#sidusignes

[suresaint-moved]

@sidusignes

Zelda had to stop. Had to, because there was no other choice. Had to, because her legs, aching and heavy, and her feet, burning, throbbing, couldn’t take her any further. They almost gave out on her. Almost. When she took another step forward, she felt the way her thighs trembled under her weight. The last of her strength fell to dust. She reached out for the wall to brace herself; other arm cradling the baby wrapped against her chest, hand covering her head in case she fell. That she might hurt her daughter was the only thing which kept that from happening. “Marielle --” Panic in her voice. A tremor went through her. Evie must have felt it because she started stirring, whining. “I need you to take her,” she said. “P--please. Shit.”

Too much walking. Not enough sleeping. Not enough food. Not enough water. Not enough quiet. Just constant running. Constant watching their backs. Constant danger. Fuck all of this. Would you believe she used to think an apocalypse would be cool? In reality, there was nothing cool about it. She was just -- scared. All the time. Scared, hungry, thirsty, tired. Dirty. Zelda looked down at Evie when she felt her move. “Hey, bud,” she said softly, touching over Evie’s wild blonde curls. Then her forehead. Still scorching hot. “Almost there.” She slumped against the wall. “We’ll find you somethin’ for that fever you got.” Please let there be something left over.

[sresnt]

@sidusignes  ,   marielle and zelda 

Zelda thrusts the shovel’s sharp tip into the soil and pushes on its handle with the full weight of her body, sinking the blade, as deep as it will go, into the dirt. She grinds it down in a half circle, loosening the patch of earth she is planning to use to grow sweet potatoes. Then she forces the thistle out with a strong heave. The roots snap. She feels the spade’s cutting edge sever the tough roots from the bed, loosening then tearing as she heaves the shovel out. The soil erupts, the thistle crowning the mound. She grabs the ugly, purple weed, with all its ragged roots, in triumph, and dumps it into the wheelbarrow next to her like she’s shooting a basketball through its net. 

It’s October, it isn’t warm out, but she’s sweating as she stands and rests against the shovel with a heavy breath. She pinches the fingers of a stained gardening glove and pulls it off, wiping at her forehead and looking over at the house. Sometimes she can see her wife in the kitchen window, making a cup of tea or sitting at the kitchen table with the cat. They spent a lot of time in that kitchen together. It was probably Zelda’s favourite spot in the whole entire house, save for their bedroom, that is. 

Zelda looks at her wrist watch. Evie will be finishing school soon. So she abandons the wheelbarrow, half filled with all the docks, thistles, nestles, and brambles, removes her second glove, and heads towards the house. When she reaches the open back door, she leans against the wall and wriggles her foot out of a boot caked heavily in mud, calling out for Marielle as she hits the boot against the ground to shake the clumps of dirt from its sole.

[faithfell]

@sidusignes​​

It was an odd room. Not too big, not too small. With so many things to look at she could hardly decide where to start. One of the walls seemed entirely made up of books. And everywhere Rachel looked she noticed the framed pictures, the paintings, the plants; all of the quirky ornaments. Wedged between two armchairs was a side table in the shape of a funny looking cat, upon which sat two coasters, a television remote, and -- a pot of Play-Doh? A perfect mismatch of stuff. Rachel kind of liked it. It felt... cosy. It felt lived in.

Only it felt like she was intruding. Or at the very least like she was in the way. So she tried making herself as small as she possibly could, pressed into the corner of the room as she watched the two women discuss where best to put the air mattress. There was only one place suitable for it, really, but the two seemed so lost in their own conversation that she didn’t want to interrupt. Eventually, Marielle’s wife, Zelda, dragged the coffee table to the side of the room. The bed was rolled out across the rug, in front of the log burner.

“Oh yeah -- fits perfectly.” Zelda said, her hands on her hips. “Just needs inflating.” The woman looked at Rachel with such kind eyes that Rachel could hardly stand it.

Then, a cat appeared. Bumped the side of her calf with its head. It wore a collar with a bell on it, which jingled as it weaved itself between her ankles; purring loudly. Rachel glanced down at it, half unsure of it, and when she looked up again she noticed a dog, too. Sitting in the doorway. Head tilted curiously up at her. He was a big, blonde, dopey looking thing which reminded her of Marielle’s wife. How funny. 

“Th -- thank you for this. Really.” Rachel glanced between the couple. “I promise I won’t be here for long. J -- just a few nights. And I’ll pay you. You must let me pay you for it...” Please. She didn’t want to be a charity case. “You’re both really kind.”

[bonepith]

@sidusignes​

A whistle-blower. A whistle-blower saved her. How long has it been? Four... five --- no, six -- six years. Six years in the dark. Six years dead. Still no opportunity to kill the one woman who had taken everything from her, taken everything from everyone. She didn’t recognise any of the faces who saved her, except for one, vaguely, but she remembered the girl being twelve, with a fuller face and a smile. Now the girl was eighteen and sharped eyed and never smiled. She was harsh, because she had to be harsh, because the new world was harsh. 

Vera, frail and underfed, cloaked in a smelling, itchy blanket, was helped out of the back of the van and brought into the stark white light of day. She immediately scrunched up her eyes, a stranger to natural light, head pounding, body shaking. Somebody had their hand on her back for support, like they thought she might collapse. A sack of old bones. Where are we? She wanted to ask. She couldn’t speak. Overwhelmed by her surroundings. The light, the birds, the wind, the monotonous rumble of the van engine, the people, the faces, the voices... the feel of the cold, fresh air on her face for the first time in almost a decade. Slowly, Vera tilted her face towards the skies and breathed in deep.

[suresaint]

@sidusignes

It was by chance that her boat found itself in the eye of Poseidon’s rage. He took its bow and stern in his strong hands and tore the vessel in two, scattering the bodies of the crew like grain for the birds. Aphrodite watched as the waters claimed her daughter’s body, and with terror in her heart she raced from her seat on Olympus to plead with the sea God who loved her most of all. She found him on his throne and fell before him, placing one hand upon his great knee and reaching to take his chin with her fingers. She implored him to save her daughter’s life, and because he loved Aphrodite dearly he listened and went immediately to rescue Zelda, the daughter of the goddess of love and beauty. Gathering the young woman in his great arms, Poseidon cast her body from the depths of his waters and lay her gently upon the shores of the Island of Chiros, on a bed of sea foam, and she slept there peacefully, unscathed and undying, as though the storm had all been a terrible dream…

She was roused awake by a woman’s voice, but when she opened her eyes she found that she was alone. She lay in the cool, wet sand in a daze, confused, until the ocean rushed upon her in a flood of saltwater, and she started in shock, and pulled herself to her hands and knees with a ragged breath in. At once the air filled her lungs and the life she had almost lost rushed back into her. Blindly she groped her way up the beach until her hands met with the hot, dry sands, where she stayed, palms and knees burning, until her heart calmed.

Spitting the sand and grit from her mouth, she got to her feet and looked around. Somehow she had been spared, but she did not know where she was, or how she would return home. She had lain unconscious in the sun long enough that her skin was raw to the touch, shoulders as red and glowing as a hot poker. She was thirsty, and sun burnt, and needed to find shelter or she would die. So she wandered into the forest, dripping in sand and saltwater, and prayed that this was not the will of some spurned God who desired to see her suffer.

At the first sound of trickling water she gave out a small cry. Tears would have fallen from her eyes had she any to spare. She rushed onwards, following the musical notes of running fresh water like a sailor maddened by the beautiful song of a Siren. She burst through the canopy into the opening, and was greeted by a glorious spring, so clear that she could see herself reflected in its surface.

Right away she dropped to her knees and stooped eagerly over the water’s edge, scooping the water into her palms and slurping greedily, unawares of her surroundings. She splashed the cold water onto the back of her burning neck, and washed the sweat from her face and chest, and would have laughed aloud at her luck had she not looked across the pool and met the black eyes of a vicious guard dog.

Her heart shuddered and she went still, unable to look away from the animal. His jowls were pulled back to reveal its sharp canines, a low growl in its belly. Slowly, she raised a hand, and leant back on the heels of her feet, ready to flee should it give chase. Then from the corner of her eye she caught the flash of movement. Something hit her hard in the temple, knocking her down, and everything went black.

[lethabya-blog]

(dagny + zoe) ‘they want you to do another job.’

“ HMPH! THEY CAN FUCK THEMSELVES. ” If it was not an emergency, then she was not moving. And if anyone was to try it, then they would soon regret it. No one would, of course. These days she was less than friendly. Her face was sharp like her sister’s. The stress and the gravity of being a leader had gotten to her. Nowadays, she was militant even when she wasn’t training civilians on how to fight or defend themselves; even when she was here, with her Zoe, she was hard edges and cutting words. Dagny did not mean to be harsh, but, like so many others, this war had changed her. It had left her a little more callous, a little more dour. If only Adalwolfa could see her! How alike their scowls were. The same grimace! They could pass for twins these days. Brutus would have laughed at her if he was still alive. 

Dagny drags her feet along the floor of their bedroom. The bed lets out all kinds of creaks and groans as she shifts her great weight upon it, then stands. All of a sudden, their room feels smaller. Everything shrinks next to her, shrivelling up in fear of her sheer mass, her log-like arms and boulders for knuckles. She bore the same air as a provoked gorilla. “No more from Dagny. No more, not tonight.” Dagny looks at Zoe. She gives a single shake of her head, her eyes puppy-like. She wants to say: I am depleted! Her face twitches and she looks away, faint lines drawing across her forehead. Then she scowls. “One more job…”

@sidusignes [  MEME / OPEN  ]

[sresnt]

@sidusignes

“Have you got it? Mind your footing,” Zelda says, keeping a supportive grip on Marielle’s forearm as Marielle climbs into the attic. “And your head.” She glances behind her at the precarious floorboards before stepping back to make room for her wife, offering her free hand for Marielle to grab, in case she needs it. 

“Creepy up here.” Zelda glimpses the far end of the attic, where it’s too dark to see anything except for all the dark shapes made by the stack of boxes. At least, she hopes it’s just boxes and not somebody hiding in the corner. “I really didn’t realise just how much stuff we shoved up here over the years.”

[suresaint-moved]

❝ People can say what they like about you. But you’re a good person. More people should say that. And someone should be willing to defend it. ❞ (marielle)

@sidusignes

Good people don’t run away and leave other people to die. Good people stay. Good people try to help. Zelda hid her face in her hands and lowered herself forward, groaning. “What is wrong with me?” She felt ashamed, she felt pathetic. She felt useless. “I ran, I just ran.” Coward. “I didn’t help, I just ran.” Everyone would hate her for it! They would never trust her again. She couldn’t face them. Even Marielle. It was worse with Marielle. How was she supposed to be able to protect Marielle and Evie if all she could do in the face of danger was run away? Zelda’s hands trembled. In the dark of her palms, she screwed up her face in fear and cried. 

“God, no,” she groaned. “No.” Images flashed across the backs of her eyelids. Gunfire. Screams. Blood. Bodies. Johannes Earl’s yellow teeth. Marielle. Marielle dead. Evie, crying. Alone, alone. Her skin was on fire. Somebody was stabbing her heart, over and over. When she tried to breathe, the air felt trapped half way into her lungs. She sucked and sucked but she couldn’t breathe! So she sat up straight, gripping her knees with her shaky hands. Stop. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about all of it. You idiot! Why? Why are you thinking about it? What’s wrong with you? Stop. 

Between her short gasps of breath, she flinched, repulsed, and rocked gently back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut again. The panic swelled, then shrank back like the tide. Eventually, she had calmed enough to speak. “I’m not a good person, Marielle,” she whispered, snot nosed. Her cheeks stained with tears. “I don’t know why I did it. I j -- just -- I just...” Ran. Her bottom lip trembled. She still wouldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t stand to look at Marielle. She was too scared of what she might see. “They almost died because of me. If it hadn’t been for Dagny...” Things could have been much, much worse. It was her fault.

“I’m -- so --  sorry. I thought I could. I t -- tried. Yo -- you know? H -- how am I supposed to protect you a -- and Evie if I can’t -- if I can’t --” She grit her teeth so hard they almost cracked. “I just ran away. I don’t know, I don’t know.”

[sresnt]

continued from here  ,  @sidusignes​ 

Nobody said anything for a while. Dagny, whose large arms were folded across her chest, looked lost, like she was slowly trying to piece together the conversation. Next to Dagny sat Chapman, with a hand to the blonde lump’s thigh. Vera’s head was lowered into her papers, shrewd eyes scrutinising each word with full-bore accuracy. The leader of the Citadel had heard Scarlett, but, for some reason, ignored her. 

The only noise which could be heard came from Zelda, of course. Her chair squeaked each time she reclined it. She tapped her feet against the carpet, drummed her pen against the table’s edge. One corner of her chair kept knocking into Alice’s, which in turn gave a repetitive thud. She stared at the crates of beer with a pursed smile, one that did not touch her exhausted eyes, and eventually shook her head. “Maybe another night,” she replied when no one else spoke, and it seemed then that everyone wanted to speak, like she had broken some unstated, awkward silence. 

It was Vera, quiet, placid Vera, whose voice managed to win out over the rest. “They have a plan,” she said. “A plan that has been who knows how long in the making. But so far they have executed each step perfectly.” Vera’s cool, amber eyes went to Marielle. “Almost perfectly,” she rectified, then continued. “But the point is still that they have a plan. And we do not.” That annoyed her more than anything, to be unawares. To know nothing at all. Vera did not know how to handle it. “They know all of our weaknesses. All of our strengths...��

    “Dagny has no weakness,” Dagny cut in, expression suddenly ashen. Everyone turned their heads and looked at her. No one said anything. Not even Zelda, who was remembering Dagny’s fear of fire, said anything in response.

     Zelda stopped fidgeting in her seat, tossed the pen onto the table, and shoved her hands into her trouser pockets with a long, loud breath. “I think the first thing we need to figure out is what in the ever lovin’ fuck they want. Marielle’s... clone was like -- was like -- with what happened, you know, with...” She swallowed, and for the first time glanced at the thin looking man standing at the back, away from the table. Alistair. “You know. It was like that. Her eyes were empty. Switched off.” Zelda didn’t look at Alice, but she felt her alright. 

[suresaint-moved]

followed for zelda and stayed for zelda bc she is my favourite godchild !!!!!

Tell me why you followed me and what made you stay.

she truly is your godchild!!!!! only you know the embarrassing growth she has gone through in her long long rp life

[suresaint-moved]

@sidusignes​ asked: "It shouldn't be this hard to put a crib together. Who wrote these instructions? Was it this difficult the first time?"

By this point she was used to the not so clear instructions which came with almost everything to do with babies and small children. It was like all of these companies enjoyed making the parents’ lives just that little bit harder. Zelda spent half of her time on Evie’s birthday or at Christmas fixing up her new toys for her to play with. Not that she minded, really. She liked being useful, and loved knowing that she was making their daughter happy too.

Zelda set the last wooden pieces to the crib over the carpet and sat back on her feet to examine it all. “I don’t remember it being too difficult.” No harder than now, she thought. At least this time around she had some experience with building complex baby cribs. She turned her attention to her wife, holding out her hand for the instructions. “Let me take a look. I’m an expert in reading instruction manuals.” And an expert in completely disregarding them, too. Often times she figured there were better ways of doing something, provided they were safe enough for a newborn baby.

Unsurprisingly, she barely looked at the instructions before she was abandoning the manual. “Okay, we got... eight fifty millimetre bolts, eight seventy millimetre bolts, eight barrel nuts, two ends, two cot sides, one base... Where’s the Allen Key? The box said it came with an A --- oh there it is.” Hiding beneath some of the styrofoam packing, along with Zelda’s favoured flathead screwdriver. She grabbed both things and held them up almost proudly for Marielle to see. “Hey girl, are you a screw driver? ‘Cause I’m goin’ nuts over you.”

[suresaint-moved]

"I once watched you drink noodles out of a shoe." (Scarlett)

@sidusignes

Zelda remembered the moment vividly, but she wouldn’t let the disgust she felt for her past self show on her face. “No you didn’t... don’t tell Marielle.”

[suresaint-moved]

( SIT ) sitting on their lap.

@sidusignes

Alice had been debating the usefulness of lint rollers for the past hour and a half. Zelda was nestled into a corner of the sofa, half distracted by the small silk label on the inner part of her sweater, which she was rubbing between her fingers because she liked the feel of it, and it was soothing. The red paper party hat she wore kept slipping over her eyes, and each time it happened she nudged it back over her hairline. When it happened again, her wife was standing above her, and she gave Marielle a drunken, loving, lopsided grin. “Are you joining me?” She slurred sleepily out, already making room for her wife in her lap and giving it a pat. “Saved you the second best seat in the house --- can’t offer you the first ‘til we’re alone or I’ll get in trouble.”

Zelda tilted her head back, and her party hat drooped over her eyes again. Only this she didn’t move it, grinning stupidly, and now blindly, as she felt the familiar weight of Marielle’s body settling into her lap. A deep, contented sigh escaped her. Zelda wrapped her arms around Marielle’s waist and gently knocked her nose against Marielle’s shoulder, casually sniffing her. “Can we go home soon?” She whispered, almost childishly; finding a way to nudge the party hat back onto her head by using her wife’s arm as a prop. “Whilst she’s distracted.” Alice. In the heat of debate, she wouldn’t notice if they decided to slip away, and by the time she did notice it would be too late. Zelda kissed Marielle’s smooth, exposed shoulder, then pressed her cheek to it and closed her eyes, imagining the two of them at home already, out of their clothes and under their duvet. Cuddling up in the dark. 

       “I want to be in bed with you.”

[faithfell]

"I bet it's really boring working here, right? The last guy said he hated it. Every single night." (Scarlett)

@sidusignes​

Rachel looked despondently into her watery cup of cheap hot chocolate. It was more grey than brown and it tasted more like the disposable cup than chocolate. She was really only using it to warm her hands with. “Yeah,” she said eventually, half heartedly; sadly. She was sure the other woman was only making conversation to be nice, to help ease some of the dragging agony of doing a twelve hour shift through the dead of night when there was no one else around, but it just made her feel worse. “It’s not the best, but at least it’s somethin’.” Mustering a very weak smile, Rachel met Scarlett’s eye. “An’ besides, I keep thinkin’ -- just a stopgap. Won’t be forever.” It couldn’t be forever. She wouldn’t let herself think it was going to be forever. If she started believing that, she’d only spiral. There had to be something more for her out there. Had to be. “I guess I don’t mind the night shifts so much, really. I sleep better durin’ the day. Ain’t so silent, then.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “This time of night... it’s like I’m the only person left in the whole entire world.”

[suresaint-moved]

what's zelda's absolute grossest habit ??

zelda’s grossest habit of all time is loving marielle with her whole heart

[faithfell]

' it’s just you and me. that’s it. ' (alice)

@sidusignes

Was it? “Well, that’s good,” she said meekly, a little flatly, staring at her lawyer from across the table with a pair of intelligent, unnerving eyes, hands motionless in her lap. She supposed it was true. It was just the two of them. It only needed to be the two of them. Rachel would say the wrong things if Faith allowed her to front. So it was better this way, in an environment as unfamiliar and unnatural as this one, if Faith was in control. Faith wouldn’t bend like Rachel would. Rachel would make mistakes. This woman would get bored. Lose interest. She would ruin any chance they had of winning the case and then they would be locked up for good.

Faith didn’t trust lawyers. Didn’t trust them to do the job properly. They all stank the same, like money and superficiality. They made her think of John; how much cologne he wore to try and mask the stench of it. Lawyers, like everyone else, needed to feel that there was an investment. Faith would make herself worth investing in. This woman wasn’t any different than the rest. Faith only need look at her to see it. Her perfect hair, perfect figure, perfect clothes. And, of course, the wedding ring on her finger. 

             Perfect life...

Faith hated her for it already. She hated the comfortable normalcy of it. She would go home, leave her work at the front door; forget about all of this. Faith would not let that happen. By the end of today, this woman was going to spend her entire drive home thinking about Rachel Jessop and how pitiable her life was. She would think about her again when she dished up dinner for her little family, if she has one. And again when she got ready for bed, and got under nice, clean sheets, and rested her head on her pillow. Rachel. Faith.

On cue, her lip trembled and somehow she grew smaller, folding in on herself. Her hands still did not move, except to loosen a lock of hair across her face. Half hiding. 

           “It’s all just --- - so hard to talk about...”