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 ]
SUMMARY:Â A century isnât enough time to make Morgan less anxious. Chaperoning her daughterâs school trip with Deirdre gives her more than enough to worry about.
âI think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and weâve suffered enough.â -Nikka Ursula
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
[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, Iâve mostly gotten her blood out of the grass, and she wonât 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 youâve been having. And if anyone is rude enough to come knocking while weâre having our reunion, weâll 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. Iâm lost on what the issue is. Youâll have to explain that one to me after the reuniting.Â
Sounds like a plan. And naturally, unless its that elderly woman. Donât take care of her; thatâs exactly what she wants. And at any rate sheâs going to die in two days doing what she loves...or getting done how she loves. The semantics arenât important here and frankly having to see it once was enough for me.Â
[pm] Iâm okay. Dead, fleshy, pretty, and for-real-okay. And I love you. And Iâm sorry this week has been awful. But it wouldâve 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; donât ask) and then they tried to eat the pixies I was with (donât ask). I am coming home with several multicoloured plastic beads (donât ask), a picture of someoneâs grandmother (donât ask) and new lingerie (do ask).
I take it you solved the problem then? With the week Iâve had, Iâd be shocked if I didnât just create more problems. Oh! If Tony (guinea pig) comes by with his gang looking for his winnings, point him over to Lindaâs house. And if an elderly woman comes by with roses looking for fun in the sack, please tell her Iâve died. Iâll be home shortly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @rainaim & @deathduty
SUMMARY: Raina comes across a grieving Solomon.
CONTENT: Implied head trauma (no description), parental death mention (no description, introspection)Â
TIMING: before Deirdreâs return to White Crest
LOCATION:Â New Zealand, at a retreat for the Faeâs Murderers Not-So-Anonymous retreatÂ
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.Â
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 wouldnât 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.Â
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 Deirdreâs mother was asked, sheâd say the daughter.Â
Her therapist said she was understanding the phrase wrong. Not that anyone asked her.Â
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 wasnât 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 wouldnât 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 Deirdreâs 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 sheâd only been looking at Owen, a lumbering leshy who did seem offended by the fire.
Among them too sat a lie.Â
To them, she was meant to be curled up in her bed, sick with pretend stomach problems from the dinner no one noticed she didnât touch. It was all very gloomy. If it had been anyone else in her shoes, she wouldâve 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 didnât exist. Perhaps she was being punished for doing it to herself; though she couldnât understand why it was happening now. Deirdre was capable of great cruelty and most of it she levelled against herself. Sheâd 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 âno one loves youâ, âno one cares about youâ, âno one wants youâ, âno one understands youâ. The words were sometimes dressed in her motherâs clothes, sometimes hers. At some point, she began wishing it was just âI hate myselfâ instead of all its friends.Â
Deirdreâs 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 wasnât her childhood they groaned at; her pain. She was too anxious to explain the abuse she suffered at the hands of her mother, her familyâneither things were easy to mention, and certainly not to the doggedly private banshee. They were largely unfamiliar with Deirdreâs 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.Â
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 wouldâve 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. Sheâd 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 Morganâs shed existed a valley, one that never would greet her.Â
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.Â
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 didnât 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 âgreater goodâ was too great to see.Â
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 Morganâs 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.Â
When the dialing stopped and silence returned to the world around her frantic heart, Deirdreâs quivering voice took the stage, âMum?âÂ
( For their next session, her therapist wanted to discuss âself-sabotageâ.Â
Fortunately for Deirdre, she wasnât going back to therapy. )
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. Sheâd 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 wasnât acceptable. If she could just get the thing stitched up, however crude, sheâd be on her way. âHello?â The banshee called out, poking her head around the shop, trying to find someone to assist her. âI needââ and at that moment, as someone emerged, Deirdre waved them down. âDo you work here? I need some help,â Deirdre pointed to the tear in her dress. âJust something to make it presentable enough. Can you do that?âÂ
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. âHello, yes, how can I help you?â 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 âWhereâs the closest Pizza Hut?â 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. âI 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?â
âRight now.â Deirdre said, twisting around to reach the zipper. âAnd Iâll wait; I can wait. I just need this done immediately.â 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 didnât care about human society. âHere,â she handed the dress off, standing about in her underwear. âDo you mind if I watch you work? Iâd be bored otherwise.â Deirdreâs 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 wasnât a murderer anymore. For now, anyway. âThat wonât be a problem, will it?â She beamed, âIâll pay double. Triple, even. And I am very pleasant to look at.âÂ
âWait!â 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. âI-I donât have any spare clothing in the shop right now other than this.â 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. âOh, um, of course thatâs no problem.â Normally, she would have politely informed her customers that she would need at least a day to complete something like this but this didnât seem too difficult. And the prospect of being paid extra for this wasnât unalluring⌠âFeel free to take a seat,â she finally decided with a small smile. Setting the dress down on her counter, Irene quickly began looking for the tear. âAs much as that may be true, Iâm afraid I canât look back at you while I fix up your dress,â 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 wasnât 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.
âOh no, I like being naked.â 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. âA tree branch got me, you know,â 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, whoâd managed to claw at her dress before she could leave. âIâm Deirdre,â she said, insisting on being a nuisance. âWhy tailoring? It certainly canât pay well, and it seems like such an unappreciated artâŚâÂ
Irene managed a stiff smile in response to the womanâs 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. âPlease be careful of the pins and other uh sharp objects on the counter,â she offered tersely as her hands continued to address the garment. âA tree branch⌠sounds dangerous. If you need any first aid, I have a kit in the back room I can grab.â Irene wasnât 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. âLovely to meet you, Deirdre. Iâm Irene,â her response flowed automatically from her lips. It was certainly taking a bit of effort for the seamstress to hold her tongue. âItâs actually a family business so I inherited the skills when I was old enough,â 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 sheâd only ever enjoyed the feeling of sticking the needle through. âOh no, Iâm okay, you should've seen the tree though, Irene,â she smiled at her own joke, leaning into the womanâs 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. âLike a duty?â She leaned back, âlike some obligation to run this shop? Do you enjoy your work?â Deirdre watched the woman some more, graceful fingers finding what they wanted with ease. âI guess Iâm in something of a family business myselfâŚâ she trailed off, looking out the shop window at the people passing by, living their own obligations. âBut of all the thingsâŚâ She turned back to Irene, âyouâre not one of those people that wish to be a fashion designer, are you?â Not that there was anything wrong with that.Â
Having an audience while she worked normally wouldnât 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. âPoor tree couldnât put up much of a fight? What did it do to deserve such ire from you?â 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. âIt was an obligation and now itâs what I know best. I enjoy it as much as one can enjoy their work I suppose. There are good days and bad ones.â Her fingers deftly finished up what she was able to hand-sew before she got up to move to her sewing machine. âFashion designer? Itâs something thatâs crossed my mind a few times but itâs 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 hasnât already been created, I canât begin to imagine it.â
âOh, you know how it goes, it looked at me the wrong wayâŚâ 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. Deirdreâs grin faltered, and from her position nosing into Ireneâs work, she leaned back with a frown. She was not so deluded on ideas of passion that she didnât understand practicality, but the way the woman described it soundedâŚsad. Or, at best, Deirdre would unknowingly insult her. âWhat you know best?â She repeated, hoping Irene would correct her. âWhat you know best and what you enjoy are two different things.â Deirdre stared at her, completely having intended to ruin her day and yet being struck with confusion instead. âIrene,â she began, âis there some other thing you imagined youâd be doing?â 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? âItâs just an odd way to word your sentenceââwhat I know bestâ what I know best is murdââ Deirdre froze. âUh,â she turned to Irene, âMurâMurder, She Wrote! The show! Love it. Itâs what I know best, but, itâs notâŚuh, itâs not what I imagined Iâd be watching. It doesnât satisfy my lifeâs hunger.âÂ
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. âI have noticed that some trees do make some devious faces.â 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 sistersâ 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. âIn the end, itâs all semantics,â she replied quietly before clearing her voice. There were many things she had tickled in pursuing: places sheâd considered visiting or even living in, career paths she might have enjoyed, goals sheâd like to achieve. âWhat 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.â 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. âI suppose thatâs a thing about life, though, isnât it? If Murder She Wrote doesnât satisfy you, there are so many things out there that might do the trick.â 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. âThis should be all good to go and ready for another battle with any tree that gives you the wrong impression.â
Why did it bother her? Long after Irene held the dress out, signaling the end of their little tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte, Deirdre stood and stared at her. She was dissatisfied; with Ireneâs answer, her amiability and her lack of disdain at Deirdreâs 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. Deirdreâs expression soured quickly. âIs that so?â 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. âI suppose your family are all grateful. Where are they? Out back orâŚ?â Perhaps it was the whimper of feeling blooming in her stomach; sadness, or something like it. âArenât you the hypocrite? Deluding yourself into thinking this satisfies you. At least Murder, She Wrote has Angela Lansbury.â 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. âIâm taking your coat.â She announced with a huff, finding it to be the apology she deserved after Irene ruined her evening with her politeness. âAnd you!â she jabbed a finger at the tailor, throwing her dress over her shoulder. She stepped to leave, eager to free herself from Ireneâs bullying. âIf I peel back those layers of lies and professional, am I going to find a woman who fights or flees?âÂ
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. âMy family--my sisters are where they wish to be.â 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. âI suppose you and I will find out if that happens.â 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. âWell, thanks for your patronage; I hope the dress is to your liking,â 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. âI hope for your sake,â Deirdre said as she lingered at the door, âyou find out sooner rather than later, the kind of person you are.â Without so much as a thank you, she was gone, and the store fell back into the silence that didnât know her. One day, Irene would be dead, and her legacy was her own concern. It didnât bother Deirdre one bit. Not at all.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
[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.Â
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 donât want need to talk about it. I just...Iâll 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 canât make promises to a fae like that! I release you from that promise. Please, I donât want to bind you into something that may hurt you later. Oh! Iâm thankful sheâs not your type, because sheâs 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? Â
[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.Â
Wait. Youâve written poetry about us. And I havenât seen it? đĽş
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 thatâs different.Â
Thank you. For saying that.
I canât tell if youâre just trying to see where Iâd 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.
Youâre right. I donât know how to care the way you do. Iâm probably not even physically capable, without the whole magic bond thing. I try but itâs not the same and it doesnât even make sense to me all the time. Iâm sorry.
Itâs 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 wasnât. I couldnât let him destroy her any more than I could let that bird destroy you. And it was awful, but thatâs 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.Â
You have reason to be defensive. Everyone like us has reason to be. I shouldnât haveâŚ.I donât know. I shouldâve known better But itâs not like I want anyone after you or her. I donât want that. I want everything to be different. And I want her here, learning how to be kinder.Â
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?
Iâm sorry too.
And you donât have to decide on the whole handfasting thing. I want I grew up thinking Iâd never be able to marry anyone crazy enough to love me but now Iâm not springing anything on you. I just thought, since weâre planning this far, it would be good to know what you want and what you donât.
Also, uh, you knew another leanan-sidhe?Â
[pm] I love you, Morgan. I have the utmost faith in you.
Oh no. Stop that. I know what face youâre making and no, you canât see it. Itâs not good. And itâs not so much about us as it is about you and how much I love you.Â
...probably. We donât know that. Maybe she wouldâve come around. You are pretty âhumanâ even like this, as fae would define it. So...maybe she wouldâve.
I was half-joking. I wouldnât want to take an animal like that and possess it. Some are creatures made to be more wild. But Iâd like to see one some day, at sanctuary, perhaps.Â
Donât be sorry, my love. Unless youâd also like me to apologize for not knowing what its like to crave brains or decay or grow back a finger. Weâre 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 donât wish that you understood completely, I donât wish for you to be anything you arenât. I love you, Morgan Beck.
This place? You mean White Crest?Â
Iâm still sorry. I understood what you were trying to say but I just...I donât know. Iâm sorry. I donât 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.Â
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. Thatâs where it went.
Iâm sorry, Morgan. I know what you mean and I know what youâre trying to do but there is no comfort to be had in Lydiaâs death. She saved my life, and sheâll always be my hero, but she did not die that way. But Iâll say it over and over again until my voice gives: she saved my life. She saved my life. A hero to one.Â
Morgan, my love, if what youâre trying to ask me is if Iâd 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. Iâm very excited about that last part. Is this something you want too?
I knew a few; theyâre a little less rare than banshees are. But not as friends. That one, sheâs....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 donât like thinking about her.Â
[pm] I can try to do all of that. I mean, I want to. Do all of that, but I canât 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. Donât 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 donât actually know if thatâs true or not. It feels like it could be. Like letting go might just beâŚbetter. Or easier. I donât know.
Iâll take your word for it. Mostly because I know you canât lie.
My dad used to say itâs not being an alcoholic unless it infringes on daily life. Heâs probably not a good standard to use, but it makes me feel better to pretend heâs right. I just donât 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 donât feel like I need it, but it helps. It helps more than anything and itâs better than the alternatives. I will. Iâll tell you.Â
Yeah, maybe.
.
Donât use âniceâ to refer to me. Even as I joke. I despise it. Donât thank me and donât call me nice.
[pm] No oneâs asking for any promises...especially not for a fae. But youâve 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, itâs not, okay?Â
...who told you I canât lie? Because thatâs a lie. Look: I am ugly. See?Â
Youâre right, your father is a bad standard. Oh, Bex, plenty of things that feel good can be a problem. But I do trust youâre smart. Youâll let me know.Â
On a brighter note: I realize I donât know when your birthday is.
[pm] IâŚdonât know. It just feels likeâŚweâre too different, too scattered. How can we build anything if we donât know how to find each other? Or if no oneâs ever told us itâs okay to stay together. If weâve been so lonely, the idea seems impossible? And I wouldnât even know what having some culture or ethos to grasp on would look like. Do we have hunts to make sure weâre self-sufficient in case of an emergency and de-stigmatize getting gore crazy? Celebrate our deathdays?Â
I just want us to belong to each other. Somehow. But I donât really know how that works. Iâve 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 sheâŚneeded some time to trust me, but at least some of that was because of how much she loved you. But youâre sure she wasnât secretly kinder to not-fae supernaturals? And, okay, so itâs 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 weâre okay and everyone around us actually happens to think weâre okay too.Â
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 wouldnât call them fixed and I wouldnât say Iâve 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 donât know what you are in this metaphor. Maybe youâre a part of everything.
Iâve always been a little squeamish, but they canât hurt me, so as long as they arenât venomous to you, why not?
Deirdre, Iâve 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 sheâs setting up in his name, but I killed him because I wasnât 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 wasnât so taboo to recognize that weâre people, he couldâve 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 wouldâve been different.
I didnât mean it like that, Deirdre. Iâm sorry.
I miss her too, you know. And the chances, the time she didnât get to have. And how much we argued. The part where she was our friend.
Donât be, Iâm fine. Iâm coping.
[pm] Yeah. Pretty much. Youâre just throwing ideas out there but they sound really good, Morgan. Â
You know whatâs really funny, Morgan? I have no idea how it works either. Itâs strange. Itâs almost like we might have to figure it out together. What a tragedy, discovering the world with you, my favorite person. Sooooo dreadful.Â
Oh donât worry, Iâve 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 wouldâve 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 wouldâve been impossible, but I wish she couldâve seen what the fae had done for her. I know what most people think, I know what the public thought, but if she just couldâve seen it...
[user is idle]
I would. I would say youâve done a lot. For so many people.
And while weâre at it, an elephant?
You wouldnât, 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 canât. Just as Iâd never know the plight of a zombie. Iâm thankful you respect fae enough not to step on a gnome. They get stepped on a lot.
You...what? Morgan, Iâm so sorry.Â
No, Iâm sorry. I got a little defensive. Iâm used to...people thinking less of certain types of fae. And the same thought that starts deciding what is worthy of life and what isnât is the thought that gets people I care about killed. Or almost killed. For as good as a hunter might be, theyâre still a hunter. And Iâm not so hypocritical to think that doesnât apply to me either. Iâm 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. Iâve 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 Iâm not related to doesnât 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.Â
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]
Iâm sorry.Â
The, uh, handfasting isnât important to me. But itâs a nice idea. I think it sounds like a nice idea.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
IâŚguess I like my hair. Iâve always had really nice hair. I like thatâŚwhatever Mina sees in me makes her smile.Â
Mina is the only good thing about me. I donât know why she loves me, but she does. If thatâs the only something else I get thenâŚmaybe itâs enough. I donât know. I donât know what else I do. It feels like all I do is hurt people and get hurt in return.
No, I donât know. Maybe. Iâm just so tired. Iâve tried so hard to find something to get out and thereâs nothing and maybe itâs better if I just stay. Iâm losing hope. I havenât told Morgan or Mina that yet but itâsÂ
I care about you, too. I wish I could just believe you.
Did youâ have a problem with it? I donât know if itâs something more. I havenât been out enough to know. If Iâm just drinking in my house, my room, my kitchen, then itâs fine. Iâm not bothering anyone or ruining things or missing work or school. I donât 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 didnât need to do that to myself, too. It doesnât have a name. I justâŚdo it sometimes. Sometimes a bottle, sometimes only half. It just depends. It doesnât feel like a problem.
.
Fine. Iâll 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. Sheâs your partner, okay? Youâre in this together. When youâre worried about how to love her, sheâs the one you ask. When you think sheâs going to slip, you tell her. Donât let it stew in your head.Â
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 havenât figured that one out either. I know, Bex. Iâm sorry.Â
Itâs not better if you stay and you know that, Bex. Itâs hard and tiring, I understand, and you donât need to be trying and fighting all the time, but it is not better. You know this already; if you wonât lie about me being the most attractive woman you know then donât lie about thinking itâs better. Easier, simpler...but never better.Â
Ha. Donât worry about it. I tell Morgan that exact thing at least ten times a day. Itâs 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 thatâs the great deception of it, itâs not all drunk driving and public embarrassment. Sometimes itâs 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.
[pm] Maybe? A little? I just hate not knowing if Iâm unfairly lucky or just stupid hopelessly naive about my new existence. And I donât know how much we could have something like what fae have. What we areâŚit happens to us. Griffin doesnât even know who made him, it was just some rando. The guy didnât stay or leave a note or anything. And you know what happened to Remmy. Itâs traumatic. And we all have such different baggage around it, different experiences, and we canât sense each other. And obviously I donât have an amazing sample size, but every zombie Iâve met, including myself, is sliding somewhere along the self-hatred spectrum. I donât know if weâd be able to make something good or if weâd just bring each other down. But I want something better, yeah. Weâre supposed to be here til the world ends. Eventually, immortals will be all each other has. Donât we need something good to make that okay?
I know what we have is special. I justâŚdonât want to feel like an idiot later on for believing that itâs special enough to make me different. I want it to be true. I want to be happy with you.
Do you thinkâŚthere 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 guessâŚyouâre right. About the garden. I hate seeing people hurt. Especially if itâs because theyâve been taught to hate themselves. And I just thinkâŚwouldnât it be better for everyone if they were okay? They wouldnât hurt, and they wouldnât hurt other people, and thatâs worth it, right? And maybe thatâsâŚa good use of my energy. I can maybe actually get something right and fix something for a little while. Are you sure itâs okay? Should my metaphorical garden be smaller? Is my doing this going to break something really badly someday?
You know, Iâve never had a dog before. So that means we definitely have to at least a few times. Especially all of those.
Is that something thatâs important to you? Ceremonies of love, handfasting, fae marriage-but-only-kinda?
Hey, if everything changes, then maybe weâll 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 donât think weâre in danger of boredom.
Everything hunters say or pretend they are. The whole, âdoing the hard work for the good of humanityâ 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 wouldnât have to go into fights alone! Maybe the sapients that still give a shit wouldnât 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 wouldnât be so traumatized!
I donât 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, itâs not so bad, my love. You all have a shared trauma, in one sense. No oneâs experience of anything is completely the same, because no two people are; no two lives are. Why donât you think you could make something good? I happen to think you have a very noble desire.
You donât think a love spanning half a millennium could be something special? Oh, my love, I think youâre 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 youâd understand that youâve made a lot right already. You do, just by virtue of being you. But if youâre asking me if you need to love less, no. Absolutely not. Maybe the kind of love shifts over the years, maybe it isnât like a garden anymore, but right now...if this is what feels right to you, I can not tell you that itâs wrong. Maybe itâll break something, but what itâll break certainly isnât us. Iâd like to think Iâve evolved beyond being a flower, perhaps Iâm the greenhouse.Â
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-- âThe sapientsâ.... what do you mean? Where do you draw the line there? So pixies...sapient. But leprechauns? Brownies? CĂš-sĂŹth? Kelpie? Are those all...meant to be killed? The kind of thing youâd help a hunter like Adam get rid of? The hungry zombie? The unfortunate spawn? All designed for death? Are they a âreal problemâ? 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 âeverything a hunter should beâ but youâre thanking a butcher for not raising his knife. I donât agree. If the other hunters were brave enough to be like him, Lydia would be dead ten times over. I wonât accept it.Â
I am sorry for your trauma, my love.Â
He was loved. Thatâs more than some people get. Sometimes its just ashes in an alley.Â