math is fun

Deirdre Dolan. 33. Life Actuary. Banshee. One time I did mistake a button for a raisin but it was a very delicious button. [ rp blog with Wicked's Rest ]

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Ireland || Morgan & Deirdre

TIME: A hundred years or so from now.

LOCATION: A cottage, a museum

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

WARNINGS: none

SUMMARY: A century isn’t enough time to make Morgan less anxious. Chaperoning her daughter’s school trip with Deirdre gives her more than enough to worry about.

“I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” -Nikka Ursula

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[mor-beck-more-problems]

Turn to Loathed Sours || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

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

SUMMARY: The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, even in the moment that we call them ours.

Morgan’s senses aren’t the only thing about her body that’s changing, and she can’t avoid facing it any longer.

CONTAINS: medical blood: references to first aid, stitches (not described)

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[deathduty]

@mor-beck-more-problems​

[pm] Deirdre Dolan, you are the most incredible woman on earth.

And yeah. It turns out Erin Nichols has traded up in terms of species but not in mindset (erinyes, but more like erin-no). The physical damage has been undone, I’ve mostly gotten her blood out of the grass, and she won’t be stopping by again anytime soon.

How about instead of making me ask about that lingerie, you show me, and then tell me all about these harrowing adventures you’ve been having. And if anyone is rude enough to come knocking while we’re having our reunion, we’ll take care of them together.

.

[pm] Did you not read the part where I lost thousands of dollars to guinea pigs?

Erin? Did she want to be an erinyes so she could work in the funeral business for eternity? I would if I was her. If I could spend the rest of my life looking at dead bodies that would be-- Oh no, we were going to run people over in the hearse together. I’m lost on what the issue is. You’ll have to explain that one to me after the reuniting. 

Sounds like a plan. And naturally, unless its that elderly woman. Don’t take care of her; that’s exactly what she wants. And at any rate she’s going to die in two days doing what she loves...or getting done how she loves. The semantics aren’t important here and frankly having to see it once was enough for me. 

[deathduty]

[pm] I’m okay. Dead, fleshy, pretty, and for-real-okay. And I love you. And I’m sorry this week has been awful. But it would’ve been so much worse without you. So come home and kiss me. We have a lot of stress to work off.

[pm] Oh, great. I lost thousands of dollars in a poker game with possessed guinea pigs (they were cheating; don’t ask) and then they tried to eat the pixies I was with (don’t ask). I am coming home with several multicoloured plastic beads (don’t ask), a picture of someone’s grandmother (don’t ask) and new lingerie (do ask).

I take it you solved the problem then? With the week I’ve had, I’d be shocked if I didn’t just create more problems. Oh! If Tony (guinea pig) comes by with his gang looking for his winnings, point him over to Linda’s house. And if an elderly woman comes by with roses looking for fun in the sack, please tell her I’ve died. I’ll be home shortly.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Sweets We Wish For || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: This morning

LOCATION: Morgan & Deirdre’s house

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

SUMMARY: Morgan Beck, dead girl walking for fourteen months and counting, feels a world of difference.

CONTAINS: N/A

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[rainaim-deactivated20220530]

Death Is Not the End || Raina & Deirdre

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @rainaim & @deathduty SUMMARY: Raina comes across a grieving Solomon. CONTENT: Implied head trauma (no description), parental death mention (no description, introspection) 

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[deathduty]

No One Loves You and Other Comedies || Solo

TIMING: before Deirdre’s return to White Crest LOCATION: New Zealand, at a retreat for the Fae’s Murderers Not-So-Anonymous retreat  CONTENT: Self-harm (emotional), Self-hatred and negative internal dialogue, mentions of domestic (child) abuse SUMMARY: At a retreat for her therapy group, Deirdre considers her place in the family of things. She is unable to reach a conclusion. 

Deirdre delighted in making people hate her. Once, when asked by her therapist, she explained it was a fact that she would be unloved in time and she lacked the patience to wait for it to unfold. She likened herself to an apple, rotten at the core; no one would know until they cut all the way down but it was better to save people the trouble. If she could show them bruised skin, they wouldn’t bother picking her up out of the bunch. Her therapist mentioned self-fulfilling prophecies and Deirdre laughed so hard the clock fell off the wall. 

The thing about self-fulfilling prophecies, she explained, was that they were her life blood. What came first: the cruel mother or the insolent daughter? Like the chicken and its egg, Deirdre figured the answer lay somewhere in the cyclical nature. If Deirdre’s mother was asked, she’d say the daughter. 

Her therapist said she was understanding the phrase wrong. Not that anyone asked her. 

And not that it mattered in the end. Deirdre was sure now that the people she had hoped would hate her, hated her. Which was a funny thing to fret about, but it wasn’t the venomous sort of hatred she had been expecting, but the kind of lonely exclusion that made her doubt the validity of the hatred in the first place. And so, hilarious as it was, Deirdre was worried that they did hate her. And while normally she wouldn’t mind so much, this was a group of people she wanted to be liked by. Yes. It was very funny. There were no clocks to laugh off the walls.

There were trees; tall and thin and sparsely decorated over the bumps and curves of the rural landscape. There were roads; carved out of dirt and winding in nature, steep as they rose up the hills and harsh as they tried to coil against the rounded terrain. There was grass; thin and more like daggers as they drove into the bottom of Deirdre’s thighs and the palm of her hands, but cool against the thick night air. There was the fire; all cracking wood and smoke, it felt like a targeted threat to the thin trees. Then there was Deirdre; sat atop a hill overlooking the cabin that formed their retreat. From above, she watched the rest of her group mingle and chatter, setting the night ablaze with their bonfire light and laughter. Sally had just gotten her guitar out and strummed a few chords as Derek vocalized nonsense to an uproar of amusement. The beer bottles that littered their feet were slowly being picked up by the leprechauns, whose names Deirdre never learned because it mostly clicks and whistles, though Deirdre blamed it on dialect differences. For a second, Deirdre thought Jillian might be looking up at the hill, searching for her among the dark outline. In another, Deirdre realized she’d only been looking at Owen, a lumbering leshy who did seem offended by the fire.

Among them too sat a lie. 

To them, she was meant to be curled up in her bed, sick with pretend stomach problems from the dinner no one noticed she didn’t touch. It was all very gloomy. If it had been anyone else in her shoes, she would’ve laughed at them. But it was just her, and as much as she hoped someone else could take over in her luxury heels for a moment, it was always just her. Perhaps it was strange karma for lacking empathy for someone that didn’t exist. Perhaps she was being punished for doing it to herself; though she couldn’t understand why it was happening now. Deirdre was capable of great cruelty and most of it she levelled against herself. She’d done it for years and twisted it into a fine art. She never said those three words, but instead turned its meaning inside out; it was “no one loves you”, “no one cares about you”, “no one wants you”, “no one understands you”. The words were sometimes dressed in her mother’s clothes, sometimes hers. At some point, she began wishing it was just “I hate myself” instead of all its friends. 

Deirdre’s grip curled around the thin grass, pulling blades between her fingers. She watched the group below and felt herself pulled from time. With them also was a truth; Deirdre was an oddity among them. None had ever met a banshee before, and most seemed disgusted at the manner in which she was raised. As if it wasn’t her childhood they groaned at; her pain. She was too anxious to explain the abuse she suffered at the hands of her mother, her family—neither things were easy to mention, and certainly not to the doggedly private banshee. They were largely unfamiliar with Deirdre’s Fate killings, and often lumped their nonsensical murder in with her justified crusade. And these were the people meant to understand her most; best. That was her present. 

Her past contained a long-legged child, sporting the red-indents of tree bark against her back. She watched the fae around her dance as wings captured moonlight. She sat outside. She would watch children at school run around, playing games she never knew the name of and by the time anyone would’ve asked her, they were all too old for them. She sat outside. Her past also contained a taller child, woman to all but herself. This tall child sat in bars watching the world sway and shift around her. She watched as friends and acquaintances walked around her house, visiting Morgan at her shed in the backyard as if the house and her inside of it did not exist. She sat alone, outside of their world. The routine to ignore her was as worn into people as it was in her lawn. She’d had the whole thing explained to her multiple times, and despite understanding and then forgetting and then understanding and then getting confused, space to a woman whose existence has been walked, ran, laughed, and danced around always felt like a canyon. In the few feet from their house to Morgan’s shed existed a valley, one that never would greet her. 

Deirdre had always wanted to explain that it seemed a little unfair; she only had the one house, and no one seemed to like it much. 

The world, for all its eccentricities, functioned well without her. And in the future, it would continue to. The world did not need her, sometimes it didn’t even want her. Her murder, her rituals of sacrifice, all of her pain and anguish and the very meaning on which her past and present were built upon, was useless. The world spun with or without her. Death continued untroubled. The “greater good” was too great to see. 

Her hand released the grass, blades flying untethered through the warm breeze. Her phone buzzed to life with blue glow beside her, and as she glanced down to find that she did have service for the moment, her trembling fingers paused above Morgan’s name. The woman was busy, she reasoned. The woman had her own problems. Deirdre had never been good at making space for herself, and in the valley, the only places that would keep her were shrouded in shadow. She scrolled away and found someone else. 

When the dialing stopped and silence returned to the world around her frantic heart, Deirdre’s quivering voice took the stage, “Mum?” 

( For their next session, her therapist wanted to discuss “self-sabotage”.  Fortunately for Deirdre, she wasn’t going back to therapy. )

[threadofheart]

deathduty​:

[pm] But I’ve grown attached to the coat. 

You can have the tissue. It’s kind of gross. Do you want me to send it to you?

[pm] Well, it is a good coat, so I suppose I don’t blame you. I’m happy to link you to the place where you could buy your very own.

That seems like quite the waste of money. Please feel free to dispose of it.

[deathduty]

[pm] Why would I buy my own when I have yours?

Hmmmm. Just because you said that, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll get it framed.

[deathduty]

threadofheart​:

[pm] I would prefer the coat back honestly, though you are free to discard the tissue since I no longer need it and if you also have no use for it.

[pm] But I’ve grown attached to the coat. 

You can have the tissue. It’s kind of gross. Do you want me to send it to you?

[deathduty]

Sew What || Deirdre & Irene

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Sew La Ti Do PARTIES: @threadofheart & @deathduty (special mentions to Angela Lansbury) SUMMARY: Deirdre strips. Irene does her job and nothing more. They both do what they know best.

Deirdre never considered herself to be a sentimental person. Yet, with her dress torn up the side, she found herself more willing to find the nearest tailor than to get a new one. She’d had the thing since moving to White Crest, and was certain at that moment that no other dress could make her look as good. More than that, though, she had things to do. Places to be. As much as she liked being nude, a torn up dress simply wasn’t acceptable. If she could just get the thing stitched up, however crude, she’d be on her way. “Hello?” The banshee called out, poking her head around the shop, trying to find someone to assist her. “I need–“ and at that moment, as someone emerged, Deirdre waved them down. “Do you work here? I need some help,” Deirdre pointed to the tear in her dress. “Just something to make it presentable enough. Can you do that?” 

Irene sat at her computer, finishing up some paperwork for a few of her orders, when she heard the front door of her shop open. Quickly getting up, she walked out to greet whoever it was and spotted a new face. “Hello, yes, how can I help you?” she responded as she made her way to the front counter. It would be one thing to assume that this person was looking to get something fixed, but Irene had encountered a fair number of strange asks (like “Where’s the closest Pizza Hut?” and Irene had to bite her tongue to not inform them that she was not a map). At the question, Irene leaned forward and noticed the tear on the dress. Her brow furrowed as she studied it before she stood back up. “I can definitely get that properly sewn back together for you. Uh when would you need this by and, perchance, are you… um are you dropping off the dress right now?”

“Right now.” Deirdre said, twisting around to reach the zipper. “And I’ll wait; I can wait. I just need this done immediately.” Getting the dress half off, dangling from her bare shoulders, Deirdre considered that maybe stripping inside a store was not acceptable conduct in human society. It was fortunate then, that she didn’t care about human society. “Here,” she handed the dress off, standing about in her underwear. “Do you mind if I watch you work? I’d be bored otherwise.” Deirdre’s smile was wide, her best attempt at being friendly. The last tailor she had gone to, she murdered. Of course, because he was going to die anyway, but murdered all the same. This tailor was, however, much prettier than the last. And she wasn’t a murderer anymore. For now, anyway. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” She beamed, “I’ll pay double. Triple, even. And I am very pleasant to look at.” 

“Wait!” Irene immediately held her hands up before the customer fully stripped right in her shop. She blushed slightly when half of it was already off as the seamstress walked to her desk and grabbed her long coat. “I-I don’t have any spare clothing in the shop right now other than this.” Her arm stretched out, offering it over as she averted her own gaze while her other hand reached for the dress. The moment her fingers found purchase with it, Irene noted that the material was quite nice and thankfully was something she had worked with before. “Oh, um, of course that’s no problem.” Normally, she would have politely informed her customers that she would need at least a day to complete something like this but this didn’t seem too difficult. And the prospect of being paid extra for this wasn’t unalluring… “Feel free to take a seat,” she finally decided with a small smile. Setting the dress down on her counter, Irene quickly began looking for the tear. “As much as that may be true, I’m afraid I can’t look back at you while I fix up your dress,” she indicated with a light tone as she began to pull out some tools from her cabinets. And she had been so caught up in this sudden exchange that only when Irene began to get to work did she realize that she was picking up some strange emotions from the woman. Not strange in the sense that it wasn’t reflective of the scenario but… dulled? Her brow knitted and she tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed was to mess up the dress in front of an audience.

“Oh no, I like being naked.” Deirdre tried to explain, but with a sigh, she took the coat offered and put it on. Humans could be such prudes. This human was fixing her dress though, and so she figured she might as well cover up. Though, at mention of taking a seat, despite knowing exactly what the tailor meant, she hoisted herself on the counter and took her seat there. “A tree branch got me, you know,” she said, offering an explanation for the tear. She smiled wide. A tree branch did not get her. It was, rather, the hand of a dying man, who’d managed to claw at her dress before she could leave. “I’m Deirdre,” she said, insisting on being a nuisance. “Why tailoring? It certainly can’t pay well, and it seems like such an unappreciated art…” 

Irene managed a stiff smile in response to the woman’s comment about being naked, but the seamstress really did not want to explain having a naked person in her shop should anyone pass by her windows. A sigh of relief escaped her when the woman took the coat, though tension twisted her stomach once more when she noticed the guest hoist herself up onto her worktable. “Please be careful of the pins and other uh sharp objects on the counter,” she offered tersely as her hands continued to address the garment. “A tree branch… sounds dangerous. If you need any first aid, I have a kit in the back room I can grab.” Irene wasn’t certain she believed that especially as she picked up a dull feeling of smugness that seemed to emanate from the woman. Or perhaps she was really proud to be struck by a tree; Irene was not one to judge. “Lovely to meet you, Deirdre. I’m Irene,” her response flowed automatically from her lips. It was certainly taking a bit of effort for the seamstress to hold her tongue. “It’s actually a family business so I inherited the skills when I was old enough,” she briefly explained.

Deirdre watched the seamstress work, doubtlessly skilled in her work. Her great-grandmother had taught her to sew, still enraptured by the idea that a proper lady must know how to embroider, but she’d only ever enjoyed the feeling of sticking the needle through. “Oh no, I’m okay, you should've seen the tree though, Irene,” she smiled at her own joke, leaning into the woman’s work. It looked boring to her, but there was something about the ability to mend that always caught her attention; weapons never could learn to heal. “Like a duty?” She leaned back, “like some obligation to run this shop? Do you enjoy your work?” Deirdre watched the woman some more, graceful fingers finding what they wanted with ease. “I guess I’m in something of a family business myself…” she trailed off, looking out the shop window at the people passing by, living their own obligations. “But of all the things…” She turned back to Irene, “you’re not one of those people that wish to be a fashion designer, are you?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. 

Having an audience while she worked normally wouldn’t distract her, but Irene found herself a little on edge with this woman, probably because she had initially wanted to stand around the shop naked. “Poor tree couldn’t put up much of a fight? What did it do to deserve such ire from you?” she replied with a small chuckle as she tried to imagine such a scene. Her mental image came up with something rather absurd and cartoonish, causing her to let out another quiet laugh. Irene paused, both to check on the progress of her sewing and also to consider the questions. “It was an obligation and now it’s what I know best. I enjoy it as much as one can enjoy their work I suppose. There are good days and bad ones.” Her fingers deftly finished up what she was able to hand-sew before she got up to move to her sewing machine. “Fashion designer? It’s something that’s crossed my mind a few times but it’s not a particular passion of mine. I do have a lot of respect for designers though. The pressure to constantly create something new or avant-garde that hasn’t already been created, I can’t begin to imagine it.”

“Oh, you know how it goes, it looked at me the wrong way…” Deirdre trailed off, grinning toothy and lopsided. She had started the process of trying to think of something else to say, something to make the woman uncomfortable, when she continued. Deirdre’s grin faltered, and from her position nosing into Irene’s work, she leaned back with a frown. She was not so deluded on ideas of passion that she didn’t understand practicality, but the way the woman described it sounded…sad. Or, at best, Deirdre would unknowingly insult her. “What you know best?” She repeated, hoping Irene would correct her. “What you know best and what you enjoy are two different things.” Deirdre stared at her, completely having intended to ruin her day and yet being struck with confusion instead. “Irene,” she began, “is there some other thing you imagined you’d be doing?” She sighed, she could understand duty and she could understand obligation. She could even understand knowing something too well to not make anything of it, but like this? Deirdre stared around the shop, nose wrinkled; was it really worth it? “It’s just an odd way to word your sentence—‘what I know best’ what I know best is murd—“ Deirdre froze. “Uh,” she turned to Irene, “Mur—Murder, She Wrote! The show! Love it. It’s what I know best, but, it’s not…uh, it’s not what I imagined I’d be watching. It doesn’t satisfy my life’s hunger.” 

Irene expertly adjusted her machine, her movements second nature after years of working in this profession. As she ran the dress through the machine, she chuckled again. “I have noticed that some trees do make some devious faces.” The playful banter was easy enough to maintain as the seamstress worked, a trait she picked up early on when she had to mend her sisters’ clothes while they chattered away beside her. But then the sudden shift in tone surprised her, almost causing the woman to completely stop in her work. She swallowed hard, her lips pursing into a small smile despite her facing the machine and not her customer. “In the end, it’s all semantics,” she replied quietly before clearing her voice. There were many things she had tickled in pursuing: places she’d considered visiting or even living in, career paths she might have enjoyed, goals she’d like to achieve. “What I enjoy most is making sure my family is doing well and is safe and happy, and this happens to be the way I am able to achieve that.” The fabric slid through her fingers and past the thrumming needle of the machine. Her brow furrowed once more at the way this conversation unfolded from this curious woman. “I suppose that’s a thing about life, though, isn’t it? If Murder She Wrote doesn’t satisfy you, there are so many things out there that might do the trick.” With a satisfied sigh and a more genuine smile now, Irene finished up her repairs, snipped the loose thread from the dress, and held it up to examine. “This should be all good to go and ready for another battle with any tree that gives you the wrong impression.”

Why did it bother her? Long after Irene held the dress out, signaling the end of their little tête-à-tête, Deirdre stood and stared at her. She was dissatisfied; with Irene’s answer, her amiability and her lack of disdain at Deirdre’s general demeanor. It was spiteful. How dare the woman feign happiness in her face? It was tragic. How dare she answer honestly? And then it was pointless; why did it bother her at all? Irene was being practical, smart, safe. What could she possibly find a flaw in? Perhaps it was just that, the perceived perfectionism of the whole thing. Deirdre’s expression soured quickly. “Is that so?” Deirdre got her little inside glance at the woman, watching her words bounce right off. She had no hook, no control; friendly people disgusted her. A saccharine grin greeted Irene as Deirdre yanked the dress from her grip. “I suppose your family are all grateful. Where are they? Out back or…?” Perhaps it was the whimper of feeling blooming in her stomach; sadness, or something like it. “Aren’t you the hypocrite? Deluding yourself into thinking this satisfies you. At least Murder, She Wrote has Angela Lansbury.” From her boot, she drew out wrinkled hundred dollar bills, offering no explanation for either action. One hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred dollars, slapped down in front of Irene. “I’m taking your coat.” She announced with a huff, finding it to be the apology she deserved after Irene ruined her evening with her politeness. “And you!” she jabbed a finger at the tailor, throwing her dress over her shoulder. She stepped to leave, eager to free herself from Irene’s bullying. “If I peel back those layers of lies and professional, am I going to find a woman who fights or flees?” 

Despite the muted emotions Irene picked up from Deirdre, she managed to pick up something akin to frustration. From the very beginning, this whole exchange presented to be a challenge. Why was Deidre frustrated when she had bulldozed Irene from the moment she arrived? Her gaze flickered momentarily at the questioning, each interrogatory a sharp, yet familiar, stab. Everything Deidre was saying was not incorrect. In fact, Irene was certain her sisters would likely agree. But, unlike Deidre, Irene made peace with her own reality, a reality she had resigned herself to for quite some time. “My family--my sisters are where they wish to be.” Was that so bad? That she prioritized their happiness over hers? It was her duty, always has been her duty, to take care of the family. As the money slammed onto the table, far more than was needed to pay, Irene made no move to collect it. “I suppose you and I will find out if that happens.” Each day in White Crest forced Irene to face that question: was she here fighting for something or was she actually fleeing? She lifted her head, swallowing hard and finding it harder to maintain a professional front. It was too early in the day for her regularly scheduled existential crisis. “Well, thanks for your patronage; I hope the dress is to your liking,” were the last words, auto-piloted by habit, she managed to say as she finally reached to collect the money dispensed upon her work surface.

Deirdre reveled in the sort of annoyances she could spur in others; she desired to control their reactions to her. If she forced hate, she would beat them all to the punch. But there was a special sort of person she could never crack: those that desired to be polite, kind, friendly. Those who refused to stoop to her level. Those, much like Irene. Her grievance all along might just have been envy. If only she had half a mind to be as optimistic. “I hope for your sake,” Deirdre said as she lingered at the door, “you find out sooner rather than later, the kind of person you are.” Without so much as a thank you, she was gone, and the store fell back into the silence that didn’t know her. One day, Irene would be dead, and her legacy was her own concern. It didn’t bother Deirdre one bit. Not at all.

[deathduty]

thronesofshadows​:

[pm] A time that you need or wish to discuss, or…?

I promise I will not tell anyone that you think Morgan is the hottest person around, if only because in my opinion, while she is beautiful, she is not entirely my type. Even if we did sleep toge I am glad you think she is. I think that is what matters most. Also you are neither vain nor selfish, Deirdre. But I digress. 

No, Deirdre - none of that is important. She has a wonderful sense of fashion, makes me incredibly happy, makes me feel safe, and cares for me. I think those are the important things.

[pm] I don’t want need to talk about it. I just...I’ll figure it out on my own. Thank you though, Evelyn. It was really beautiful there. Are you a nature person? Or is it all fancy marble and big houses for you?

Evelyn. My friend. You can’t make promises to a fae like that! I release you from that promise. Please, I don’t want to bind you into something that may hurt you later. Oh! I’m thankful she’s not your type, because she’s mine. And while you did sleep with her that one time, THAT WAS ONE TIME. You also slept with me.

Are you saying you appreciate your girlfriend for her personal merits and not her financial situation? Wow. Do I get to meet her? How did you two get to know each other?  

[goreprofonde]

- Angela Carter, The Lady of the House of Love.

[deathduty]

mor-beck-more-problems​:

[pm] Okay, okay, I get it. And, if I do have to figure this out the hard way, it is pretty great that I get to do it with my favorite person. 

Wait. You’ve written poetry about us. And I haven’t seen it? 🥺

Stars above, all I wanted was for her to like me. Funny how that happens. Although, we both know she would have liked alive-me a whole lot less. Like maybe even dangerously less. Tolerate for you, maybe, but that’s different. 

Thank you. For saying that.

I can’t tell if you’re just trying to see where I’d draw the line or if you really want and elephant someday. But, yeah. An elephant. But not in Ireland. The elephant should be somewhere near its real home.

You’re right. I don’t know how to care the way you do. I’m probably not even physically capable, without the whole magic bond thing. I try but it’s not the same and it doesn’t even make sense to me all the time. I’m sorry.

It’s fine. I mean, it was awful, but the other choice was to just let him eat her while she begged for me to do something. It was that stupid bird in the yard all over again. It was a choice, and it also wasn’t. I couldn’t let him destroy her any more than I could let that bird destroy you. And it was awful, but that’s what this place does. It makes you choose awful things. It makes you take death into your own hands whether you want it or not. 

You have reason to be defensive. Everyone like us has reason to be. I shouldn’t have….I don’t know. I should’ve known better But it’s not like I want anyone after you or her. I don’t want that. I want everything to be different. And I want her here, learning how to be kinder. 

It did count for something. What happened to her was cruel and unfair, but she spent her last moments loving you. And she knew she was loved in return. I have to believe that wherever her soul is, it counted for something. Not down here, but the energy, the weight of everything she felt for you, it had do go somewhere, right?

I’m sorry too.

And you don’t have to decide on the whole handfasting thing. I want I grew up thinking I’d never be able to marry anyone crazy enough to love me but now I’m not springing anything on you. I just thought, since we’re planning this far, it would be good to know what you want and what you don’t.

Also, uh, you knew another leanan-sidhe? 

[pm] I love you, Morgan. I have the utmost faith in you.

Oh no. Stop that. I know what face you’re making and no, you can’t see it. It’s not good. And it’s not so much about us as it is about you and how much I love you. 

...probably. We don’t know that. Maybe she would’ve come around. You are pretty “human” even like this, as fae would define it. So...maybe she would’ve.

I was half-joking. I wouldn’t want to take an animal like that and possess it. Some are creatures made to be more wild. But I’d like to see one some day, at sanctuary, perhaps. 

Don’t be sorry, my love. Unless you’d also like me to apologize for not knowing what its like to crave brains or decay or grow back a finger. We’re different people. I know you want to be good to me, just as I want to be good to you, and that is enough. I don’t wish that you understood completely, I don’t wish for you to be anything you aren’t. I love you, Morgan Beck.

This place? You mean White Crest? 

I’m still sorry. I understood what you were trying to say but I just...I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t think in the same shades of grey that you do. A hunter to me will always be exactly the sort of person that would kill me and people like me. 

No, she spent her last moments in pain. I know. I saw them. She was begging, just before she died. Have you ever known Lydia to beg? They broke her. Her thoughts were not on how loved she was by me. She died as ash in an unmarked alley. The weight of everything she felt is mine now. That’s where it went.

I’m sorry, Morgan. I know what you mean and I know what you’re trying to do but there is no comfort to be had in Lydia’s death. She saved my life, and she’ll always be my hero, but she did not die that way. But I’ll say it over and over again until my voice gives: she saved my life. She saved my life. A hero to one. 

Morgan, my love, if what you’re trying to ask me is if I’d like to marry you one day, then the answer is yes. Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes. I would. We could settle on seating arrangements and flowers. And then I can file our taxes jointly. I’m very excited about that last part. Is this something you want too?

I knew a few; they’re a little less rare than banshees are. But not as friends. That one, she’s....just history, now. She was the only person who had been kind to me, but I liked her far more than she liked me. At any rate, I was just a child then. I don’t like thinking about her. 

[deathduty]

inbextween​:

That’s very nice of you.

[pm] I can try to do all of that. I mean, I want to. Do all of that, but I can’t promise I will all the time. Not to her or you or even myself. But I want to try. Trying is worth it for her.

Is this the therapist you see with Morgan? She told me about them a little. Don’t be sorry, it is what it is.

I feel like I do have to be. I feel like the house is going to swallow me and if I stop, then it wins. I don’t actually know if that’s true or not. It feels like it could be. Like letting go might just be…better. Or easier. I don’t know.

I’ll take your word for it. Mostly because I know you can’t lie.

My dad used to say it’s not being an alcoholic unless it infringes on daily life. He’s probably not a good standard to use, but it makes me feel better to pretend he’s right. I just don’t know how it could be a problem when it makes me feel better. When I can actually sleep when I do it. When I can feel just a little less of all of everything. Even for just a few minutes, it feels worth it. I don’t feel like I need it, but it helps. It helps more than anything and it’s better than the alternatives. I will. I’ll tell you. 

Yeah, maybe.

.

Don’t use “nice” to refer to me. Even as I joke. I despise it. Don’t thank me and don’t call me nice.

[pm] No one’s asking for any promises...especially not for a fae. But you’ve got the right idea there, Bex. Trying is worth it. Keep trying.

Yes. The same, terrible woman. I despise her too. I will be seeing her next week but I loathe her.

I understand. But it only feels that way. Logically, it’s not, okay? 

...who told you I can’t lie? Because that’s a lie. Look: I am ugly. See? 

You’re right, your father is a bad standard. Oh, Bex, plenty of things that feel good can be a problem. But I do trust you’re smart. You’ll let me know. 

On a brighter note: I realize I don’t know when your birthday is.

[deathduty]

mor-beck-more-problems​:

[pm] I…don’t know. It just feels like…we’re too different, too scattered. How can we build anything if we don’t know how to find each other? Or if no one’s ever told us it’s okay to stay together. If we’ve been so lonely, the idea seems impossible? And I wouldn’t even know what having some culture or ethos to grasp on would look like. Do we have hunts to make sure we’re self-sufficient in case of an emergency and de-stigmatize getting gore crazy? Celebrate our deathdays? 

I just want us to belong to each other. Somehow. But I don’t really know how that works. I’ve never really had that so much. Feeling a part of something, being special, just for existing next to someone like me.

Well, it sounds pretty epic when you put it like that. Like maybe there should be poems about us sometime.

She was? I know she…needed some time to trust me, but at least some of that was because of how much she loved you. But you’re sure she wasn’t secretly kinder to not-fae supernaturals? And, okay, so it’s not required, but maybe it might be easier for a few years if we could just not deal with massive inter-species politics and be someplace we’re okay and everyone around us actually happens to think we’re okay too. 

I still miss her, you know. Is it okay if I say I miss Do you remember the terrarium I made her Do you want to move the amethysts she

I know some things are a little better, but I wouldn’t call them fixed and I wouldn’t say I’ve done a lot. But I do love you a lot. So much. And all the ways you change and all the ways they stay the same. And I don’t know what you are  in this metaphor. Maybe you’re a part of everything.

I’ve always been a little squeamish, but they can’t hurt me, so as long as they aren’t venomous to you, why not?

Deirdre, I’ve all but promised you that I would never hurt a fae. I still mean that. No matter what else I say, you can take it as a given that I would never knowingly do something to hurt your people. I know what they mean to you.

And I have killed a starving zombie. While you were gone Bex and I found one in the thrift store. He was so far gone he was barely healing at all. He was going to eat her to the bone. So I killed him. And I hated it. And I got his name and sent his aunt in castle rock flowers and money for the foundation she’s setting up in his name, but I killed him because I wasn’t strong enough to keep him away from that girl any other way.

And when I say real problems, I mean massive town wide and apocalypse bullshit. Maybe if it wasn’t so taboo to recognize that we’re people, he could’ve had some undead go in there with him. Or a shifter. Anyone else who might have a leg up over his human body. Maybe his fate would’ve been different.

I didn’t mean it like that, Deirdre. I’m sorry.

I miss her too, you know. And the chances, the time she didn’t get to have. And how much we argued. The part where she was our friend.

Don’t be, I’m fine. I’m coping.

[pm] Yeah. Pretty much. You’re just throwing ideas out there but they sound really good, Morgan.  

You know what’s really funny, Morgan? I have no idea how it works either. It’s strange. It’s almost like we might have to figure it out together. What a tragedy, discovering the world with you, my favorite person. Sooooo dreadful. 

Oh don’t worry, I’ve already written some.

She wanted you to like her. All she wanted was just that. Even if you were human at the time, I think she would’ve liked you a little less but all the same. You already know what I think about her. I love her. I miss her. I suppose...well, I know it would’ve been impossible, but I wish she could’ve seen what the fae had done for her. I know what most people think, I know what the public thought, but if she just could’ve seen it...

[user is idle]

I would. I would say you’ve done a lot. For so many people.

And while we’re at it, an elephant?

You wouldn’t, but people you care about would. And have. And as much as you love me, you will never care about this like I do. You can’t. Just as I’d never know the plight of a zombie. I’m thankful you respect fae enough not to step on a gnome. They get stepped on a lot.

You...what? Morgan, I’m so sorry. 

No, I’m sorry. I got a little defensive. I’m used to...people thinking less of certain types of fae. And the same thought that starts deciding what is worthy of life and what isn’t is the thought that gets people I care about killed. Or almost killed. For as good as a hunter might be, they’re still a hunter. And I’m not so hypocritical to think that doesn’t apply to me either. I’m sorry.

I wanted her to be my friend for the rest of my life. I wanted to be in her life. I wanted her to be in mine. I’ve never had a friend like her before, and now I never will. The only other leanan-sidhe I knew like this left me. The only banshee I’m not related to doesn’t know what I did to her father. I make her kill animals. I drown her. I just want my friend back, I just wanted to know she could have peace somewhere. None of it is possible. She was our friend, and no one cares. 

She did not die a hero. Villains, I suppose, get ash. But I loved her, she loved me. I wish it counted for something.

[user is idle]

I’m sorry. 

The, uh, handfasting isn’t important to me. But it’s a nice idea. I think it sounds like a nice idea.

[deathduty]

inbextween​:

It can be true enough for now.

[pm] I want to love her well. That’s all.

I…guess I like my hair. I’ve always had really nice hair. I like that…whatever Mina sees in me makes her smile. 

Mina is the only good thing about me. I don’t know why she loves me, but she does. If that’s the only something else I get then…maybe it’s enough. I don’t know. I don’t know what else I do. It feels like all I do is hurt people and get hurt in return.

No, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just so tired. I’ve tried so hard to find something to get out and there’s nothing and maybe it’s better if I just stay. I’m losing hope. I haven’t told Morgan or Mina that yet but it’s 

I care about you, too. I wish I could just believe you.

Did you– have a problem with it? I don’t know if it’s something more. I haven’t been out enough to know. If I’m just drinking in my house, my room, my kitchen, then it’s fine. I’m not bothering anyone or ruining things or missing work or school. I don’t really have anything else, nothing to supplement it with. I used to think controlling my own pain made it better. But I was hurt enough by others, I didn’t need to do that to myself, too. It doesn’t have a name. I just…do it sometimes. Sometimes a bottle, sometimes only half. It just depends. It doesn’t feel like a problem.

.

Fine. I’ll accept that.

[pm] That desire is all you need. You talk to her about how to love her best, and you move on from there. She’s your partner, okay? You’re in this together. When you’re worried about how to love her, she’s the one you ask. When you think she’s going to slip, you tell her. Don’t let it stew in your head. 

Hey. Stop right there. Mina is not the only good thing about you, my therapist would disagree. You are your own good person outside of her. Or so she says, I haven’t figured that one out either. I know, Bex. I’m sorry. 

It’s not better if you stay and you know that, Bex. It’s hard and tiring, I understand, and you don’t need to be trying and fighting all the time, but it is not better. You know this already; if you won’t lie about me being the most attractive woman you know then don’t lie about thinking it’s better. Easier, simpler...but never better. 

Ha. Don’t worry about it. I tell Morgan that exact thing at least ten times a day. It’s true, regardless of if you believe it.

Who knows? I never asked myself if it was a problem. It went away enough on its own, and like you, it was only ever by myself, really. I never did anything outrageous. I suppose that’s the great deception of it, it’s not all drunk driving and public embarrassment. Sometimes it’s just cold tile and really nice sleep. And okay. If it starts to feel like one, will you tell me? We can work on a way to cut back, and maybe all of this really is just temporary.

[deathduty]

mor-beck-more-problems​:

[pm] Maybe? A little? I just hate not knowing if I’m unfairly lucky or just stupid hopelessly naive about my new existence. And I don’t know how much we could have something like what fae have. What we are…it happens to us. Griffin doesn’t even know who made him, it was just some rando. The guy didn’t stay or leave a note or anything. And you know what happened to Remmy. It’s traumatic. And we all have such different baggage around it, different experiences, and we can’t sense each other. And obviously I don’t have an amazing sample size, but every zombie I’ve met, including myself, is sliding somewhere along the self-hatred spectrum. I don’t know if we’d be able to make something good or if we’d just bring each other down. But I want something better, yeah. We’re supposed to be here til the world ends. Eventually, immortals will be all each other has. Don’t we need something good to make that okay?

I know what we have is special. I just…don’t want to feel like an idiot later on for believing that it’s special enough to make me different. I want it to be true. I want to be happy with you.

Do you think…there would ever be any fae who would accept me like that? Would that be something you want someday? To be around your people where watching centuries go by is just another part of following the wheel of the world?

Oh. I guess…you’re right. About the garden. I hate seeing people hurt. Especially if it’s because they’ve been taught to hate themselves. And I just think…wouldn’t it be better for everyone if they were okay? They wouldn’t hurt, and they wouldn’t hurt other people, and that’s worth it, right? And maybe that’s…a good use of my energy. I can maybe actually get something right and fix something for a little while. Are you sure it’s okay? Should my metaphorical garden be smaller? Is my doing this going to break something really badly someday?

You know, I’ve never had a dog before. So that means we definitely have to at least a few times. Especially all of those.

Is that something that’s important to you? Ceremonies of love, handfasting, fae marriage-but-only-kinda?

Hey, if everything changes, then maybe we’ll change a little too, and there will always be a couple of discoveries to uncover. Personally, I do think it would be a real novelty if you became predictable for a few years. So either way, I don’t think we’re in danger of boredom.

Everything hunters say or pretend they are. The whole, ‘doing the hard work for the good of humanity’ song. Adam actually was all of those things. Adam even cared about supernaturals. He knew I was something as soon as he came into my class. He saw me do horrible things, and he didn’t do that thin line, no screw-ups allowed conditional bullshit. He opened up to me when he thought he might lose his powers. He asked me for help with stuff. He seemed to actually really want to know what it was like to be what I am and not in the exploit-y way.  When you were gone and I was having a hard time he brought me old case files to read. His idea of humanity didn’t leave people like me behind. And it had nothing to do with being good! Not me or anyone else. He knew how unfair this world is. He knew that humans are cruel and hateful just as often as anyone else. It was just because they were people and trying anyway was the right thing to do. You know, the other hunters were brave enough to be more like him, maybe they wouldn’t have to go into fights alone! Maybe the sapients that still give a shit wouldn’t be too scared or angry to help them handle the real problems! And maybe less people would die in the first place and maybe I wouldn’t be so traumatized!

I don’t know what counts as that either. But he was really loved, yeah.

.

[pm] Well, as someone who had to watch her best friend die to become what I am, it’s not so bad, my love. You all have a shared trauma, in one sense. No one’s experience of anything is completely the same, because no two people are; no two lives are. Why don’t you think you could make something good? I happen to think you have a very noble desire.

You don’t think a love spanning half a millennium could be something special? Oh, my love, I think you’re special enough by yourself, to make it different. To make it good.

Yes. Unequivocally. Perhaps simply because I am fae, and I love you. But Lydia cared for you, and she...fates, I miss her so much. I miss her everyday was about as fae as they come. In some of the best ways, and some of the worst too. But she cared. Others will too. And no. I want to be around you. The fae are not required, though I would like them.

It would be better if everyone was okay, of course it would. But Morgan, I wish you’d understand that you’ve made a lot right already. You do, just by virtue of being you. But if you’re asking me if you need to love less, no. Absolutely not. Maybe the kind of love shifts over the years, maybe it isn’t like a garden anymore, but right now...if this is what feels right to you, I can not tell you that it’s wrong. Maybe it’ll break something, but what it’ll break certainly isn’t us. I’d like to think I’ve evolved beyond being a flower, perhaps I’m the greenhouse. 

Where do you draw the line on animals? Because a snake would be nice too.

I was going to argue that everything hunters were supposed to be was nonexistent, because being a hunter is useless, but good points. He was a good kid. I-- “The sapients”.... what do you mean? Where do you draw the line there? So pixies...sapient. But leprechauns? Brownies? Cù-sìth? Kelpie? Are those all...meant to be killed? The kind of thing you’d help a hunter like Adam get rid of? The hungry zombie? The unfortunate spawn? All designed for death? Are they a “real problem”? Adam was a good kid, I said so and I admit so readily, but he was still a hunter. He was still one of many to decide who lived, who died. And you knew him better than me, and he was kind to you, and for that I am grateful, but I will not forget all those he has killed. He was a man doing what he was born for, he died a hero, he was in a broad term “everything a hunter should be” but you’re thanking a butcher for not raising his knife. I don’t agree. If the other hunters were brave enough to be like him, Lydia would be dead ten times over. I won’t accept it. 

I am sorry for your trauma, my love. 

He was loved. That’s more than some people get. Sometimes its just ashes in an alley.