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nieznasztejosoby · 3 months

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to anyone actually following me please ignore!

It's hard to breathe through the ash that's still coating my face.

I should wipe it away but my hands had gone numb as did my legs it seems like the end of running away

The last hour has been a blur of heat and pain I didn't even catch her face but her voice was enough.

We found lady Deirdre at last.

Who would have expected she the crown princess and us the traitors.

And now im only alive due to someones incompetence

I have only a vague idea of the area I ran too.

A forrest so serene at night. I can still smell the burning meat.

Naga above why did this happen to us

I bring try grasp the silver talisman

Same as the one i gifted my beloved not wife never wife

lured into a trap told that her fathers betrayal is something she can begin to atone for

I shouldn't dare to hope that whatever fate they plan for her is any kinder then the quick death that took the rest of us

I wish i followed her but i had no claim to be by her side .I thought there's no reason to make a fuss we will see eachother soon enough so no reason to lie .

We didn't get married it wasn't really about approval no one can stop us from it and jokes on them if anyone tried we just wanted it to be with our families i wanted So that Arvis could see how far i came so that we could rub how much we love each other into Blumes and Hilda's faces..

As there was nothing easier than loving her.

and now the world we thought we built shatters showing its fragility our love if ever remembered will be known only in mockery

At least brother got his wish the king is old and all too happy to give control

of Granvale

his revolution no longer confined to our duchy.

Our such a bold statement what an inappropriate time at that any of the previous dukes bastard children would be about as good to stand by his side most infinitely better.

I was just convenient, a younger brother to care for to fawn at and to shape the future of , thrown on him when he was at his loneliest.

I can hear footsteps the knights finally caught up to me

Two people one on horseback , what an odd choice, most likely not of Velthomer. We don't have many cavalry in our army so unless brother changed about how we operate those are most likely knights of Belhalla.

Why would it even matter? I guess I only miss home now that I got so close.

“Astoria is it really safe for you to search with me ? “

“Nothing about this is safe princess told me im free to go so i have time before anyone gets suspicious but not a lot of it but that doesn't matter you need me, im the one with a private place to stay here and a horse unless you're planning to get him all the way back home by foot “

“I know I know I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I shouldn't have broken the formation and allow him to escape “

“You did it for a reason right? “

“That man looked way too much like lord Azelle didn't he.I know it was said that he perished in the attempt at getting Agustria back under control but there was never any real proof beyond the lack of letters. I know it could just be a coincidence but if it wasn't I can't even imagine the duke's grief if brother survived just to die like this in such a way . “

Ah so some people think he cares

I try to focus on their words but they fade quickly, the exhaustion catching up to me.

The new day starts my eyes open to a collection of wildflowers adorning the bedside table, the castle staffs best attempt at covering the smell of ash and burned hair hanging in the air.We won my father avenged we can finally move forward the quiet excitement fills the air as I can hear my maids chattering about the now soon approaching wedding.

Arvis has been to busy with the clean up for us to talk afterwards but that's good no need to explain the tear stained pillows not when I cannot explain the aimless sorrow even to myself.

I can hear the girls pacing outside so I knock twice on the bed frame as loudly as I can, a sign they are allowed to come in , a relic of the early days when I struggled to talk.

They make quite an entrance as Tory surely didn't kick the door open with Ann and Mel tailing behind with food .

“My princess its good to see you for today you have no duties of great importance

as duke Arvis has his own matters and that means we are free to drag you around the castle town people will surely be overjoyed to see you after yesterday”Ann starts before she goes of on an half intelligible rant about all the shops i should visit and making up excuses to get me to buy her something again.

The incense permeates the air lit for king Azmurs comfort castle still smells with a reminder of yesterday regardless.

I don't have to acknowledge Aida coming in; she knows she's still welcome at any time whatever stands between us.

“My liege, I have new information for you”

She starts but doesn't finish

I make a gesture asking her to continue

“It's just how do I say this

One of the members if Sigurds army initially escaped “

“The initially implies that he was caught who was that is it just some knight or do we need to prepare a public execution “

That’s gonna be a mess with the conflict with Isaaach dying down. The public wants to move on to the celebration of our now all but assured victory over Isaach and Agustria to mine and Diadora’s wedding.

I want to finally move on with this.

“The man did not identify himself but he somehow convinced two of our knights to aid him in escape by identifying himself as lord Azelle.I didn't get him to speak either but he hasn't changed in appearance I don’t have doubts”

Brother I was ready to never hear your name again. I did not dare to hear it in such a context.

Ah are those tears ? I'm not even sure how long the minutes stretched between Aida to fetch you and seeing you again. I didn't even have to ask her too.

You’re taller now your hair brightened by the desert sun but you truly haven't changed much.

Your clothes are damp and there's a greyish smudge on your cheek.

They dumped water to clean you up in a hurry didn't they seem to be in the same clothes you traveled in here?

How long were you detained before I was told of this.

Your wrists I told the guards you cannot possibly harm me so there was no reason to keep you cuffed but you must have been earlier they are clearly scrapped by ill fitting metal.

You should have never been detained. I should have seen to your freedom from the beginning I should have payed attention to the men and women Sigurd had alongside him.

I should have kept on asking and searching before assuming your death.

I should have never let you go.

You’re quiet of so so quiet it hurts

“Please don't blame them, they believed to be acting in Velthomers best interest.I can't stop you in any way but let that be my final wish “ You say meaning the knights that defended you.

“ Final ? You can ask anything of me “

It's an arrogant, unwieldy childish statement but you have always been humble and there's very few things I cannot do now.

“What? Aren't I here so that you can finally correct the mistake you made, the one you kept on making for 18 years?You won no need to keep me as a charity case, your legacy of kindness will not be tarnished, no one will care when I'm dead. “

I don't know where you got the strength from to lunge at me something gleams silver and as I manage to wrestle it from your hand you immediately stop struggling .

It is a knife and you guide it towards your own throat as I hold it .

“Do it “

I cannot tell if you are demanding or begging it feels so wrong no matter what.

“Common do I still matter to you does that give my life a greater meaning then of all those I loved ?”

You ask and I try not to feel the weight of that word I try not to recall the faces of those whose death has not truly left the air. I want to say that they were criminals but I know it's not true as I am the one guilty

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town-of-fawn · 6 years

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Fawn is gaining a new resident!

#I love it when we have campers #it's so weird because Deirdre like just left the other day?????#but Bill is such a cutie #I love the ducks #acnl #mine #acnl fawn

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lyrabrie · 6 years

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Deirdre studying the night sky and taking notes on constellations ⭐️💫✨ Day 8 of inktober!

#inktober #inktober2018 #deer #anthro #doe #fawn #stargazing #deirdre #my art #lyra brie's curiosities

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elkiecrossing · 6 years

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Today Deirdre came over to visit Elkie!

Tour around the house!

#acnl #animal crossing #animal crossing new leaf #nintendo #3ds #gaming #deirdrde #deirdre #deer #fawn #games

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mooreaux · 5 months

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Huevember day 21 with my Tav, Deirdre Fawn! She’s a deep gnome, archfey warlock bard 🥹✨

#my art #my oc #dnd #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #deep gnome #warlock #bard #Deirdre Fawn #tav #huevember #huevember 2023

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fairiyn · 2 years

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Seince they are open.... Could i request names and pronouns based around deer? Maybe alittle more masc in nature? Ty! - 👽🦌

sure!

Beau

Buck

Reign

Deirdre

Zell

Hart

Oscar

Ray

Doe

Lock

Roe

Cari

Elk

deer/deer/deers/deers/deerself

ant/ler/antlers/antlers/antlerself

rein/rein/reins/reins/reinself

hoof/hoof/hoofs/hoofs/hoofself

fawn/fawn/fawns/fawns/fawnself

stag/stag/stags/stags/stagself

hey/hem/heir/heirs/hemself

herd/herd/herds/herds/herdself

hart/hart/harts/harts/hartself

#ask #👽🦌 anon #name lists #pronoun lists

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kadavernagh · 3 years

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A Fairy Fight || Regan & Athena

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The training clearing in the woods PARTIES: @kadavernagh and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: A well-learned warden knows when a screaming moose is not a screaming moose. CONTENT: Self-harm, references to animal death/cruelty (past)

She started with the screaming today. Three dozen, loud enough to shake some of the leaves from the trees even far outside of the clearing. She flinched at the first, a matching slice in her palm marking her failure. The second, the other palm. But not the third. She stayed still and focused, listening as the screech tore a path through the air. Last week it had taken five before she could bear to keep her eyes open and straight ahead. She always thought of the turkeys, the fawns, and the cats. Sometimes they had the faces of Kaden or her brothers. No two days were alike, though, and today, due to some confluence of factors Regan couldn’t analyze, the poison went down more easily. You’re a force of nature. So don’t you dare flinch.

Regan’s throat was raw and red; she could taste the not-quite-iron tang of her own blood, but she pushed herself past that to another dozen. It was the fastest way to learn -- ignoring pain, discomfort, and any reminders of human mortality. She was about to scream one final time when she heard movement, something behind her. Regan froze, her wings stiffening against her spine. “Deirdre?” Regan called out. She wasn’t in the clearing they usually trained in, but Deirdre had a knack for locating her. Probably with the help of all of the screams. Maybe it didn’t deserve to be called a knack, actually. But there were no pin pricks, the tell-tale sign of her presence, which meant it was someone else. Or something else.

There was something more to the screaming moose, Athena was positive of it, despite not yet having concrete proof. Besides, if nothing else, a good hike into the middle-of-nowhere woods did wonders for clearing one’s head. She liked the way her boots dug into the ground, giving her something else to focus on as she made her way into the forest. It had to be a banshee, or banshees, didn’t it? Though she certainly was far from thrilled about the prospect of running into Deirdre again, her curiosity about other potential fae in town got the better of her. Which she knew was almost certainly something that her brother would critique about her, but he didn’t have to know. Even with everything with their parents, she couldn’t just stop hunting. Didn’t especially want to, even though she did acknowledge that she could now do things on her own terms.

Even though she was still working to figure out just what those terms were. Just as she noticed some leaves shaking on a nearby tree, Athena heard one of the screams as she continued to make her way into the woods, grateful for her abilities, her headband, which she adjusted to cover her ears, and the fact that she wasn’t there just yet, meaning that whatever damage that could be done would be lessened. She moved faster now, even though she could feel her skin starting to crawl as she approached the direction of the sound. A woman who was certainly not Deirdre stood there - though she knew her, and Athena fought away a small smirk. “Sorry!” She said, making her way out from behind a large tree. “I was just out for a hike.” She turned her head curiously to examine the woman - the fae - and she bit her lip, looking around the clearing with wide eyes. “I like to get out where it’s not so crowded. Think I got a little over-ambitious today.”

Not Deirdre, definitely not Deirdre. Regan heard the sharp voice call out from behind the tree, and debated her options for a moment. She was standing in the middle of the clearing with wings and barely clotted cuts on her palms, her voice still crackling with her screams. It didn’t look good. At the very least, it didn’t look sane. It was probably too late to shoot up into a tree. The only options remaining were to run -- and attempt to hide -- or to talk, and hope that this individual was particularly oblivious. She didn’t look oblivious, though. Regan turned toward her but took a step back. She realized that in the time she waited to deliberate her options, they were pared down to only a single path: talk. That was something she was barely capable of on a good day, and this was not a good day.

“A hike?” Regan asked, her voice low and cautious, as she studied the subadult like she was a decedent on the autopsy table. Caucasian, likely between the ages of 20 and 22, about 5’4”, athletic build. Probably a college student. Did she realize how dangerous it was, being out here alone? Did she notice anything strange about this situation at all? Regan didn’t have the luxury of real hope anymore, but she wanted to think that the young woman would simply walk off, continuing on her hike, not thinking twice about the strange person she met out here or the eerie cries that rattled the woods. Regan looked around and didn’t see anyone else. They were alone, seemingly. She cleared her throat, biting back the pain. “Yes, it’s-- you did. Become over-ambitious. There aren’t even marked trails over here. Are you lost? I think you likely took a wrong turn somewhere. You want--” She pointed past the girl’s shoulder, into the woods, “--You should head back that way to the northeast, and you’ll be back on a trail. Eventually. I’m sure you have things to attend to. I’m sure we both have things to attend to.”

She fought away the urge to stare at the fae’s wings, the urge to wonder what it would be like to cut into them. She’d done that before, and she’d watched her father do it countless other times. Athena knew she had to be careful though. Even though they were in the middle of the woods, far away from anyone else, she didn’t know if this banshee knew Deirdre or not, or if she would be keen to attack her just for the heck of it. However, the other woman took a step back from her - which was already a good sign. At least, she was choosing to take it as such. Not that her bolting away would do Athena any good, but if she wasn’t entirely suspicious that could work in her favor.

“Yes!” She forced her voice to be more cheerful. Falsely so, but that was something she’d been at practice with for years. Athena knew that too much of that sometimes made her seem clueless, but that also meant harmless, which in turn meant that it was easier to do her job. Sticking her hands into her coat pockets, she raised an eyebrow. “I mean, what can I say? I’ve sort of been over-ambitious since I was a child, and it seems to extend to things even as simple as a hike.” That much was true, even if her particular hiking expedition today had been more specifically targeted. Though she was pleased that it hadn’t been too difficult to track down the source of the screaming (though it was loud and she did have the additional ability of being able to sense fae, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give herself at least some credit). “No, I just got bored of actual trails. I’ve lived here my whole life, and sometimes one just feels a need to get away from where everyone else is.” She shook her head. “I actually have finished a lot of what I have to do, hence the time for a hike. What do you have to attend to?” She couldn’t help but glance over to her wings again. “I’ve heard rumors of screaming moose for like, months now. Did you know moose can be quite dangerous? Wouldn’t want you trapped out here all alone with something like that.” She removed her hands from the pockets and crossed them over her chest. “I thought I heard some not too long ago.”

The thought that one subadult’s boredom with walking trails could lead to the unraveling of everything she and Deirdre were working toward, struck Regan like an axe. She couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t. Her legs burned as her own promise crept up on her, and her feet nearly brought her closer to the girl for a moment, before she pulled herself back. The girl hadn’t done anything. She could walk away and forget all of this. And Regan wasn’t even sure what she was about to do once she approached -- she couldn’t bear the thought of intentionally hurting someone, but the memory of what she had nearly done to Kaden in the lakehouse basement filtered through her mind like ash. “What is your name?” She asked, just in case she needed to locate the girl later. “What I have to attend to is none of your concern. It’s private.” And somehow, Regan doubted that answer would be satisfactory, especially as she caught the girl’s eyes drifting over her shoulders, seeming to catch the wings peeking out from behind her back.

The mention of screaming moose made a spike of anxiety shoot through her, but she quickly quelled it, reminding herself why she was out here. Did the girl know? No. No way. So few people knew that the screaming was actually attributed to her and Deirdre, not the moose that the paper enjoyed a little too much. Regan shifted her weight, her eyes not moving from the girl’s, though it was hard to read anything in them given the distance. “I’m aware that moose are dangerous, yes. One attacked our moose tour bus last year, but that was-- never mind.” The tour company had probably deserved it, to be honest. “You don’t need to worry about me. Or whatever it is that you heard. Go home.” Please. Her legs burned again, the tickle in her lungs growing. Maybe she could scare the girl away from her before she saw anything else or connected the dots further. “I’ve never seen a screaming moose actually kill someone, you know. But the morgue sees numerous decedents who died from bears, coyotes, other animals no one is able to identify, falling trees, dehydration and starvation, hypothermia… this isn’t a particularly safe place to wander.”

She didn’t know why she wasn’t acting on her instinct right away - but perhaps a certain part of her wanted to see what the fae would do, if she’d act first or if the whole interaction would remain stalwart, with the two of them staring at one another in the middle of a forest clearing. The spriggan certainly had acted quicker. Athena pressed her lips together, the cool iron of one of her knives practically calling out to her from its place on her hip. Another tucked into a boot - that one might be easier to access, given her coat. “My name?” She shook her head. “Why do you need to know that?” The way that the woman had asked didn’t mean that she’d be able to take her name, but she had no desire to let someone who didn’t have to know her name know it. Well, had no desire to have a fae know her name. At least not without her offering it first. “Walking in the forest is not illegal - as far as I am aware, I’ve yet to stumble upon private property. What’s your name?” Perhaps if the woman offered up her name Athena would return the favor, though she knew that the unique nature of her name did make her easier to find.

The fae’s eyes were trained on hers and so Athena didn’t dare adjust her own position. Backing down was as good as losing, her parents always said - and the fact that the fae was shifting around and possibly concerned made it so that the smirk that Athena had been fighting away couldn’t help but make an appearance - only for a moment, as she quickly fought it away, letting her expression turn neutral again. “You went on a moose tour? Don’t recommend that.” Though at least an actual moose was better when compared with some of the other things one could run into in the woods around town. “I do not want to.” She shook her head, turning to continue observing the other woman. “You know a lot about death.” Obviously. “Besides, I can handle myself.” She murmured, bending over to fiddle with her shoe for a moment before pulling out a knife. Relatively small, easy to palm, and pure iron. “Don’t worry about me.” She grinned. At least not in that way.

“Well, I don’t need to know it,” Regan relented, though it certainly felt more like a need than a want. What if she saw something? Heard something? Knew something? It seemed like she had. And as the promise bubbling up inside of Regan reminded her, she wouldn’t let anything interfere with what needed to be done. “I wasn’t implying that it’s illegal, either,” she mumbled, and for a second, just a moment, Regan thought she saw a grin stretch across the girl’s face. It vanished quickly enough that she was questioning whether she had seen it at all, like so many other things. “Yes, well, it’s too late to change the past. I won’t be going on another moose tour, though. But anyway, you should--” No, the girl didn’t want to leave. Did that mean Regan wasn’t going to be able to get rid of her? She couldn’t train with the girl here. Couldn’t even turn around. She blinked at the pointed comment. “I do. I’ve seen a lot of it.” Under different circumstances, Regan might have elaborated on her education and experiences, but this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to prolong, and the girl was no more forthcoming.

The girl leaned down for a moment, seemingly to tie her shoe, and Regan tried to seize the opportunity to slide away. She didn’t make it far before she saw the glint of something shiny in the young woman’s hand. The shine, the grin, the unwillingness to back off -- there was something deeply wrong here, though Regan didn’t yet understand what it was. She wasn’t even sure whether it was feeling or instinct; one, Deirdre said, was worth listening to, and the other needed to be choked out of her. “What was that?” She asked, her voice now sharp and alert. Anxiety threaded through her stomach, and after a moment’s contemplation, she decided it was more instinct than feeling. She would listen to it. There was nothing particularly important about this clearing, anyway; she could find a different location to finish today’s session in. “I’m going to leave. You should, too. The sun will be setting soon, and I’ve been advised that these woods are especially dangerous after dark. The bears I mentioned. Coyotes. Other… things.” She thought of some of the bodies at the morgue, slashed to ribbons, or covered in bite marks that no one could match any dentition to. “Overambition has killed many people.” Regan backed away, slowly, not wanting to risk giving a good view of her wings in case it wasn’t too late.

“I figured as much.” Athena shook her head. She didn’t need to know, didn’t need any way of figuring out more of who Athena was, because she already had to deal with that with Deirdre and with a couple other fae who she’d run into, and adding another to that particular list was not anything that Athena wanted. Perhaps she would have offered it, had she not been asked, but being asked to do anything by a fae only made her less likely to agree to it, even if only to have more power over them. “I don’t go onto private property.” Not if I can avoid it. She was repeating herself, but that much didn’t really matter, not right now. She wasn’t out here to impress anyone, and repetition didn’t mean that her skill “My parents were good about teaching me the laws, and I think that they are quite important.” At least, those that she sought to follow. “Happens in this town.” She murmured. Happens more when you literally bring it upon yourself - and everyone else. That was, assuming Athena was correct about the fae in front of her being a banshee. Though she had to be, didn’t she? It fit the bill - screams that were certainly not from moose, the sensation of a fae, the wings.

“What was what?” Athena clicked her tongue against her teeth, holding tight to the knife. She took a few steps towards the other woman. The fact that she wanted her to leave only made her desire to stay that much stronger. “No.” She shook her head, taking another few steps. I don’t want you to leave.” Her voice switched then, somewhere between a whine and a demand. She’d used a kinder version (were such a thing possible) many times throughout her life, but right now her voice had far more of a bite to it. “Actually, I think you won’t be leaving.” She flipped the knife around in her hand, eyes traveling between it and the fae in front of her. Took another couple steps toward her as she attempted to back away. She wasn’t getting out of this that easily. “Overambition may have killed some, but I was always taught to not put a limit on what I believe I can do. Or who I can deal with.”

Regan decided right then, as the girl took several more steps closer, that she felt trapped. Pinned. It was illogical. What would the young woman who was so concerned about staying off of private property do to her? What immediate threat was there? But even as she tried to convince herself of that, she couldn’t get the shine of the something she had seen out of her mind, and there had to be a reason her slow heart stirred like a scared bird as the distance between them shrank. When a threat left the girl’s mouth, Regan’s fears were confirmed, and all of Deirdre’s platitudes couldn’t change that. What good was telling herself that storms could not be hurt when she didn’t believe, in this moment, that she was a storm? A storm wouldn’t tremble. A storm wouldn’t flee.

But she needed to flee. Regan was off the ground before she could think, shooting toward one of the tall, nearby trees. Even on a good day she had never had a successful landing, and the branch she crashed into nearly knocked the wind out of her, a half-scream pitching itself up and out of her before she scrambled to gain purchase. “Don’t come near me!” Regan screeched down, clinging to the branch so tightly the bark hurt her skin. Carefully, she pulled her wallet out of her pocket and chucked it down to the ground below. “Here,” she barked out, “Take it. That’s what you want, right? So much for your law-abiding facade. You’re nothing but a common mugger. Your knife makes this armed robbery. Rest assured that I will see that you’re held responsible for your crimes.”

She watched the fae for a few moments more, because they were off in the middle of nowhere and though that could potentially prove to be a problem for her, were this fae more quick to act, it also provided Athena with at least a few moments to analyze her, to observe in a way that she couldn’t always in the middle of a fight. Observe her much in the same way that she’d observed the fae on her father’s operating table when she was a child. Except this one was far more alive than any of those had been - they’d always just been clinging onto life by the time they got to James Quinn’s operating table. At least this one had the sense to put up some sort of fight, even if it wasn’t much. Flying into a tree was for amateurs.

“I haven’t got wings,” she spat back, shielding her eyes to look up at the tree, knife still threaded between her fingers. Athena stifled another laugh, “and the last time I climbed a tree was forever ago. I’m too old for that sort of thing now.” Athena let her gaze fall over to where the wallet fell, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a petty thief.” That sort of thing was reserved for spriggans or others who she didn’t want to associate herself with. She kicked the wallet aside with the toe of her boot. “No, no, there’s other things I find myself far more interested in, anyhow.” She flipped the knife through her fingers one time before she aimed it at where the woman sat in the tree, doing her best to aim for her shoulder. At least attempt to knock her off balance to start.

The young woman just stared. Not in a way that registered shock. She was studying her, still. Regan forced herself to stare back down at her, and she saw the glint again, the knife sitting comfortably between the girl’s fingers. She swallowed hard against the twisting of her lungs. Did she still intend to use the weapon, even with Regan’s wallet lying on the ground? Was this not about money at all? A borderline insane notion slithered through her mind, as she remembered the way Walker had a rifle trained on her, and the way Lydia had warned her of a serial killer who might want to kill things like them. What if she was more than a petty thief or common criminal? As the thought took form, it was answered by her. “You-- are you doing this because of the wings? I’m not a-- I mean even if I was, that would be--” Regan tensed, understanding sinking in. This had the potential to get bad, very bad.

But the woman was fast, much faster than she was. Regan’s shoulder burned as the blade dug into her flesh. It was searing hot, enough to bring tears to her eyes and a scream out of her throat, the tree trembling at its power. Her hand rushed to the wound -- a graze, but an iron one -- and only her wings kept her from falling. The pain spread, and she could smell her own skin burning and blistering. How far would the girl go? Would-- Regan could barely think it. Not only because of the pain. Pain. That was all it was. How many times had she suffered by her own blade? Hadn’t Deirdre told her she was almost ready to take to the iron? This was iron. And she was ready, had to be. Regan held tight against the pain, pressing her teeth together as she reminded herself she had endured worse. She screeched again, this time willing it. She didn’t want to hurt her, but maybe the noise would at least keep her away. “Leave!” Regan howled, “Get away from me, murderer.” There was more to say. Much more. But it was clear talking this through was no longer an option, had it ever been one.

The fae was rambling, now - they always did try to make up excuses, she’d found, over the years. Especially when they were finally backed into a corner (be it literal or metaphorical, it didn’t matter, in the end). Even Lydia had pleaded, and even Lydia had been naïve enough to not realize just what Athena was until it was too late. Subtleties were of little use, now - the fae up in the tree clearly knew something was going on, even if she was only able to make half-formed sentences. She wanted to roll her eyes - wanted to say that no, not because of the wings themselves, but because of what they mean - of what they make you.

Her aim must have been a bit off, because the knife did little more than graze the skin. It was a good start, Athena thought to herself, but not what she wanted. Not good enough. She did feel her hands instinctively move up to cover her ears - at least that much continued to provide solid confirmation that this was a banshee, and not just another fae she’d happened upon in the woods. She wondered if Deirdre knew her, and the thought of Deirdre made her stomach tighten, made a phantom pain cross over the scars on her chest where Deirdre’s knife had cut into them. Each new scream made her want to stiffen, though she did her best to not reveal that. Woefully out of practice, she could hear her father’s words in her ears, and she bit down on her lip as hard as she could, willing herself to concentrate, to not lose focus. “No.” She clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “Not how it works, fae.” She saw no point in responding to the murderer remark. While that might have technically been true about her parents (though she’d call it self-defense if ever pressed, if anyone ever found out about her and her brother’s involvement - even if the thought of that made her feel sick). She heard a sudden, not-too-far-off noise, new, and one that sounded like hooves moving throughout the forest, and that drew her attention away for a moment, though not before she pulled another knife out from its resting place against her lip, presenting it clearly in her hand, as if daring the fae to move.

Regan cut herself off from screeching don’t call me that down at the girl. It was almost childish. Then again, the assailant was not much older than a child, was she? That didn’t make a difference regarding the bubbling incised wound in her shoulder, she reminded herself. Regan shimmied around one of the branches, trying to obscure the girl’s view through the leaves, but her muscles complained with a jolt of pain. What could she do? She wasn’t prepared to fight for her life, and she certainly wasn’t prepared to hurt someone, even a someone who was attempting homicide. Would Kaden or Deirdre hear the screams? Would they be able to locate her? Would-- but as she looked down at the woman, she saw her freeze, gaze turning sharply to the bushes. “What was that?” Regan asked, more to herself than the murderer. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough of a deterrent. She caught the glint of a second knife and felt her heart plummet. She didn’t want to die here. Not like this. Not alone.

A loud chuffing noise shook Regan from whatever fear she was still capable of feeling. As curious as she was, she understood there might not be another opportunity to escape. Just as something massive charged from the bushes, Regan closed her eyes and shot into another tree, this one at least slightly sturdier than the last. But she knew she couldn’t stay up there forever -- either her wings or heart would give out. There was her shoulder, too, still searing. She chanced a look back and saw the animal -- an especially well-muscled moose -- rampaging across the clearing.

Athena found herself wanting to stop her boots into the ground with more force than was perhaps deserved. She’d excelled at everything, knocking a scared fae out of the trees shouldn’t be that difficult. Except it was. Her aim must have been off - or something (maybe the stupid tree-spriggan had brought this unto her), and she took the knife in her hand and threw it against the ground, with perhaps a bit too much effort. Don’t be a child. She chided herself, bending over to grab the knife again. Wiped it against her thigh. The fae was talking now, and Athena hissed in response, “I don’t know.” She ran different ideas through her mind, trying to pick out what it could be. What other creatures made a sound like that. Creatures that were intent on getting in her way, apparently. She wasn’t pleased about things making life more difficult for her.

All of a sudden, a large creature - Bies - she found herself thinking, though it wasn’t something she was expert on. Wasn’t something she studied as much as some other things, but she did remember that it was dangerous. It wasn’t fae, and so she didn’t have as much of a leg up as she had with the cù-sìth back with Luce. Athena ducked out of the way, quickly - grateful for her reflexes - and backed up against the tree. Ignored the fact that she was sharing the tree with a fae she’d yet to deal with. The bies tore through part of the forest, tearing leaves off of trees as it went, before turning around. This would have to be dealt with if she actually wanted to manage anything with the fae. Or she could run. Run away and lose. For now, she reminded herself. If you lose, it’ll only be for now. As the creature ran toward them again, she chose to throw one of her knives at it, in hopes that that would at least do some damage, buy her (she didn’t care about the fae) a little time.

The creature bellowed, a spray of particles spraying out of its nose as it seemed to be tracking the woman’s scent. From Regan’s vantage point, she could see the large hoofprints it left in the dirt as it circled a couple of trees, undeterred by hide and seek. Its antlers were larger than she’d seen on any other moose, and she had to consider that it might be able to knock a tree down with its bulk. Being so high up only offered an illusion of safety. Nearly everything, she knew, was an illusion of safety. Even so, the bigger trickle of concern she felt was for the very woman who was attempting to murder her. How many times had Deirdre declared that she must be unfeeling, uncaring? That emotions were never to be indulged in? That she was to be an instrument of death and nothing more? How much was she coming to believe it? But Regan peered down at the young woman; saw how still she was, how collected she seemed on the surface even facing possible death. Did she know she might die here? Did she hold the same uncertainty about leaving here alive that she’d inflicted on Regan only moments before?

Regan’s first thought was to reach down for her. But the space between them was too great, her shoulder in too much agony. And so many questions followed: would she accept the help from her? Would she drive the knife in again? How much later punishment would Deirdre say such an act necessitated? And a second slew of questions: could she live with herself if she didn’t attempt to help? Would not helping force a scream from her lips? There was no time for further rumination. The moose rounded the correct tree this time, and they had mere seconds. She needed to do something before she would no longer have a choice in the matter.

There would be pain for both of them later, because of this.

“Cover your ears,” Regan called down. She didn’t give long for the woman to comply before loosing a scream in the direction of the moose. The tree croaked beneath her but held firm, and the animal immediately reared up, its body slamming back down with a force that Regan could hear even alongside her scream.

She hated the feeling of being hunted (and even Athena had to admit there was some sort of irony in that, but it wasn’t something she liked to focus on too much) and the Bies was very much giving her that sort of feeling. She ducked around a few more trees, but that would only hold it off for so long. It wouldn’t stop unless she did away with it, and that wasn’t an easy task, especially with the growing headache of having the stupid banshee nearby. She didn’t think the creature would kill her (she’d survived far worse), and she wouldn’t mind so much if the banshee was a casualty of the creature, even if she much preferred it to be by her own hand.

Cover your ears. She’d heard that before, with her parents - except sometimes they didn’t give her any warnings. She wasn’t supposed to flinch for loud noises or anything of the sort.

She almost didn’t process what the fae said before the scream echoed through the forest and luckily, Athena had had the common sense to have already pressed her hands against her ears. She hated banshees. Right up there with leanan sidhe, they were her least favorites of fae (though she knew they were all vermin, all deserved to be done away with, she couldn’t help but pick specific least favorites - she had a favorite kid on the soccer team, why couldn’t she have a least favorite species of fae?). The scream was so loud, and she felt herself squeeze her eyes shut and she knew her father would be mad at her, but he couldn’t be mad anymore (at least she hoped not). She felt her whole body grow stiff, and she could only imagine what it would be like if she didn’t at least mostly know what to expect. The bies didn’t crash into her, so there had to have been an impact on it too.

Regan stared down at the beast as she screamed, saw it twisting and writhing and slamming its head into trees in an attempt to grind its ears to the bones. As if that would help it. Once, she would have blanched at even the thought of causing it pain. Now she knew it had to be done. No different than the many animals she had taken knife or decibels to in this clearing. No different than the farm animals Deirdre had slaughtered before her. She kept screaming until the moose clumsily charged in the opposite direction. Perhaps by chance, given the disoriented way it moved, but it was gone for the time being. And finally she turned her attention to the young woman, the one who would likely still murder her if given the chance, as she stopped screaming. She looked as disoriented as the creature, and Regan had another choice before her. Help, or leave.

She had promised to do whatever was necessary to succeed in her training, and that meant staying alive. The bonds of it tugged at her ankles and wings, but they didn’t need to gain purchase. Part of her, she knew, was making the decision for herself. She fingered the blood still oozing from the iron wound, and grimaced. Deirdre would have likely returned such an injury to the woman. Regan couldn’t do that. Yet. She tasted bile at the thought, one she didn’t want to even acknowledge as her own. The girl would be fine. Possibly suffering hearing loss, but fine. Regan wouldn’t be if she didn’t leave. There were individuals in this town who wanted to kill her. Things like her. She had seen it for herself, now, though it was impossible to make any sense of. She would need to make sense of it eventually, she knew, taking flight from one tree to the next, the shining glint of a knife burned into her mind.

#wickedswriting #self harm tw

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pixiebaypals-blog · 7 years

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WHAT

#pls dont eat me thanks #animal crossing #animal crossing edit #animal crossing meme #animal crossing deirdre #meme #nintendo #funny #lol #video games #fawn #deirdre #animal crossing new leaf #acnl #achhd #animal crossing happy home designer

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deathduty · 3 years

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The Giving Tree || Solo

TIMMING: Monday, November 30th (following The River Styx is High & Wide) LOCATION: Mirrored district CONTENT: discussion of Lydia’s humans SUMMARY: Only fae can understand each other. Only fae can grieve each other. Only fae can save each other.

When Deirdre woke, she was on her back, staring at a wheelbarrow. Beside her, and in her ears, the high-pitched clamoring of pixies echoed across the vastness. I think you’re supposed to put the disinfectant on first, one said. No way! It’s BDSM—bandage, disinfectant, sticker, massage, another hissed. That’s not what that word means, a voice she recognized as Sundew’s—a pixie she didn’t like and one that didn’t like her—chimed in. We have stickers?

Deirdre appreciated the wheelbarrow; it was black, dirt-stained and, most importantly, not bickering amongst itself. It provided a simple mystery and a rivetingly mundane story. She was peering into its interior, now empty, though it appeared to have once been filled with mud, and beside it was a stack of red buckets, which appeared to have once been filled with water. A few feet away was a mound in the upside-down soil, poking right up at her. She wanted to imagine that a body had been buried there, but the mound was too small, and she’d be able to tell anyway.

She turned her head to find grey sky and lazy-rolling, swollen clouds sprawled underneath her. A thick fog claimed the distance, forbidding her to see beyond the bubble of her new space. If she were any more like a wheelbarrow, she would’ve thought she was dead. Unfortunately for Deirdre, she was the furthest thing from a wheelbarrow.

The pixies continued to bicker around her, bickering between themselves about which cream they were supposed to apply, and which way bandages were meant to be wrapped. No, Deirdre wasn’t dead. Even hell wouldn’t be this bad. “I want to go home,” she groaned, “take me home.”

The pixies froze, dropping gauze and letting it unspool and run away. Three pixies chased after it, Sundew remained. “You’re awake!” She squeed, zipping into Deirdre’s sight. “We didn’t know how to check your pulse at first, and then it was soooo slow that we got bored! So we just assumed that you were still alive and started playing doctor. But not in the sexy way, in the doctor way.”

“Home,” she said again, foolishly hoping repetition would get her point across. Why was she alive anyway? It wasn’t to be fawned about by pixies, was it? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in a burning building—a demise of her own design. For all she knew, she was supposed to be dead. She hadn’t screamed, but what else ever happened to someone who fell asleep during a fire? She thought the whole thing might have been a dream, but she could feel each injury Athena levelled against her burning with ferocity—her wrists, her arm, her abdomen. Of course a warden would hurt a fae like this. What was she thinking? She should be dead. Now she was alive to hear Sundew; both a just punishment and an unbelievably cruel one. “I have to go home.”

“You can’t!” Sundew smiled; she found nothing wrong with her statement. “We just called a doctor over, and we need you to—“

“If you called a doctor, then why are you bandaging me?”

“Well, you see, it started like this: your cù-sìth found you dying by a tree, and then it alerted some gnomes who told a brownie who knew a foireaux cat who was travelling with a leshy who then carried you to us! So, we got a spriggan to steal us some medical supplies but then we realized that we didn’t know what we needed to do with them and the only doctor I know of is in the mirrored district so we got a stack of leprechauns to help us bring you here!”

Deirdre was silent for a moment. “That isn’t what I asked you.”

“Your face isn’t what I asked you.”

“I need to go home.” Deirdre said curtly. She groaned and heaved and tried to right herself, but for all her effort, her body resisted. Searing pain blazed from more parts of her body than she cared to count, and when the effects grew too great, they seized her vision and her mind and set in a spell of monochromatic lightheadedness. Deirdre fell back down, clutching at her side. “I can’t be here,” she repeated herself, this time with the hope saying it enough would make it true--like Dorothy clicking her red shoes together--there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. “Take me home.”

“I can’t do that!” Sundew grew quiet as Deirdre turned paler, “you’re dying! And you need to wait for the doctor and we need you.” She fluttered down and sat on the tip of Deirdre’s nose. “You know, a lot of fae got together to bring you here, and not just because you’re fae--and of course we’d do that--but because we made something and we need you to check on it.” Sundew, though possessed of a brain magically condensed to the size of an almond, was more astute than her peers. She didn’t know Deirdre well enough, and she certainly didn’t like her, but there was one thread that connected all fae. And no, she didn’t mean mushrooms. Or nudity. Or, strangely, pie.

“It’s for Lydia,” she said and predictably, Deirdre’s argument died against her tongue.

“Morgan,” she said, speaking swiftly before the equally predictable ‘what the jiggly boob is a Morgan?’ “My girlfriend. You need to send her a message. You have to tell her I’m okay. And I’m alive. And I’m here and---”

As Deirdre listed her suggestions-turned-commands--directions on what to say and how to word it, that they should definitely explain the magnitude of her love, offer brain muffins, and perhaps a diagram to show how okay she really was--Sundew looked at the other pixies, who’d come back panting from their adventure chasing the runaway gauze. She shrugged and shot them the kind of look that said you heard her and they shot her back one that said what the jiggly boob is a Morgan?

“We’ll get it done, Deirdre,” Sundew nodded, leaving three confused pixies to figure it out. They didn’t question or argue the order in the same way none of the fae down the chain of Deirdre’s transportation to the mirrored district questioned that. They were fae, she was fae, this was what fae did for each other. That itself was not a profound thought to Deirdre, or any fae, but often the kindness of their gestures for each other could be forgotten.

Deirdre didn’t think highly of whatever she was going to be whisked off to see. Knowing the pixies, it was probably a macaroni and entrails portrait of Lydia. But that was a simple thought.

And the pixies weren’t much like the wheelbarrow either.

Lydia was divisive even among the fae. Many of those gathered in attendance thought her practices were a little too brazen, even for them. Deirdre recognized a few who scoffed at mention of her basement, and others who claimed that humans ought not to be kept like that. They stood beside those that agreed to varying degrees--completely, partly, indifferently. Each had gathered here, and each had a hand in creating the monument in front of Deirdre.

Deirdre looked between them, having been rendered to tears at the sight of what they’d done. And then to her knees. “You--” She quivered, unable to finish the rest of her sentence.

“We used the ash you gave us,” Sundew explained quietly. Deirdre nodded; she knew. She could feel it.

The tree was a hauntingly beautiful thing. A tall structure with twisting porcelain wood--natural and unnatural in the same stroke. She ran her fingers across its smooth grooves, staring up at the symmetrical branches and their striking red flowers. It was a minimalist cherry blossom tree, and everything Lydia would have liked. The necropolis was filled with beautiful trees of all designs; tall, short, golden, black, barren and lush. When she’d come here for the first time with Lydia, she never imagined the leanan-sidhe would end up among its ranks. She was saddened and happy all at once--there could be no reclamation for the dirty alley she’d died in, but she could be remembered in beauty.

“It’ll grow bigger,” Sundew said, twitching nervously in the sky when Deirdre had offered no opinion to the gathered crowd other than crying. “It’ll be the tallest tree here.”

“This isn’t even her aos sí--” Deirdre said.

“We know,” another fae spoke up. “But she’s one of us, just like everyone else. No matter where she goes, where she lived.”

“Do you like it? Is it okay for her?” Sundew twitched again.

Deirdre turned back to the crowd, finding them all watching her expectantly. There was the spriggan who called Lydia’s shoes tacky once. There was the nymph that gossiped incessantly about Lydia’s character after her death. Yet, Deirdre was not insulted by their presence. They were fae. It didn’t occur to them not to mourn Lydia, not to think she was deserving of more than what she received. They wished her life back, no matter how it was lived. The same way they did for every fae. It was the nature of them. The way of their community. No human would ever understand this.

“I miss her,” Deirdre confessed quietly. “I can’t say I agree with everything--sometimes that makes me feel like a bad friend--but nothing worse than...letting her die. I failed her, I did that. I promised her a good death, and I couldn’t even give her that. And now I’m--what am I doing? I nearly let a warden kill me, all for some morsel of justice.” She glanced back at the tree. When she offered a leprechaun’s handful of ashes to them, she hadn’t imagined it would be used for anything. Now it was a tree. And there was still enough ash left to do more for her. To give her the death she couldn’t have in life. “I think she wanted to be beautiful, I think she wanted to be perfect.” Deirdre paused. “I miss her.”

The spriggan was the first to speak up. She wished she’d gotten to know Lydia better; a few fae mumbled in agreement. Another said they’d never agreed with her, but they missed her too. One said it was all okay, and it wasn’t fair--it wasn’t. Another wished he knew her at all, he wished he’d said hello at least once.

“I wish it was different,” Sundew said, fluttering to Deirdre’s side. “For you too.”

“She told me she’d made mistakes. She told me she didn’t know how to set them right, she told me she didn’t know if she could.” Deirdre closed her eyes. “I wanted justice for her so badly...I wanted pain...I wanted something. I loved her, and no one understands what this hole is like.”

The fae grew silent, looking between them. “We understand,” Sundew said after a moment.

A sob rattled around in Deirdre's throat. “You do.” She stood and plucked a flower from the tree, twirling it in her hands. She watched the black dipped edges swirl into a vortex of color. “What have I been doing for her? What have I done to remember her?” Murder of innocents? Some failed justice? Where was her tree, the one she could make for Lydia? “I-I can set things right. I can do that for her. I can do what she was robbed of the chance to do. I can live for her. I can do that. I can do this.”

But her determination was short-lived under her injuries and fatigue. She fell to her knees again, bowing her head into the flower, crying against its petals. “I am tired of hurting people,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to show for it and I’m tired and I miss her.”

The fae looked between each other again, and one by one sat down beside the sobbing banshee until they were all on the sky-floor. They were fae, and they missed her too.

#wickedswriting #domestic abuse tw #:/#no one look at me #deirdre has been missing for days because i took seven years to wrITE THIS #the giving tree #solo

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cryxmercy · 4 years

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This Year’s Love {Flashback}

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

TW: none

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you? Happy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On so much more than just her carefully constructed defenses.

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe this one was.

Maybe they’d finally suffered enough.

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

They’d wasted enough time, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... a girl could fall in love…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For they had suffered enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mercy’s heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps they would find their answer in this lifetime.

Perhaps they would find each other again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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