#| 'she lives in a nightmare' (deirdre)

[briingmayflowers]

#| 'your beauty never ever scared me' (deirdre & darling) #| 'conjured up' (mun made) #| 'she lives in a nightmare' (deirdre) #| 'he is intelligence and determination' (casper)

[ladyescapism]

The Fourth Archeron Sister - Part 4

summary: the baby of the family, Deirdre Archeron, is growing up and finding herself. on place she has already found is in a unknowingly requited crush with a certain shadow singer. will they be able to find each other? or will expectations, honor, and other forces get in the way?

a/n: sisterly love at its finest ;) also, sorry for the super long part, i just don't want to keep breaking this up.

Part 3

warnings: nightmares, slut-shaming, assault (but he deserves it)

wc: 4,600

‘I have a date tonight,’ Dierdre thought to herself. 

What was she going to wear? What should she do with her hair? She had no idea. She thought of asking Feyre, but she’s going out with Rhys. Mor? No, she’s in the Court of Nightmares. Nesta? She doubted her siter would come but it was worth a try. 

She used a magic messenger box to send a message to Nesta. 

I have a date tonight with the grocer at 6. Will you help me get ready? I don’t know what to do. If you are busy or not feeling well, don’t worry about it.            

-Deirdre

As she placed the note in the box, she recalled the first time she used one.  

“So, I just place the note in the box, close the lid, say the person’s name who I want to receive the message and the note will appear in their box,” she said as she regarded the box with suspicion.  

“Yes,” Az said. “It’s nice for non-emergency messages that don’t have any important information.” 

She turned to look into his kind eyes. 

“Is it magic?” 

“Yes.” 

“But I don’t have anyone to send messages to. Nesta and Elain are here and Feyre…” she trailed off. 

Was in the Spring Court. Spying for her court and leaving her behind again. 

No. No, Feyre was doing what needed to be done for her court and she would have to deal with it. She wasn’t a child who needed to hold her big sister’s hand to put on some clothes or walk across the street. 

“I know,” Az said, snapping her attention to the handsome male. 

She tried to remember if Az and Feyre were friends. 

“Yes or no. You and my sister are friends.” 

“Yes.” 

The memory faded as a message popped into her box. 

Of course, I’ll come. See you at 4.

- N

Odd. Nesta didn’t usually read messages that quickly, let alone respond to them. That means that she only had an hour to tidy her apartment and take a bath. 

After speed cleaning her apartment, she was mid-bath when she heard a knock at the door. 

With soapy hair, Deirdre scrambled to put on her dressing robe and make her way over to the door. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on going like that,” Nesta deadpanned. 

“No,” she said back. “I just assumed not smelling bad was the first step in impressing a date.” 

Nesta just hummed in agreement. 

Deirdre realized in that moment that Nesta hadn’t been in her apartment since she moved into it. Even then, she stepped inside that living space, looked out the window, made a comment about the view and then left. 

“Well, let me go finish rinsing my hair,” she said, trying not to be awkward. “Feel free to sit in here or in my bedroom.” 

Her sister just nodded. 

Damn her and her silence. 

As Deirdre walked out of the bathing room, she found her sister rooting in her closet. 

“All you have are blouses, long skirts, and trousers,” Nesta said matter-of-factly. 

“Well, it’s all I need really.” 

“You can afford more, and better.” 

“I don’t know how to shop for much else.” 

“Non-sense. Mother used to take us shopping-” she cut herself off. 

“I hardly remember Mother, let alone going shopping with her.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I have one dress, it’s just not in the closet,” she offered. “Should I get it out?”

“Yes, let me see.” 

Deirdre kneeled at her bed and felt for the box. 

This dress was the only nice thing that Deirdre had ever felt comfortable buying for herself. It was long, black made of thick linen but with a faint floral pattern embroidered pattern done in a glossier thread along the neckline, cuffs, and hem. 

Nesta looked at it like she looked at everything. As in, Deirdre couldn’t tell if she liked it or not. 

“Do you think it’s too fancy for a simple dinner?”

“Its lovely,” she said after a moment of contemplation. “If you’re overdressed for where he takes you in this, he’s not worth your time.” 

“You think its simple.” 

“It is. But it also has an elegance to it. Prefect for you. Now put it on.” 

Deirdre nodded as she made her way to the bathing room. 

“Not in there,” Nesta said quickly. “You’ll get it wet. Put it on in here.” 

Dierdre looked at her sister in annoyance.

“Oh, I’ve seen you naked plenty of times before, you prude. Just put on the dress.” 

“Yeah, before. It’s different now.” 

Nesta leveled a look at her. 

“I have boobs now,” she whisper-shouted, mostly joking. 

“Oh wow, like I’ve never seen boobs before,” Nesta said with dry sarcasm. 

“Ugh, fine.” 

Deirdre dropped the robe and put on her undergarments. As she begun to put on the dress, she started struggling to get the dress on over her head. She felt Nesta come over and start helping her move the dress down her body. 

Before Deirdre could even try, Nesta was already doing up the buttons along the back. 

Deirdre tried to look at herself in the mirror but found herself looking at her sister instead. 

Nesta had a look of concentration on her face as she fastened the buttons. When she had to move Dierdre’s hair out of the way, they made eye contact in the mirror. 

“See,” Dierdre broke the silence. “I can’t wear dresses all the time. I would never be able to get dressed.” 

“You would learn.” 

As Nesta finished, Deirdre began to look at herself in the mirror. 

She looked good. The square neckline enhanced her boobs but was high enough that she didn’t feel exposed. The seams of the dress gave the illusion of a slim waist and fuller hips. And the embroidery caught the light just enough to give it a little flare. 

“I don’t think you need much makeup,” Nesta said, looking at her sister’s face in the mirror. “You have clear skin, so maybe just a touch up under the eyes, some kohl on your lashes, and some rouge on your cheeks and lips and you’ll be fine. And we’ll put your hair up to show off your neck and face.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Nesta did all that and they still had an hour left before Deidre had to make her way to the grocer to meet Alex. 

“Would you like to stay for tea?” 

“Sure.” 

Nesta sat down and stated rubbing her hand along her bump as Deirdre made some tea. She went with ginger for Nesta.

As she prepared the tea tray, she tried to make conversation. 

“I’m surprised that Cassian let you out of his sight this late into the pregnancy. I remember Rhys was extra protective over Feyre during her pregnancy.” 

“He is sitting on the roof.” 

“Should we invite him in,” Deirdre asked with concern. 

“No, I told him we wanted to chat for a bit in private. The roof was the compromise.” 

“Oh.” 

She finished making the tea and sat down with Nesta and poured them both a cup. 

“Thank you for making ginger. I know you don’t like it, but it helps with the nausea.” 

“I know and you’re welcome. Besides, I think I’ve gotten used to the taste.”

“No, you haven’t. You grimace every time you sip.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re stubborn.” 

“Pot, kettle, black.” 

“I didn’t come here to argue.” 

“And that’s not why I invited you over. You’re right. I don’t like ginger, but I made it because I know it makes you feel better, but I didn’t want to ask and make you feel like you had to say something else for my sake when you came all the way here, stressing out your mate in the process, to help me get ready for a silly date.” 

“That’s why I said thank you,” she said quietly. “And it’s not silly. It’s a big step in gaining more independence.” 

“But I am independent. I live by myself.” 

“I mean emotional independence. I don’t want to offend you, but you rely on Feyre a lot for emotional support and assurance when that should come from yourself.” 

“I do rely on Feyre for a lot. But she took care of me, of us, for so long that I don’t think I know how to take care of myself, emotionally at least.” 

“Well, today marks the first step.”  

They sat and drank and talked for the next 45 minutes. It was the longest they had sat and talked, just the two of them in, well, ever. 

After she collected what she would need for her date, they made their way downstairs. 

When they got outside, Deirdre pulled Nesta in for a hug. Well, as much as a hug as they could get in with the baby bump in the way. 

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered in her sister’s ear. 

“Anytime,” she whispered back. “And I’ll have to take you shopping for dresses before I get busy with the baby.” 

They pulled apart as Cassian landed beside them and wished Dierdre good luck on her date. 

“And remember,” he said as he gathered Nesta in his arms. “If he tries anything sleazy, then use those self-defense moves I taught you on him and then run to the River House. Rhys and Feyre aren’t home, but Az is there looking after Nyx, and he’ll take care of you. Also, you look great.” 

The sudden mention of Az made a wave of guilt wash over her, but she pushed it down as she assured them both she would be fine and waved to them as they took off. 

She made her way to the grocer and sighed a breath of relief as she saw Alex there waiting for her. 

“Alex,” she shouted to get his attention. 

He turned his head and began to walk over to where she was. 

He was a handsome male, with shaggy brown hair and deep brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. His build was slim, but not scrawny, and he was scarcely taller than her. 

“Deidre, hey! You look amazing.” 

“Thank you,” she replied, heat rising in her cheeks. “I hope it’s not too fancy for wherever you have planned.” 

“Maybe a little,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “But no matter. You always stand out in a crowd. Now you’ll look the part.” 

He was dressed in dark brown linen trousers and a crisp white shirt. It was plain, no embroidery or dye, typical of the working classes of Velaris for nicer occasions.

“Come on,” he encouraged, offering his arm. “Or we’ll be late.” 

She took his arm, and they made their way through Velaris. They made easy conversation about the weather, books they had read, and a play that was being advertised as they passed the theater. 

They made their way into the southern part of the city, known for being a residential area, and Deidre found herself standing outside a tavern. 

“I’ve never been to a tavern before,” she said nervously. 

“It’s amazing, I promise,” he assured. “I know the owner and called in a favor to get us a reservation. It can get a little loud, but it’s a weekday so it shouldn’t be too crazy. The food is okay, but the drinks are better, and the atmosphere is so fun.” 

She followed him inside. 

Immediately, she was met with the smell of ale and bodies. The floors were covered in bits of food, like it was never mopped. There were people drinking, playing card games, and eating questionable looking food. And if this was the crowd on a weekday, she didn’t want to see how packed it was on a weekend. 

She almost lost Alex in the crowd, given that he darted through the bodies, never looking back to make sure she was following. She made her way to the table he had already sat at. Before she could get comfortable in the chair, the waitress came over. 

“Hey, Alex,” she greeted. “The usual?” 

He agreed. 

“And for you, sweetheart?” 

“Um, a sweet red wine, if you have it,” she answered. 

“Okay, be right back with that.” 

“Thanks, Lara,” Alex said before she walked off. 

Dierdre looked at him and forced a smile. 

“I know this place can be a little much, but I wanted to give you a new experience.” 

“No, I like it,” she lied. “I am more used to a quiet restaurant, but this is more exciting to be sure.” That part wasn’t a lie. 

“I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but you seem a little sheltered. So, I wanted to give you to chance to get out more.” 

“Well, I was living in poverty for many years as well as being sick. My sister, Feyre, has always been very protective of me, so it’s probably true that I’m sheltered.” 

“I didn’t know that you were sick,” he said, sitting up in his chair more. 

Dierdre folded her hands on the sticky table. 

“Not anymore,” she assured him. “When I turned fae, my lungs healed within a few days, but I still got winded from the lack of exercise my entire life. One of the happiest days of my life was when I made the climb from the Place of Thread and Jewels to the River House without needing a break.” She smiled at the memory. 

“Thank the Cauldron for that,” he said. 

The words rang in her head. She didn’t have time to explain about what going in the Cauldron had been like for her before Lara came back with their drinks, and they placed a food order. There were only three things on the menu, so it didn’t take long to decide. 

Just when their conversation picked up again, someone Alex knew walked in the door, and he excused himself to go say hello. She was left alone to contemplate what he said. 

Just let it go, she thought. He made a bad assumption. If he says anymore about it, then you’ll say something. 

Alex came back over with the friend in tow, introducing him as Maxen. 

“So, Dierdre,” Maxen started. “What did Alex have to do to convince you to go on a date with him?” 

“Free groceries for life,” she joked. 

Maxen laughed. “Seems fair.” 

Alex rolled his eyes. 

“I’m kidding,” she corrected, sensing that Alex wasn’t happy. “It took him two months of flirting in his end to click in my head that he was, in fact, flirting, not just being nice. After that, I was pretty easy to ask out.” She turned to smile at Alex to find his happy smile had returned. 

“That’s sweet,” Maxen said. “Well, I wish you two crazy kids a good night and I’ll see you later, Alex. And hopefully you too, Dierdre.” 

“Good night,” she said, finding her way back to her seat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Alex said. 

Deirdre just nodded. 

The rest of the meal was constantly interrupted by Alex getting up to greet people or people coming over to talk to him. Dierdre was alone for more than half the meal. She could swear that she heard the tell-tale whispering of Azriel’s shadows but dismissed the sounds as something else. When they finally finished and made their way out the door, Alex didn’t offer more than one or two responses to her conversation prompts. 

When they made it back to her apartment building, she stopped and turned on her heel a few feet from the threshold. 

“Thank you for the evening, Alex,” Dierdre said. “I really enjoyed myself and experiencing a part of Velaris I had never seen before.” 

Alex gave her a knowing look. “You didn’t like it at all, did you?” 

She grimaced a little. “It’s not that I didn’t like it or apricate it. I am just not a fan of loud, crowded places. That’s all.” 

“I see,” Alex said shaking his head. “I didn’t realize you were so stuck up.” 

She recoiled back like he struck her. 

“Fancy Dierdre Archeron. Sister to the High Lady. So special and too good for a simple tavern with simple food, with simple people.” 

She just huffed and turned to flee up the stairs.

“That tavern wasn’t too good for your sister.” That made her pause and turn to glare at him. “Oh, yeah. She went there all the time. Getting drunk and taking random males home. Maxen, the guy I introduced you too. He took her home once. I just thought that maybe sluttiness ran in the family, so I took a chance on you. But you’re a frigid bitch.” 

Using speed she didn’t know she had, she made for Alex and cracked her open palm across his face. His head whipped to the side. 

“Don’t you talk about my sister like that,” she spat, venom in her voice. She turned and practically ran for her apartment, fearing that he would follow her and retaliate. 

She made it to her apartment and once inside, locked the door behind her. 

Alex, nice, sweet Alex, who told her about the candies that would become her favorite. Alex, who seemed genuinely interested in her. Alex, as it turned out, was good actor that got mean when he drank. 

She let out a shaky breath as she made her way into her apartment, stripping out of her dress and folding it neatly on the back of a chair. 

I’ll deal with it, all of it, later, she thought. 

After changing into her nightgown, she heard a tittering in the corner. A shadow. One of Azriel’s shadows. 

“Tell him I’m well, shadow. And that I’ll speak to him tomorrow.” 

Azriel always found it amusing when she spoke to the shadows directly. 

He’s here he’s here, the shadows whispered to her. 

“Come out come out wherever you are,” she sang, trying to make sure that Azriel never guessed that her night ended poorly. 

He appeared in the doorway of her bedroom.

“Here I am,” he responded. 

She immediately relaxed in his presence. 

She gave him a lazy, tired smile. 

“How was the date?” 

“Fine,” she lied. “Probably won’t be a second one. We agreed that were better off as friends. No sparks.” 

She turned to avoid his gaze. 

“That’s a lie, Dierdre.” 

“No,” she squeaked. 

“Tell me the truth,” he demanded. 

“Not tonight,” she pleaded. “I am not injured. Or harmed. I am just tired and want to go to bed. Please?” 

“Okay,” he allowed. “But first thing in the morning, you tell me everything.” 

“I will.” 

She padded her way over to her bed and looked over her shoulder at him. 

“I don’t need tucked in, ya know.” 

He glared at her. “I know. But I’m going to stay until you fall asleep to leave.” 

“Whatever suits your fancy,” she said, climbing into bed. “Can you cut the light on your way out?” 

He nodded and silently made his way out of the room, doing as he was asked. She heard him whisper good night, but sleep was already well on its way before Dierdre could respond. 

AZRIEL

He was beside himself with worry. He knew that she wasn’t physically hurt, he could see that when she came home. He could see the anger and sadness in her eyes. Alongside a little bit of fear. He wanted to go find the male and beat the answers out of him, but against his better judgement, he waited for Dierdre to wake up and tell him what happened first. 

He stayed on the sofa all night. Not sleeping, of course. He picked up one of her books and leafed though it at one point but got bored quickly. 

At one-point Azriel, though he heard her start to cry out like she used to and darted to her bedroom. But realized it was just the springs of her bed squeaking as she shifted in her sleep. 

Azriel couldn’t help himself as he stared at her sleeping form, remembering the nightmares that plagued her for years. 

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “Let me go…leave me…”  

He ran to her room as soon as the shadows told him that she was in distress. He looked at her, not knowing what to do. 

“NO! NO! FEYRE!” she screamed. 

He couldn’t let her stay in the nightmare any longer, but his presence might scare her. A tall, intimidating male looming over her bed. 

The shadows were at the ready, eager to help the female they had come to like. They moved over her form, caressing her face and neck and gently tugging at her hair. 

She awoke with a gasp, shooting up in her bed like she was poked with a hot stick. She was panting, breathless from the exertion of the dream. 

“Hello?” She was asking like she sensed him or his shadows in the room. 

He made noise and flicked on the light. She was looking at him, wide-eyed and terrified of whatever haunted her dreams this time. 

“Azriel? What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare. I had the shadows wake you. It seemed better than to let you scream.” 

Her faced flush in embarrassment. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“Never be sorry for something you can’t control.” 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s fine, I promise. I was up anyways.” 

She didn’t respond, just stared off into the distance. Azriel was never good with words but cursed himself for not being able to comfort the girl. 

He turned to leave, fearing his presence would make her uncomfortable. 

“Will you stay,” she asked. 

He paused for a moment, then nodded his head and went over to the chair in her room. 

“Yes or no. You were there when I went into the Cauldron.” 

“Yes.” 

“You were hurt.” 

“Yes.” 

“Feyre went with Tamlin. To- to spy on him.” 

“Yes.” 

“You tried to save me.”  

“Yes.” 

They went only like that for a while. Azriel figured that was what the nightmare was about and recounting it with a clearer head was helping soothe her. 

She thankfully found sleep again, but the thought of leaving her side when she was in such a state felt wrong, right down to his bones. 

He had the same feeling now as he looked at her. She was in a much better place but leaving her still was not an option.

Dierdre didn’t wake till 8 in the morning, hours past when Azriel usually woke. She padded her way to the bathroom before making her way to the living room. 

She jumped a bit when she saw Az. 

“I though you went home and were going to come back later,” she croaked, sleep still evident in her voice. 

“I didn’t want to leave you when you were in distress,” he explained, hoping she wouldn’t be mad at him. 

“Typical,” she grumbled, slightly annoyed, but not mad. 

He followed her over to the kitchen area where she made morning tea for the both of them. 

“I don’t normally eat a big breakfast, but I can make you something,” she offered. 

A voice in head screamed at him to accept the offer, but he shook his head and took a seat. 

They sat in silence at the small kitchen table, fixing their respective teas to their liking. The tension was thick in the air as Deirdre avoided meeting his eyes, trying to get away with not telling him about last night. 

“Dierdre,” he started. “Remember what we talked about last night?” 

She pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. 

He just looked at her. A gentler version of the look he gave people he captured before demanding they talk. Same sentiment, less threatening. 

“Promise not to get mad,” she demanded. 

He just kept looking at her in the same way. 

She sighed, knowing there was no getting around him. “It wasn’t a great date. We went to a loud, crowded, sticky tavern and he left me to talk to other people a lot. When we got back, and he could see that I was lying about having liked the tavern he called me stuck up.” 

Azriel was clenching his fist under the table. 

“Then, he said that,” she sucked in a breath, “one of the people he introduced me too was someone Nesta slept with and he was hoping slutiness ran in the family. Then called me a frigid bitch. I proceeded to slap him and run up here.” 

Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was still fuming and ready to kill the male. Both for the comments about Deirdre and Nesta. 

Azriel could feel his jaw clenching and his pulse getting louder in his ears as Dierdre’s words sunk in. 

Slut. Frigid bitch. 

The insults echoed in his head. 

“Well,” she said, looking a little worried. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said quickly. “I need to get going. Thanks for the tea.” He stood up and took long strides towards the door. 

“Wait,” she said. 

He turned to look at her. 

“Thanks for staying. And don’t do anything rash. Like try to find him or tell Cassian and get him all worked up too. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.” 

She read his mind about his plans to go tell Cassian so they could find the male and teach him some manners together. 

He just sighed and walked out the door. 

“I mean it, Az,” she shouted after him. 

He just glanced over his shoulder and wave goodbye. 

He knew that the grocer boy Alex, had taken her to a tavern, a place she would hate, and left her alone at time, but he didn’t make the shadows follow her home. He wanted to give her a bit of privacy if they kissed or something. But he still showed up to her apartment without invitation directly after a date. She didn’t seem mad, though.

Muscle memory took him to the House of Wind without him even realizing it till he was getting ready to land. 

Cassian wasn’t in the training ring. Probably because it was two hours past their normal training time. He moved to pick up a blade anyways. 

Swinging it in no particular fashion, turning and stepping around the ring, he let the conversation with Deirdre run through his head. 

He called me a frigid bitch, she had said. The insult had him reeling. I promptly slapped him and ran up here. He felt a slight tugging at the corners of his mouth at the idea of Deirdre slapping the shit out of someone. He would have paid good money to see it. 

His movements stopped when he locked eyes with his brother. 

“You missed training,” Cassian said. “Not like you.” 

“I slept in.” Azriel was resisting the urge to tell Cassian the truth. 

“You expect me to believe that?” Cassian crossed his arms. “You haven’t slept in in the 500 years I’ve known you. You could be balls deep in a female, and you’d leave her high and dry if it meant you’d be late for morning training.” 

Damn it. Cassian knew him too well. 

“I was busy.” 

“Not with spymaster stuff. I asked Rhys if you were off on an assignment. And he said that unless an emergency came up, you were free for the next few days.” 

Azriel tried to ignore Cassian and the burning sensation to tell him what happened. 

But Cassian gave him a look. A look that said: Tell me where you were or what you were doing right now or I’m going to beat it out of you. 

Not wanting to get beaten on right now, Azriel reluctantly told him what Deirdre had told him. 

tag list:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @singhillada @marina468

#acotar #acotar imagine #acotar angst #azriel angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #acotar fic #unknowingly requited #idiots in love #sisterly love #feyre archeron #rhysand #cassian #nesta archeron

[nagaficat]

"Lady Deirdre? I did it."

Though her body remains without scarring, without marring, Larcei's face is strained and evidently worse for wear. She peeks just into the doorway to the maiden's room, her head and hands hinging off a battered frame. Not much to support her, but when waking up from a month-long dream, anything will do.

"I kept your promise."

Seliph is safe, alive. He too has woken from the awful nightmare of warfare, but still he draws breath--just like the others. Furthermore, Deirdre's secret never once left the comet's lips. They were victorious, the lot of them, and the win didn't come at the cost of something he didn't need to know.

Inviting herself inside, Larcei steps across the rickety floorboards and damp puddles between her and Deirdre. She joins her on the floor, eyes weary and strained--but aglow with the light of triumph. "And it's good to see nothin' happened to you. It's funny, y'know," and she laughs a little, for after such a rest she feels deserving of one, "every time I looked at Seliph, I remembered our conversation. He fought well. In that dream, I mean. Maybe not as good as me, but that's to be expected."

Confidence is also something she's earned. Though hardened blood, flaming tears--soaking sweat. Together they waged war, and not for the first time. Together they came out alive... Also not the first time.

But no matter how far she goes, part of Larcei's success is owed to Deirdre. For being there in a new and vulnerable chapter of her life, for guiding her through trials both thick and thin. It's why she waits patiently for her to fully wake, only standing when she inevitably does. Deirdre is family now: nothing can change that.

Deirdre moves as quickly as she is able given her own weakened state to pull Larcei into a tight embrace, holding her close and swaying slightly. She wishes she could announce a kept promise as well but it would be false. She had not prioritized her own safety, especially not when the Aukes had threatened to abduct Maria along with herself and Forsyth. She could have tried to run but Maria's safety had been the priority.

Deirdre hides her face against Larcei's shoulder and hopes Larcei does not notice how her expression darkens when she mentions how good it is to see nothing has happened to her. Deirdre had died again in a dream but she will mention nothing of it to Larcei. The poor girl has had to experience it far too many times. She does not need to know of yet another, especially when Deirdre was able to join the world of the waking and living once more.

If she can protect Larcei from pain and heartbreak, she will.

"Thank you," Deirdre removes her head from Larcei's shoulder and sets a hand against her cheek. "Thank you for keeping him safe and returning to me while yourself. I do not know what I would do without either of you."

It does not surprise her that either of them fought well. Larcei she has seen in action. She has witnessed just how amazing and adaptable Ayra's daughter truly is. And Seliph, Seliph is his father's son. A scion of Baldr.

Deirdre hums before giving Larcei a kiss on her cheek.

#swiftscion #MY DAUGHTER #nyquil posting hope it makes any kind of sense KAHDKSHD

[theofficersacademy]

                                        Ashe   Artur   Roy   Caeda   Azura                                                                          Andrei   Eir   Elice   Python   Leif                                                                              Patty   Est   Byleth (F)   Corrin (F)

TEAM TAG: #KEguard2023 VILLAGE HEALTH: 55% PUBLIC OPINION: RESPECTED [68/100]

WEEK 2 LOG

HP lost during village defense: -39%

Food Needs Met: YES

Foraging Yield: 5x herbs, 8x ?

Remaining Perishables: 6lbs meat Other: 2x jerky

Timber: 50 bundles

Dream Crystals: 4 red, 8 yellow, 12 green, 26 white

The villagers are grateful for your aid in defending the village, even if the damage it has sustained so far is on par with a disaster. They recognize, too, that they cannot fully convince you to adopt their ways, and see you now as what you really are: visitors. However, Perth still wishes to use Caeda as your group’s spokesperson.

Even though you harvest more than enough food to feed the village, you notice something strange: the villagers do not eat. You don’t know whether this is because they don’t want to or because they don’t need to, but at least now you know you only need to feed yourselves. You will need 10lbs of meat or 20 lbs of vegetables this week.

Old bones now encircle the village walls, deposited there after the shadows disappeared with the morning sun. You wonder where they came from, who they belonged to, and if the nearby forest had grown up over an ancient graveyard. The villagers don’t have much information for you.  Now, you’re no anthropologist, but not all of them look exactly human to you either... but you suppose any skeleton is going to be uncanny to see. There’s an old sheet of paper rolled up in one of their hands: “You and ▊▊▊▊ are strong, but think of the others! ▊▊▊▊, ▊▊▊▊, ▊▊▊▊, ▊▊▊▊, they have found peace here that they hadn’t known since the destruction of ▊▊▊▊. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I can’t bear the thought of tearing them from the sole scrap of joy and happiness that they’ve had in months. What chaos awaits us ▊▊▊▊▊▊▊▊? I won’t subject them to that pain again. Our lives are happy here. Can’t you see?”

Those of you who sought to explore the forest beyond the village walls last week found yourselves continuously returning to the place that you had started. Are you really that bad at navigating? Maybe you can try again this week.

The animals are absent from the forest this week. Try as you might, you can’t detect any sign of them at all.

You notice that some of your companions have suddenly started bleeding. As you didn’t dedicate time last week to patrolling, you don’t know how or why, and you wonder if maybe the miasmic slimes had gotten into the houses while you were defending the rest of the village. One of the villagers, a medic, says that she had witnessed at least one of them - Edelgard - convulsing right before she began to bleed from an invisible wound. Forsyth, Deirdre, and Kent all bear similar injuries. They are, fortunately, still alive though.

Lonán has developed some new things he thinks might be useful to you if the monsters return. Made of sleek metal and glowing parts, the prototypes he shows you are unlike any sort of technology you’ve ever seen.

NPCs of Note

Perth - The man has voiced his approval of your team’s efforts in defending the village. Due to their vow of pacifism, the others in the village have not had much experience with fighting or, if they had, they’ve long grown rusty. Perth recognizes that this may have been worse had you all not arrived with weapons, yet seems to imply that you’re the reason the nightmares attacked in the first place.

Tieve - Taking a break from herding her children to and fro, the village gossip decides to regale you with a story from her old life. She shows you a little silver band embedded with an onyx, which she wears around her neck. Though she harbors few good memories near the later part of her stay with the Alliance noble with which she had had her affair, she holds on to this ring to remember how giddy and young they both had been at the start. Had it not been for politics, she might have still been with him, and you can tell by the way that she touches the ring that she is glad to have experienced his love.

Balfor - You often find him talking to his birds when he’s alone. Aislinn and Enyd in particular even seem to carry on conversations with him. 

Lonán - You don’t know where he’s getting the materials to make the things he does, but you suppose it has something to do with the mysterious dream crystals. If he’s not tinkering with something, he has his nose in a book, but he’s always eager for some company.

Mairenn - The young woman who gifted you the dog collar last week. She’s quiet and keeps to herself, but others in the village assure that it’s just because she’s one of the newer additions. She’s yet to fully settle in.

Tasks [Resource Key] *bolded = new

Hunt? in the forest outside of the village [Max 3 muses per thread] - Animals seem to be scarce this week. Not even those of you with hunting experience can pick up tracks. - At 10 posts, ping Mod Ree

Forage in the forest outside of the village [Max 4 muses per thread] - Receive 1 basket of resource (berries, nuts, mushrooms, herbs, flowers) per post [Can now choose which type] - Villagers will inform you of poisonous plants 75% of the time - Can now talk to Tieve during this task

Harvest the fields [Max 2 muses per thread] - Grants 2lbs of vegetables for every 1 post

Investigate and bury the corpses [Max 2 muses per thread] - Ping Mod Ree every 5 posts

Assist with chopping wood [Max 2 muses per thread] - Gains 1 bundle of timber per post - Axe rank grants multiplier for thread [C or higher = 2x yield] - Can now talk to Lonán during this task

Wall/Gate Repairs [Max 4 muses per thread] - Trades 1 bundle of timber per post - Restores village health - Can now talk to Balfor during this task

Dry herbs [Max 2 muses per thread] - Trades 1 basket of herbs for 1 medicine per post - Faith rank grants higher potency to concoctions. D = 1HP, C = 2HP, B = 3HP, A = 4HP, S = 5HP. - Can now talk to Mairenn during this task

Prepare meat [Max 2 muses per thread] - Trades 1 lb of meat for 1 lb of jerky per post - Every post subtracts 1 point from public opinion

Patrol your companions’ quarters [Max 4 muses per thread] - Restore 1HP to houses per post - Can now talk to Perth during this task

Explore outside of the village [Max 3 muses per thread] - You just keep going in circles - It’s foggy this week, so it’s difficult to see into the distance even if you go by giant bird

#keguard2023 #toakeraselephas2023

[swiftscion]

Deirdre approaches Larcei with a bright bouquet and well wishes for her birthday. Pink carnations represent a mother's love. She knows she is not Ayra. She does not want to replace Ayra but should Larcei ever need or desire a mother's love, Deirdre hopes she knows she is here for her always. And purple gladioli. Strength and integrity. Larcei is a fighter both literally and in spirit.

"Happy birthday, Larcei dear. I hope your day is as wonderful as you are!"

A twinge of her happiness falls from her face. A joyous birthday is not the only reason she is here. When Larcei takes the flowers, Deirdre reaches to softly stroke her cheek. "Please, I hope you can forgive me. What happened in that dream--if you remember it--you should not have had to see that. I am here now and I will not leave you."

//via birthday asks; still accepting!

"I... Don't know what to say. Um, thank you!"

Larcei's face is a reddened mess when she accepts her gift. She is arrogant and she is brash, but she has never been the type to expect someone to remember her birthday. As a kid she always had to share that day with her brother, and that meant eating half a cake, receiving half a gift, reveling in half the joy. But Deirdre has chosen to seek her out at a time when she is alone--whether she intends to touch bases with Scathach or not--and to the Comet, that means the world.

She takes the bouquet with an unsteady hand, ensuring first that her flowers have no thorns before holding them to her chest. They remind her, for a moment, of home. Her caretakers liked these things a normal amount, sure, but there was someone who had always angled her with the intent to shower her in petals. She can't help but think of him when she thinks of flowers, wondering what became of him--if he's even still alive. Though she will always revile the choices he made, as one with a brother she gets it. Sometimes, interacting with Scathach has made her feel like others have chosen him over her.

But that's just a small part of what occupies her mind, the rest mostly consisting of shock and gratitude. An awkward smile creeps up onto her face, its edges more wobbly and sharp than she'd have liked, but it is a smile all the same. When Deirdre's hand touches her cheek, it would feel a fiery kind of warmth.

"Oh, right! The dream."

Calm washes over her, draining some of that crimson back into her system. She has a reason to be confident again and not all gushy and emotional, so she runs with it--quick to focus on the two-legged rat in the room, "Heh, as if I'd let somethin' like that come between us! We're family now, Lady Deirdre. I don't care what kinds of messed up images some nightmare tries to put in my mind--I know the real you."

And that statement carries more merit than she could ever understand, at a time like now. Larcei knows not of the Deirdre that stood before her mother at Belhalla. She hasn't become acquainted with a memory-less husk of a woman, one who had been forced to forget her friends. What she has come to know is Deirdre's kind heart and tender nature, through this gift, through that dream, through their day-to-day lives. And that Deirdre is priceless to her. The older woman receives a quick side-hug from the arm not carrying the bouquet, filled with that wishy-washy adolescent love, trying to be both sincere and cool.

"I'll make this day one to remember!"

#IC #ASKBOX #NAGAFICAT #//THANK YOU ERICA I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS <333

[interact-if]

Day 2 of Pride Month interviews! You know them, you love them…. give it up for Ames!

Ames, author of Attollo and Metamorphosis

Pride Month Featured Authors

“…and it was a singular, terrible thought, which burrowed itself into your mind like an engorged maggot. This was not a man nor a monster. This was a concept, an ideology, a terrible myth, which had personified itself to stand before you now.You were, to put it simply, screwed.”

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend.

Too bad it’s never so simple.

Demo: Attollo, Metamorphosis (TBA)

Tags: cybernoir, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Attollo is a cyber-noir horror set in a walled city off the coast of the Atlantic that’s been a victim of a nuclear disaster. After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend. Too bad it’s never so simple. Attollo is a 17+ game that deals with heavy topics and a lot of moral questioning; from cults to corrupt government, it has no shortage of monsters in the dark—both metaphorical and literal.

Metamorphosis is a crime/horror story based in the world of crime scene cleanup, where there are three simple steps: Get the call, clean the scene, and don’t ask too many questions. These are the rules that you live by under the employment of Noctua’s Crime Scene Services, and you credit them for keeping you alive.

However, after a routine house call brings forth nightmares of memories that are not your own, you find yourself pulled deeper into Noctua—a city of both monster and man—in a bid to find out the truth behind the murder of Deirdre Callow, and better yet, how her memories came to be yours. Your job mandates that you don’t dig too deep—but could this finally be the exception?

Metamorphosis is 18+ and will have explicit content; follow the last moments of a stranger to find out not only who took her life, but how this connects to the underbelly that Noctua works so hard to hide.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Lmaoo, oh man. I think it really all began last summer when I first found examples of interactive fiction. I don’t even remember how I came across it, it might’ve been that I saw it mentioned in a post or I saw it as a tag on Itch.io, but at some point, last summer I began to investigate it more. I think what really drew me in was the ability for the player to control the narrative; it was like playing an old RPG, but modernized, and the fact that I could see a story unfold that was influenced by my decisions was so fascinating to me. Not to mention that IF allows so much more character depth than regular novels, in my opinion.

I’m 99% sure my first exposure to interactive fiction was through the game Crème de la Crème (a fantastic game, by the way) and I just enjoyed it so much that I went haywire for the genre. Then Temple of the Endless Night came out (another fantastic game that I’m looking forward to!), and that was really the turning point for inspiring me to give it a go. Now, almost a year later, here I am working on my own two games!

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

My bisexuality doesn’t have much of a major influence on the game, but I do think it contributed to the way that I view and write relationships. I figured out my sexuality around high school (I kissed a girl in high school and found out I liked it just as much as when I kissed a boy) and since then I’ve been very involved in the LGBTQ+ community of both my hometown and uni town.

I think this involvement, like being able to hear about other people’s experiences and share my own, has made me feel a lot more comfortable writing some of the characters in the game. Although Attollo and Metamorphosis both don’t focus heavily on relationships (both have murder in them, which I feel is a bit more pressing), I do keep the option for any RO’s to be romanced by anyone, regardless of gender or preference, because that’s simply what I’ve become so attuned to. In terms of side characters relationships as well, I think my involvement and my own experiences have allowed me to write far more diverse relationships than I might have, and I think that this has also allowed a more fulfilling experience for players when reading through.

I also have incorporated some struggles that I’ve faced before because of my identity into the games. For example, I and a few others have faced issues with religion due to who we are, and I incorporate this into both games. Dreamwalker, Pariah, and Sysba from Attollo all have shadows of this experience in their character origins, and Ilali and Ariston from Metamorphosis has a major point involving identity and beliefs. Both games also have undertows of ostracization and division between groups, which is also something I’ve experienced in the past. Being able to grapple these moments and control them via a narrative has been eye opening for both myself and others involved, and I’m hoping it can be a learning experience for the readers as well.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

I think, now, the amount of progress in LGBTQ+ fiction is expanding at a wonderful rate. There are so many interactive fictions with options to select sexuality, select gender, select beliefs, etc. However, despite this expansion, there’s still a good deal of backlash against some aspects of LGBTQ+ fiction.

For example, as a bisexual woman who has dated men, I know there are some individuals who may not consider me a part of the LGBTQ+ because of this aspect. Not only is this incredibly disheartening, but it’s a viewpoint that I think should be educated against, and fiction is a fantastic pathway to do this. Another example I can think of is a friend of mine who identifies as asexual but is sex-neutral rather than sex-repulsed. Most people can’t believe her when she says this, and she often faces backlash for this declaration as well. This is another thing that I think that, with exposure through a medium such as fiction, can be worked on.

What I’m trying to say here is that I think LGBTQ+ fiction can be a brilliantly educational platform—if used right. Although it already teaches so much with what it has, I think having that representation of different subgroups of sexuality, of their experiences and beliefs, so people can become aware and knowledgeable of these options, is something I’d like to see more of.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

Oh man, I struggled to list off inspirations because I know I have some, but as soon as someone asks me who they are my brain just goes ‘brrrrrr’ LMAO.

In terms of the games that I write and the worlds that I build, I think David Lynch and Robert Chambers are probably the two that I somehow incorporate. Attollo and Metamorphosis both have a lot of surrealist horror, which are what these two really specialized in. Shirley Jackson is also another person who inspired me a lot when it came to the writing and creation of Attollo, especially the intrapersonal relationships between the characters.

In terms of life, this is something else I really struggle to answer. I don’t really have celebrity inspirations or anything like that, but I do get inspired by my close friends and sister a lot. Seeing them go through the struggles that they face and absolutely thrive really drives me to push through my own struggles. They’re the strongest, most brilliant group of people that I know, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate that I can be a part of their lives. Not only that, but we also all collectively encourage each other to push further and to chase our dreams (as cheesy as that is LMAO) and that’s something that I think is another stroke of good fortune. I struck gold when I met them, and they’re some of the biggest inspirations in my life.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

For Attollo, I’d say ‘Home is where the heart is.’ For Metamorphosis, to quote John Berendt, ‘Always stick around for one more drink.’

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

What advice would I give to you all? Oh my, I’m not exactly a wise woman here, but I’ll do my best to give you something lmaooo. I think what I really want you to walk away with, from both my stories and this interview, is that if you’re passionate about something, then share it with the world. Don’t let anyone deter your passion.

I remember listening to this painter once who commented to his friend how he ‘really liked painting’, and his friend’s first response was ‘but are you good at it?’. He then compared this to the scenario of walking; would you say, ‘but are you good at it?’ to someone who said, ‘I really like walking’? No, because it simply wouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t make sense to say that to anyone who’s doing something out of passion.

To put it simply—if you love something, then don’t let anyone take that passion from you. I began writing these stories because I’m passionate about Attollo and Metamorphosis; I love each character, each bit of lore, and I share it with you because I want you all to enjoy it as well. Am I the best writer? God, no. Does everyone like what I write? Definitely not. But will I let this stop me from writing, from enjoying what I’m doing? Never, and I want you to do the same.

Explore your passions, embrace your passions, and let what makes you happy continue to do so

#if: events #Pride Month 2021 #pride month #queer authors #queer fiction #queer creators #interactive fiction

[gravityfissure]

All Good Things End : Deirdre & Otto

Summary: Deirdre summons her mushroom husband for his final sacrifice. TW: Blood, Injury, Mushroom Manipulation PARTIES: @deathduty & Otto

"We're all gathered here today to witness a truly beautiful event: the death of Otto." Deirdre, host, waved her ceremonial toaster around. The rest of the fae in attendance, mostly pixies and leprechauns, lifted—or attempted to lift—their own toasters. She'd forgotten what the toasters were supposed to represent exactly, other than their triumph and humanity's inferiority, but most things usually represented that. She turned to her husband, and smirked at him. She recalled their dalliance in the cemetery, their wedding in the woods and the escapades that followed. She was almost sad to be rid of him now. He was, perhaps, the funnest human she'd ever ensnared. Out of fondness, or nostalgia, or something else entirely, she gestured to him and her gaze softened. "Do you have anything you'd like to say, Otto? You're allowed some words before you die." The pixies gasped in unison; it was customary to get the humans to be as silent as possible, during these things—their voices were largely annoying. Deirdre shook her head and quickly explained to them, "Otto is my guest, and my human. He represents me, too. I want him to speak." And so she allowed it.

How the hell had this become his life? It was a thought that crossed his mind rather often and one that crossed his mind right now as he made his way up to the spot that Deirdre had ordered him to come along to. She’d instructed him to clean up, wear a nice nose piercing (for he’d gotten a selection from the store with his punishment) explaining the black steel ring that pierced his right nostril and not tell anyone about what he was doing. Things had not been good of late. Whatever the hell had happened at the bar, the fact he’d been forced to live as nothing more than a mundane human. Wash the dishes. Brush his hair. Empty the trash. No snap of his fingers and things took care of themselves. Worry had kept him up for several nights, waiting for any hint of it to come back. It had to come back didn’t it? Hells there was no way this could be his life. No way he could live without the essence of his very being. The toll was clear, even with the effort he’d taken to make himself look presentable.

Admittedly a loophole he’d found in that instruction was that he hadn’t been told not to tell anyone where he was going, explaining the google-maps pin he’d dropped Mercy, Jane and Cece for good measure. If someone did need to do corpse collection… Well, at least they had a start on where to find him he supposed. The phone had been tucked away and forgotten as the new ceremony began. Different this time and Otto truly wasn’t sure what to expect he couldn’t see any knives that Deirdre had claimed to be fond of in the past so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The myriad of thoughts running through his mind was distracting, and when he was finally invited to speak and say someone Otto was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence on any normal day. “I guess-- Actually yeah, are there drinks? I’m way too sober for this shit,” maybe he could stall for a bit, though a drink also didn’t sound like a bad idea either right now. “Honestly, I’d kill for a cocktail before I kick the bucket… It’s a personal nightmare to go out stone cold sober ‘cause that’s absolutely not what my life’s about.”

“Drinks?” Deirdre glanced around, regarding the fae in attendance. “Did we bring drinks?” The fae murmured to each other, pixies fluttered about until a leprechaun hobbled forward, offering solem clicks and whistles of disappointment. She turned to Otto. “No drinks.” Which was suddenly very unfortunate, because she was craving some too. “But I like your spirit, Otto! Is that all the last words you have to offer? Usually the humans start begging now. They tell me all about how much money they can offer, about any children or lovers. They get very desperate, I love to see it on their faces.” She turned to Otto, smiling. He seemed...okay, strangely enough. Not that Deirdre was any expert on reading human’s facial expressions, they all looked mostly the same, and were too ugly to pay attention to. But this man, fun and carefree, gave her no sobbing or begging. Suddenly, she boiled with anger. “BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!” She threw her toaster down at his feet, snarling. “GIVE US ENTERTAINMENT! You think this is a game, human? I gathered my friends here to watch something good, and your smart quips are getting us—“ a Leprechaun whistles at her. Deirdre snapped around. He swished a half-empty bottle of wine. “Never mind, I’m being informed we do have some drinks.” She took the bottle and offered it to Otto. “Here, now you can die slightly tipsy.”

“Oh come on,” he protested at the shakes of multiple little heads in every direction “I thought this was meant to be a celebration of your totalitarian toaster termination techniques on full unadulterated display… That you guys knew how to party.” The clarification that normally this was the point people started begging for their lives was met with a twist of his mouth and mildly distasteful look. “Well, I mean I can’t really do that because I don’t have any of those things. Kids suck they’re so whiny and really who has the commitment for a partner when people just end up letting you down in the end, you know?” he glanced at a wizened old leprechaun who seemed to mull on this statement and nod in agreement before taking a puff on his pipe “see? This dude, he gets it.” It’s so much effort for so little reward.” Perhaps now was not the time for philosophical questioning but it was what came to mind. - if it’s a time for confession guess there’s no better time to say thanks for the motorcycle I conned you into buying for me. Really was swell of you.” But any further smartass remarks were put on hold as he dodged the toaster lobbed in his general direction and found his knees giving out as he threw himself on the floor against his will. “No- NO PLEASE!” tears welled unbidden to his eyes as he clasped at Deirdre’s boots the sobs rising against his will “I’LL DO ANYTHING, I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT! PLEASE JUST-- DON’T KILL ME! IT’S NOT A GAME! I SWEAR. PLEASE I-” he hiccuped, swallowing air “ Pleasepleaseplease.” The sobbing at her feet continued despite the profference of booze for the command to stop had not yet been given.

Deirdre frowned as Otto spoke, she reached a hand out to lay gingerly on his shoulder. “Otto...are you sad and lonely?” The fae looked at her pointedly. She flushed and withdrew both her concern and her hand, but thought to elaborate. “Having a partner is great. I love my girlfriend. I don’t believe people let you down always, sometimes they surprise you.” The leprechaun clicked his disagreement, and Deirdre waved the conversation away. “You conned me into buying you a motorcycle?” She thought about it, and expected anger or pride to come to her. Anger for the audacity of a human to think to trick her, and pride that her subordinate had tried at all. Mostly she was just...disappointed. “Why didn’t you con me out of more than just a motorcycle?” She asked, “I mean, I have the money to give you more. What’s a motorcycle worth? Like a measly few thousand dollars?” It was good then, that he started to beg, and her mood lifted. “Yes, you pathetic urchin.” She hissed and snapped her feet away from him. “I think we’re good to begin now, don’t you?” She smiled and turned to her fellow fae, careful to keep herself out of the ring again. “Stop your begging and be quiet, Otto. Now it’s time--” The pixies struggled to play their flute, leaving the air with a discordant whittling that stung Deirdre’s ears. A leprechaun banged his toaster to create a drum beat, as horrible as it was earnest. Deirdre hissed again and picked Otto off the floor and shoved him into the circle. “Go impale yourself on the tree branch there.” She pointed at the one that had been sharpened for this purpose. “Take your time though, I do like a slow death. And you may do whatever you like before you’re impaled, so long as you stay in the circle, and it doesn’t take too long.” She waved her hand in the air. “Or if I find it boring.”

Otto’s eyes widened for a moment before he laughed, well and truly laughed deeply at the notion. “Oh hells, me? Lonely? No. Lonely’s pathetic, I’m definitely not pathetic.” But then again, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder. Would anyone ever notice? Would Mercy, Cece or anyone else in his rather truncated list of acquaintances even bother to come out and look for him? “Sure did, was fun watching you bend over backwards to save your friend’s face. Can’t say it worked but it was fun to watch either way.”

But then the wet mud was soaking into his knees, immaculate nails clawing for purchase on Deirdre’s shoe that soon retracted leaving him falling facefirst into a pile of moss. As the urge to beg rescinded, he lay there for a moment gathering what little remained of his dignity and pushed himself up to his feet. Spotting the leprechaun nearby about to drain the wine he snatched the bottle out of its tiny hands and gulped it down, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Deirdre was speaking again though and the horrible irony of everything he’d been told dawned on him.

You’re not dead.

It was this thought that drifted through his mind as Otto walked with purposeful steps towards the sharpened bark. A haze of strange determination silencing all questions or thoughts that this was wrong. That he needed to run. No matter how much his mind screamed, rending itself apart.

The sharpened tip pierced the soft flesh of his abdomen, a slow progression as steps faltered and blood began to trickle in a cascade, staining the front of his shirt. A second and third followed, and as the crimson rivulets flowed their course twin tears glistened in hazel eyes. The dawning revelation of a truth Otto had always denied.

Perhaps he was lonely indeed.

Too late to do anything about it now though.

Delight spread across the fae like wildfire, infectious and brighter the longer it burned. Deirdre watched curiously. She waited for the same delight to reach her. And she waited. And she watched, and she waited. And yet, the only feeling that entered her as she watched Otto impale himself was something cold, and then sharp; something she wouldn’t dare put a name to. Emma’s eyes flashed in her mind, the look of desperation that gleamed there, and the hope that sat on her lips that Deirdre might free her. She couldn’t see Otto’s face now, and she felt all the better for it. “Stop,” she told him, “stop that. S-stop doing that.” Her command was barely a whisper above the din of celebration, fae poured into the circle, ready to party--dancing progressed around Otto’s limp body, and the music grew louder and further away from any pleasurable tune. The mushroom drums in her own head grew silent, and she left to watch the fae as an outsider to their delight. Once, she had been a child peeking from behind old trees, watching the fae with their wings and wondering when it would be her turn to be like them. The feeling she had chased for so long fluttered around her, it was cheered on by the congratulatory clicks and whistles of the leprechauns, but it could not find her heart. An organ she had long since suspected she’d lost sometime ago, some many deaths before.

She turned her back to Otto, to the mushrooms and fae surrounding him, and she walked. “I want to be good,” she told the trees as she stumbled around them. “I want to be good.” She willed the feeling to reach her. She willed herself to feel anything at all. But where she fell to the ground, staring at her unstained hands, she found nothing.

Nothing inside of her.

Eventually Otto reached a point that his feet could no longer find purchase enough to continue walking. Or perhaps it was simply the gradual weakening that came with the blood-loss. Blood-loss that left him feeling cold and tired. Tired in a way that was bone deep. There was no method to question on his lips to implore them to stop and let him go so that he might live his life. The feelings that swirled in his chest were those of anguish and an aching loneliness for which words were inadequate to describe. Loneliness he'd laughed so heartily at not five minutes prior. So maybe Deirdre was right. Perhaps he was… But too little too late.

I thought this was meant to hurt less. It always sounded like it would hurt less .

Where the voice in his mind came from he couldn’t rightly say. No warm embrace, no bright light or whatever the hell you were meant to get if this truly was the end. Just empty darkness. Even as he reached for his magic, gone since that night at the bar. Just an echo, but that’s all he was now wasn’t he? An echo of what he should’ve been. The breath rattled in his throat, life slipping away in the trickle of his lifesblood as the cold grasp of darkness coiled tighter around him; his life served forth by fate's own servant to the overture of cheerful clicks and whistles.

Perhaps someone will remember me.

#p: deirdre #all good things end #para

[detectivedreameater]

Three To Be Ready|| Morgan and Marley

TIMING: Thursday, Oct. 8th PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: This is why the town tourism board advises against evening cemetery strolls. CONTENT: Gore, Body horror

Marley was getting real tired of yelling at teenagers for hanging out in cemeteries. But here she was, patrolling through one because the precinct got a phone call about some kids knocking over headstones again. If it were up to her, they’d all spend a night or two in lock up, by themselves-- that would change their minds real quick about doing shit. Sure, it wasn’t the worst thing they could be doing, but it was interrupting her job and she wanted them to stop. At least it was nearly night, so any vampires who decided to pay a visit would surely get a surprise. Maybe she’d give the kids a healthy dose of fear, instead. Let them live out their own nightmares. Though...she knew how that felt, now. Seeing your nightmares come to life. She might have slaughtered the thing in the basement with Jane, but she could still remember it. It and the real thing. All she wanted now was to move on. Move past what happened. 

When she made it to the cemetery, however, the place was completely silent. Maybe the kids had moved on, but they could have also been hiding in one of the mausoleums, which meant Marley had to go check them. She was halfway up the hill when she spotted a figure. Even through the dusk light she knew who it was. Furrowing her brow, she stopped a ways away from her. “Are cemeteries like the new clubs or something?” she said loudly, hands on her hips. She didn’t have her glasses on, but her eyes did not glow yet. Only a little bit longer. “Why do people insist on hanging out in them? You don’t happen to be this group of teenagers knocking headstones over, do you? Cause that would make my job much easier.”

Morgan was trying to convince herself that cutting through the cemetery alone was a totally fine and not at all dangerous course of action. It was like a corpse walk, but by herself! And those were fine. The ghosts on those were just friendly bystanders and acquaintances, not demented murderers still working out how zombies died. This was fine. She just needed to make it down the hill and around a few more blocks, and she would be fine… The voice in the quiet made her jump, squealing with shock. “Who’s there! I have salt!” She cried, scrambling for composure. She stumbled into the open, where she could at least see someone coming, her hand already brimming with salt crystals. But there was no one except for… “Marley Stryder?” Reluctantly, she poured her handful of salt back into its pouch. “I’m surprised you’re not a fan, Detective Edgelord. They’re really good for brooding.” She dusted her hands off and approached the officer with caution. The memory of what she’d done to Deirdre was still fresh in Morgan’s mind, but she was relieved to not be alone, at least for the moment. “If you don’t like cemeteries, Edgelord, what are you doing lurking in one?”

Marley frowned at the name. She really hated it. But she wasn’t going to show Morgan  that, it would just give her fuel to use it even more. “Cemeteries are depressing as fuck,” she answered finally, folding her arms across her chest. “Why would I hang out here when I could go literally anywhere else?” She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “Hello? Police officer here,” she grumbled, motioning to herself as she headed up the path towards her. “Doing my duty and checking out a disturbance call.” But she didn’t see any over turned graves or fallen headstones. Behind Morgan there was a mausoleum, the door slightly open. A shuffling could be heard inside. Shit, were they in there again? Marley shoved past Morgan without another word, and went up to the doorway. Pulled out her flashlight, one hand on her holster, as she prodded the door open. “If there’s anyone in here, put your hands up and stand up slowly,” she called, before peering in. But the place was empty. There was nothing. “Huh…” she muttered, “I could’ve sworn…” But in the next moment, there was a noise above her and Marley looked up just in time to see something on the roof. In the next second, it was descending on Morgan. 

“They’re peaceful,” Morgan said back. “And this one’s actually taken care of! It’s beautiful. The ghosts like it too. Hey, Chuck.” She waved at someone past Marley, or pretended to, knowing the detective probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “And what disturbance?” She gestured around to the nothing going on around them. And that’s when it happened. Just a noise, nothing too conspicuous to Morgan’s ears, but as she tiptoed behind Marley, calling out, “How do you even know it’s a human or a person at all?” What if it was a vampire trying to get a good day’s sleep or relax until sundown? “See!” She said. “Maybe you scared some squirrel away or—fuck!” She was on her back, flailing under something that felt like a giant bug. Morgan covered her face with her arm, screaming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ She wriggled underneath, kicking wildly, but this thing, whatever it was, was so heavy and something like a hand was pulling on her hair.

No way. No way. “No fucking way!” Marley shouted, stumbling back. “I killed you!” She was nearly frozen in her spot, one hand still on her weapon. “I fucking killed you!” But it didn’t seem to care. It didn’t even seem to hear her or see her or care about her. It was tearing ruthlessly at the zombie it had pinned to the ground. Shit. She whipped out her gun and fired a few good rounds into it, but-- nothing. It barely even moved. So she ran up to kick at it, only to be shoved out of the way and tripped. Dirt and grass filled her mouth, but she rolled quickly to try and right herself. The thing was dragging Morgan towards the mausoleum. It was making her its new prey. Did demons eat undead? “Hey!” she shouted, picking up a rock and throwing it. “There should be a-- underneath! Hit it underneath! Or-or bite it! Jane bit it and it let go of--” well, no, it hadn’t actually let go of anything when Jane had eaten through it. She wasn’t sure Morgan wanted to stomach this thing, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach watching another zombie eat this thing again. If this was even the same thing. Why wasn’t it wearing a pink hat anymore? Had been wearing one back when her and Nell had stumbled upon it? She needed something bigger, something sharper-- like the ax. She took a second to look around for something, anything-- and when she looked back the creature was nearly through the door. “Fuck!” she picked up the closest thing she could find, a larger stick, and ran straight for it. And hoped to god this would work.

“No! Fuck, no, no—!” Morgan clawed the ground with all she hand, but there was nothing to grab onto. The thing had her by the legs and waist and no matter what she did with her feet, no matter how she screamed, nothing slowed it down. Morgan could see the dark coming for her and the inhuman face flashing a hungry mouth her way as it made its shrill sound again.

Think. Do something. Do better. Morgan felt her knife riding out of her pocket and grabbed it before it was gone for good. Her arms were too short to free her legs, but she could try to get the hand on her hair severed. If she could just— Morgan screamed as something caught her wrist and bent it so far her hand turned into a limp, dangling mess. The knife was gone and the hands weren’t just in her hair anymore, they were around her face and neck, smothering her, closing around her neck. Morgan let out a muffled scream, looking at Marley for help. Any concern or intelligent thought she had was peeled away. The only thing left was, I can’t die here. Don’t let me die here. 

Marley swung the stick down as hard as she could on the monster. Did it have more hands than last time? Wasn’t it just one hand last time? She blinked, and Morgan was looking at her with those big, stupid eyes of hers. And she was begging Marley to do something. Hadn’t Marley already killed this thing? Twice now? She shook the thought from her head. The stick came down, but nothing changed. The door was shutting. Marley slipped through quickly. She picked up the knife and stabbed at the thing. Kicked it. Why didn’t it want her? Wasn’t it supposed to want her? “Let go!” she shouted, stabbing furiously. “Fucking-- let go!” This wasn’t working. She jabbed the knife back down into the creature, turned and grabbed Morgan’s hand. Pulled as hard as she could, hoping she wasn’t just going to pull Morgan’s damn arm off. Then again if it did, maybe she could just beat the thing with that. She didn’t know why she was trying so hard. Morgan had been nothing but mean to her. She’d looked at her the same way everyone in her life had up until now. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to prove her wrong. “Fight, dammit!” she shouted to Morgan, kicking at the creature as she held onto her arm. “Don’t give up you stupid zombie!”

Morgan clutched onto Marley like a lifeline. Fight how? With what? She let out another muffled scream as her broken hand fixed itself. The sound was throaty and broken, crawling its way through the pressure on her windpipe. Morgan dug her fingers into Marley, beyond bruising. She was already half in the mausoleum, the dark was closing in. Morgan kicked more wildly, flailing and wriggling. I’m not dying here. I’m not dying broken and afraid. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… With their combined weight, they were slowing down. Morgan needed one more hand to get the pressure off her neck before her head popped clean off. She opened her mouth and bit hard enough to make her jaw pop and hurt. Something snapped—was it her teeth? The creature’s fingers? Didn’t matter. The grip loosened and she was able to let out a throaty cry. “Can we shoot it?” She rasped. “What do we—fuck!”

The creature’s grip was loosening. They were winning. Well, winning wasn’t quite the right word. But the grip was loosening and it gave Morgan enough leverage to pull the thing off from her throat and Marley let go with one hand, screeching as Morgan’s fingers dug into her arm hard enough to break skin. God, why wasn’t it night yet? “I shot it like four times and it did nothing! I need something bigger, I need--” her grip slipped and the monster yanked and Morgan’s hand slipped right through Marley’s, leaving streaks of blue down her arm. “Fuck!” she whirled. There had to be something, there had to be-- an idea struck her. Marley picked up that stupid stick she’d found and dug into her pocket. Ripped off a piece of cloth from the mausoleum wall, old and dry and perfect. She set it aflame, wrapped it around the stick, and charged for the creature. Jabbed the flame directly into the wound she’d stabbed before and listened as the thing screamed with such a pained bellow that it finally let go of Morgan completely. Marley stumbled back as something hard collided with her stomach as the monster reeled and screamed and lashed out. She scrambled, grabbing at Morgan and yanking her away from the thing. Its body, just as dry and crusted as the old rag, lit ablaze as if it were doused in accelerant. “C’mon,” she called to Morgan, still tugging on her, “we gotta get out of here! Go!”

Morgan didn’t hesitate, she grabbed Marley again, hand locked on with all her strength, and ran. She wasn’t sure why the cemetery gates looked so special, like a magic barrier that couldn’t be crossed by evil, but as she ran, pulling Marley behind her, she was sure if they could make it through, everything would be okay. She would get home, she would kiss her girlfriend, she would never go anywhere without her car again, not alone, and everything would be okay. They just needed to make it. She leapt the last few paces, over a crumbling headstone and the curb, and turned the corner, out of sight from anything that might be after them. “T-thank you,” she wheezed. “I know you...definitely don’t like me...so, thank you.”

 Marley wasn’t really sure what was happening. She was being dragged along almost faster than her feet could keep up with, running through the cemetery fields, leaping over headstones. She turned more than once to look behind them and see if they were being followed. But she saw nothing, and she hoped quietly she hadn’t just set an entire plot on fire. They reached the exit, and it almost felt like walking through a veil, from darkness to safety. Marley let out a long breath and bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Zombies didn’t get tired but mara sure did. She looked over at Morgan warily. “I wasn’t gonna let you fucking die....just because I don’t like you,” she grumbled through her panting. Winced when she moved her arm, pulling her sleeve up. Angry, blue streaks marked her forearm, bruises forming on her hand. She frowned. “Talk about not knowing...your strength…”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan mumbled, wincing as her windpipe expanded back into shape. “I wasn’t really thinking about moderation. I just didn’t want you to get left behind.” It was not a phrase she would have expected herself to say as recently as this morning or an hour ago, not to Marley Stryder. But when someone saved your life, you didn’t let a grudge get in the way of leaving together. Her face scrunched up with morbid fascination at Marley’s wounds. She’d never seen anything like that before. “Are you uh...okay?”

“It’s…” Marley started, then looked away, “whatever.” She looked back down at her arm-- she’d have to clean the wounds later, right now she needed to call in a possible fire hazard. Log this and make sure she came back at night to confirm the thing was actually dead this time. How many times had she killed it now? Would it just keep coming back? She needed to ask Nell to tell her everything about this stupid, fucking demon. She needed to-- “What?” Morgan had said something, but Marley hadn’t heard it. She looked over to her. “Oh, uh--” cleared her throat, rolling her sleeve back down. “Fine. Just a flesh wound. Zombieism doesn’t spread through scratches, right? That’s just TV propaganda?”

“It’s a biting thing,” Morgan confirmed. “Supernaturals can’t even be turned, they just get really sick. Although,” she smirked bitterly, “Without a really good healer they can still die, they just don’t get to come back to all the fun dissociation games and bland diet. Maybe uh, get something a little stronger than Neosporin on that, to be on the safe side.” She met Marley’s eyes for a brief moment, uncertain how to act around her now that they weren’t trying to one up each other or compete for Erin’s attention. She offered a small smile and fussed with the mud and scrapes on her arms, already healing. “For someone who’s such an asshole, you really do have a pretty sizable amount of decency in you, Marley. It’s a shame you don’t show it more often.”

“Gross,” was all Marley said. She moved away awkwardly, looking around them. The sun was finally dipping below the horizon and her eyes began to glow a soft red, but it was too little too late. Anita would probably want to know why there were scratches on her arms and Marley wasn’t sure she really wanted to explain it. Glancing back at Morgan, she furrowed her brow. “If you think not leaving someone to die is basic decency, then I guess I’d hate to see what you think is cruel,” she muttered, wiping some of the dirt off her pants. “I was just doing my job, don’t be nice to me just because of that.” 

“I don’t just mean not being completely psychotic, although, you know, before the bowling alley, you kinda hand me wondering.” Morgan replied. “I just mean...I think I see you, Marley Stryder. You could stand to be less afraid of your own shadow.” But Marley was not looking anywhere near her, and was starting to seem uncomfortable all over. “Whatever,” she sighed. “Don’t get killed while you’re brainstorming a stupid lie to tell the humans at the station, huh?”

Marley gave a gallow chuckle. “Yeah, well...so did everyone else in my life.” She had finally caught her breath enough to stand up properly, rubbing her non bruised hand across her eyes. “Well, just...don’t.” It was a truth she didn’t often confront, but faced now with someone who thought her a monster and was deciding to take her word back, Marley didn’t know how to feel. So, instead, she took the out offered to her. She didn’t need to respond to Morgan, just gave a nod, before turning away and heading off. Now, she just needed to think of a stupid lie to tell the humans.

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #three to be ready #morgan #wickedswriting

[briingmayflowers]

Just my girls <3

[X]

#[I'm so proud of how far these characters have come ;;] #| 'she lives in a daydream' (may) #| 'she lives in a nightmare' (deirdre) #| 'sunshine after the rain' (may and deirdre)

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Floodplains || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Immediately after Watershed

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

SUMMARY: Deirdre has a terrible confession to make.

WARNINGS: self-harm (breaking a promise), allusions to emotional abuse, discussions of parental death, implied sex, sexual situations, 

In the safety of their bed, the comfort Morgan and Deirdre ached to give each other unfurled slowly. Maybe it was all the talk of how they had ached for one another after that day in the woods, or needless apologies they knew better than to say, but Deirdre began as soft as she could manage with Morgan’s new body and Morgan obliged, watching the tender touches she gave and nuzzling her with needily when she wasn’t mumbling incomprehensible words of affection through her gag. But there was a fiercer tide in Deirdre that could not be sated with gentleness. By the time they finished, at least for the time being, Morgan’s muscles burned and Deirdre was damp with sweat all over. When the bed was clear of their toys and Morgan was free from her restraints, she drew them together the way they always seemed to end up, clasped in each other’s arms, with her head on Deirdre’s chest. “Is that better?” She asked, covering her sternum with more kisses. “I am definitely not against doing more of that tonight, but I think by now--” she sniggered, looking sidelong at the darkening sky. “I am owed at least one childhood story. Maybe two. I have been good, after all.”

Once Deirdre’s mind had set on sex, there was precious else she wanted to talk about. And though she hated sharing any similarities with the simple-minded human men she had the displeasure of dealing with, she had to admit that sex was, in fact, a magical things. She could feel her emotion working out of her; her love expressed out of her fingertips and spreading out under her (her love for Morgan---always, always---and her anguish, anger, and turmoil). She undid her girlfriend’s restraints, leaving nipping kisses against her skin until Morgan was safe in her arms.

“Much,” she offered a breathless laugh, holding her close with whatever energy she could drum up for a tight grip. Whatever pain plagued her outside was more or less forgotten for the simple bliss that she was offered now. “Hm,” she hummed, “you have been a very good girl for me.” She chuckled again, laughing between the extra kisses she pressed across her girlfriend’s cool skin---a coolness her flushed body craved. “Where to start...where to start…” Deirdre teased, a smirk curling up her lips as her hands absently trached her body, remembering to apply enough pressure for Morgan to feel her wandering. “You know, I’m suddenly feeling tired.” She pulled her hands away to yawn. “I think I could just---Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Deirdre shook her head. “Okay, fine, I guess I can start with my grandmother. She’s the one that makes those teas that she...keeps sending. She’s a bit of a scatter-brained woman, but when I was younger and I had these---” Deirdre waved her hand in the air. “---nightmares. But even before then, I was terrible at sitting still long enough to sleep. So she’d read to me, not that we had any proper books in the house.” She paused to clarify, “that’s the house in the city, not the farm. And, uh, not the Dublin house either. And not the Galway one, the one I lived in before my scream? And she---” Deirdre’s eyes drifted down. Her story halted before it began. “Fates,” she breathed with revelation, fingers tangled in Morgan’s hair. “You’re beautiful.” Deirdre contorted herself, tilting Morgan’s head up to meet her in another kiss. “I love you so much.” She flipped their bodies again, staying on top of her and burying her head in the crook of her neck, pressing kisses between her breaths. “Would it be too soon to go again?” She mumbled there, sitting up to pull a hair tie from the end table to put her hair up---it was better away from where it was clinging to her damp body. “Surely ‘not at all’, right?” As Deirdre looked around to find wherever Morgan’s gag had been tossed off, her eyes fell to the plastic bag by the door. Cleaning supplies. For the shed. For Regan. Her body tensed before it deflated. She dropped her hands from her hair. In all her happiness, she had forgotten, and guilt stabbed at her. For all the stress Deirdre incurred, she had Morgan to help her along and Regan had....nothing. She was too afraid to have anything. And there was one person to blame. Just one. Deirdre turned to her love. “I...need to tell you something.” She tensed, “something I should have told you earlier--well, I suppose all things are things I should have told you sooner.”  

Morgan watched Deirdre with the eagerness of a puppy. Her strange animated gestures were enrapturing. Morgan could almost see miniature images springing from her images, the house, the furniture, her grandmother’s face. And then there was Deirdre’s voice, frothy with affection and the half-delirium of sex, lilting up to amuse and explain her world to Morgan, to give her affection, even when the words she spoke were so ordinary. “You’re one to talk,” Morgan said, reaching up to cup her girlfriend’s cheek. She squealed with laughter as they toppled over and couldn’t even pretend to seriously think through her proposition. “Never too soon,” she said, straining up for the kiss. “But with a bite guard this time? I can be very, very good with my mouth too…” she punctuated each word with a kiss to prove her point, stringing them down to the spots she knew made Deirdre shiver. Part of her burned to scrape her teeth along her skin, to tug hard enough that she gasped. All the more reason to have a barrier over her teeth. She was reaching over to the nightstand and finagling the drawer where she kept it when Deirdre stopped and all the brightness in her blew out. “Hey…” Morgan rubbed her arm gently and tugged her down, coaxing her to at least rest. “It’s okay, my love. You can tell me, whatever it is. Just come close here.”

“The bite guard…” Deirdre considered it. It was very tempting, extremely tempting. What was another day between her confession anyways, right? Deirdre bit down on her lip, hard enough to push her desires away, and then hard enough to draw blood. “No, I--” She blinked, tongue darting out to catch the blood. She spoke again, the sweet taste of her own blood coating her mouth. “I’d prefer to sit up, I think.” Not that she wouldn’t be collapsing anytime soon, she imagined, but she always felt wrong to do these sorts of confessions from Morgan’s arms. But Morgan’s eyes could be convincing, and her touches being all the coaxing she needed. She spent so long in their backyard trying to fight how badly she wanted to be held and to hold Morgan back. She didn’t have the will, tired from their lovemaking, to deny it again. She sighed. “Okay.” She leaned down, moving beside Morgan, though careful to keep her hands in relatively chaste positions for the two of them. “The thing about Regan is…” She swallowed. “I was--I ki---” Her body seized, a gargled choke left her lips. “I ki--her--fuh--” Deirdre heaved, slumping against Morgan as pain ruptured from her stomach, claiming her body. “The reason she’s activated,” she coughed, regaining her breath. “It was me.” Well, it was her and Lydia, at the advice of her mother, but Deirdre wouldn’t explain any part of that. It wasn’t her place to share Lydia’s involvement, mostly she’d just been following Deirdre’s word, anyway. More than that, the last thing she wanted was excuses. She hated them. Her actions were always her responsibility; strangely enough, that was a lesson her mother taught her. “And I don’t mean because---” She tensed again. “I mean--I did it. Without--” Her body was claimed by another shock of pain, and in lieu of continuing down the futile path of explaining herself while avoiding breeching her vows, she looked up at Morgan and hoped she understood what she was saying. For all her pain though, only a small--pathetic--fraction of herself was pleading for forgiveness. She had already convicted and condemned herself. “With everything that it’s caused her, it’s clear now how stupid I was to think I was offering a gift.” She’ll come around; Lydia and her mother both offered similar sentiment. To be fae; to be fully realized fae, was a great gift. But she couldn’t, with a clear mind, think about the worn woman in their shed and the girl who wept at their training as having been given any sort of gift. There was a delicate social structure and old beliefs woven into her actions, but she explained none of them. She hated excuses.

Morgan welcomed Deirdre into her arms, rewarding her with firm kisses to the top of her head as she folded her up and tangled them securely together. “Regan, huh?” She said softly, combing fingers through her hair. “I should’ve guessed.” But her calm only lasted as long as it took Deirdre to start showing the signs of a promise bind. “Babe--?” She asked, her voice rising with alarm. “Take your time, you don’t even have to do this if-- babe, please--” But Deirdre force the words out, or enough of them for Morgan to understand what she meant. Morgan’s face fell, bewildered and aghast. It took her several moments to find her voice. “...I’m going to need a lot more context about what the situation was,” she said. “And before you start, there is clearly at least one other person involved that you have promise bound yourself to. And if this is more sacred scary secret banshee stuff, you don’t need to keep punishing yourself for it, okay? Regan--” Morgan grimaced and turned her face out the window. She couldn’t see the shed from where she lay, but she knew it was there and felt a little guilty for being so ready to keep her blocked out of their lives so they could have a single fucking moment of peace. “What she’s going through is awful, and she’s losing so much, and whatever you or whoever else was thinking by rushing this, taking fate into your own hands-- I mean I get to a certain extent, why it might feel dangerous or reckless to have someone with so much to lose running around and ready to activate any minute. I can’t even imagine how much worse it would be if this had happened and she didn’t have you at all--but that can’t be undone. And I know you are doing everything you can, guilt or not.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I love you, and I will forgive you for whatever part you had in this disaster, but I need to know as much about what really happened as you can possibly safely tell me.”

At least one other person. Deirdre blanched, half out of fear for Lydia, half out of pain. “No, it’s not like that. The vo---” Deirdre clutched her stomach, folding over herself. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and pushed through. “I’m not allowed to talk about what specific promises I may or may not have taken at fifteen. But the language might have been broad, in a specific way. And, technically, it might have been duty. But not that way. Not like that. It’s---” She tried to unfold herself, overcome with another spasm as she groaned through it. She clenched her jaw hard and hoped her words were still intelligible. “The men die. That’s what they get used for, mostly; husbands, brothers...the reason we bother degrading ourselves to involvement with humans is the benefit of killing them. There is a natural bond formed with family, and activation comes easy that way. My family has tended to reserve ourselves for Fate’s call. That is our code. Even that comes with flaws and loopholes. But most banshees will agree you can’t wait too long. That is unacceptable.” Deirdre grimaced. “A mother does what she has to for her daughter; another banshee does what they have to for one of their own. Regan missed her opportunity to be activated and correcting Fate is---” Deirdre hissed, tasting more sweetness in her mouth. She coughed blood into her hand. “Her dad was an asshole. I would’ve killed him just for that.” Deirdre smirked into the next jolt of pain, smiling as it possessed her body. She sat straighter, and did what her mother taught her to do best, withstand pain. “The point is, I’m the reason she’s suffering. I activated her.” Deirdre snarled against more stabbing and burning. “She’s my responsibility. One day, she’ll hate me. I have accepted that. But I alone killed her father, because my mo--it’s a gift.” She yelped, succumbing to a broken vow and a lie. She curled up in searing pain, fighting with all of her training to stay awake for Morgan. “There’s no safe way to say it,” she croaked, “he wasn’t going to die anyway. I made it happ---” She cried, clawing at her skin for release. Her mind spun the world, twisting away the colors and, more cruelly, her vision of Morgan. “My. Duty. Dictates. Many. Things.” But she killed him, and the only thing she was sorry about was how terrible Regan seemed to be taking it. At the time, it really did feel like much more of a present. “I failed to activate her before,” she spoke between heavings, “I thought she liked that fucking janitor and I made her look at him getting hit by a truck.” It occurred to her then, that being a banshee might just have been a little bit terrible.  

“Deirdre, stop. You’re hurting yourself, please, I need you to--” Morgan tried to argue and wipe the blood spilling down her love’s face at once, but Deirdre couldn’t or wouldn’t hear anything she potested. She sat up with her, gripping her tight against the muscle spasms and the violent coughs. She couldn’t stop begging her, her lips practically in her ear as she held her, more desperate than ever. “That’s enough, Deirdre, enough, please stop it, just STOP!” She covered her mouth, not sure if it would do any good, if Deirdre was already finished or if she had finally given up. In the relative quiet, Morgan realized she was heaving for breath, shaking and wheezing. “Please…” she said again, her voice quivering. “It is...unfortunate, that more fae isolationist bullshit is going to keep us from having this conversation the way we want to. It is. But I can’t watch you torture yourself for me or for what you’ve done, after everything that’s already happened. I can’t. I need you...to not make me do that anymore tonight. Please…” Her voice cracked with a sob and her arms trembled against Deirdre’s skin even as her grip around her body tightened. She hissed again for breath. “First of all, if we ever have a son, we can’t let that happen to him. Secondly, if you say he deserved to die, if he was an asshole, if he was remotely close to what our mothers were like, then he deserved to die. And thirdly, as fucked as this is, your mother, whatever she told you to do, however she bullied you or hurt you or judged you--this is her fault too. I am not going to saddle you with her share in this awfulness. This is not all on you, however horrible it is. I think if you haven’t paid for this enough before, already, then you will, whenever she figures it out. But it’s not all your fault. And I do...I…” Morgan’s voice fractured again. Slowly, she lowered her hand from Deirdre’s mouth and let it fall, limp and bloodied. “I still forgive you, okay…?” she whispered.

When the pounding in her ears softened just enough for Deirdre to hear, she realized Morgan was telling her to stop. Yet, at that point, it was too late. She had already broken her promise, and pain would rack her body for days. As soon as Morgan’s hand fell from her lips, Deirdre fell backwards, too weak to keep herself upright. She spoke in part to the ceiling, “how was I supposed to tell you without hurting?” She sputtered, blood dripped down her nose and through the corners of her mouth. In the interest of not trying to stain their bed, she attempted to swallow it, only to find her throat swollen and she turned to cough it out before she choked to death. “If you were fae, this wouldn’t be happening, yes.” Deirdre couldn’t find the energy to sit up again and move closer to Morgan, so she laid there. “I didn’t say he deserved to die. Fates, I’ve killed people just for looking at me wrong. I’m no authority on murder.” She wheezed, voice hoarse enough to be unrecognizable to her own ears. Sean might have changed, he might have apologized to Regan, but Deirdre would never know. “He didn’t love her. That’s enough in my eyes.” The ceiling spun, a vision of swirling and stars. “I’d never have a human child,” she croaked, “men born to banshees are human, in a terrible way.” But talk of bearing a son was not what she wanted, or something she liked to think about, even. It twisted worse in her than the broken promise did. She wouldn’t be able to hurt him, but she didn’t imagine herself capable of loving him either. “And no.” She groaned and hissed through sitting up. Propped up on her elbows, she tried to wrangle herself closer to Morgan. “I won’t accept an excuse. It was me. I take blame.” She yelped, light-headed from the pain the rocketed through her as she was trying to move back beside her love. “And I’m sorry I’ve burdened you now with the knowledge; you’ll have to lie to Regan and Kaden when they find out, in the interest of keeping them as friends. But it is my fault. All of it. Everything.” Deirdre’s body was consumed by alternating bouts of hot and cold, she felt terribly feverish, and horribly sluggish. She ignored every symptom, determined to stay awake to have this conversation properly with Morgan. “You can’t forgive me for what I did, that’s not yours...but thank you. I love you, Morgan. I do. I’m just not—“ she winced. “...good.” She reached for the hand Morgan stained with her blood, trying to wipe it clean with her own bloodied fingers. “I’m sorry I keep testing your love like this; if something is too much, you can say it. Who knows when I’ll do something you can’t reconcile. It feels like...a matter of time, most days.” Her evil would catch up to them, eventually. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan wept silently, her head bowed with exhaustion. They had struggled so much outside, and the hours spent in bed had just barely seemed to smooth over the aches and worry inside them. Yet it had only taken minutes for them to slide down back to where they started, only now the self-loathing and torment Deirdre inflicted on herself had been externalized with blood and bile. She was glad, as it turned out, that someone’s negligent, asshole parent got what was coming to him, and glad that hers and Deirdre’s lifespans were long enough that a hyperbolic ‘we’ll see in a hundred years’ could turn into a hard line. She’d sooner give a child away than hold onto him in a house where his mother said his species like a dirty word. And who was to say they would even make it that long together? Morgan hadn’t wondered this before, not recently, but the question crept up from the lowest pits inside her and hissed quietly.

“Are you sorry?” She asked tiredly, her own voice ripped and broken with distress. “Are you, really? Or is that just something to say when you’ve given up? Why break yourself telling me this if you aren’t going to care or listen to anything I have to say about it?” She shook her head ruefully and tried to find a spot in the room to look at that wouldn’t make her cry harder to see, but everything was theirs and wonderful and she didn’t want to lose any of it. “You know, if you really do have that little faith in us, if you are so married to this defeatist, self-flagellating view of yourself and your life—your life that is also supposed to be our life too—that you can’t listen to me, then yes, apparently, it’s just a matter of—” she couldn’t even say it. Morgan swallowed down a sob with great difficulty and covered her face, scrambling for composure. None of this was right. She didn’t want to be ranting. Hadn’t they both explained that in the worst moment of their relationship, all they had wanted was to be together? Why weren’t they holding each other? Deirdre was so cracked from the inside out, Morgan couldn’t look at her without feeling something side her break as well. But her body ached to feel Deirdre’s arms around her all the same, she could squeeze her so hard the pressure almost had a sound, so hard her ribs would slide inward, and in that moment of shuffling insides and surprise, Morgan felt so protected and assured, as though there was no disaster great enough to break her spirit. But there were no such arms around her now, and she dreaded to think of how Deirdre’s muscles ached as they cradled her bloody hand, too soft for her to feel.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said, grimacing. “I am. I really… I don’t want to be talking like this right now or raising my voice, I don’t want to be like that, I’m just...tired, which is stupid, and everything is awful and nothing will leave us alone and—” she coughed as she pushed through another sob. Stars, she needed to get a grip. She couldn’t sink. She couldn’t fall. Deirdre was in the pit. Deirdre was fighting to believe in her and them with all she had. Or at least, that’s what she did most of the time. That’s what she’d done when Morgan had died. What reason did Morgan have to feel like this was any worse? “I’m sorry. You, um...you need to wash up,” she stammered, lowering her hands to look at Deirdre at last. She shuddered, gathering herself together by her barest threads. “I can draw you a bath, I can put in some stuff for your muscles to make them feel a little better? I can, um….go do that. Just give me a minute…” She wiped her cheeks only to smear them with blood. Looking shamefaced at her mess, Morgan began to edge her way off the bed.

Deirdre’s gaze dropped to their silk sheets. She watched as a strange darkness grew beside the bloodstains, and she drew her trembling hand slowly to her eyes to find that she was crying. Horrified by how little of it she could feel, outside of her pain and the mounting pain of a devastating possibility, she dropped her hands away and curled into herself. “Immeasurably sorry,” she croaked, hiccuping with another sob as Morgan continued. She didn’t finish her thought, but Deirdre did it for her. It was a question that summoned far more torture than any she knew. It was a question that invaded her mind constantly---she was normally more adept at shutting it down with vigor. In the face of withering hope and cynical truth, she found she couldn’t talk it down by herself. “I want you to be happy,” she started, “more than anything else. So I think about if your happiest isn’t with me. I think of if it would hurt you worse to leave later, when there’s more of a life to uproot. Sometimes I think I know what’s better for you, I think I know that about everyone. Sometimes I think I can change, sometimes I know better. Mostly, I know what I’ve been told.” Her fingers quivered to curl against their bedsheet, trapping the fabric in her pathetic grip. “It’s not faith in us that I lack, Morgan. It’s faith in myself. I’m worried. What happens if I can’t change? Do I drag you down with me? Do I ruin you? If I have to stop myself from snapping at Regan, then am I really someone who can change? Am I just someone on the verge of becoming who she really is? Am I bad? Are you wrong to think I’m anything else? Should I stop you from thinking that? Have I tricked you in some way I haven’t even realized, just like I’ve tricked other people? Do I just do what I think you’ll like, like I’ve done with my mother? Am I going to hurt you too?” She pressed her head to the cool fabric; bowing, surrendering, trying to quell her burning flesh. She mumbled with her broken voice into the folds. “I worry about that. I try so hard not to, but sometimes it’s all I can think about. I worry.” Deirdre lifted her head after a moment, vision cloudy with tears, and spoke in a whimper, “I’d be a terrible mother. I can’t even stomach the idea of a son, what kind of a mother is like that?” Her gaze dropped again as the answer struck her. Her mother was, and her grandmother, and her great-grandmother, and every single person in her family.

“No!” Deirdre dove across their bed, fighting taut muscles and searing sensations in her organs. She gripped Morgan’s wrist with the same shattered grip she’d clutched the sheets with. “D-don’t leave.” She felt pathetic to ask, she felt pathetic to hear her own voice taken by heart-ache. She felt worse to see her blood against Morgan’s skin--across her face and now on her wrist--as if she really was staining her. “I-I’m sorry,” Deirdre withdrew her hand. “I do care what you say, I care what you think, always. I just---It doesn’t feel right when you forgive me. It feels like there should be more.” She coughed, sputtering more blood against their happiness. Deirdre wouldn’t dare to meet Morgan’s eyes, and stared at her blood with expanding self-hatred. She sighed, and collapsed on the bed again, cheek pressed to a fresh mark of blood. “I don’t know how to be loved.”

Morgan yielded as soon as Deirdre touched her wrist. Her love let go and continued to speak, but Morgan was already creeping slowly back along the bed. As Deirdre finished, she lifted one of her arms and tucked herself in against her body. They were both trembling, and the closer she pressed in, the less she could see through their messy, tangled hair, but Morgan could have found the place where she belonged against Deirdre by touch alone if she’d had to. She let Deirdre’s arm sink limply against her and used what strength to hold she had to keep them pressed together. “I could show you, if you let me.” she said, nosing her jaw. “You just have to let me, Deirdre...let me in, let me really be with you, even forgive you. There doesn’t have to be more steps to it than that. You wouldn’t make me pay for your forgiveness, would you?” She lifted a tired finger to Deirdre’s chin, wiping some blood that had started to crust on her skin. “And you have to realize that you don’t know what’s best for me. You know me better than anyone else here, but I am not some damsel in distress that needs to be rescued from some dark, scary witch. Or if I am, I’m not the Disney Princess kind that’s all pure of heart and runs away when the knives come out. Sometimes I wonder if you think I’m really like that, if I sugarcoated all the dirty tricks I played on people who made me angry or the money I made off garbage rocks, or the woman I killed that night at the ring. Sometimes I worry part of you thinks I’m so shallow that I’d actually leave you over a speck of blood, or a misguided mistake. That you’re just waiting for me to show how ‘human’ I still am.”

She felt along Deirdre’s arm until she found her soft, sticky hand. Locking their fingers tightly together, she went on, “I need you to respect me enough to believe that when I say you’re my home and my happiness, and my love, I mean it. When I say I am yours, I’m not talking about kids’ stuff, Mo Cuishle.” Her pulse. Her reason for living when she would otherwise have none. “I didn’t catch all of those questions, but you have to know there’s more to you and me than that you were ever told. You have to know that there are mysteries even old banshee lore doesn’t know the answer to. And you can worry, we can worry all night long if that’s what you want, but you can’t choose for me, and you can’t try to make me choose the way you think is right by doing things to push me away. At some point, you’re going to have to trust me to know things too. If you can’t believe in yourself, if you can’t see how beautiful and complicated and wonderfully strange you really are, then believe that I’m not a total idiot. Believe that I can see you. I haven’t done too bad so far, right?” She said the words as though they were fact. Morgan sucked thoughtfully on her love’s bloodied  jaw, searching for something else to say, but her brain was full with cotton balls of exhaustion and she settled for giving Deirdre a tender squeeze as she murmured, “I love you,” and hid her eyes in her girlfriend’s neck as the sun sank and glared through the trees.

“Hey,” struck by curiosity, and the awe of Morgan back in her arms, Deirdre mumbled wide-eyed. “You’re going to get blood on you.” Except, of course, that she already had. Deirdre reached across and tried to thumb the stains away as she spoke, finding that she was just spreading more off her fingers. But it was getting stuck in her hair, and drying on her cheek, and Deirdre wanted to do something. “I would never make you pay, no.” She swallowed back an argument, knowing she’d be missing Morgan’s point if she voiced it. The last thing she wanted then was to make Morgan feel like she wasn’t being heard. “No, I know that. And I do! I do. I just—“ Her brows furrowed and her lips drew into a frown. Her startled gaze fluttered gentler. “Recently, I’ve been more afraid than I have been...smart. I don’t want to lose you—us, everything that we have together and everything that we might have one day.” If she had the strength to elaborate more with her hoarse voice, she would have used Morgan’s words and called it a pit. It felt a lot like a pit. She had a feeling, though, that she didn’t need to say it for Morgan to understand. “It’s not like that….I just don’t...think like you do. It’s more black and white in my head. There are things that bother you that I don’t understand, and things you’ll forgive that make no sense to me either. I don’t know how to be that subjective, and it always feels like if I want to be better, I need to be better in all respects. But...more than that I just….want you to be able to be proud of me. I don’t want my character to cause you problems.” she sighed, squeezing Morgan’s hand back. “Hey, aren’t you the one that worried a serial killer might take issue with your killing?” Deirdre’s laughter came out more like a cough. She grinned with her frail amusement, knowing full-well that Morgan would understand how fear twisted logic, and that she was safe to explore her thoughts with her—as she tried to understand them too.

Too weak to hold her girlfriend tighter, Deirdre did her best to nuzzle closer against her. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She marked her mistakes away in her head and filed them, she would do better next time. She’d figure it out. She did respect Morgan, and she did trust her, and she did carry faith in her, she just needed to do better showing it. “I’d really like to stop worrying about it, actually. My mother’s voice is a strangely powerful thing.” She couldn’t shake it away even now, raw and open enough to fully soak in Morgan’s words. It hissed through the slog of her fatigue, shouting about her duty and her worthlessness. She hummed to feel Morgan closer to her, cursing the weakness a broken promise wrought for preventing her from pulling her in harder. “You know, I wouldn’t call it shallowness if you changed your mind. That’s just...what people do. And I don’t mean that in a ‘humans are fickle’ kind of way, just that...people change. And I wouldn’t hate you for changing your mind about me, it’s just a scary thing to think about.” She sighed, nuzzling her head against Morgan’s. “I love you too. So much, my Morgue.” The din of their house around them swelled, and it wasn’t so much her mother and her frantic heart that claimed Deirdre’s senses, but the tug in her chest that led to her love. The ticking of the stupid clock on the wall that was somehow always a few minutes behind (great for coaxing more kisses from Morgan, terrible for letting her get to work on time). Whatever cricket thought it was appropriate to start chirping already, somewhere outside their ajar window. Sensations she loved, and missed. “Can we take that bath together? You’re not exactly a paragon of cleanliness right now either.” She smiled, “but mostly, I just don’t want to be apart from you.”

“I don’t want to lose what we have either,” Morgan said, giving a breathless laugh. “We’ve got that going for us.” Aware of the aches and shudders rippling silently through Deirdre’s body, Morgan took it upon herself to hold them tighter together, even as it seemed to mean bloodying her hair. “And it’s not like I’m not afraid either. Between my ghost stalker and your banshee training, there’s plenty of reasons to be afraid. But that fear can’t be in charge of our relationship. Or, you know, we have to try our best and tell each other when our fears aren’t as bad as we think when that happens. Like my murder panic as a perfect example, yes.” She laughed softly and kissed Deirdre’s neck. She wasn’t sure how they eased so quickly into being gentle with each other again while staying so honest, but she didn’t mind leaving the mystery of it where it lay. She was only glad to feel at ease again, and to hear Deirdre’s voice lilting up happily, however ragged and broken it sounded.

“We are really different in that respect, yeah. And I can, I don’t know, try to explain all my ‘nothing but grey’ moral compass. I don’t want to keep you wondering, or for you to feel judged or shut out by anything. But if you know I don’t see or care about anything like pure good, you have to know the last thing I would ever ask from you is perfection. You don’t have to be perfect, Deirdre. You don’t even have to be good. You don’t even have to be kind all the time. Universe knows I’m not. Do you think it would help, if I told you when I’m proud of you? Because I already am, you know. You make me so proud, when you are kind, and when you persist, and when you are brave, and when you are gentle, and when you are clever and so many other reasons-- I could tell you so, whenever I get the feeling. I think I take it for granted that you already know. And you can always ask me, if you wonder. I’ll reassure you for free.”

Slowly, Morgan turned them over so Deirdre was on her back. She tilted her love’s chin back with a coax of her finger and kissed her blood-stained lips. “Mmmm, no scary moms allowed in bed. I banish her, or I would if it were that easy. But hey--” She looked down into Deirdre’s eyes as she lowered herself down onto her chest, her face all affection. “She’s wrong about you. You are so much more than she’ll ever reckon. You’re the best woman I know, and by far one of the strongest. And you are worth so much more than she’ll ever understand. To me, you make everything better just by being here. And, sure, we can be free to change our minds about this later, but I am definitely not quitting you or this over some mean dead guy or a few bloodstains. I think you can count on that much.”

Tucked around each other the way they did when they were happy, Morgan exhaled with relief. She had no sense of how much blood they had rolled themselves in, except by looking at the stains on Deirdre’s face and the sheets around them, and truly, it didn’t matter, except for how quickly they could get everything washed or replaced. She would have lain in the mess they’d made all night if that was what Deirdre needed. As it was, Morgan lingered in the stillness, disturbing the quiet only to trace gentle lines down the drying blood trails on her love’s neck and chest. Her nails raked so quietly it was almost inaudible over the everyday house sounds: the bugs waking up for the night, the locks in their favorite rooms, the cats in the halls, the whir of their ceiling fans. When Deirdre finally spoke again, Morgan laughed into her skin. “Oh, absolutely. How else are you going to make sure I don’t miss a spot? Or help me with the sheets after?” She kissed Deirdre again, firm with determination, lingering with tenderness. “Although, the truth is, I don’t want to be apart from you either,” she murmured against her lips. “So, come with me?”

“What we have is good, I know that much.” Deirdre smiled softly, her gaze trailing over their bedroom--over Morgan’s things tangled with her own. Over the decorations they picked out together, the TV that replaced the old one after Constance smashed it, the luxury silk sheets that had seen better days. And when those would be replaced, they’d have new sheets they loved more, somehow. It never really was about the clocks and paintings, the TV or the sheets. “How is it that I can love you more each day,” she laughed, feeling affection curl sentimentality into her voice. Love chased away her pain, and the darkness that pulled around it. “You’re right. We shouldn’t let fear control our relationship. I don’t want it to. I’d really much rather love you, here now, as we are.” She repeated it in her head, supplemented with Morgan’s gentle kisses. This was a much better way to be than panicked by herself, paralyzed by a cynical future. “I’m sorry I said it might have been a matter of time. I don’t---that’s not what I want to think.” It was hard to remain hopeful, even when Morgan made her feel like she could be.

“I don’t know if it’ll help, but I want to hear it anyway. I like hearing you talk, and the way you think.” Deirdre laughed as they flipped, cutting herself off with a fit of coughing. “Don’t kiss me--” She laughed into their kiss, and laughed as they parted, she coughed then too, but pain seemed to yield just then to grant her a measure of happiness. “I must taste like blood.” She paused. “Ah, right. You can’t really taste it.” She reached her hand up to wipe blood away from Morgan’s lips, lingering as she was caught in her astonishing expression of affection. Deirdre didn’t realize a similar look played on her own features. “It’s a shame really, fae blood’s popular with vampires, might be something good. And okay--okay, I get it.” She sat up again briefly just to pull Morgan into another rough kiss. “No talk of our moms in bed. There are other things I’d much, much, rather think about.” She leaned back down with another laugh, finding that they came now with surprising ease. As if some dam had broken, and she was freed now to rush her emotions down the river that led to Morgan. She cried to hear Morgan declare her devotion, and she raised her hand again to thumb her features. She was covered in so much of Deirdre’s blood, and yet she didn’t seem to mind any of it, even as it dried and cracked. “You know, this reminds me of that blood-tick-thing,” she dropped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “You do look good no matter what you’re wearing; even blood. And I remember being so confused then about what it could possibly be that you must have wanted from me, whyever it was you liked me. I was worried you were putting your feelings on the line for the wrong person but...I’ve always thought you were the strongest person I know. I’d never met someone who wanted to change their fate with so much passion and hope, and who still had the sensitivity to go ahead and like someone---and even to confess it.” She closed her eyes. “You’re the best person I know, Morgan. You always have been.” And it never was that she meant to become some paragon of virtue for her, but to be just a little, in any fraction, worthy of this love, and of a woman like Morgan.

“Oh, of course,” Deirdre smiled, raising up to take Morgan’s hands in hers as she pulled then towards their bathroom, “I’d go with you anywhere.”  

#floodplains #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #self harm tw #emotional abuse tw #parental death tw #wickedswriting

[zahneundklauen-retired]

Sleepwalk It Off || Leah and Alcher

TIMING: Sometime before Charmed, I’m Sure PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Leah goes for a walk and runs into Alcher, who’s on a different kind of walk. CONTENT: Family death mention, House fire mention

The fall air was crisp in White Crest, and despite a chilled, wet, and miserable Winter surely on its way, this Autumn was proving to be generally dry and enjoyable, barring the killer fog that seemed to be rolling it’s way through town.  Leah was on one of her usual walks in the forest, enjoying the color of the trees as they continued to change for the season.  Truthfully, on these walks, she always hoped to catch a glimpse of a rogue supernatural animal, to study it from afar  so she could learn as much as she could.  Instead, she spotted another person in the distance, and as she got closer, the person was looking more and more familiar.  “Ada, hey!” she called out, waving to get her attention.  How exciting!  They were just planning on meeting up for lunch soon anyway, it was a nice coincidence that they’d be able to enjoy a walk together, too.  Leah knew Ada’s sleep troubles had been bothering her recently, and it was easy to tell, even from this far away, that her gaze was distant and far off; almost definitely worried about the restful nights that were still plaguing her.  Ada’s mood seemed to change as Leah approached her, and now not only was her gaze still distant, but now she was yelling- about what, Leah couldn’t quite make out.  “Ada?”, she asked, trying to catch her eyes and gain her attention with a wave of her hand, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Dreamland was an escape. Alcher didn’t even realize her body was taking itself on a real journey. In her dreams, she had her family. They would play together and laugh together. In her dreams, she had a pack. And they would hunt together and they would smile. In her dreams, she had her own pups, and she loved them with her whole heart. But, as dreams often do, they turned to nightmares. Her life melted away. It burned. They all burned. And Alcher was back in that room, tripping over furniture, scrambling from the flames. Climbing up the chimney and feeling the burn of the flames on her legs as she did. Feeling the flu digging into her leg and tearing it apart as she forced it shut and pressed herself against the walls of the tiny space. Trembling. She screamed and cried and shouted and-- someone said her name. Alcher’s eyes snapped open and she was staring at Leah. And she was in the middle of the forest, not her home, not the chimney. Her skin felt hot. She wasn’t wearing much but her body was sweating and she shivered. “L-Leah?” she asked, out of breath, “where...where am I?”

The closer Leah got to Ada, the more the concern in her belly grew.  She was disheveled, shouting, and dazed.  The clothing she was wearing were wrinkled in a way only sleeping in something will do to a person. It was certainly a contrast to the confident, poised Ada she first met.  Was she sleepwalking, then? It would make sense, with all the sleep troubles she’d been having.  And it would certainly explain the dazed look, but the yelling...?  She wondered with furrowed eyebrows if she had looked as lost when she was sleepwalking as Ada did now. “Ada”, she said more firmly, reaching out to grab her shoulder.  “Ada.  You need to wake up, I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself”.  Suddenly, something seemed to snap her awake, and Ada was looking at her with a horrified expression.  She kept her arm firmly on her arm, hoping to steady her.  “You… you’re in the forest.  White Crest Forest.”  She pressed her lips together, blinking slowly.  “I think you were sleepwalking, Ada.  You-... you didn’t seem… yourself.”  Had Leah really known Ada enough to know what herself even was?  Or would Ada stiffen at the rude assumption.  “Do you know what day it is?”

Leah’s face came into view after a few hard blinks and Alcher felt herself falling out of whatever daze she’d been in. When she came to, the world was still spinning a bit, but the light of the morning was peeking through the trunks of the trees around them. Her gaze fell back to Leah and she tried to calm her expression, but the worry that wrought through her body was clear on her face. “It’s…” she blinked again, but she didn’t know yet. The world hadn’t come all the way back. “Thursday.” She reached up to rub her face, to try and wash the weariness from her eyes. “I...am sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she mumbled through her palms. First, the sleepwalking, then she’d started seeing Klaus everywhere-- and now she was feeling and doing things not of her own volition. She shook her head, running hands shakily through hair. At least she was dressed, that was more than she could say for the last time she’d woken up from a sleep walk episode. “What are you doing out here, anyway? It’s dangerous out here.” And Alcher was one of those dangerous things, especially if this kept happening.

“Thursday”, Leah said, nodding slowly.  Her eyebrows were furrowed with concern, and she rubbed up and down Ada’s arm gently, almost as if she was willing the confusion out of her.  “Don’t be sorry”.  Her voice was quiet- gentle even, as if she were talking to a child waking up from a bad dream.  It was so similar to the way Ada had spoken to her when she first called her out on her scent.  “Let’s find somewhere to sit, yea?  Get you situated again.”  It was less of a request than it was an urging, and without waiting for confirmation, she did her best to guide Ada to sit on a nearby rock, licking her lips once she was sure she was situated.  “I take most of my walks in the forest”, she admitted, finally letting go of Ada’s arm.  “I’m not afraid of what I might find- I’m pretty versed on what to look out for, and how to avoid getting hurt”.  Her father warned her often that her refusal to see the danger in these walks would come back to bite her one day (quite possibly literally), but she paid him no mind.  “What about you, though…” she tried.  “Do you...remember coming here?”

The world was still taking its time in trickling back into Alcher’s senses, but she could smell the warm ash of Leah’s scent, and the comforting smell of the forest. The sounds of leaves and birds and critters crunching leaves on the ground. She drew in a breath and brought herself back down to Earth as much as possible before speaking again. They were sat upon a rock and Alcher felt the cool, smooth ridges of its shell under her palms. “Knowledge can only get you so far in a place so unpredictable,” she answered quietly, brows knit with concern as she turned to look at Leah. “I don’t, no,” she went on, looking down at her legs. “I still have my leg on, which means I did not change.” Which was, ultimately, all for the better. She took another look around but it was just the two of them in the clearing. “I’m beginning to believe this...might be a problem,” she muttered, lifting a hand subconsciously to her ribs. The spot where the doctor had written upon them. 

It was a relief that Leah had gotten Ada to sit down, it would be much easier for her to regain her bearings that way.  She nodded softly, understanding Adas concern, but still too stubborn and proud to stop the activity that she loved so much.  “I’m quick on my feet”, was all she offered as a response.  Leah’s eyes followed Ada’s down to her legs, and she nodded at the observation before she looked back up.   “Every problem has a solution”, she said, fully believing her words.  “Maybe it’s a problem, but we’re going to find an answer, Ada.”  She grabbed her friends hand instinctively, squeezing gently to emphasize her point.  “Do you live alone?  Maybe you should come stay with me so I can stop you if you try to leave at night.”  She remembered how terrified she’d been when she found out she was sleepwalking, and if she hadn’t been staying with Morgan and Deirdre- with Morgan there to wake her up and stop her if things got bad, she didn’t know if she’d ever even have been able to fall asleep.  She wanted to grant Ada the same comfort.  “I have an extra bedroom, you’d have your own space.”

“As am I,” Alcher responded, looking at Leah with tired, but firm eyes. She motioned to the scars on her face, her arms, and left it at that. Rubbed her eyes again, trying to wipe the weariness from them. She glanced down when Leah grabbed her hand and squeezed, wholly unused to this gentle comfort. Usually it was Alcher giving the comfort, helping someone figure out how they felt, or what was bothering them. She swallowed. “I’d hate to put you out like that,” she answered, “besides, it could become dangerous. I know that more than once I’ve slept walked while changed and I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.” 

Leah pressed her lips together, looking to the side in defeat.  Point definitely taken.  She shook her head at Ada’s words, disagreeing.  “It wouldn’t be putting me out, not at all.  It’d be like, a fun research project for me.  I could even observe you in your sleep at some points to see if there are any warning signs before you start sleepwalking.”  She stood up, pulling Ada up with her.  She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, at least not easily.  “Come on, Ada.  I’ll drive you to yours so you can pack up some things, and then we can get settled at my house.  I really don’t see how this could go wrong.”

Leah, for her small stature, was quite determined in her stance. Alcher looked up at her as she stood, and let the small woman pull her up with her, looking down at her now, with a tired glance. “Well, if you insist,” she said, half rolling her eyes. But in reality, she was relieved. This was beginning to become a problem, and she was unsure how to help it. If Leah wanted to extend her offer, then Alcher supposed it was best to take. She reached out and grabbed Leah’s hand, her only action of agreeance to the idea, too tired, now, to fight it. “Alright,” she finally said, giving a nod. “But only if you swear to me we’ll do this safely.” And she knew she would. Besides, as Leah had said-- what could possibly go wrong? Famous last words, Alcher supposed, as they headed out of the forest. Only time would tell.

#chatzy #chatzy: leah #wickedswriting #sleepwalk it off #leah #//short but sweet :--) #what could possibly go wrong after all

[beatrice-blaze]

The Body In the Library || Bea & Evelyn

Timing: Sometime Last Week Location: Evelyn’s Dream Parties: @beatrice-blaze and @thronesofshadows​ Warnings: Mentions of Death and Parental Death

The room was cold. Evelyn bit her lip as she glanced around it, bookshelves lining a few of the walls. The first thing she noticed was that it was not her home. Or at least, not the one she lived in now. It was oddly familiar though, and after a moment she startled. Her childhood home’s library. A place of refuge when she wanted to ignore her father or hide from her tutors. Not that such hiding had always been successful. Rows of bookshelves lining the walls and leather plush chairs all around. Ones that she’d curled herself into - except - except she hadn’t been in this room in four years. Which meant that something was off. She could smell the leather, could smell the old books. ‘My love,’ Evelyn turned her head around at a voice she was not so used to, but one that felt just like home. “Mum?” What was going on? Yet there stood her mother, clear as day. Clear as every picture she’d stolen from her father, from the few he’d given her as well. “You -” she shook her head. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. It was almost as though her childhood daydreams had come to life, which was impossible. She didn’t properly dream. She reached out, brushed a strand of her mother’s hair - her mother who looked the same age as Evelyn, almost - away from her face. “I have missed you, you know. Every day of my life.” Before her mother could respond, Evelyn heard the sound of a door and turned her head toward the entryway to the library.

Sleep had once been something that Bea looked forward to. It was a break to the hectic life she led. Now, sleeping had become a task. She didn’t enjoy the routine she had once had before she slept. Often, before she laid down to attempt rest, panic crawled through her chest. Even dreams that weren’t nightmares scared her now, they reminded her too much of floating along like she had when she was a ghost. She pushed down the panic she had now, as she floated down the strange hall she had been placed in tonight. The doors opened for her, leading her into a brilliant library. She’d never been here before, she knew that for sure. She looked at the scene before her, realizing that she had interrupted something. “I’m sorry. I seem to be lost. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Someone else entered the library and Evelyn blinked. Blinked without thinking. Blinked because she was startled. What was happening? This person wasn’t familiar. Or at least, in no more than passing. “What?” She glanced back over at her mother, her lip quivering. This wasn’t real. But she didn’t - she didn’t dream, never had. She considered herself an expert in dreams, but not on a personal level. “I am Evelyn.” She said, reaching her hand out to the other woman, wondering for a moment if she was somehow a part of her mother’s past that Evelyn had never known about. This isn’t like when I feed, she thought. I have control then. She looked back over to her mother, the soft smile she’d only seen in photos and dreamed about before now. Looked back over to the other woman. “I think I need to sit down.” She moved over to a chair and sat down, her mother moving over to her. “You, you can take that seat, if you would like.”

Bea hesitated to take the woman’s hand. She had no idea why she was here, but slowly she took the hand offered. “Beatrice.” She didn’t offer her nickname, not quite comfortable enough in the situation to give out that detail about herself. Not when she didn’t even know where she was. “Why am I here?” She asked softly, fingers adjusting the scarf tied around her neck, nervously making sure her scar was covered. She looked between the two women, before taking a seat as well, far too aware of how distant the fabric felt underneath her fingers. “Do you know what’s happening?”

The name held a certain level of familiarity to Evelyn. Someone else who’d made a name for herself in town. In Maine, not back in England. Which is where the two of them were right now. Which was absolutely impossible. Not to mention that her mother was dead, and were she not, she’d be in her fifties now. She was exactly how Evelyn pictured her. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders just so. “I do not know why you are here. I also do not know what is going on. I presume this is a… dream, or some such thing.” I presume, as an expert on sleep and dreams, except I have never had any of my own. “However, since we are making introductions, this is…” my mum, my favorite person who I never properly met, “Caroline. My - well, my mother.” Evelyn bit her lip. “I - how exactly did you get here?”

A dream. The word made Bea’s breath hitch. Dreams had become a battleground for her now, reliving her death over and over again. She had nightmares where she was unable to move as the hunter mounted her head, making her a trophy for his wall. The distant the feeling under her fingers phased out even further, until she was once again feeling things like a ghost would. Not even a whisper of feeling she once had was with her now. She looked down at her hands as they grew see through just as they had been before. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it down as her fists clenched. “I don’t know.” She replied, staring down at her hands. She forced herself to look up at Caroline. “Is she always in your dreams? I’m not meant to be here. I shouldn’t be in other people’s dreams.” She didn’t know what was happening and it made her chest tighten.

She watched the other woman, watching her hands turn see-through. Another mara? Evelyn had to wonder for a moment. Was that - could it be? She shook her head. No. The woman’s fists were growing tight and mara did not do that. She was proud to be able to turn invisible. “Always? No. I have never dreamed before in my life. Up until less than a week ago.” I do go into other people’s dreams all the time. Though they are not so much lovely dreams as… well… she didn’t voice her comments though. She didn’t know Beatrice well enough to be divulging information like that. Everyone who knew, knew for a reason. Not even Alain knew. Something she would be asking her mother about if not for her guest. Her mother wavered for a moment, before moving - almost floating - along the bookshelves. Evelyn glanced over at her, imploring her not to leave. I still need you. She turned her attention back to the other woman. “Do you know how you got here?”

“Why are you dreaming then?” Bea asked, looking at the other woman, her brow furrowed. This made absolutely no sense, but she couldn’t think of why she would be dreaming of someone else’s dream. The clenching panic was growing in her chest as she couldn’t feel anything beneath her anymore. She needed to grab something, hold it in her hands. She was not a ghost anymore. She was alive. She had to be alive. She tried to grab the edge of the armrest, fingers passing through it as easily as passing through air. “I am here,” She muttered angrily at herself. She had not dreamed of the resurrection, she had not become such a twisted ghost she had tricked herself. She refused to believe it. She looked up at Evelyn again,“I told you, I don’t know. I know less than you do with all of this.”

“It is a mystery to me.” Evelyn shrugged. At least this wasn’t one of the recent dreams that she had that involved finding Melanie dead on the floor. She still didn’t understand who this woman was. “You are here.” She quirked her brow, a bit confused as to why the woman was muttering about this. Did she often venture into dreams? This was all quite confusing, especially given that she’d seemed so confused just moments ago. The woman’s fingers passed through the armrest and Evelyn shook her head. Could she see ghosts now? She’d wondered about that as a child, especially after finding out what she was. It only seemed fair, but despite some desperate attempts, she had very clearly never been able to see any. Knowing what she knew from Nadia and Deirdre, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to, anyhow. “I know about dreams, but not this in particular. I have never done this before.” She glanced over at her mother. “None of this is real.”

Bea’s palms went to press her palms to her eyes, but the pressure that would typically be there was absent. She missed it far more than she thought she would. She looked up at Evelyn sharply, not realizing she had been speaking so loudly, before nodding sharply. “Yes, I am. I am. It just feels strange here.” It felt wrong here. She hated how wrong it all felt. It shouldn’t have felt this wrong, nothing should feel so wrong. She watched Evelyn’s eyes go to her mother and felt for the other woman. The other woman wasn’t dreaming of her mother for good reasons, Bea had to imagine. “Some dreams can be based on real things, you know.”

“It feels strange for me too.” Evelyn murmured. Even if she wasn’t currently able to be intangible like the other woman was, everything here was strange. In the few days since she started to be able to dream, she hadn’t had guests in her dreams. “I know.” The words came out measured, carefully chosen, but not unkind. Just careful, the same intonation she resorted to so often back home. Which made sense, she supposed - she was back home and with a human who she didn’t know. Even if most humans didn’t turn intangible. “Dreams and nightmares both.” Walking over toward the other woman Evelyn turned her head to the side. “I have been dreaming similar things to this for a little while now, but you have never shown up before. I recognize I have remarked on this before but I am still quite puzzled.” She glanced over to the door. Praying internally that her father wasn’t about to show up. He hadn’t yet, but given how strange this dream could be, anything was possible. “Might I ask - is the whole, well, what you just did, normal, or is it dream-specific?”

“Seems we’re both puzzled then,” Bea replied, tone clipped. She had never heard of magic like this before, she’d have to see Leah about whatever was going on here. She couldn’t go through this again without looking for an answer. She hoped she never went through this again. She looked down at her hands, trying to uncurl them from the clenched position they had taken. “Dream-specific. I don’t know why it’s happening,” She lied to Evelyn. No matter how intimate being in someone’s dreams was, she was not admitting that this had happened before. The danger that would threaten her if people found out that she had been dead was far too high. “What usually happens in your dreams, Evelyn?”

“I explained before that I do not dream.” Evelyn gave a small huff, though she could not blame the woman for not listening, she supposed. Her head was spinning and as she looked over to her mother she could almost feel a sort of pain all over her body, though not one she could explain. Not the same hunger that she’d felt ages ago, upon finding out what she was. She scrunched up her nose a bit at the dream-specific comment - though she didn’t think too much on it. After all, her mother was very much dead and she’d conjured her up in her mind, so who was to say that whoever this was couldn’t make themselves intangible, despite being not-a-mara, clearly.

“So nothing, nothing happens in my dreams,” she could feel her hands shake and she pressed her fingertips against her thigh - 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3 - before she took a deep breath and looked over to her mother again. Her mother, who was fading in and out again, almost in the same pattern of Evelyn’s tapping of her thigh. Stopping suddenly, Evelyn felt her breath grow short for a moment. Clearly something continued to be amiss, and she looked over to Beatrice. “This is quite a bit unstable, I think. If none of this was meant to be…” her voice trailed off, for once unsure and wavering. “It is entirely out of my wheelhouse.” Her mother flickered again and Evelyn went completely still, looking over to Beatrice.  “What do you usually dream about,” she spoke slowly, doing her best to not pay attention to everything else going on, “Beatrice?”

Bea frowned at the woman,“Yes, but then you said that you were dreaming similar things without me here. Excuse me for being a bit confused. This happens to be a confusing situation.” The spellcaster didn’t have the patience to deal with this woman huffing about a small mistake Bea had made because her words had been confusing. This entire situation was putting Bea on edge and she didn't want to be here. She wanted to sleep dreamlessly and with no nightmares of becoming a ghost. She was tired of fearing sleep, but there was nothing for her to do about that. She supposed that Evelyn was likely on edge too and took a breath to regain control of her emotions. She couldn’t blame Evelyn for being frustrated. “I don’t think it’s magic doing this, but something certainly is. I have to assume you’re also from White Crest, Evelyn?” She was sure that they had to be close by for this to work. She watched Evelyn’s mother flicker in and out, and looked towards her own hands. She was beginning to fade as well. She looked up at Evelyn, throat tight,“My full name is Beatrice Vural. I own Illusions of Grandeur. Find me when you’re awake if you want to talk more. I don’t think we have much time left here.”

“I am well aware of that.” Her voice was calm, even though Evelyn could feel the urge to bite back with her words - stay calm, my dear - she could almost hear her mother saying. Besides, she’d always been one to err on the side of politeness, at least by face. Nobody could control her thoughts, though she did find that she forgave the woman more easily than normal - perhaps it was some combination of sheer exhaustion of dreaming for the first time ever and being rather confused by this whole predicament. After all, of the two of them, Evelyn was certainly the dream expert. “Something is indeed…” she trailed off, before answering, “I live there now, though this,” she gestured around the room, “is where I am from. Well, not the dream, but you are smart, you get that. Evelyn Hoffman. I own the Artesian.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she could hear her mother’s voice in her head again. It is all your fault.

All of a sudden she found herself back in her bed as her body shot up, heart racing. None of what she said was real, Evelyn reminded herself. It didn’t stop her from finding the necklace around her neck. It didn’t stop her from having to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on anything but what the last words had been. It is not my fault. My mother would have loved me.

Perhaps she’d have to go and find this Beatrice, see if she knew more than she was letting on.

#chat log: evelyn #wickedswriting #The Body In the Library #death tw #parental death tw

[roswelldetails]

Episode 203:  Good Mother

Sorry so late this week!! I had a deadline for work that kept me away from this early in the week, and Tumblr has been mean tonight. Kudos to @tasyfa for helping me with some of the transcripts while I was stuck working!!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

Determined to regain control of her life in the aftermath of Noah’s death, Isobel (Lily Cowles) makes a risky choice despite its potential consequences.  Meanwhile, Alex (Tyler Blackburn) and Michael (Michael Vlamis) work together to unravel the mystery surrounding the night Nora’s (guest star Kayla Ewell) spaceship crashed in 1947. Elsewhere, Liz (Jeanine Mason) makes a surprising confession when Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) shows up looking for answers about Max (Nathan Dean).  Heather Hemmens, Amber Midthunder and Trevor St. John also star. Jeffrey Hunt directed the episode written by Deirdre Mangan & Carina Adly MacKenzie (#203.) Original airdate 3/30/2020.

DETAILS:

Aliens in the crash are always portrayed as wearing all white.  

There's also a silvery gleam on the faces of Nora and Louise following the crash.

Harlan Manes (first introduced in the alien autopsy scene in 1x07) and Hector Valenti (first mentioned in the pilot by Jesse Manes, but visually introduced here) are shown as having both a partnership and a difference in perspective, with Hector being more sympathetic to the aliens from the start - it mirrors what we know about Jim and Jesse's relationship.

Mysterious alien figure in white hood (probably played by Nathan Parsons, but unlikely to actually be Max (see @latessitrice meta) touches Nora's shoulder and she looks pained, then attacks and burns Hector alive, before disappearing into thin air.

Nora is shot in her shoulder.

Liz sent Alex to find Michael at the cave. 

The pods "regenerate cells at the same rate as they degrade" keeping them in stasis.  The theory of the electrical current is that it will speed up the regeneration so instead of stasis, Max might improve.

Searching for info about Nora led Alex to a sophisticated firewall, which meant that someone was trying to hide information about her.

Jenna's fake energy drinks are called "Speed Demon"

Mimi DeLuca says she was "nowhere" (and then she looks up at the stars). She was wearing the same nightgown and robe as when she disappeared (white...like the aliens in 1947), but instead of bare feet, she had on a pair of elaborate blue and white cowboy boots 

Jenna told Sheriff Valenti that Mimi recited the plot from the film Starship Troopers during the car ride into town "like she lived it", with all the voices, but did not provide any information about where she’d been.  Sheriff Valenti implies that this is typical behavior from Mimi.

Michael says he's been parked at the pony for a few weeks.  Maria says that Mimi was gone for a month. That means that another 2 weeks have passed. (I.e., Max has been dead for 6 weeks now.)

Maria says that they found her mom on I-40 (by the Roswell sign).  Also in 2x01 Rosa indicated that she and Liz were on I-40 when they saw Flint - Rosa put together that it was the most direct route to Area 51...however, I-40 does not go through Roswell.  In fact, it is over 100 miles from Roswell to I-40 (north on 285).  However, it is the most direct route to Area 51 from Roswell.

Isobel points out that Mimi DeLuca waking up in the desert with no memory is similar to what happened to her when Noah took over her body.  Michael doesn't believe that they are the same situation though.

Rosa is about to drink spiked coffee when Liz brings her the art supplies.  After Liz leaves, she pours it out without drinking it.

Isobel is packing up all of the photos of her and Noah (most look like vacation photos).  She hesitates on the photo of them with Max at the wedding that we previously saw in 2x01 at Noah's funeral.

Isobel's baby is now 7 weeks (consistent with the other time frames) and is now the size of a blueberry.

Isobel drinks the rest of the alien death serum and immediately gets cramps/pain in her womb.  And then Max's hallucination appears.

Isobel tells not!Max that she has been microdosing with the serum for weeks (2 weeks, based on the timeline) and it hasn't worked.

Not!Max does tell her to call Kyle (i.e, her subconscious knows she should, but she's not listening).

Michael tells Jenna that Max is in Mexico (at first).

Mimi is "hydrated and healthy" and she never felt unsafe.

She thinks she was only gone for a night, coming to see Maria when Jenna found her.

Maria asked Mimi whether Jenna lent the boots to her and Mimi declared they were hers

Liz is surrounded by monitors with alienesque symbols on them (or maybe just The Science!) See photo:

When the alarm sounds Liz looks at her computer screen and reacts - likely a security camera.

When Alex arrives at the Bunker and sees the binder left for him, the computers are on and there is a map showing.  See photo: 

I tried to figure out what city it is on his computer screen, but no luck. If anyone figures it out, send me an ask & let me know & I'll blast it out!

The 3-ring binder left for Alex, which looked approx. ¾ full with paper documents, was marked on the front:

CAULFIELD * A4N

352-6553 NMG

The text was white on a dark green background that appeared to be a printed label that had been affixed to the front of the binder. The body of the binder was light grey, with a partially shaded circular diagram in the lower center of the front that appeared to be part of the binder itself rather than a later addition like the label.

The Post-It note left on the binder for Alex said, "What side of history do you want to be on?"

There was also a marking on the spine of the binder: CF-143-3453-C78. This is probably a file or record reference, with CF standing for Caulfield. The reference would be visible when the binder was housed on a shelf, allowing easy identification.

When Alex flipped open the binder, the visible portion of the top page read as follows:

HEADQUARTERS

509th BOMB GP (NH)

ROSWELL ARMY AIR FIELD

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Forwarded.

A07-06 (95)                                8 JULY 1947

AFTER ACTION REPORT

Serial

[blacked out text with underscoring] [TOP SECRET stamp]

From:        Lt. Colonel Payne Jennings, Roswell Army Air Field

Subject:    Engagement with enemy combatants, recovery of unidentified craft, night of 14-15 June, 1947, twelve casualties.

[offscreen] is a fine that concerns the events and

[offscreen] following the discovery of a flying saucer,

To:        Chief of Staff, U.S. Air Force

[offscreen] dentified rancher notified

[offscreen] [blacked out text] that he found the instrument on

[offscreen] operations were coordinated with

[offscreen] with the intent of detaining or

[offscreen] while assisting in the inves-

[offscreen] reached the crash site

[offscreen] ing object’s entan-

[offscreen] balloon. Ship

[offscreen] of foreign

[offscreen] place

Liz explains The Science to Jenna:

"3 years ago I hypothesized that if I introduced a rare protein to destroyed stem cells they'd regenerate.  And I was right. My team in Denver brought dead cells back to life. Rat cells, but, I mean, still, the applications are immeasurable… until our study got shut down.  They said it's for ethics reasons, but I think it's because it threatened big pharma. Then a few weeks ago, Kyle found that the pods contain a sort of alien cousin to my regenerative protein.  When Max healed Rosa, his electric charge amplified the process. If we can replicate that, then, we can accelerate his recovery, so, I am testing out pig hearts to see…" discussion about pig hearts/human hearts/different kinds of smart…

Liz says she has a few hours before she has to "record the electromagnetic charge interval"

Jenna says that Liz reminds her of Charlie.

Charlie used to rant about gene therapy

Jesse says he requested no visitors until "his brain starts to follow his orders".

He keeps periodically hitting the morphine drip with Alex in the room, though he was ignoring it before Alex got there.

Jesse describes the opening scene of the episode. And then tells Alex "Tripp was never the same".

Rosa's art:

Among the quotes on her collage are:

Body drie up from ...

What did she say

You're no listening

Control her Take her power

I am the Mesa the mighty

Nothing but a muddy trickle

You can't hold us

Sandia

Between them... Damn... One day she'll…

East

Rosa hears Max call out to her (while awake) "Rosa! Help! You're the only one!"

Jenna says that her dad brought her and Charlie to Roswell when they were kids.  That they were obsessed with the crash and aliens and the X-Files and it was the perfect trip.  It's why she came to Roswell after leaving the military.   "It was like trying to go back in time, somehow."

"Time Travel really messed with you.  I am eight years older than my older sister.  She used to be my hero. She was kinetic, disruptive, cool.  Now that I'm an adult I'm pretty sure she's bipolar, and she needs help.  And if I try to save Max I'm letting Rosa twist in the wind, so, hence the wine ready in my drawer."

Maria is going through a box labeled "Mom's Stuff" in the Pony when she sees Rosa.

"I'm turning into my mom.  I lost time at the gala...Michael's hand...I'm seeing things!"

What Valenti says about Noah's death:

"The M.E., Dr. Holden, listed Noah's cause of death as cardiac arrest due to lightning strike. (note: cardiac arrest = heart attack.  Same way Max died.). No other abnormalities were listed. But that's not consistent with the crime scene photos. You see these ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. …. These marks are consistent with zip ties.  And these with struggling against police-issue handcuffs. Like Max's.".

Isobel blames it on their sex toys.

What Max said to the grocery clerk "¿Tienes carne sin preservativos?" (Meat without a condom).

About Max's nightmare:

"You remember when I used to come in and sleep on your floor?"

"You used to have a nightmare.  You were alone in a cold, dark room and there was something… You couldn't get up.  You were…"

"Chained to the floor.  I'd wake up all freaked out and run to your room."

Rosa's nightmare:

"I need your help, Rosa."

"Look, I'm not gonna help you die.  I have been drinking so that I don't dream."

"I know that."

"It's like you're getting stronger. I hear you now when I'm awake."

"You're right.  Something is making me stronger. I feel things. That's why I'm calling for you.  Something is wrong with Isobel. Even in the pod I sense it. She's dying. Please."

Liz thinks that Max was able to reach out to save Isobel because the electricity is making him stronger in the pod.

Maria confessed to her mother that she had thought she might be getting sick too, Mimi said Maria would not get lost because she was protected, and reached for the resin pendant with the anti-alien pollen flower that Maria was wearing as usual. When Mimi seemed to go to sleep, Maria removed the necklace and placed it on her mother. 

Flashing back to the night of the crash, Nora seems to be tying down the tarp on the back of the truck when Tripp approaches her.  He feigns an offer to assist her and then grabs her and orders his men to move in so that they can take her and the truck back to base.  Louise appears and black-canary-screams to push them away (sound waves, I presume). She is shot in the stomach/chest. Nora pulls her into the truck and drives them away.

The newspaper clip Michael found is dated October 12, 1948, two days before Nora was captured. 

Newspaper transcript:

Last scene - Nora is clearly driving the truck with her powers, as she has both her arms around Louise. They approach a cabin and we're introduced to Roy Bronson, who offers to help.

Roswell Town Fair Charms Locals and Tourists

Photo caption: Smiles abound demonstrate a good time had by all.

Saturday Festivities Drew Healthy Crowds

Second column under photo:

...well as celebrated hometown war heroes, and, of course, Mrs. Benjamin Booker (Carol) whose strawberry Chile pie has won the Roswell Pie Contest four seasons in a row.

Children delighted in activities such as sack races.......

Top of 3rd column:

...ice creams.

Meanwhile the annual pumpkin chunking contest was the main attraction as expected! Pumpkin chunkers arrived from far and wide with their pumpkins and their pumpkin-lurching apparatuses. The prize for best pumpkin chunked went to the Long Family. Their farm foreman Roy Bronson credited his friend and neighbor, a young woman who declined to be named, for the Long's pumpkin chunking victory.

When asked what he'd do with the prize money, Bronson declared that he would "purchase ingredients (for his lady friend) to cook up a nice pumpkin pie".

MUSIC:

Dame - Holy Moly

Tommee Profitt feat. Fleurie - Hurricane

#roswell new mexico #rnm season 2 #good mother #rnm 203 #long post #episode details

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Magical Moostery Tour || Regan, Nadia, Deirdre, Blanche, and Kaden

TIMING: A long ass time ago when Regan didn’t have wings  PARTIES: @kadavernagh @harlowhaunted @deathduty @humanmoodring and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Regan got the whole gang VIP tickets to Moosventures and Blanche was the tour guide. What could go wrong?

Bringing Kaden and Deirdre together, dragging Nadia out of the apartment and herself out of the morgue… well, okay, probably everything could go wrong. Regan had called ahead to specifically request Blanche for their VIP moose tour and, taking Kaden’s advice, she’d told them not to alert her to this. She wasn’t sure what to expect from a moose tour agency, but it wasn’t the moose heads hanging on the wall. Not that she minded, but there was something extremely morbid about that. And there were few things in life -- or death -- that Regan considered morbid. Maybe they were fake, but they looked real enough. She tapped Kaden on the shoulder and gestured toward one of the heads, making sure he saw it. After all, he liked skulls.

While they waited, Regan scanned the room. The place wasn’t crowded, though it was possible not everyone was there yet. How many people really wanted to go on a moose tour? A little over a dozen people, as it turned out. Two young couples, a family with kids, and some single nature-lovers all queued up impatiently as the tour company was… preparing the bus or something.  “I’m sure Deirdre and Nadia will be here any minute! They wouldn’t want to miss this. Probably.”

Kaden hated waiting. They were a solid half hour early, too, at Regan's insistence. Only she hadn't told him they were getting there early. Had he known that he would have conveniently delayed picking her up as long as possible. He was leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, starting to doze off, when Regan nudged him and he jumped awake. He looked around for anything alarming, then followed her line of sight to the moose heads. His brow furrowed, they looked like moose heads. Weird to have before a moose tour, sure, but they seemed pretty standard. Wait, did she still think he was a game hunter? Right. Probably. Not like he exactly told her otherwise. He pulled his mouth into a half smile and nodded like they were great.

He sighed and checked the time on his phone. It had only been seven whole minutes. "I hope so." Well, at least Nadia. He was dreading having to sit around and play nice with Deirdre. Thank god he'd be able to distract himself by annoying hell out of Blanche. "It's still early. I'm sure they're on their way." He smiled at Regan as he leaned back again and put his arm around the back of her chair.

Nadia locked her truck and headed to the moose tour building. Honestly, not how she thought she was going to be spending her night, but it seemed like fun. She remembered that she’d told Regan that the moose tour seemed interesting when they first became friends, and, well, there was no sense in turning it down. She was running late from the time that Regan had given her, though. She quickly walked into the building and headed to where she saw Regan and Kaden seated. As she took a seat, she leaned over and murmured, “Sorry I’m…” she looked around at the lack of people and the fact that no one seemed to be getting ready to start, “late?”

There was nothing that sounded more idiotic to Deirdre than looking at living moose. Except, maybe, paying someone to help her look at living moose. The only benefit was seeing Regan, a gift of which she would never turn down, and then the possibility of potentially pushing Kaden into a comically large pile of moose excrement. If Kaden would die sometime during this venture, Deirdre would count this journey a victory, but she knew White Crest wouldn’t offer her even that one little thing. And then there was Nadia, Regan’s allotted human. If she was to die, Deirdre would count that a victory too, but the thought left her with an odd touch of sadness. She rationalized that as mourning the loss of the fun kind of criminal, a true tragedy in the monotony of the human world.

Deirdre pushed open the doors, appalled for a moment that there was no human to offer to do the manual labor for her. Her gaze snapped to the three people she was meant to meet; astonishing Regan in her adorable turtleneck glory, disgusting-waste-of-a-human Kaden….and Nadia. Or who Deirdre assumed was Nadia. Were she not focused on glaring at Kaden’s arm around Regan’s chair--familiar and crude--she would have enjoyed the company’s decorating choices. “This better be a-moose-ing,” she strode to them, haphazardly tossing off her notably unnecessary sunglasses. She was aiming for Kaden’s head, a task that proved harder to do when she was trying not to look like she wanted to impale him with an antler hat. Where her sunglasses actually landed was another story.

Stan was acting weird as they got the bus ready for the nights tour. He had taken care of the check in process, so Blanche hadn’t even seen the list of how big it was supposed to be. There were four V.I.P. seats, though, which meant there would be four people practically on top of her while she recited Moose factoids. She pushed her stupid headband of specialty pair of Moose Antler’s and put her magnetic gold name tag that said her name in a styled ‘Moosey’ font, and went to greet the patrons. She had gotten… sort of? Better at it, as time went on. She still didn’t have the pep in her step or passion for moose Pam or the new part-time tour guide named Martha did.  “Hi everyone,” Blanche had started saying, adjusting the Mooseventure brand fleece jacket (available at the gift case for $24.99 in child and adult sizes). “W- unf.”

Deirdre’s sunglasses soared through the air, bouncing off Blanche’s face and falling onto her small box of mooseantlers. Blanche stopped, looked at the sunglasses, before looking up. Her worst nightmare were sitting right there in front of her. Oh no. She saw Deirdre first. Then Kaden. Nadia. Regan. Who she knew had four V.I.P. passes. Oh no. Absolutely not. Horror, rage, and embarrassment flashed across her reddening face. “Oh my god.” Why couldn’t her moose antler headband come with a mask? Actually, just let her wear a giant moose head like a mascot. Blanche shot a look at Regan, to her other patrons. And then, through her teeth, she started the welcome script.

“Welcome. Are you all ready to see some moose. I’m Blanche. Your tour guide for tonight. And. Your. Fellow. Moosenthusiast.” She, very stiffly, handed the cardboard box of moose antlers out. “We can’t get on the bus without the proper headgear. We wouldn’t want to scare the moose.” She shot her friends a look. “Mandatory.”

With Nadia and Deirdre finally showing up, the gang was all here. Almost. Regan’s eyes followed the pair of sunglasses that Dierdre whipped off her face, and nearly yelped when she saw Blanche on the other end of their trajectory. And -- oh no! They must’ve hit her face harder than it looked, because her cheeks were all red. Both of them, actually. That was strange. Regan winced in empathy and waggled her fingers in a shy wave. It was rude to interrupt her introduction spiel while she was working, right? But the deflated way Blanche spoke was almost depressing, and Regan had to wonder if something was wrong. And… why were they distributing styrofoam antlers? “I don’t need those,” she said, holding her head proudly, “I’m not a child.” But Blanche had used the word mandatory. And -- hey, why had she made eye contact when she said that? Did she already know Regan would protest? She sighed. “I’ll hold them. I’m not wearing them.” She sidled up next to Kaden and once Nadia and Deirdre had antlers in hand, the group was ushered onto a bus. Discrete from the outside, the inside was plastered in moose memorabilia. She looked down at her VIP ticket stub, which indicated that they had the frontmost seats for “best viewing”. Why did they even bother with stubs? It wasn’t like they could leave the bus, even if they wanted to… now there was a slightly terrifying thought. She glanced between Kaden, Deirdre, and Nadia as a decision cemented itself. “I think… Kaden, do you want to sit with Deirdre?”

Kaden was really hoping that Deirdre just wouldn't show up. He was so close to getting his wish, too. Then she walked in the door, flinging her sunglasses like some sort of over dramatic diva. Somehow she was worse in person. He didn't think it was possible. He sighed and shot her a look and almost missed seeing Blanche get decked by the sunglasses. Seeing the look of horror on her face was worth it, he had to admit. He had to bite back the laughter at her moose antlers and forced bullshit monologue. His smile faded a bit when she handed him his own set of moose antlers. He was pretty sure they weren't mandatory and this was her form of payback. "Come on, Regan, can't scare the moose," he said as he put his antlers on her head. If he was going to look stupid, he wasn't going to do it alone. He turned to Blanche before grabbing another set. "If I put these on, do I get to ask as many questions as I want?" he asked with a smirk. "There's just so much to learn about the moose. I've gotta know." Kaden was starting to think this might be fun after all. Then Regan had to suggest that. His face fell and he tried not to shoot Deirdre a glare. The word "No" didn't seem strong enough. But he was pretty sure he couldn't refuse. As much as he wanted to. "Do I-- Are you sure? I mean..."

Nadia frowned as she took the moose antlers, but she was more focused on trying to drown out all of the feelings going on around her. Between Blache’s embarrassment (poor girl; Nadia could only imagine that she hadn’t been expecting to see the four of them while she was working) and the animosity Kaden had coming off of him in waves, it was hard for her to think. And the source of his animosity… Nadia hadn’t really known what to think, meeting Deirdre. The other woman was just as loud in person as she was online. It was all a bit much. Nadia tried to focus on herself, on what she was feeling. She-- it was hard-- she hated the moose antlers. That’s what she was feeling, but she put them on and glanced up as Regan asked if Kaden and Deirdre wanted to sit together. No, that sounded like an awful idea, a really bad idea, but she couldn’t exactly blurt out that she could tell they hated each other just from feelings. She looked between the three of them, then looked at Blanche, then looked back. Nadia should’ve stayed home.

Deirdre didn’t mind the moose antlers. She could see the apprehension in her companions faces but she was of the (correct) belief that she looked good in anything. She took them with a smile, which widened at seeing Blanche at her other job and veered into a smirk at Regan’s suggestion. “I’d love to sit next to Kaden! We can get closer--in several ways.” She slipped the antlers on, trying to find Kaden’s gaze to shoot him a wink. Oh, he was right to hate her. But she reveled in that hate. She glanced over at Nadia, her frown died as she remembered one of their older conversations. With a cough she spoke generally to the air, “the humans are louder! If you focus on what isn’t--it’s less overwhelming.” Hopefully the small nugget of information could make up to Nadia about being stuck here. “Just something my grandmother said about….moose. That humans are louder than….them…” she coughed again, “anyway, don’t you mean it’s moose-datory?” Deirdre grinned, “lead on cadet.”

Blanche’s protest almost turned into gagging as Kaden stuck his moose antlers on Regan’s head. Ew. What the hell was that? Cursed. She glowered at Kaden, giving him the most withering stare  “I’m here to answer all Moose questions, as your tour guide,” She said, through her teeth. She felt a little better when Regan suggested Kaden and Deirdre sit together, snorting under her breath as she began checking stuff off on her clip board. Nadia looked like she wanted out too. Same, Nadia, she thought. Blanche looked at Deirdre, and realized that maybe Deirdre should be the Moose themed tour-guide. “Moose-datory. What a great pun! Alright everyone, out this way, and up onto the bus!” Blanche was used to people herding. “Our for VIP members right up front! With me!” Oh god, with her. She would practically be on top of them. Noooo. “Antlers on, everyone, we’re almost ready to take off!”

Aside from the moose antlers that Kaden had stuck on her head, this was going… great! Regan’s heart soared. 5 friends, all in the same place, all enjoying the moose. Except Blanche, who didn’t look particularly happy… actually, now that she thought about it, Nadia looked pretty overwhelmed (maybe she was really excited about the moose?). Deirdre and Kaden seemed okay, though. She wondered if they’d have some moose bones to pass around on the bus, like a show and tell. Part of this was about education, after all, wasn’t it? That would cheer everyone up. They followed Blanche’s lead onto the bus, and Regan shuffled into the first available window seat, motioning for Nadia to join her. Meanwhile, Kaden and Deirdre took the next. There was a strange sharpness to both of their eyes. Was it a mistake to suggest this seating arrangement? She knew Deirdre and Kaden had their differences, but they both seemed eager to put it all behind them. Regan raised her hand, like this was a lecture. “I have a question about moose! What’s their most common cause of natural death? And do you have some moose bones, or maybe a nice intestine, to pass around for educational purposes? Sorry. That’s two questions.”

Kaden’s eyes narrowed at Deirdre’s fucking wink. He’d love nothing more than to just stab right then and there, be done with it. Never have to play nice with monsters again. Instead he forced a smile onto his face as he gestured for her to take the window seat before sitting next to her “Oh yeah, so much closer. After you.” He may or may not have “accidentally” stepped on her toes as he sat down in the seat beside her. “Sorry. I’m just so clumsy. What can you do?” He tried to bite back a smirk but it didn’t work. As fun as that was, he turned his attention back to Regan and her questions for Blanche. She’d mentioned she’d be bringing a list but that wasn’t exactly what he expected her to ask. Which really was his mistake, come to think of it. “Yeah, pipsqueak. Where’s the moose intestine? Stomach? You must have something.” Weird as the questions were, he wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to badger Blanche. And hey, if he was annoying enough, maybe he’d get lucky and she’d kick him off the tour early.

This was going to be a long night, Nadia just knew it. Which, it was already a long night; it’d been a long night for awhile now. Still. For a second, she was confused as hell as to what Deirdre might mean, with humans being loud before oh. Nadia had forgotten she’d told the banshee that she was an empath; she sent Deirdre a grateful look. As she followed Regan to their seats, she tried to mostly just focus on Deirdre and a little on Regan, since they were apparently a bit more dulled (that explained a lot, actually). Still, it was hard, and dulled didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Deirdre and Kaden were antagonistic, Blanche was hella embarrassed, and Regan… was asking about moose intestines. Which, yeah, that was about right. Poor Blanche. “Maybe,” she said, hoping to help the younger woman, “Blanche will be taking questions towards the end? Don’t want to distract her from her spiel, you know?”

Deirdre gritted her teeth, trying her best not to stab Kaden right then and there for the simple act of stepping on her toes. Maybe she was clumsy too. Maybe a knife would just slip out of one of her dozen or so pockets and find its way into his---”Oh! Perfectly fine, Kady. Love the way you...walk.” Fates, she hated him. Thankfully, conversation about moose death and moose entrails was exactly the kind of distraction from murderous thoughts that she liked. Deirdre let out a soft chuckle at Nadia’s attempt at help. It was so cute. Unfortunately, Deirdre had no intentions of letting it work. “Entrails!” She shouted, which quickly turned into an enthusiastic chant. “Entrails! Entrails! Entrails! Moose entrails!” And who would blame her if one of her excited fist pumps hit Kaden? Or If she was shouting at him more than she was Blanche. Or if she leaned back and whispered “I love death” into his ear. “As VIP guests, we should get to have our question answered, shouldn’t we? And we should get to pass around entrails and bones and whatever else you have there, shouldn’t we?” There was a mutinous edge to her words.

At some point between being called a pipsqueak and Deirdre shouting and chanting about entrails, Blanche was pretty sure she blacked out because next thing she knew Stan was nudging her from the driver’s seat. He looked concerned. How dare he look concerned when he did this to her! This was his fault! Blanche ran her hands down her face, and craned her head to look at the other patrons on the bus, particularly the ones with children. Most of them looked mortified. Great. “Wolves,” Blanche finally answered through gritted teeth, looking at Regan. “Wolves are predators of Moose, though not usually in Maine. Coyotes, surprisingly, can also take a moose out. Common diseases include brain worm, which is usually fatal, winter ticks, which is fatal only when a moose is heavily ingested, and liver fluke, large flatworms that are usually found in white-tailed deer, but moose can get it too. Once again, it’s usually fatal if a moose is heavily infested.” Blanche rattled off the facts that she had memorized, before hearing the bus start and Stan taking off. She was supposed to be following a script, but she had a feeling that she wouldn’t get through half of it. “We do not have any entrails,” She shot a look at Deirdre and Kaden. “But we have antlers you can touch when we get back to the lobby. Any other questions before we continue?”

Other than the extremely disappointing lack of moose entrails available on the bus, this wasn’t a half-bad experience. Blanche’s ease of answering questions was impressive -- something Regan would commend her on later -- and even Kaden and Deirdre seemed to be getting along. Possibly? They were getting pretty close, physically. Unfortunately, Regan couldn’t say that Nadia was having a great time; the stress was plain on her face, even when the whole bus excitedly gathered around to get a good moose viewing angle. Wasn’t that supposed to be fun? She offered her hand to Nadia as an informative video about moose started playing on the screens around the bus. “The moose, the majestic hooved mammal of the north, can reach the size of…” Wasn’t this all information they were presented with anyways? Thud. The screen cut out. Just for a moment. Regan blinked. Thud thud. Again. The bus driver slammed to a stop, and did what no one wants to see their driver do: stand up. Regan gave Nadia a concerned glance and leaned forward, trying to see what was happening. Thud thud. Louder this time; the bus rocked. “Is this… part of the tour?”

The tour turned perfectly boring for a while. They asked Blanche questions; she answered. They looked at a moose; it was, in fact, a moose. There was a shitty video playing; it was-- Well he was going to say boring but then the power cut out and the bus started shaking. Maybe this wouldn’t be so boring after all. Kaden pushed his way around Deirdre to see out the window. He frankly didn’t care if she protested. Shit, didn’t see anything, must have been on the other side. “Excuse me, animal control, out of the way. Gotta see what’s going on here,” he said as he stood to get a better look out of the window on the other side of the bus, moving whoever he needed to out of his way. “Putain,” he grumbled as he saw the problem in question. There was no mistaking it. That was a fucking bies rocking the fucking bus. He grumbled to himself, “I thought we got rid of that shit, how is there another one?” He tried to start formulating a plan on how to deal with the monster without looking like a complete lunatic and all the sudden he felt a chill go past him all of the sudden. Weird. “Think you can cause a distraction while I take down a bies?” he leaned over and whispered to Nadia. “You know, unless you’ve got a better plan then by all means, now’s the time to share.”

Nadia was spending most of the first part of the tour trying not to get overwhelmed. Granted, most of the people on the tour just felt bored, but there were still more people in an enclosed space than she was used to. Bars were fine. She could drink; she could have space. This… reminded her of a field trip. She hated buses. Then, the power went out and the bus started shaking, and Nadia couldn’t see shit, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise in a way she was learning to associate with paranormal activity. Fuck. Ghost. Granny? No idea. As Kaden leaned over and whispered in her ear, it felt like it was closer. Not Granny? She couldn’t focus. It took her too long to figure out what he was saying. Making sure Regan wasn’t too busy paying attention to what was going on at the front of the bus, Nadia frantically whispered to Kaden, “The fuck is a bies?!?” She took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on Regan’s dulled concern. “Alright, shit. I can-- shit. Be careful?” She dropped her phone and kicked it toward the front of the bus. “Oh, shit!” There were children. She could feel paternal judgement coming from the back. “My phone! Hey, can anyone help me find my phone?!” She grabbed Regan’s hand and jerked her down. “Please help me find it!”

Deirdre was sure she’d fallen asleep during the tour. Or at least, she must have, because the last thing she remembered was trying to start a chant and now the bus was shaking. Which was, admittedly, the most interesting part of the tour. Then there was an elbow in her face and she groaned trying to get away from Kaden before she eventually crawled over him to tumble out into the space between the seating. To make matters worse, some thing had started spouting off in French and Deirdre’s salt packets had tumbled out of her pockets as she escaped Kaden. “I’m right here!” She hissed at him, “why are you asking Nadia when I’m right here!” Did he not know what bies were afraid of? Was he that bad of a hunter? She lifted her gaze up, looking at Blanche. She couldn’t scream while children were here, she couldn’t shatter glass where it could hurt them. The adults, she didn’t care so much about hurting. “Get me off this bus and I can deal with it a lot better than you can,” she hissed at Kaden again, before snapping her gaze up once more to gesture at Blanche. “We should all look for Nadia’s phone! Isn’t that right, tour...uh, leader? Shouldn’t we all be ducking and not looking out the window and really focused on Nadia’s phone?”

Blanche answered most questions they had through gritted teeth, happy to take a much needed break when the stupid video started playing. People love informational videos! Stan had said. But did they though? Blanche didn’t complain as she reached for her metal water bottle, taking aswig just as something slammed against the bus. Blanche jerked, before her head whipped to see Stan stand up. Blanche’s water bottle clanged loudly to the bus floor as the yelling in French started. Ah, there was Mrs. Langley. To make matters worse, her own ghost showed herself. Granny had appeared, probably having been following the damn bus from afar - ‘A magic moose is hitting the bus!’ Granny was yelling in her ear, Mrs. Langley was popping off at Kaden for being a dumb fucking hunter, the stupid, apparently magic moose was smacking the side of the bus, and Deirdre was speaking to her. Shit. “Everyone! Shut up!” Blanche hissed, loudly. Granny repeated Deirdre’s instructions instead of shutting up. “Wh- oh!” She hopped off her seat, people were worriedly trying to get a glimpse of the magic moose. “Everyone!” Blanche grabbed onto the back of the seat to keep herself from being thrown off balance. “Everyone! Can I have your attention please! We urge you not to panic and to let, uh, Animal Control take care of the situation! If we could all have you duck under your seats, please, and do not look out the windows, that, uhhh, would be great! Right Stan? Stan? Oh.” Stan looked a little green. Blanche turned her attention back to the group. “Everyone do it now! Right now!”

Kaden was thankful Nadia took direction well and started fumbling for her phone, taking Regan to the floor with her. Good. This was going to be way too much to explain. He was just about to  leave the bus with his, uh, well, he had one smaller knife on him, when Deirdre snapped at him. “You? What are you going to d--” And then it hit him. Noise. Banshee. “Wait, won't that fucking burst our ear drums?” he whispered to her. It'd at least do a number on his. Merde. "Fine. Play along.” He pushed past people and carefully stepped over the ones rummaging on the floor to the door. “Animal control, both of us. We've got this. Just duck and, uh, cover your ears.” He gave Blanche a pointed look, hoping she followed what he was suggesting as he pushed the doors open and hopped out of the bus, assuming Deirdre was behind him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. Not really great, but it'd have to do. “Hey!” he shouted at the beast. He probably didn't need to, it had sure seen him. With a loud bellow, the bies reared up. Well shit, it looked angry. Really angry. And all of that anger seemed directed right at him as it charged straight at him. He ducked and rolled to the side. Into the bus tire. Which hurt, but not as much as those hooves. “You better work fast,” he grumbled in Deirdre’s general direction, knife in hand as he pushed himself off the ground. He had no idea if her plan would work and if the beast would run or not, so he figured it was best to be prepared. With the monster running the other way, Kaden sprinted towards it, hoping to catch it off guard, in the middle of changing direction. He reached the monster's flank and dug his knife it, pulling down hard, hoping to split a tendon or artery, fucking anything to slow it down, just in case they all had to run. He just hoped she'd fucking warn him when she planned on screaming. Yeah, alright, odds were she wouldn't. Putain. Who needed hearing anyway?

Following Kaden's lead had proved to be more degrading than Deirdre thought. There was nothing more humiliating than walking behind him, than walking behind any human, really. But such sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of...moose touring. The bies seemed occupied enough with Kaden though and for a moment, Deirdre considered just leaving him there. And considering it, she stood there doing nothing a beat longer than she probably should have. Then, she squared herself and opened her mouth to let out a scream, directed perfectly at the bies (though she gave no real attempt on trying to aim away from Kaden). The bies cried, its anger dissolved quickly into fear. Suddenly, aggressive posture diminished into panic. The once imposing creature appeared as a shell of itself, desperate for escape, but far too disoriented to find it. It thrashed, predictably, and Deirdre grinned imaging the trouble Kaden must have been going through trying to evade it. She could have screamed enough the first time to knock it out or chase it off...but she liked this better. Again, she let the animal and Kaden have their fun for a moment too long before she screamed once more, enough to finally cause the creature to flee in disarray. She turned to the bus, the windows were unshockingly intact—she was far too proud not to show off the aim she'd mastered. And then back to Kaden, smiling with the hope he'd understand her purposefully drawn out screams, "lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Before finally she slipped back onto the bus before him, "now is this the part where we get to see the moose entrails?"

Blanche almost swore at Kaden as he ordered them all around and shot her a look, but there was a time to be defiant against authority and it wasn’t when she had a bus full of people that just wanted to see Moose. Mrs. Langley was off going on and on somewhere, all in french and Granny was hovering far too close for comfort, for once not saying anything, but anxious all the same. “You heard animal control!” Blanche bellowed, loudly. “Everyone duck and cover your ears. Now! You too, Stan!” One of the suburban mothers in the back tried to say something, but Blanche barked out another order before doing the same. Granny was busy trying to give her a play by play, but she could barely hear anything until finally it was over. Blanche slowly stood, pulling her hands away from her ears as Deirdre cheerfully got back onto the bus and asked her about moose entrails again. Blanche looked at her, before she peaked out the window to make sure the moose thing was gone and that Kaden’s dead body wasn’t just lying out there. She didn’t even want to know what kind of incident report she would have to fill out if someone died on a Mooseventure tour. Blanche ran a hand down her face, and went to jab Stan in the ribs. “Get it together!” She hissed, “I can’t drive the bus back!” Blanche looked at Deirdre, before putting on what she hoped was an award winning Tour Guide smile. “There will be no Moose Entrails on this tour! But, on our lovely drive back to the building, I can give you statistics about - uh - Moose and how they rarely show fear! Such as when the approach tourbuses full of people! Ha-ha.”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #writing #IT LIVES #magic moostery tour #nadia #humanmoodring #regan #kadavernagh #blanche #harlowhaunted #deirdre #deathduty

[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

[valflame]

HEADCANON DEVELOPMENT MEME // OPEN

@ettards​ asked “hc + attachment. :)”

                                       Oh boy where do I even begin with this one.

Every aspect of Arvis’ character, from his interpersonal relationships to his motivations to his introspective thoughts and his ability to communicate with other people, stems from the trauma he experienced as a child that culminated in the events surrounding his seventh birthday. To summarize it briefly, he had been born the eldest and only legitimate child of Duke Victor and Duchess Cigyun of Velthomer. His father was violently alcoholic and trapped them within the confines of their castle to live at the whims of his ever-sour moods, and his mother, who he developed an unhealthy and wholly unnatural attachment to as the only other person within the space he could interact freely with, was neglectful and would often leave him with his father despite knowing full well how horridly he would treat them to go cavorting with Prince Kurth in Belhalla. Victory would cheat on her every opportunity he got, but when she did the same he took his rage out on their child until he hung himself, and in response Cigyun ran away. She knew it meant that Arvis, then seven, would be forced into forfeiting any possible childhood he would have had in favour of becoming duke and that he, as the only other living carrier of Loptyr blood apart from herself, would be surrounded by danger at all times, but she decided that her desire to escape everything that had happened in Velthomer outweighed her child’s wellbeing and abandoned him. He was left completely alone and he snapped, his attachment to her grew into an obsession and he become so fixated on her and on the notion of her coming back that he would, even as a child, canonically murder people with his magic in fits of rage if they ever dared to suggest anything in ill taste about her regardless of whether it were true or not, because she was coming back for him, he knew it, what had driven her away in the first place were all the lies that people had told about her and about Kurth and once he had eliminated them all she would be back for him because she loved him and he loved her and there was no possible way that his own mother could throw him away like garbage.

But she sure did!

What happened afterwards is Arvis receding in on himself. His character in the game and the notes and the manga and all the supplemental material clearly has a lot of passion and emotion, to the point where he’s really overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings pretty frequently, but outwardly he always appears to be cold. He’s described several times in plenty of different places as a kind person and beloved by the masses, but he’s also described as being very distant and terrifyingly aloof. He’s intimidating, both because he’s so powerful and intelligent and because he’s so rigid and tight-lipped, which makes him a wonderful narrative foil to Sigurd who is warm and inviting despite being none too bright. He is desperate for people to not only grow close to him but to stay with him, but he feels like he can’t have that --- he is Loptyrian, and beyond that nobody in his life ever has. His father loathed him and killed himself, his mother abandoned him, his brother too abandoned him at the start of the game, and he fears nothing more than abandonment so he closes in on himself and keeps to himself. It also sets him as being kind of, of all tropes, a yandere. According to Kaga’s notes, the mere suggestion of Deirdre having been previously married from Manfroy and her first husband still being out there somewhere brings him so much anxiety he can no longer eat or sleep without being plagued by nightmares about being left alone again, and as soon as he finds out it’s Sigurd he responds by murdering him despite not hating him at all. He will go to any length to avoid being alone, no matter how good his intentions are for the world at large otherwise.

#⊰ ♖ ⊱ DOUBT THOU THE STARS ARE FIRE! DOUBT THAT THE SUN DOTH MOVE / HEADCANON #ettards #(( thanks! thanks for this! real talk it's an important aspect of his character smh )) #(( he is such a mess of a character ))