. His shield will always reflect your shots back at the character who attacks him and even when they have shield themselves, they will get hit regardless. The Machine is what keeps Giygas stable and alive, making him completely invincible...

However... He has one big idiot on his side...

Pokey can be damaged and the strategy of the fight is to focus on him and avoid any attacks that hit the both of them. Pokey, like the main cast, is a kid and he’s incredibly immature. So as soon as his mech is defeated, he taunts the main gang and turns off the Devil’s Machine... The one thing preventing Giygas’ defeat...

Giygas Released

Once released, Pokey explains that Giygas isn’t even himself anymore. He became so powerful that his body was destroyed and had to be contained into a machine in order to maintain some sort of grasp on his thoughts. Without that machine, the four heroes are taken into a dimension of Giygas’ thoughts and since we play as Ness we hear his thoughts directed towards us the player.

He reaches out with such thoughts as repeating Ness’ (The player’s) name, saying “I feel... Sad.” or “It feels good.” and added upon these thoughts Giygas’ attacks cannot be comprehended by our characters. It really helps to add a sense of hopelessness because we have no idea what is truly going on and we can’t fight what we don’t know. 

An Unconventional Resolution

Attacks don’t work, defending won’t work either, you can’t heal or save yourself. All hopes seem lost until you notice a certain act that Paula can do. Pray.

When Paula prays, she reaches out to the world she left behind and the folks that are waiting for their return get the feeling that something bad is happening. So, they too pray from the bottom of their hearts...

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=320&end=374

If you watch the small clip above, once he feels the support from the Earth. The sound cue to signify that Giygas has been damaged and that Giygas is not okay.

Onward to his next form.

Now I would like you to take a close look at this image, I’ve asked a few people about this and sometimes they get it without me saying anything and others don’t. So, just take a moment to find an image amongst the Giygas’.

Got it or have you given up? In the realm of Giygas, here in the black void is a pretty damn distinct shape of a baby. And this is what fascinated me about Giygas, there is a theory that this is symbolism for abortion as you go back in time to kill Giygas but that theory has been disproven by Shigesato Itoi, the game’s creator. There’s evidence that goes against this theory anyway, but this fetus imagery always stuck out to me. 

It’s said to be a coincidence that the Super Nintendo generated these sprites and in this pattern. But, it’s such a definite shape of a baby and I find it absolutely mental that it’s just a coincidence. And that curiosity is what brought me back to Earthbound, just this happy go lucky game where you make friends with a little monkey that chews bubblegum, make friends with a man who converts himself into a huge dungeon man and at the very end, you’re faced with this. 

It’s not only impactful imagewise, but storywise it’s just as impactful for the opposite reasons. As Giygas can now be damaged by feeling the love and support coming from the friends Ness has made across the world. Each time Giygas is hit, it gets worse, but the moment he really breaks down is when Ness’ Mother wakes up in the middle of the night and rushes downstairs with Ness’ little sister and their dog. They all feel uneasy and begin to pray for the safety of Ness and his friends.

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=702&end=738

This is the moment Giygas truly breaks down, feeling the support of a loving Mother looking out for her son is a feeling he had long since buried. It’s about time I talk about the backstory of Giygas, while it’s not touched upon in Earthbound/Mother 2, in Earthbound Beginnings/Mother we see Giygas as an alien and we learn about how he came to be.

Giygas and Trauma

Giygas was an alien that was raised by Maria and George, a couple that was abducted by the other members of Giygas’ race. Maria adopted Giygas and looked after him while George studied their powers without their approval and eventually escaped with this knowledge, never being seen again. Once Giygas grows up, he was instructed to ensure that no human is capable of using PSI powers and not wanting to betray the people who raised him, he forcefully detached himself from Maria to prepare for the invasion.

Maria was sent back to Earth, but with amnesia and once the Eight Melodies are obtained, she regains her memory and explains that it was a song she used to sing to Giygas when he was young. This is very important.

Giygas’ first attempt to take over the world. He comes down, looking upon the gang and the battle begins. Starting the trend of Mother/Earthbound games having a unusual way of defeating the final boss. This time, the group begins to sing the Eight Melodies which brings up emotions in Giygas that he thought he had long since repressed or even got over. Giygas has a complete mental breakdown and recalls his forces, swearing revenge on the planet and that he will return.

In Earthbound, Giygas has worked on himself and made sure that what brought him down before cannot bring him down again. However, he didn’t do enough since the feeling of a loving Mother reaching out to her son in his time of need still hurts him severely and it’s at this point where Giygas can hardly do anything. His sprite starts contorting, the colours shift and the audio turns into a droning whirring noise.

Ness’ Mothers love is one thing, but it’s not enough. Giygas is wounded, but he is still fighting. Paula keeps praying for one more person and with a few more attempts, that person is you. There’s a moment in the game where the fourth wall is broken and asks you to enter your name. It can even be your full name, my name is pretty long and my name fits into it perfectly. It’s emotionally engaging since it includes you and you feel like in a way you are defeating him rather than Giygas being defeated by the world of the game. 

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=838&end=938

After this Giygas loses control, the whirring increases, his sprite distorts further to the point where he is unrecognisable, the visuals cutting in with static occassionally. Static that appears at the very beginning of the game, suggesting the approach of Giygas and showing pictures of the invasion, and at the end of the game it suggest that he’s retreating, he’s getting out of reach and eventually he is gone.

And after all of that craziness, the robots are outside of Giygas’ lair. Everything is quiet, “The War against Giygas is over.”

What was Shigesato Itoi thinking?

Shigesato Itoi drew inspiration from an event of his childhood, where he had walked into the wrong screen at the theatre. He walked in on a murder scene which as a kid he mistook for a rape scene which had such a potent effect on him. He drew inspiration from it for Giygas’ final battle and some of the things Giygas says. 

In an interview, Itoi claims that there was a scene where a guy grabbed a woman’s breast which distorted it into a ball shape. He said “It all hit me really hard. It was a direct attack on my brain.” despite the fact that this doesn’t actually happen in the movie, which Itoi admits that his memories are a little fuzzy. It’s probably because it all happened so fast and his child brain may have created false memories or just failed to understand it. Itoi also goes onto say, "this sense of terror having atrocity and eroticism side-by-side, and that’s what Giygas's lines at the end are. During the end, he says, “It hurts,” right? That's... her breast. It’s like, how do I put it, a “living-being” sensation." and the purpose of the scene is to get the player’s mind working.

Another interesting part of this interview is when Itoi talks about typical villains and says this, “Well, you know, having a villain there who simply goes, “Wahahaha!” and the like would clearly be bad. But, actually, when I think about it, having villains go, “Wahahaha!” is a really intriguing pattern. But there’s no point in wondering all by yourself for days on end what it means for a bad guy to go, “Wahahaha!” at the climax of a game, you know? I get the feeling that there aren’t many people in the game industry who would do that sort of thing, though.” Which is something important to consider, Earthbound is such a colourful game bursting with personality, so having it end with just a standard final boss affair probably wouldn’t feel satisfying.

What the Earthbound/Mother series taught me about final confrontations?

Giygas’ character and what it taught me that even “Universal Cosmic Destroyers” can have trauma that they are trying to avoid and bury. It humanises them in a way and it can make the final confrontation that more powerful as it’s a problem we can all relate to. They’re not all evil for the sake of being evil, sometimes they don’t have a choice. 

I think this is a good thing to take on board and I have already begun planning on my main antagonist’s motivations on Oddyssey. It might be changed since it’s a sensitive topic for me right now, but these motivations won’t be brought up in Season 1 anyway

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

hey bro, i know you’re busy so whenever you have the timeeee, the melancholy is setting in again & i was wondering if you might bless me with some valdo cheering up aev when she thinks she’s not good enough? 💛

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Valdo x Punk!Aevryn Word Count: 1,688 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Ah bro, I know that feel. Here is an almost 2k word hug xo

If there was one thing that Jaskier and Valdo could put aside their differences for, it was Aevryn. They’d done it as youths when she performed and they did it now as they worked to keep her from checking the hits her newly released demo were receiving. It went well for most of the day. Valdo woke up ludicrously early just to make sure he’d be there to pounce – somewhat literally – when she woke. After that lengthy distraction he pulled her into the shower with him before she could check her phone. Right on cue as they were just toweling off, Jaskier showed up at the door. He and Aevryn had a pact that if ever one of them showed up on the other’s doorstep and invoked Friend Code, the other had to drop everything and spend the day with them. Valdo made a big show of being dramatically grumpy about Jaskier arriving, such a big show that at some point Jaskier wasn’t sure how much was for Aevryn’s benefit and how much was just amusing himself, but he managed to get her out the door. Aevryn noticed her phone wasn’t on her as soon as they got in the car and Jaskier texted Valdo quickly to let him know that their first plan hadn’t worked as she went inside to find it. Valdo quickly tucked the phone in his jacket pocket, loathe to hide her property but desperate to keep her from seeing the numbers.

“It hasn’t just disappeared, Valdo, I swear I had it on the nightstand when we fell asleep last night,” she said, grasping under the bed though she knew Valdo paid their housekeepers handsomely enough that every inch stayed dust bunny free.

“We were pretty well knackered by the end of things, love, there’s a fair chance it got left behind in a restaurant or something or other,” Valdo lied lamely, frantically texting Jaskier for ideas to stall. Aevryn’s head popped up over the side of the bed, a swath of wavy hair falling into her face. She looked like a very adorable, very grumpy groundhog popping out of its hole but Valdo was just wise enough not to make that observation at that moment.

“Valdo I’m not going without my phone. What if something happened and you needed to reach me?” she asked.

“I’d call Jaskier,” he answered quickly. She cocked an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

“You’d call Jaskier?” she replied skeptically.

“If it were a real emergency, yes. I’m talking lost limbs and extensive blood loss. But I’ll endeavor to be safe in your absence,” he crooned as he tried to pull her to the door. She was almost over the threshold, Jaskier walking towards the door to escort her the rest of the way, when her phone went off in his jacket. There was no mistaking that it was her phone because the song that rang out was a punk cover of Barbie Girl, an inside joke between her, Yennefer, Win, and Y/N developed during a girl’s night. Her sea green eyes filled with hurt and suspicion as she stared Valdo down, reaching into his pocket to pull it out and finding a missed call from Win. A voicemail was left a second later and she opened it.

“Babe don’t even sweat it,” Win’s voice, filled with disdain said, “We know that it’s a solid album and the right people will catch on soon too. I know you hate taking favors from Valdo’s people but it’s only nepotism if you’re not qualified. I say call those bitches up and say Hello, This is Aevryn Swift and I’m here to kick ass and play beautiful music and I’m all out of ass. Or something like that. Idk, we’ll work out the details, call me when you can, bye!”

Valdo exhaled heavily, making eye contact with Jaskier who still stood a few steps away, both watching as Aevryn silently went to the bandcamp page to look at the download numbers. She stared at them for a moment, unblinking, and then nodded.

“Ok,” she said with eerie calm before turning to Jaskier, “This was just a ploy, right? You don’t actually need to invoke Friend Code?”

“Ah – well – Er… no,” Jaskier answered sheepishly. She nodded again and pushed past Valdo to walk into the house. The two men exchanged a last, regretful look and then Jaskier turned back to his car and Valdo re-entered the house, prepared for a raging fight.

Aevryn put the kettle on and picked up the little pile of mail on the kitchen island and Valdo walked in cautiously, waiting for… something. She glanced up, a cool but serene look on her face.

“Did you want some tea?” she asked.

“No thank you, dear heart, but I do want to talk about the likelihood of you trying to murder me in my sleep tonight,” he replied. She rolled her eyes, turning to pull a mug down from the cupboard. Not even one of her usual, fun mugs, just a standard green one that she teased Valdo for using because it was so “boring.” These were all very bad signs but also new ones and he wasn’t sure what they meant. After knowing Aevryn for half of his life he wasn’t used to this feeling, and he didn’t like it.

“I’m not going to kill you. You were trying to keep me from checking, right?” she asked, peering over her shoulder. He nodded, curls bouncing slightly as he did, and she nodded back.

“I get it. I mean, it wasn’t cool, but I probably would have done the same thing,” she said as she fixed her cup.

“It is bullshit, Aev. Win’s right, we have connections-”

“No, Valdo. Anyone can get an album released, hell I already did it. But money can’t make people like or care about something if they don’t. Even if I was willing to consider it – which I’m not – it wouldn’t make a difference. I wanted to give it a shot, I did, now I know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she poured an amount of sugar that Valdo would have been disgusted by before but barely registered at the moment.

“Aevryn if I didn’t know any better I’d say it sounded like you were planning to stop performing. But there’s no way that could be true because that would be utterly bizarre and impossible because music is a part of who you are and you have a rare talent that should be shared with the world. Right? Aev?”

Valdo moved a bit closer as he spoke, eyes softening with worry and Aevryn deftly slipped by him with her mug, unable to look him in the eyes as she replied.

“Don’t be dramatic, Valdo, you’re just biased. And it’s fine. Jaskier will be thrilled to have me work full time as social media manager again and it’s not like I still can’t play music,” she shrugged, settling into her favorite chair in the living room. Valdo propped his hands on his hips and fixed her with a stern but not unloving expression.

“Aevryn Deirdre Swift-Marx you are not going to give up playing music because some people on the internet didn’t pay attention to your music as quickly or as much as they should have. There is no shame in pushing back and doing what you love because you love it and fuck the rest,” he argued.

“There’s also no shame in deciding not to invest more time and effort in something just for it to be ignored,” she shot back, a flicker of anger in her eyes. Good, he thought, better anger than apathy.

“You did work hard. You wrote beautiful music, you practiced and performed, you edited and you put so much into this album. And it deserves to be recognized and appreciated,” he said, a vehemence in his voice that could only be described as “ferocious validation.”

“I did,” she replied, “I worked very hard and I think the music is good, why don’t they notice? Why don’t they care?”

Valdo caught the glossiness in her eyes before she could look away and nearly pitched her mug of tea over the chair onto the hardwood floors as he tried to pull her into a hug. He held her, awkwardly half-standing/half-crouching, not caring that his arm was falling asleep or anything but the fact that she held him back with her free arm, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I know it’s hard, love. But I have a proposition for you,” he said. She pulled back to look into his emerald eyes as he moved into a full crouch by her side, fixing her with an entreating look.

“What?” she asked.

“Today, be sad. Be angry. Be whatever you need to be. Take a break, perhaps. Process through it. But then forget it. Or let it fuel you. The only thing I ask is that you not let other people stop you from doing what you love. And even though it was hard work, I know you loved every part of it. And that deserves recognition and respect but most of all it deserves to exist. Because it makes you happy.”

She considered his words, pulling her hand inside the sleeve of her too-large sweater to wipe her face before tilting her head back and sighing.

“Ok,” she said, “I won’t quit the music industry forever. Not today, at least.”

“That’s all I ask,” Valdo said, rising to press a gentle kiss against her cheek, “Now how about I make you some fresh tea, because that’s gone cold, and you burrow under that blanket and pick something ridiculous for us to watch.”

“French Kiss is not ridiculous, it is classic and underappreciated,” you argued hotly. He smiled, pleased to see his spitfire back as he pulled the mug from your hands and thrust the quilted blanket into your lap.

“Whatever you say, sweetling,” he replied, and then set off to make her more tea, carefully selecting a mug shaped like an otter and searching for some biscuits before she could think to ask.

#joz-stankovich #bro #Punk!Valdo x Punk!Aevryn #Punk!AU #Valdo fluff #Valdo imagines

[remember-wim-faros]

Episode 1 - Are You Listening?

[voice echoing] When a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it,

it makes a sound!

[birds chirping] Ladies and gentlemen. We have found the music! It had been lost, as so many things are lost. Missing, disappeared, misplaced, vanished. Every day, what falls into obscurity without anybody noticing? Without anybody paying attention. What is locked in the attic?

I mean, let’s talk about some things that have been found in an attic, or spaces like attics. Did you know that Van Gogh’s “Sunset at Montmajour”, that beautiful painting, was found in an attic? Or that the original handwritten manuscript of “Huckleberry Finn” was found in an attic? The “Venus de Milo” was, well no it’s no-not an attic but, buried in a farmer’s field, unearthed by a peasant who came across some stubborn soil.

Did you know that the only copy of the pilot of “I Love Lucy” lay under the bed of Pepino the clown for 30 years, until it was swept out by his widow when she finally cleaned up around the place and taught to herself, this is pretty funny.

All these masterpieces just a broom sweep away from history’s dustbins.

And today, today! Recovered from a neglected attic of a suburban townhouse, one cassette tape destined to be sold in a garage sale, containing what is likely to be the first recorded concert of Wim Faros.

So.. who is listening? Hello? I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I welcome you to my new show. “It Makes a Sound”. [thumping, windchimes] It’s the first and only show in the nation dedicated to Wim Faros, native son of our Rosemary Hills. Where together, we’ll be part of a musical legacy. We will prepare to receive the genius that is Wim Faros. And to return him, like a prodigal son, to this deprived land. I will be the one to provide you up to the minute news and information about the artist, as I discover it. The name – Wim Faros. The subject – genius. And its location? Where us extraordinariness, I ask myself, don’t you? Don’t you ask yourself that? Extra..ordinariness, where I it today? Where are the truly exceptional ones who, out of our sheer proximity to them allow us to glimpse the intersection of our little lives, with the profound? Who walks among us? Is there anyone? Who walks among -us-, all the little uses? [chuckles] Uses… eh, eh, rolling lint off our pants. Uses, squeezing avocados in the grocery store and never picking the ripe one. Uses um, driving up and down the side streets to work because highway frightens uses. Uses um, drinking chamomile, attempting inverted yoga poses, popping melatonin and crossing our fingers as we slink into bed for the night. Where can we look here, in this vast wearied landscape of Rosemary Hills? Where our weathered old water tower reminds us in fading letters of past town mottos. Such as “golf capital”. Or “Rosemary Hills is alive with the whirr of commerce.” Or “Let’s tee in the hills.” But where now, the best boast we can master is “easy access to the highway”.

Well. Here, amidst the now abandoned golf course and its neglected grass, amidst the shuttered strip malls and these potholed streets, the extraordinary has tread. And the footprints, they linger. If you know how to look for them. And I think I do.

My fellow people of Rosemary Hills, citizens of the world, what have you forgotten? What treasures have we hidden under cobwebs and dust? What beauty awaits us on the other side of that drywall, as we wrestle fitfully in our sleep? What life lingers on these old fairways? What wonders just passed us by, as we bowed our head towards.. uh, a brightened 3-inch screen? Our necks hurt, our brains are zapped from too much screentime, our souls ache, and suddenly decades have past us by. Like poof. What are we missing?

Do we remember what used to be held in the delicate folds of our heart? Do we remember how things used to sound? Smell. Feel. Taste. I want to.

It’s time to unpack the attic! Today, we have a mind-boggling discovery. A confirmed to be authentic tape containing what is known to be Wim Faros’ debut public musical appearance here in Rosemary Hills, in the year 1992. And so we are not going to rush this moment, like we rush everything. We’re gonna slow down, we’re gonna savor. We are going to consider the tremendous significance of this relic. In order to fully appreciate it.

And thus, it is my privilege on this day of days to hold in my hands this freshly discovered tape. It’s an ordinary-looking cassette tape. But.. it’s possible some of you have never held a cassette tape. I will explain. Because, though it contains the stuff of wonder, to the human eye it is just a 3,5 by 2-inch clear plastic rectangle with two holes in the middle. And these holes, they have six little black teeth. Non-threatening teeth, so that you could feasibly uh, insert a pencil or a pinky finger, should sometime go [wry] [0:10:09]. Like if the delicate tape needs your manual assistance.

Now that tape is a very thing, translucent gray strip, of course containing some magnet um, magnetic properties. So and it’s spooled around the left hole, and as the tape plays in the cassette tape player, the tape will run along the bottom edge of the rectangle across a tiny magnetic strip. And the magnets pull the music out, with magnetic force, until it is fully spooled around the right hole, which means the tape is finished and you have heard the music. And that’s how a cassette tape works.  

I’m Deirdre Gardner. This is “It Makes a Sound”. I am describing a cassette tape.  Perhaps the most important cassette tape there ever was.

No won this particular model, we have a yellow sticker that covers the smooth section of the cassette. Nad written on that cover in purple felt tip pen, in bubble letters, is “Wim Fa”, but a waterspot has obscured the “ros”, leaving a purply pink splotch. It’s very pretty, like a watercolor. And underneath, with that same pen and font: “1992”. Crudely drawn stars in uh, multiple colors of pen, speckle the entire sticker. I mean… it’s great. it’s really incredible that one small object can capture so much of an entire era, even just aesthetically. We all seek the soundtrack of our lives, don’t we? And we wish to be privy to the voices of our generation. Yet it its a profound rarity that an artist like Wim Faros crosses into your limited sphere of existence. It’s like an alien prophet touching down on a ordinary Tuesday afternoon in a chain store called The Last Topper. Suddenly making the universe crack open to reveal infinite shards of meaning barely comprehensible to you. Standing there in cargo shorts, holding a casserole dish. Yes, yes. it’s hard to determine the full effect on Wim Faros’s music on this simple town of Rosemay Hills in the early-to-mid 90’s. it’s difficult to quantify the extent of – sacred devotion he inspired in his earliest fanbase.

How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand? That was a time without social media and its um, incessant public proclamations to hashtag, trending desires of the moment. Yesterday’s youth had to be more – intuitively united in our common affections. Had to keep the faith that even in a friendless existence, for instance as an example, living in an inherited furnished townhouse on the edge of Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community, there were kindred souls somewhere underneath that same blue sky, wishing and waiting for a connection, just like you. Though perhaps at times to love in solitude, from afar, in the most generic of settings, was lonely and painful. That melancholy was trumped by a feeling of purpose. The purpose that comes from knowing that if someone out there could so perfectly capture the nuanced secrets of your soul, there must be greatness and solace in this universe indeed. isn’t that why we listen to the music? Isn’t that why we listen to the music?

We must ready ourselves to listen to the music. But I will say, even without the ease and benefit of cached fan pages or blogs serving as testimony to the early Wim Faros effect, the artist did manage to be a catalyst of cultural awakening in the town zeigeist. If a town can have a zeitgeist, can – sure. And there is archival evidence of the first reactions to Faros’s artistry. In fact… I happen to be in possession of documents from a Rosemary Hills resident who encountered Wim Faros in his earliest musical phase. Now, some of these pages are enclosed within a purple velveteen diary that I now have in front of me. The writing appears to be by the0 hand of a 12-year-old, I would estimate. And the paper is white ruled. And I seem to have come across a lengty series of haiku. Perhaps I sould share just a few of thes with you, for the sake of research. it’s a segment.. [rummages around] We’ll call it – the poetry of a little us.

[bangs a cong] You have changed my life by allowing me to see even thought you don’t see me.

[cong] I am hard to see in a golf community with many sand traps.

[cong]

You have a blind spot for almost nothing. But one in the size of me.

[cong]

I am the catcher you are a rare butterfly that I cannot grasp.

[cong]

Butterflies upclose freak me out. But you fly free, beautiful and free.

[cong]

I catch butterflies, yes, but I am afraid too. A contradiction.

[cong]

Faithfully you come to the window of my dreams singing: la la la.

[cong]

What is this music? Like, I never heard music before you played it.

[cong]

Now, those are just a few haikus and there are lots more, [chuckles] written here in Rosemary Hills circa 1991-1992. Likely dedicated to one Wim Faros.

[pause] If you’re just tuning in, hello. Welcome. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and this is the first episode of my show, “It Makes a Sound”. A discovery has been made in the attic. it’s Wim Faro’s first live album. It’s the real deal, it’s not a hoax, and it’s so rare that he only known copy exists, recorded from some distance, on a cassette tape. There is nowhere else in the entire universe where you will be able to hear a 16-year-old Wim Faros shaping what comes to be known as the sound – of an epoch. E-P-O-C-H. Stay with me and you will hear it here first, folks, because I have the tape and you’re gonna get exclusive access.

So we’re discussing Wim Faros’ formative teenage years as a musician, right here in Rosemary Hills. We’ve just begun working towards a fuller understanding of the human behind the mu-

[static] [hoarse voice] Who’s there? Who?

Deirdre: Oh, Jesus..

[static] I know, I know.. I know you! I knew!

Deirdre: Are you asleep?

[static, snoring]

Deirdre: Are you? Who’s that? (It’s something). OK. OK.

OK. Everything is good. I’m back. And i’m excited to introduce a new oral history segment of the show, based on town legend and lore around Wim Faros. It’s called – a portrait of the artist as a young man.

[music box plays] A light in the window of the second floor. The only window on the second floor, means Wim Faros is in his bedroom. And almost always when he is in his bedroom, he is drawing on the wall. What was on that wall? Everything was on that wall. The winds of change blew on that wall. The.. unfettered scrawl of technicolor wonders. The rainbow, a paltry container for the variety of colors applied to that wall. New color names would have to be invented. The ongoing overlapping shifting images and symbols, muraled, frescoed, appliqued, on that wall. All these ideas spewing forth from the eclectic multitudes of a single creative mind. In a blue and tan flannel shirt, his right arm braced against the drywall in an L-shape above his head. The bottom of his sleeve ripped and hanging down, he looks like he’s whispering secrets in a confessional. But he is drawing. There’s a lava lamp somewhere, out of view of the window, and it casts blobby spots that climb up and down the room, catching Wim’s distorted shadow when he’s out of view of the window frame. His left hand moves delicately or scribbles furiously. He is left-handed, as statistics prove that most geniuses are. If you’ve been watching, over the course of several months, you would have seen – his fantastic mural take shape.

In the center, a five-foot tall octopus, with the uncannily rendered face of Diane Sawyer. Her arms spread open, Christ-like, with magnolia blossoms and spiders dripping from her fingers. A flock of owls flying over a forest of pine trees. Each face of the moon, paired with a pizza pie of different toppings. Eight personalized pan pizzas, for eight different moons. A ninja army battling a family of squirrels throwing sharp acorns. Pages falling from a Gutenberg Bible into the gaping mouth of a Native American chief. Snoop Dogg. Scully riding a Mulder centaur as Ross Perot hoverboards over their heads! He was getting political.

As the seasons pass, the wall incrementally becomes and intricate map of his fertal, fertal inner life. Repetitions of hummingbirds and starfish, cans of beans, nunchucks. Later, peacocks. A dragon breathing fire, melting the iceberg just before it sinks the Titanic, which passes into clear skies. Dracula playing video games in front of a television set, flickering with an image of outrage from the Rodney King riots. And toaster strudels flying out of toasters into the rings of Saturn! Kurt Cobain offering an origami swan to a sobbing River Phoenix. And hundreds of other elegantly drawn details, too small to make out from a distance, that create a constellation of.. enlightened connectivity across the peeling beige wall.

And almost every night, after all the lights in the windows of the bungalow go dark, if you cared enough to pay attention, you would see the single beam of a flashlight splice a path behind the house, pointed towards a lopsided shed some 40 yards away. And if you were standing right up against the fence that separates Rosemary Hills’ gated golf course community from the unincorporated land that stretched out behind the scattered houses on Chamelia Road… you would hear a soulful strum of guitar, and a crescend of drums. Because in that decaying shed, surrounded by the loneliest darkness that is suburban darkness, is where young Wim Faros made the music. It was that music that pulsed through this town, permeated the air, pumped through the water.

Did everyone hearken to the call? No. If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it wall, does it make a sound? Well. I’m here to tell you: trees have fallen. Trees are falling. And you may listen, but do you hear?

People of Rosemary Hills, it is time to hear. It is time to hearken. Hearken. I believe in your ears. Wim Faros sang for you. You didn’t know, but he will sing for you again. He has been lost in the attic, but now he is found. And maybe, [sighs] I don’t know. Maybe… maybe you’ve been lost in the attic too. There was greatness in our midst, transcendence, eccentricity, nuance. I’m Deirdre Gardner, and I believe that when a tree falls in a forest, it makes a sound. And i’m inviting you to try, to truly hear, and to remember. So stay tuned for my next episode when that music, lost but now found, will be born again straight into your ears. When you hear the first track from Wim Faros’ debut concert. The first track, perhaps, of the rest of your life.

This has been the inaugural episode of the first and only show in the nation dedicated to the music and legacy of Wim Faros. Thank you for listening. If you have any information about Wim Faros that you think should be shared with our listeners, or if you own a working cassette tape player, do not hesitate to contact me. Um, I, I guess for now you shoud just ca- um email me at ddg at.. no let’s not do that um, i’ll create, I’ll create a new, yes you can contact me at wimfaros@aol… Actually no. please contact [email protected]. Thank you. I’m Deirdre Gardner. Til next time.

 [windchime]

“It Makes a Sound” is created and written by Jacquelyn Landgraf. Co-directed by Jacquelyn Landgraf and Anya Saffir. Sound design and engineering by me, Vincent Cacchione. Original music Nate Weida. With Jacquelyn Landgraf as Deirdre Gardner and featuring Annie Golden as the voice from downstairs. It Makes a Sound is a Night Vale Presents production. For more information on this show and other Night Vale podcasts, go to nightvalepresents.com. We hope you’ll rate and review “It Makes a Sound” on Apple Podcasts, and that you’ll tell your friends and all sorts of other humans to listen to the show, to hearken to the trees. And remember Wim Faros.

#it makes a sound #night vale presents #episode 1 #are you listening

[midnightiscoming-kasabian]

*Noel [Gallagher Fielding]

DIY Magazine, August 2017

Kasabian: Forever having the last laugh

Much loved and misunderstood in equal measures, Kasabian are still the band your mother warned you about. 

Keep reading

Back in 1998, when Tom Meighan was 17 years old, he stepped out onto the stage of The Shed in Leicester in front of a group of friends and family and began Kasabian’s first ever gig as though he were headlining Glastonbury. “I remember hiding behind the stairs and then appearing like it was some fucking [arena]. That’s the level my head was at then,” he recalls. “It was all our mates in the crowd, so everyone’s gonna tell you you’re good. But we knew we were good anyway. We knew we had something special.” Fast forward 16 years and four Number One records later to 2014, and Kasabian were headlining Glastonbury for real. This month, now with yet another Number One (current LP ‘For Crying Out Loud’) to add to the tally, they’ll headline Reading & Leeds for the second time. Tonight, they’re headlining Glasgow’s TRNSMT to 50,000 people. Taking top billing alongside Radiohead and hometown heroes Biffy Clyro, theirs is the only day to sell out.

Undeniably, Kasabian are one of the biggest bands in the country, sitting in a top tier cohabited by the likes of Arctic Monkeys, Muse and very few else. It’s a mountain they’ve scaled while being hit with endless criticisms along the way – for their lyrics, their ethos, their entire ‘schtick’; surely no other band of their stature has received such a media mauling as Tom, co-conspirator Serge Pizzorno and bandmates Chris Edwards and Ian Matthews. But through it all, Kasabian have always had two indisputable weapons in their arsenal: a world class live show capable of silencing even the most po-faced of doubters, and a twinkle of the eye that suggests they’re forever having twenty times more fun than any grumbling muso slagging them off. “We’re a big band. We sell albums. People don’t like it, that’s the way it is,” intones Tom, plainly. “We’ve never been arse-licked; we’ve grafted, me and Serge, to where we’ve got. Everyone hated us when we came out and we’re still here. I don’t regret any of [our choices]. It’s all tongue in cheek, you know? That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

Our whirlwind 36 hours within the Kasabian machine begins the night before at Glasgow’s O2 Academy. The band have hired out the venue for a final rehearsal and, despite their flights from Estonia being cancelled the night before, meaning a time-consuming re-routing and a police escort to get them on a train to the city, they’re trucking on regardless. Flight cases emblazoned with the group’s logo fill up the venue and two delivery drivers bearing stacks of pizza boxes higher than their heads arrive to fuel the touring party; when the band appear just before 9pm, Serge recalls how he was bottled the last time they played here, requiring six stitches and leaving bloodied hand prints down the dressing room corridor walls. It’s fair to say that almost everything in Kasabian’s orbit is bigger and madder and more quote-worthy than normal life.

Their reasons for tonight’s additional run through, however, are impressively un-starry. Kasabian don’t like to go into a gig cold - “We’re trying to get this collective mass of people and take them somewhere, but if we have three or four days off, I feel like it takes half a set to get there,” explains Serge. “Whereas now I think, well, we were here last night so we just carry on” - and so for two hours, on the eve of one of their summer’s biggest shows, they play some of this decade’s most hedonistic hits to a handful of non-plussed roadies in an empty room. There’s possibly none more fitting a picture of Kasabian’s strange dichotomy – excessive and purposefully ridiculous yet grounded and down to earth – than watching them blast through a live karaoke version of ultimate sesh anthem ‘Fire’ (Tom’s ducked out by this point) to precisely no-one.“The thing is though, we really care,” enthuses Serge the next day, red roses stitched onto his tracksuit as he lounges with a cup of tea back in the band’s country house hotel. “There’s a responsibility when you’re at the top of the bill to end the night on a massive fucking high, and we’ve built a reputation for that. Anyone who’s indifferent to us and doesn’t get it, misses the jokes and misses the point, they see it live and at the end of the gig they understand. It’s really important to us that people go away thinking…” He pauses. “Well, we try and change your life.”While Tom bats away any mention of the band’s detractors with the dismissive attitude of a man who genuinely doesn’t give a shit (“Nah. Done it. Can’t do anything else. Headlined Glastonbury; got six albums; probably do another 10 more. That’s how it is”), Serge is more frustrated by people’s frequent misconceptions of his band. It’s indicative of the yin-yang personality types at the heart of the duo.

In conversation, Tom is gregarious and hyperactive, with the attention span of a six-year-old on Christmas Day. He says exactly what he thinks and is already distracted by the next thing before you’ve even processed the answer. Serge, meanwhile, is a generous conversationalist, ruminating in depth on any topic he’s given. On stage, Tom, says his bandmate, has been “exactly the same from day one. He was quite a powerful character [even] at school; he’d walk into the year area and you could tell his presence.” Serge, however, has only more recently come to embrace the thrill of the stage. “I didn’t feel the need to be Freddie Mercury - that compulsion some people have to perform,” he explains. “But there was a moment when I realised I can just fuck about. I think about what I can get away with to make the other lads laugh in front of all these people. It’s ridiculous standing on stage, so you should embrace it.” But while Tom and Serge might come from different angles, both have always been united in the pursuit of fun and playfulness, of keeping things just that little bit silly. During the campaign for 2014 LP ‘48:13’, they performed backed by a series of flashing slogans including ‘Free Deirdre’ and ‘Maggot Munch’. When they headlined Glastonbury, their only ‘special guest’ was pal Noel Fielding dressed as a cartoon vampire. Joyously irreverent, theirs is a humour entrenched as much in a Young Ones-esque tradition of eccentric British comedy as one of boisterous British bands. That’s the bit that so many people seem to struggle with. “One of the most frustrating things is when people miss the humour. There’s so much piss taking in everything we do,” begins Serge. “We’re in on the joke, that’s the thing that people don’t seem to understand.” The oft-quoted stereotype, we suggest, is of Kasabian as a kind of real life Spinal Tap, dialling up the rock’n’roll cliché to 11… “It’s that middle class, apologetic, broadsheet opinion,” he replies, getting slightly rattled by the thought. “Kings of Leon: that’s Spinal Tap. Kanye getting stuck on a fucking digger truck at Glastonbury: that’s Spinal Tap. I mean, hearing Kanye singing Freddie Mercury out of tune at Glastonbury is as Spinal Tap as anything anyone else has ever done, so… it’s rich, is what I’m saying. The parody and the ridiculousness of being in a band is all nonsense. It doesn’t matter what kind of band you’re in; it’s all nonsense.”

Back in the early days, around 2004’s self-titled debut, Serge admits that Kasabian embraced all the “nonsense” rather a lot more. “We didn’t think it was gonna last longer than one album, so we decided that we were gonna experience everything we could,” he grins, with the look of a man who’s seen a few detention slips in his time. “We’d turn up to festivals and just fucking go through people. Run in dressing rooms, off our fucking heads – honestly, we were so fucked. No-one liked us. We were just fucking horrible little shits, which was perfect. I love The Stooges and those kinds of bands… We wanted everyone to fucking hate us. It was great. It’s all part of the show.” If social media had existed back then, he notes, “it would have been disgusting”. Now, both Tom and Serge are fathers and in their mid-30s. Five albums after releasing the debut they thought would be their only record, they’ve settled into a space surprisingly far down the other end of the rockstar bullshit spectrum. Say what you want about the on-stage swagger and lairy bangers, but underneath it all Kasabian have kept remarkably grounded. “That’s the thing, we’re just not fucking like that. We live in Leicester with all our families and all our pals and that’s because we saw through the fakeness from day one,” Serge shrugs. “You could reel off the people who’ve turned into dicks and that’s fucked them, but that’s just not us. We saw through it. How can I write music for the people that I relate to if I’m not around them? 50,000 people aren’t gonna relate if I stand around with a load of supermodels opening envelopes. No one gives a fuck about that guy.”

Cut to later that evening and 50,000 people are most certainly giving all the fucks. Having spent the hour before stage time blasting out Beatles songs and milling among a small and unanimously entertaining group of pals including Trainspotting legend Robert Carlyle and a perma-sunglasses wearing old friend only known as The Turtle, Kasabian take to the TRNSMT stage to a deafening roar. “It’s about anticipation, it’s like a boxing match,” notes Tom about the build up to stage time. “We’re like monkeys in a cage, and it’s my job to rattle the cage. I go from Clark Kent to Superman. BANG - like that.” The set, as always, is huge and cathartic and powerful; a 90-minute, all-consuming escape from reality that has the entire field uniformly losing their minds in unison. To paraphrase Serge’s own words previously, even if you don’t get it before, by the end of the gig you’ll understand.Off stage, enjoying a post-show beverage or two, we notice that Serge is wearing not one, but three identical gold Casio watches up his arm. The theory, he explains with that twinkle in his eye, is that casually observed on stage, they’ll look like a standard bit of bling. “But then when you look closer…” he chuckles, with a wink. It’s exactly the kind of weird and wonderful thought process that characterises the songwriter and his band of childhood pals. Some people will scoff and chalk it up as another example of the band’s rockstar buffoonery, but Kasabian have always known it’s far more fun, having a laugh down here with the people. “I genuinely just think life’s too short,” smiles Serge. “The odds of any of this happening. I mean, just to be born in this country alone, you’re already dreaming - then to have the life I’ve had. So I figure, I’ve been given this, and I can’t explain why, but man, I’m going out in a blaze of glory. And I figure if I worry and hide, then what a waste. I’m gonna have the fucking time of my life on that stage. I’m gonna have it so big. And maybe that’s what people see in us? Like, you know what? They’re living it.” 

#kasabian #diy august 2017 #interviews #interviews 2017 #my scans

[kelhirt]

My Travel Journal: an adventure abroad.

Six months ago I returned from my dream; traveling alone to Europe. Though I wish my 2 month stint was more like 12, I couldn’t be more thankful for the time I had abroad. I realized as I was journaling to reflect on the year 2018, that my time in Ireland made a huge impact on my mental health and strengthened my resilience. I think it took so long for me to realize how big of a part it played in my life because I always wanted to answer the “How was your trip?!” question with the things I saw and experienced, not how those very things helped me grow or how they inspire me today.

On my first trip abroad with the high school history club to Italy in 2012, my advisor told us to keep a journal so we didn’t forget all the little happenings from the trip. Best advice I’ve ever received because I now have two journals filled with intimate details of my travels that probably would have been forgotten but are so unique. 

Though I won’t share my exact entries, like all good solo-female travelers, I am going to share parts of my journal. I want to do this because a few friends and family asked me to continue "blogging” while I was abroad and I didn’t, but also because I miss writing. Additionally, I love hearing people’s stories, so why not share some of my personal anecdotes along with some pictures? Because the current attention span people have is less than a minute, I am going to split my entries up so they are more palpable and easy reads. 

So the story begins...

I called my parents early in May (both of whom knew I was semi planning something) and told them I had a dilemma-- flights were crazy cheap, definitely in my allotted travel pot, and I had been wanting to go back to Ireland so bad. Doesn’t sound much like a dilemma they said...so with their validation, I booked the flight and cried for literally 20 seconds, stopped, asked myself out loud why I was crying when I was making my dream a reality, then jumped around. Huge emotional swing in less than a minute. Mid June I was set to go with a carry on, a backpack, and a general plan for the trip that would fall apart right when I landed.

My original plan was to do WorkAway; an international volunteering program where you do a few hours of work each day in return for food and lodging. I did all my research to make sure I didn’t need a special visa, and on all accounts, volunteering never showed that I’d need one...but the lady at customs when I landed in Dublin thought very differently. After 30 minutes of interrogation, showing all my money, holding back tears, and promising I wouldn’t do it, she let me into the country instead of sending my right back to the US on the next plane. I’m used to getting searched every time I fly, but this was a whole new level.

Thankfully a friend talked me into letting him pick me up in Dublin, so once I got through customs, I had a big warm hug and smiling face to welcome me; a moment of huge relief and sheer happiness. After a few chill nights in GaIway, I mischievously decided to go and stay with a woman I had previously set a WorkAway stay up with, who was as confused as I was about the situation. She ended up “adopting me” as a niece for a long weekend, so I hopped on a ferry and journeyed to the beautiful Aran Island: Inis Mor. 

The people I fell into the hands of  during the adventure still blow my mind, and Deirdre was the first on the list. Deirdre leads Celtic Spirituality Retreats and also is an outstanding musician.  In her essence, she is an extraordinary Irish woman who values every second of each day.

We spent a few hours each day painting, singing to the music, and learning more about each other. As we were listening to my Spotify one day, Dermot Kennedy, one of my favorite musicians came on and she seemed surprised that I knew his work. Turns out she is his aunt.  Small world-- Like is this seriously happening?! Check out this intensely beautiful duet they informally performed. After that, check them both out!

The painting we did happened in between morning meditation overlooking the Atlantic on a cliff, afternoon trips to the beach, hiking to Dun Aengus(a prehistoric fort) where they deemed me as a local and let me in for free, and getting lost in fields of sheep on evening walks. 

I spent the summer solstice with Deirdre and her friends, drinking red wine, watching the sunset, and trying to keep up with the folk songs that were being sung by everyone. Later that weekend we all met again at the island’s bonfire night and did it all again...this time I was more familiar with the songs and because of that, I got roped into an Irish jig. Following that, the ladies got a tour of Deirdre's newly painted retreat/music space in her shed and we ended up having a deeply emotional time with song and a circle of gratitude. In meeting those unique and empowering women, I gained about six Irish moms and a place to stay later in my journey.

A few days and a hot Bus Eireann ride later, I was in Dingle, an extremely charming coastal town south of Galway. The first night I was there I went to a local pub and enjoyed great live music and Irish dancing done by a guy who was on Britain’s Got Talent, which was obviously amazing.

I shared a large hostel room with two women. One of my hostel mates was German and a professional badminton player--not sure how I didn’t know that that was a thing...where were the scouts at the doubles badminton 2016 UW-La Crosse Intramural championship when my partner and I killed it? 

My other hostel mate was from California and we ended up having a riot of a time. Dingle is a small town and because she had been there for about a week, she knew many people. We ended up hitching a ride around Sleigh Head Drive with a local pub owner who also was a tour guide on his weeks off. 

Honestly not sure how this stuff happens, but he gave us a personal tour. It involved stopping for homemade baked goods, wine, and a few beaches for a swim to cool off in the hot Irish summer, thanks to global warming. When he had to go back to bartending, he dropped us off at a beach-side pub where we drank Dingle Gin and tonics for hours, making friends with anyone and everyone, followed by hitchhiking home with some tourists from South America. Then of course we had to go see the best bartender in town for some more gin, which made me a very nauseous lady on the 4 hour bus ride back to Galway the next day, but I made it and even got to enjoy my first 99; a plain vanilla ice cream cone covered in sprinkles.Very popular on the beautiful Emerald Isle. 

The days between my short trips away from Galway consisted of me spending time reading at Salthill beaches,  people watching at the Sparch (Spanish Arch), and wandering around my favorite city. Being back in Galway felt like I was at home. I think it’s pretty obvious that I am obsessed with Ireland. But what isn’t so obvious is the strange pull I felt to return and the connection I feel when I am there. I link those feelings to my grandma who visited Ireland many times, and whose spirit is strong inside of me and has been since she died many years ago.

My first two weeks back in Ireland were nothing less than magnificent, setting the tone for the next 6 weeks, but I had more exploring to do.  

Next stop: Deutschland! 

#solotravel #girlslovetravel #chasingdreams #ireland #connection

[imagekeepr]

Albums and Songs Recorded By The Beach Boys

1962 - Surfin' Safari (Capitol) Surfin' Safari * County Fair * Ten Little Indians * Chug-A-Lug * Little Girl (You're My Miss America) * 409 * Surfin' * Heads You Win - Tails I Lose * Summertime Blues * Cuckoo Clock * Moon Dawg * The Shift 1963 - Surfin' USA (Capitol) Surfin' USA * Farmer's Daughter * Misirlou * Stoked * Lonely Sea * Shut Down * Noble Surfer * Honky Tonk * Lana Surf Jam * Let's Go Trippin' * Finders Keepers 1963 - Surfer Girl (Capitol) Surfer Girl * Catch a Wave * The Surfer Moon * South Bay Surfer * The Rocking Surfer * Little Deuce Coupe * In My Roon * Hawaii * Surfer's Rule * Our Car Club * Your Summer Dream * Boogie Woodie 1963 - Little Deuce Coupe (Capitol) Little Deuce Coupe * Ballad of Ole' Betsy * Be True to Your School * Car Crazy Cutie * Cherry Cherry Coupe * 409 * Shut Down * Spirit of America * Our Car Club * No-Go Showboat * A Young Man is Gone * Custome Machine 1964 - Shut Down Volume 2 (Capitol) Fun, Fun, Fun * Don't Worry Baby * In the Parkin' Lot * Cassius Love vs. Sonny Wilson * The Warmth of the Sun * This Car of Mine * Why Do Fools Fall in Love * Pom, Pom Play Girl * Keep an Eye on Summer * Shut Down, Part II * Louie, Louie * Denny's Drums 1964 - All Summer Long (Capitol) I Get Around * All Summer Long * Little Honda * We'll Run Away * Carl's Big Chance * Wendy * Do You Remember? * Girls on the Beach * Drive-in * Our Favorite Recording Sessions * Don't Back Down 1964 - The Beach Boys Concert (Capitol) Fun, Fun, Fun * The Little Old Lady from Pasadena * Little Deuce Coupe * Long, Tail Texan * In My Roon * Monster Mash * Let's Go Trippin' * Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow * The Wanderer * Hawaii * Graduation Day * I Get Around * Johnny B. Goode 1964 - The Beach Boys' Christmas Album (Capitol) Little Saint Nick * The Man with All the Toys * Santa's Beard * Merry Christmas Baby * Christmas Day * Frosty the Snowman * We Three Kings of Orient Are * Blue Christmas * Santa Claus is Comin' to Town * White Christmas * I'll Be Home for Christmas * Auld Lang Syne 1965 - Today! (Capitol) Do You Wanna Dance * Good to My Baby * Don't Hurt My Little Sister * When I Grow Up (To Be a Man) * Help Me, Rhonda * Dance, Dance, Dance * Please Let Me Wonder * I'm So Young * Kiss Me, Baby * She Knows Me Too Well * In the Back of My Mind * Bull Session with the Big Daddy 1965 - Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!) (Capitol) The Girl from New York City * Amusement Parks U.S.A. * Then I Kissed Her * Salt Lake City * Girl Don't Tell Me * Help Me Rhonda * California Girls * Let Him Run Wild * You're So Good to Me * Summer Means New Love (instrumental) * I'm Bugged at My Ol' Man * And Your Dream Comes True 1965 - The Beach Boys' Party! (Capitol) Hully Gully * I Should Have Known Better * Tell Me Why * Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow * Mountain of Love * You've Got to Hide Your Love Away * Devoted to You * Alley Oop * There's No Other (Like My Baby) * Medley: I Get Around/Little Deuce Coupe * The Times They Are a-Changin' * Barbara Ann 1966 - Pet Sounds (Capitol) Wouldn't It Be Nice * You Still Believe in Me * That's Not Me * Don't Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder) * I'm Waiting for the Day * Let's Go Away * Sloop Sloop B * God Only Knows * I Know There's an Answer * Here Today * I Just Wasn't Made For These Times * Pet Sounds * Caroline, No 1967 - Smiley Smile (Capitol) Heroes and Villains * Vegetables * Fall Breaks and Back to Winter (Woody Woodpecker Symphony) * She's Goin' Bald * Little Pad * Good Vibrations * With Me Tonight * Wind Chimes * Gettin' Hungry * Wonderful * Whistle In 1967 - Wild Honey (Capitol) Wild Honey * Aren't You Glad * I Was Made to Love Her * Country Air * A Thing or Two * Darlin' * I'd Love Just Once to See You * Here Comes the Night * Let the Wind Blow * How She Boogalooed It * Mama Says 1968 - Friends (Capitol) Meant for You * Friends * Wake the World * Be Here in the Morning * When a Man Needs a Woman * Passing By * Anna Lee, the Healer * Little Bird * Be Still * Busy Doin' Nothin' * Diamond Head * Transcendental Meditation 1969 - 20/20 (Capitol) Do It Again * I Can Hear Music * Bluebirds Over the Mountain * Be with Me * All I Want to Do * The Nearest Faraway Place * Cotton Fields * I Want to Sleep * Time to Get Alone * Never Learn Not to Love * Our Prayer * Cabinessence 1970 - Sunflower (Brother/Reprise) Slip On Through * This Whole World * Add Some Music to Your Day * Got to Know the Woman * Deirdre * It's About Time * Tears in the Morning * All I Wanna Do * Forever * Our Sweet Love * At My Window * Cool, Cool Water 1970 - Live in London (Capitol) Darlin' * Wouldn't It Be Nice * Sloop John B * California Girls * Do It Again * Wake the World * Aren't You Glad * Bluebirds Over the Mountain * Their Hearts Were Full of Spring * Good Vibrations * God Only Knows * Barbara Ann 1971 - Surf's Up (Brother/Reprise) Don't Go Near the Water * Long Promised Road * Take a Load Off Your Feet * Disney Girls (1957) * Student Demonstration Time * Feel Flows * Lookin' at Tomorrow (A Welfare Song) * A Day in the Life of a Tree * Til I Die * Surf's Up 1972 - Carl and the Passions - "So Tough" (Brother/Reprise) You Need a Mess of Help to Stand Alone * Here She Comes * Marcella * Hold On Dear Brother * Make It Good * All This Is That * Cuddle Up 1973 - Holland (Brother/Reprise) Sail On, Sailor * Steamboat * California Saga/Big Sur * California Saga/The Beaks of Eagles * California Saga/California * The Trader Living * Leaving This Town * Only With You * Funky Pretty * Mt. Vernon and Fairway - Theme * I'm the Pied Piper (instrumental) * Better Get Back in Bed * Magic Transistor Radio * I'm the Pied Piper * Radio King Dom 1973 - The Beach Boys in Concert (Brother/Reprise) Sail On, Sailor * Sloop John B * The Trader * You Still Believe in Me * California Girls * Darlin * Marcella * Caroline, No * Leaving This Town * Heroes and Villains * Funky Pretty * Let the Wind Blow * Help Me, Rhonda * Surfer Girl * Wouldn't It Be Nice? * We Got Love * Don't Worry Baby * Surfin' USA * Good Vibrations * Fun, Fun, Fun 1977 - Love You (Brother) Let Us Go On This Way * Roller Skating Child * Mona * Johnny Carson * Good Time * Honkin' Down the Highway * Ding Dang * Solar System * The Night Was So Young * I'll Bet He's Nice * Let's Put Our Hearts Together * I Wanna Pick You Up * Love Is a Woman 1978 - M.I.U. Album (Brother) She's Got Rhythm * Come Go With Me * Hey Little Tomboy * Kona Coast * Peggy Sue * Wontcha Come Out Tonight * Sweet Sunday Kinda Love * Belles of Paris * Pitter Patter * My Diane * Match Point of Our Love * Winds of Change 1979 - L.A. (Light Album) (Brother/CBS) Good Timin' * Lady Lynda * Full Sail * Angel Come Home * Love Surrounds Me * Smahama * Here Comes the Night * Baby Blue * Goin' South * Shortenin' Bread 1980 - Keepin' the Summer Alive (Brother/CBS) Keepin' the Summer Alive * Oh Darlin' * Some of Your Love * Livin' with a Heartache * School Day (Ring! Ring! Goes the Bell) * Goin' On * Sunshine * When Girls Get Together * Santa Ana Winds * Endless Harmony 1985 - The Beach Boys (Brother/CBS) Getcha Back * It's Gettin' Late * Crack at Your Love * Maybe I Don't Know * She Believes in Love Again * California Calling * Passing Friend * I'm So Lonely * Where I Belong * I Do Love You * It's Just a Matter of Time * Male Ego 1989 - Still Cruisin' (Capitol) Still Cruisin' * Somewhere Near Japan * Island Girl * In My Car * Kokomo (from Coctail) * Wipe Out (with the Fat Boys) * Make It Big (from Troop Beverly Hills) * I Get Arond (from Good Morning Vietnam) * Wouldn't It Be Nice (from the Big Chill) * California Girls (from Soul Man) 1992 - Summer in Paradise (Brother) Hot Fun in the Summertime * Surfin' * Summer of Love * Island Fever * Still Surfin' * Slow Summer Dancin' (One Summer Night) * Strange Things Happen * Remember (Walking in the Sand) * Lahaina Aloha * Under the Boardwalk * Summer in Paradise * Forever 1996 - Stars and Stripes Vol. 1 (River North) Don't Worry Baby (with Lorrie Morgan) * Little Deuce Coupe (with James House) * 409 (with Junior Brown) * Long, Tall Texan (with Doug Supernaw) * I Get Around (with Sawyer Brown) * Be True to Your School (with Toby Keith) * Fun, Fun, Fun (with Ricky Van Shelton) * Help Me, Rhonda (with T. Graham Brown) * The Warmth of the Sun (with Willie Nelson) * Sloop John B (with Collin Raye) * I Can Hear Music (with Kathy Troccoli) * Caroline, No (with Timothy B. Schmit) 2002 - Good Timin' Live at Knebworth England 1980 (Brother/Eagle) Intro * California Girls * Sloop John B * Darlin' * School Days * God Only Knows * Be True to Your School * Do It Again * Little Deuce Coupe * Cotton Fields/Heroes and Villains * Happy Birthday Brian * Keepin' the Summer Alive * Lady Lynda * Surfer Girl * Help Me Rhonda * Rock & Roll Music * I Get Around * Surfin' USA * You Are So Beautiful * Good Vibrations * Barbara Ann * Fun, Fun, Fun

#the beach boys