#:-------------)

[beefstrugglenoff]

[deathduty]

In the nightstand in Deirdre’s bedroom is a piece of stationary, drafted with two different pens and riddled with cross-outs. The handwriting, less exact than before, matches Morgan’s last letter.

My Dearest Deirdre,

Mysteriously, over the weekend, the crops have taken a turn for the better. Whatever strange magic has put life back in the old earth, I am grateful for it. Maybe I should repeat my steps again next weekend, to see if the pattern holds?

I want to be cross for writing again before you’ve given me a letter in return, or even a story. Not that I haven’t enjoyed every bit of what we have gotten around to, but so many hours and not a peep? But, I am doing this out of such fullness I’m so I could burst from I am doing this to myself, so.

I just want you know that when I gasped that first time, when I touched you with my newly warm hands, it reminded me of my first snow. We didn’t take a lot of vacations as a family, but one time we went to Colorado to see snow. You know already how soft new snow is, and how the shock of it tingles up your skin and makes you feel glittery and alive. But do you remember the first time? I was thirteen, half froze because I didn’t know how to dress for the weather, and gaping at these glittering drifts. I took off my glove just so I could feel them melt on my skin, over and over, even as my fingers started to go red and numb. Feeling you reminded me of that, but it was also better. Better in a way I don’t know how to say.

And you have to believe me, because I’m getting this part out on Saturday night, as you sleep, while the sensation is still fresh. As you say, don’t laugh. But alternatively, if you do, tell me gently and with a kiss

I do remember asking myself, at twelve in the snow, is this what lo

I’ve left the tart recipe here so we can try making it together another time. I am beginning to think that sad cooking can only be done alone, and we should only knock around your kitchen together when we're  already happy. I think the difference between this turnout and the pancakes speak for themselves, don’t you?

One more thing,

[deathduty]

Janus the Janitor || Solo

It wasn’t everyday that Deirdre was excited to be holding urine in her hands.

Maybe a chipper attitude was mismatched with the small bag and collection cup inside, but it also wasn’t everyday that had an excuse to see Regan. That alone was enough to spread a smile on her face as she half-skipped through the morgue hallways. If she believed in fate aligning, or destiny correcting itself, she might have said her good karma was due—Regan didn’t hate her, they’d come to a strange understanding, and with time, they’d be friends. Each moment spent with the woman was a reminder of the banshee she was supposed to be, unwavering and commanding her due respect. Lydia, for all her self-importance, didn’t get it. Couldn’t get it. She wasn’t a banshee. But Deirdre was. And one day, Regan too, properly. There was no greater gift than this, than death and their tether to it.

“Watch your step.” A lazy voice interrupted her thoughts and Deirdre nearly hissed at him before her manners caught up to her.

“Sorry!” She side stepped the puddle he’d been mopping at hopelessly, “I’m just in a bit of a rush to see the medical examiner. I didn’t step in it, did I?” She glanced down, making a show of caring at all what she did or did not step in. As if she wasn’t wasting time just by breathing in this man’s space.

The janitor, an older man dutifully adorned in his custodial blues, simply shrugged. “You’re fine. Tell Dr. Kavanagh I said hi.”

The skip in her step slowed to a more appropriate gait. “Do you…often say hi to Regan?”

The janitor grunted, swatting at the thick puddle with the end of his mop, “sometimes. When I find a dead rat, I save it for her too.” His words clicked with recognition against the janitor Regan often spoke with fondness for. There was another shrug, then a grunt and seemingly the conversation was done; more interested in doing his work than he was with paying attention to Deirdre. Which, naturally, suited the banshee just fine.

And even finer as she turned from him, her body suddenly tense. Coldness slithered through her organs, rattling beneath her skin. Each pulse brought with it a demand to be heard and then knelt for. Above her heart, which slowed finally to a singular commanding thump, her lungs burned. For a moment, ichor pooled at the bottom, demanding to be coughed out–for her lungs to expand and her jaw to slacken for its release. For a moment, drowning. Her mind begged her to scream, cough, expel the illusion-liquid from her lungs. Then it burned. The desire sank its teeth into her and again it asked for a wail. Each and every sensation tested in the span of a second and each and every bodily reflex ignored and suppressed. Deirdre knew the signs well, and she’d spent years of her life perfecting this reaction.

No wail. Not even a whimper.

She allowed her eyes to turn into inky blackness, allowed the vision and its practiced clarity to enter her mind, but no other tell as she paused in the middle of the hall. Pulling a small charm from her pocket, she fastened the choker around her neck, sure the little pendant at its center would do its glamour work and hide the black cracks she knew had spread across her face. Holding in a scream was never pleasant, but surely now, it was second nature.

She turned, lips parted only to bear her teeth in a predatory grin. “Excuse me?”

The janitor looked up, a lazy gaze slowly raking its way to Deirdre, “yes?”

“What’s your name?”

The janitor paused, as if he needed to think it over, “Janus Mullen.”

Deirdre’s grin twitched, in the place of the pain that once wrecked through her, warmth sprouted. Good Karma indeed. “It was nice knowing you, Mr. Mullen.”

And it was going to be even nicer knowing Regan, the way she was meant to. Even if it was a little insulting to think her first scream was going to be a janitor. 

[boarheir]

mayhaps . . . a starter call? 👀

[emvncipxte-blog]

@veronicagarcia: i'm not even allowed to tweet this but holy fucking shit

[mercybred]

↳   BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST, DON’T REBLOG !

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STRENGTHS.

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[xiubyuns-archive]

majority of people are saying on their stomach, i am no longer the minority 

[hunnybeemp3]

just filmed some vids hopefully they actually fuckin work