#( * replies. )

[malumae]

@roaringdr4gon ( cont. )

"it is only the aesthetics that differ between the materials i listed. the inside will be made from the same refractory mortar and firebrick to contain the heat. you won't be able to see it." he sighs, running a hand through the pale locks of hair he hasn't bothered to tie up today. that much should have been obvious he thinks, although he bites his tongue in front of the high elder. "marble would perhaps suit your tastes?"

[ladyintree]

@warpainte  [...] everything was supposed to go back to ‘normal’ now.     she won the election against the odds,  the blackmailer was dead and no longer threatening to dig up their past,    mikayla was out of town and no longer taunting tai with their a history that no longer felt like history,    and tai assumed with all the stresses put to rest,   that she was finally done sleepwalking again,   and she could brush it all off as a fluke.    it was just the stress of the election,  the blackmail,   the blast from the past,   nothing more,   nothing real to worry herself with.   the rest was supposed to be simple   —    there was no reason for her family not to return to her now,   so that tai could finally repair that piece of her life as if it were that simple,   not taking into account that simone had her reasons for staying away — even before what exposed what tai herself was not aware of happening in their own basement.

simone’s warning forced tai to face what she had been avoiding  —   that this wasn’t just as simple as sleepwalking over temporary chaos,   it wasn’t as simple as accidentally letting their dog out,   it wasn’t as simple as a waiting it out until it was all over,  for her family to return to her as if nothing happened,   like taissa wasn’t struggling and hadn’t betrayed them.     something darker was going on here,   something taissa has told herself for 25 years now that she didn’t ever believe in —-  so why is it here,    and what does it mean?    sammy’s doll,    a picture-perfect image of her son,    along with their pet dog,   topped off with a symbol that used to make her angry,   horrify her,   and give her some strange sense of hope all at once.   in some way,   she does know what it all means:    it means that she was right to tell her family to leave,   and it means that simone was right to want to keep sammy away,   and worst of all,   it means simone is right about tai being sick.   she’s not ready to face that,   not ready to face her. 

is this what you wanted?    the words play on repeat in her head,   only from a dream,   but when she looked at simone in that hospital bed,   it’s all she can think about.   simone had done nothing but support her over the years,   but the idea of her trying to get tai help made her feel trapped,   completely out of control of her own life,   and tai refused to listen,   only making it so much worse in the process.   she was fine before simone exposed the altar in the basement,   she was convincing herself she was thriving,   that she was finally back on track —-  but now,   ever since seeing it for herself,   she’s only spiraled more,   to the point where she’s barely standing on her own anymore,   barely conscious,   and making no commitment to wait here with her wife.

she doesn’t remember how she got here.   that should terrify her,   because it means she’s only losing more control,    but for a moment,   she’s not thinking about that.   she’s never been here before,   but she knows exactly where she is —-   standing in front of mikayla’s home,   moments away from knocking and facing her again after she’d said goodbye just a few days ago,   assuming it was forever.   it’s finally starting to hit her what she’s really doing:    she’s almost ready to admit that she needs help,   but not from the person who’s been offering it,   trying so hard to give it to her even when tai doesn’t deserve the support from her.   no,   she came here because she’s always been drawn to her,   the person who has helped her before,   even when she didn’t know how,   because she wasn’t trying to give her help in ways that tai found so debilitating.   she helped her because she understood her —-  which is something tai has never given her wife the opportunity to do,   because the way she’s presented herself since rescue has always been so calculated,   so much so that even she could convince herself that was who she really was.   being around mikayla again only reminded her that it wasn’t,   that she was always going to be the person she was out in that wilderness with her —-   so now she's here,   despite no real welcome,   despite no preparation,   despite no reason for mikayla to actually give her the time of day,   but with as much as she’s lost even after assuming her life was finally settled,   this is the only place that feels right to be.    

the person on mikayla’s doorstep is not the same woman she almost kissed nights ago.   while her confidence was already faltering that night,  it’s nothing compared to this —-   bags under her bloodshot eyes,   shoulders slumped,  hair a mess,  clothes disheveled.   the state senator elect is certainly a sight to see like this,   but one that mikayla will likely be able to understand all too well:    it’s the same sleep deprived,  panicked,  barely coherent girl she used chase through the wilderness many years ago.   tai isn’t considering what it will be like for mikayla to see her like this,   she’s not considering the fact that reaching out to her like this is entirely unfair given her refusal to do the same for all those years mikayla was in prison,   and she’s definitely not considering the fact that it could be her wife who answers the door instead.    all she’s thinking about is that she needs mikayla desousa.    it’s selfish,  inconsiderate,  but maybe brave,  too —  because as she reaches her hand up to knock on the door,   she suddenly freezes.   instead of knocking,   her hand moves back to her hair,   attempting to tame the curls before smoothing her sweater in front of her.   she clears her throat,   trying to recall the last time she brushed or teeth or changed her clothes — everything before getting off that train is a blur to her now,   and she realizes she’s entirely unprepared for this,   but it’s far too late to turn back now.   

she takes a deep breath, but her usual attempt to collect herself before a confrontation fails. she realizes now that there's nothing that can properly prepare her for this conversation, she can only hope that mikayla will understand without forcing it out of her — or worse, slamming the door in her face. she shrugs it off, because she led herself here for a reason, leaving behind the people she should have been catering to instead; it can't be for nothing. finally, she knocks on the door, the tired eyes lifting into something that's almost a hopeful smile as she waits for her.

the door opens, and her legs suddenly feel wobbly, her hand quickly reaching for the door frame just to hold herself steady. but her features contradict the rest of her exhausted body language, and she starts to smile upon seeing her, as if that's going to distract her from everything else that's wrong with her ( everything mikayla knows so intimately, even years later. ) tai makes no effort to try to explain herself, no attempt to make this any less weird than it is. all she does is give her a small nod, her voice innocently muttering a simple, ❝  hi. ❞

[toprayarc]

as water sinks through the back of an oversized t-shirt, spattered onto the bright and bold 'bite me' scrawled across the center, steam rolls out and away from the previously housed bathroom. swirls fresh scents against the rest of the apartment. at a moment's notice, mari comes sweeping out from the shower: grapefruit clung to the twists and turns of her hair, citrus squeezing out of the sides of her mouth. she's nothing but casual air, an allowance to her home, and a trust thickened with a now aforementioned absence.

"did you change your signature scent recently?" — @deadpoolurl.

wade's words spring upwards, wry. a commentary that brings a twitch of a lip, a pluck-up of a cigarette, and a swing to her hip: jutted outward, and sunk to lax states. "sure did, baby." a click of mari's tongue sounds, form navigating to lean over the coffee table — hands folding a lighter into her palm. "but don't get too u — used to it." a grin bares itself clean, a chuckle tempting at the back of her throat. "i'd hate to see you mourn such a brief encounter."

[promethies]

let me take a look at your injury. from penelope

he feels the barely there graze of her fingertips along the golden expanse of his muscles, where torn skin meets the ropes of muscles, carved carefully as an act to maim, but not kill. prometheus knows intimately what it means to promise death, knowing the cruel fate of it for too long, engulfed in centuries of pain. flesh flinches instinctively when she presses far too close to the tender wound, and there's a sharp hiss that escapes prometheus's gritted teeth. "it's not too bad," his timbre is gruff, low, yet softening at the edges in the presence of her. emerald hues, flicked with traces of gold specks, lands on the outline of her features, and instinctively, the tension that is wrought in his muscles dissipates slowly. "i appreciate it."

[kotaerukoto]

@boomermania replied:

FACTS MY BROTHER SPEAK THY SHIT INDEED

[topray]

LET'S SET THE SCENE: mid-night, inky-black, the hot swarms of a summer bath. steam rolls over the streets. or, if looked closely, smoke. one or the other, the evening reverberates heat. sun, still stuck to the concrete. mari dai enters the frame with nothing but wide eyes, smeared lips, and a trembling spine. vacant with a hunger, hammering at her head. [IT'S LIKE— RAW MEAT, OR RAVENOUS TASTES, OR THE RAMMING OF HORNS AGAINST THE INSIDES OF HER STOMACH. LIKE BILE, OR BACKWASH, OR BLACK TAR STICKING TO HER THROAT. IT'S LIKE NOTHING SHE'D EVER FELT IN HER LIFE. IT'S LIKE NOTHING SHE'LL EVER FEEL AGAIN.] she's been alone for weeks. days. minuscule minutes that add up by the hours. swept along the side of her lip, mari drains the remains of someone's life. webs it across her tongue. her gaze, tearful, almost sings with relief. SOMEONE IS STARING, AND—

LOUIS DE PINTE DU LAC [@masteredinstinct] : "they saw you. but they won't say anything."

bared teeth create an animal. sharp fangs prick at the edges of her mouth. (red, crimson, carmine, burgundy—) THE COLORS GRADIENT ACROSS HER CHEEKS. FERAL, AND UNCONTAINED. "they better not." her hands swipe away spatters of blood. comb through the tresses of dark hair. her stare pierces, accusatory, as fists curl to her sides; her ribcage clenched into reactive states. "i'd hate to c — cause a scene."

[gankdemonsarc]

bitch.

"jerk."

[starcunin]

@weavesick ﹕ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭’𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 ? what are they … to one another ? gale might say that they’re friends , but astarion hasn’t had friends before. not a single one , not one that he can remember ever having. he doesn’t know how to do this , to do whatever it is that they’re doing here. they haven’t had sex , though astarion has made the attempt early on. they haven’t even kissed , but the spawn often catches his eyes lingering upon the wizard’s lips a little too long while he’s speaking— working too hard to not be distracted , and actually listen to the words gale says. and it’s strange , to actually feel like he wants someone for once. something that once felt like a necessary , vital thing to do , for protection ( and gale is a powerful wizard , after all , and someone who seemed easy to manipulate and control ) , now feels like something else entirely.

astarion has tried to convince himself that he’s still using gale , regardless of whether or not they are having sex. gale is still a person he could get close to , without being physically intimate with him. he could still flatter him , preen at him , tell him everything he wants to hear until he’s lapping it out of the palm of astarion’s hands , but— exactly when did it stop feeling like a lie ? when did the sweet nothings he whispers start feeling like somethings ? he can’t recall—

he only knows that the simple notion of gale dying , at the demand of a goddess who is only using him like a pawn , 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. part of him wanted to write it off as if it was just a pesky guilty conscience , for treating gale the exact same way. but there’s more to it than that , especially now , as the wizard sits absently on the ground inside of his tent. astarion knows there’s more to it than that— because he actually cares. that annoying gnawing at his chest , his stomach tied in knots , and he doesn’t know what love is supposed to feel like. he wouldn’t know it if it fell into his lap , but … if this is love he’s feeling , it’s fucking painful.

he almost hoped gale hadn’t heard him , pale fingers combing through brown waves , dancing across the tanned flesh of his neck. these little touches weren’t new , astarion touches gale often. in little ways , here and there. astarion had no idea how much these little touches would mean to him , but here he is— touching. wanting to touch. wanting gale to know he is here with him. astarion holds breath that he doesn’t need to breathe upon gale’s ‘what?’ , unsure of what to anticipate. and perhaps annoyance isn’t exactly what the spawn had been expecting , not after saying one of the first purposefully genuine things he’s ever said to the wizard , to which astarion can’t help but react a little defensively , if only to protect feelings he doesn’t quite understand yet.

astarion bats away gale’s accusatory finger just as it’s jabbed in his direction , and suddenly his sentimental demeanor has vanished. the mask has returned. he doesn’t know how to do this. he doesn’t know how to care for people. let alone people who might quite literally blow up in flames , ❛  oh , yes , very good— i’m so happy i’m the one being ridiculous here— because for a moment there , darling , i was starting to think you might actually be considering it.  ❜ his words are half sarcastic , and half unreasonably miffed that gale seems to be angry ( unreasonably because gale should be angry. he should be furious. he should be telling mystra to go fuck herself ).

but he’s done none of that. he hasn’t even said that he wasn’t considering it. which only tells astarion that he is. and gods , something about it lights a flame beneath the spawn’s backside. ❛ i was just trying to be sweet to you , but if you want me to be frank— only a fool would do what mystra is asking you to do , ❜ and the words sting his own cold heart as they leave his lips , and as much as he means them , he wants them to be different. less harsh , ❛ i refuse to believe that someone as powerful as the goddess of magic ( the title is uttered with such contempt ) only has one solution to our little cult problem , and that solution ends with you exploding all over bloody faerûn. ❜ his voice is somewhat stern , there’s clearly emotion in his undertone , as much as he tries to hide it.

[adiosnachito]

CONT. FROM HERE , @cannib4l.

⠀⠀light seeps through in small cracks,⠀just enough to illuminate a slither of lalo's face as he walks through the cellar. despite rafael's two week ordeal,⠀lalo is in no rush.⠀⠀he hardly ever is.⠀⠀‘really?’ lalo laughs a little,⠀flattered that he might be worth the hastle,⠀‘maybe i just didn't get the invitation, eh?’ fumbling in his pocket for a flashlight,⠀he nears rafael & sighs deeply. ‘mano, mano. no tienes que disculparte. is over, no? lalo is here.’ he's laughing again.

⠀⠀the flashlight is now on & clamped between his teeth. lalo gets to work on the zip ties,⠀‘this place is muuuucho bigger than i thought. but the guards, like a gato durmiendo.’ the light conversation of lalo salamanca contrasts heavily with the situation in hand. but it's okay,⠀he has it under control. rafael is finally freed and lalo aids him to a standing position,⠀his legs quite possibly dead from all the sitting. ‘let's get you home, eh raffy?’

[malumae]

@oneireth ( cont. for shion. )

“please, do go on. explain to me how you breaking it is not your fault.” amusement lingers within the tone of his voice, laced into the words he speaks when he starts to slowly pace around the scene. it is indeed broken, pieces of scrap that must have fallen off littered across the ground in an almost perfect circle around it. broken and dim, clearly without its usual gentle light. this is not how he expected his day to go but any surprise, good or not, is a welcome distraction these days. ren crosses both arms over his chest, looking up to face the other. 

“i wouldn’t bother trying to fix it unless there is a good reason for your desire to solve it in the first place?”

[toprayarc]

beneath the dirt, below the foundations, sinking through the divots of new mexico, lies corpses. carcasses. skeleton-bones of days, past. look close, and you'll find history: feuds, bonds, crimes of passion that go half-delivered. pulled triggers, painful deaths, and a cock-and-aim to tear through trenches. in these days, mari masters herself an archeologist. digs up drowned secrets, damning evidence, and buries the rest. she's nothing less than an investigator, no more than a murderer, but she gets her job done.

"what is this place?" — @bulldoged.

and she'll get it done well— with, or without the help of some sad-sack, used-to-be, criminal sidekick. mari's got no interest in depending on anyone. has no urge to find the sudden thrill in support. she's closed off, cut down, and cradling a shovel right under her arm before throwing it in her trunk. an ending, neatly sealed. "dump site." mari's tone is short: nothing but fact, flickering at the slight twitch in her lip. (annoyance, she knows, gets her nowhere ... and seemingly, gets jade everywhere.) "people c — come out here and get rid of shit they don't want anyone to find." a glance over, eyebrow raising. the trunk slams. "got any s — secrets you want to bury while we're here?"

[methempire]

this business is a monster. this business is a mongrel. this business is a grade-a, stupefied, crack-shack kind of consumer, and domingo molina knows it like the back of his hand. (that good shit, that really good shit, that chili-p signature type of shit, is only as good as much as domingo gets paid. only as potent as the thickets of money stacked in his wallet. that top-shelf shit, that snort-and-sniff shit, that pretty little penny kind of shit, it ain't got a single thing on what's cooking on the sidelines. what's bubbling out of cauldrons. or, containers. or, whatever label chemistry professors wanna call it.) domingo knows this game like he's been raised on it. like he's spun the wheel thousands of times. he knows this business like he's suited up and cashed out, and while some wack-ass white boy's wrangling the a's and b's of every c-list customer, domingo's never lost sight of where the real money is. selling.

"the game is what matters, man. winning." — @tocook.

... and that's just something that wack-ass white boy can't do, can he? (he's soft on the insides. pudding, and pillows, and plush guts that spill out of his mouth like some podcast on repeat. he's got too much of a sweet spot for fine ladies, sun-bummed honeys, the type of chick that would run him ragged every friday.) making a long story short, jesse ain't built for the shit on these streets. never held a strap against his back, or clicked the trigger on more than a game. bang, pow, shoot— he's a silver-spooned sucker, salivating to be something else. domingo's met plenty of dogs like him. lucky, that this one just doesn't bite.

his hands rack out another line, all credit cards and razorblades and hundred dollar bills that crunch-crunch-crunch chemicals out beneath his fists. the bill rolls back up between his fingers, easy. his tone towers, barked out with a low tone. "what the fuck are you talkin' about, man—" pause, push, and pull. the line escapes upwards, and his head tilts back. a twitch to his nose, before his thumb wipes any excess clean. "just do your line." the bill tosses out onto the table, legs kicked back up as endorphins fever their way through his forehead. a sniff, as his body relaxes back into the couch. "that's the only game i wanna hear about right now."

[promethies]

you've opened my eyes to a world i thought i'd never see. from penelope

there's softness when he reaches up to blanket her jaw with the slope of his palm, calloused in edges, but tender for her. penelope has somehow seeped into his entire being, tougher than the shell that makes him appear a man, and made a home within the cage of his ribs. his heart thrums, and he wonders if she can hear it now, feel it beneath her touch against his chest, feel it in the way that her magic hums alight in her veins. in a way, they are 'twined as one, they are two halves that make a whole.

and he wants to keep her at bay, wants to keep her at arms reach, but his other hand comes up to lay against her other cheek as he holds her face within the careful caress of his palms. he wants to kiss each of the freckles that adorns her features, wants to understand how the delicate flutter of her eyelashes feel against his own skin, wants to know intimately what it is that makes her, her.

he has never felt a warmth like this before, swelling within the cavern of his chest, smothering the darkness that he thought would haunt him for years to come. she has snuffed that inky disease out of him, and instead, replaced it with her, a warm light that acts as a lighthouse, guiding him home. guiding him to her. "i should be the one that's saying that to you," he murmurs softly, a chuckle drifting past his brims, and dusting against the very spots of her visage that he wants to lay an onslaught of kisses against. he wants to map her out through touch alone, with the use of his lips and the fleshy pads of his fingertips. he wants all of her.

[anquenin]

closed. @blueheals

there's something different about astarion tonight, a slight flair, the usual coldness, it's replaced by a warmness that is unlike him. he smiles, and it's a little droopy, eyes half lidded. "jester, jester..." he sings songs, his head tilts as his arms extend. a little dramatic. "...you'll never guess what i was up to." he keeps the smile on his face. for once there isn't a worry, just the drive to be annoying. and get under her skin.

[mielmoto]

@paraleech answered (here):

Have you ever been sat down on a high-chair, completely out of your element, caught after committing the heinous, evil crime of stealing tasty treats? Consuming them like an industrial vacuum cleaner? Fyuga is caught between feeling like she is being chastised or .. interviewed. Halfway through her taking-of-notes, Fyuga's eyes wander away from the lady and to a fly that happens to be buzzing in the air around her. Very short attention span is then grabbed again when she is asked a question. Her body contorts in a strange way as she tries to get comfortable in this quite tall seat... " Fyuga like food! " The most broad answer imaginable. This probably didn't help any..

........mmhm. this was going to be even more challenging than she originally thought, wasn't it? at least when people were picky about things, it gave the patissiere a good foundation for where to begin... nevertheless, she jots something down in her notes.

❝ Well, that's, like. Fair enough, I guess; food is pretty darn good... let's try it from the opposite side, maybe? Are there any flavors or food you eat and think 'ew! gross! horrible! no more of this please!'? something you've gotten in your big ol' toothy mouth and spat right back out?❞

[ladyintree]

@warpainte   /    taissa never thought of herself as impulsive;  she had a plan for everything and a very specific calculation for every step of the way,  no room for error or for changing her mind.  that included today —  her wedding day,  the day that everyone in her life had raved about that was supposed to be the best day of her life,  to marry her soulmate,  her person,  her one true love.  those words rang through her head bitterly,  a dark cloud looming over her as she realized she was making a mistake.  it shouldn’t have been a mistake,  it was part of the plan. she’d found the perfect woman who was like a ticket to the rest of her life —- something stable, something good.  something that didn’t have baggage because tai didn’t intend to carry hers into it;  she could truly just be,  start anew,  finally say goodbye to her trauma for years ago as if marrying some woman who wasn’t a part of it was going to erase it all from tai’s conscience.  

that’s what this was supposed to be—- one person to save her from everything that weighed so heavily on her.  not just the trauma from the wilderness,  but the love she still felt for the woman she was with back then.  mikayla never truly left her mind,  no matter how much tai had convinced herself that she didn’t matter to her anymore.  mikayla had to be a part of her past,  she didn’t make sense in her future and any life shared with her meant never truly moving on from the wilderness.  at least that’s what tai had assumed, too afraid to try anyway, because they’d already been through enough hurt,  and it felt easier to just accept that it was the end of them   (  even though that was never easy,  and it still isn’t,  because even on the day she’s supposed to marry the perfect woman,  mikayla’s the only one on her mind.  )  

you’ve found your person.  she doesn’t know how many times she’d heard that in the past few months,  but each time,  it made her feel smaller.  she did, it’s true — but her person wasn’t here,  and tai couldn’t force it with someone else,  no matter how hard she tried or how much she convinced herself that it would all fall into place eventually if she just accepted this as her life.  that was supposed to be easy,  but thoughts of mikayla had become overwhelming, and that was the real irony —-  mikayla was the person who used to calm her down when her mind raced too fast,  mikayla was the one she’d turn to feel like herself again,  to ground her,  to remind her what mattered.  maybe it would be easier to try to tie herself to someone else if she and mikayla ever truly got the closure they deserved,  but they didn’t,  because what was supposed to be the most relieving thing in the world had separated them not only by distance or by goals,  but by who they were,  because tai was desperately to reclaim her old life again,  and she had no idea what really happened with mikayla after the fact.  she heard the news,  she was swallowed by her own guilt of not being there,  but she never did anything.  it didn’t feel right, solidifying her new life with someone else without ever doing something.  the least mikayla deserved was some kind of closure.  but that’s not really what taissa wanted,  and she understood that the moment she thought it.

there’s no real reason for mikayla to take her back, not after tai had basically vanished,  even as mikayla was arrested,  even when mikayla probably needed her more than ever,  but taissa justified it by mikayla never reaching out herself,  assuming they were both supposed to be moving on.  what they had in the wilderness is likely what kept them both alive,  and not having it in the aftermath is what made taissa feel like she didn’t actually make it out.  she didn’t feel alive,  she barely felt like a person,  like she was just going through the motions,  speed-running through her life to get it back to where it was supposed to be before she lost it and her time in the wilderness took so much away from her.  she thought all that mattered was getting back to that and moving forward,  even if it meant tying herself to someone else who she could never love in the way the woman clearly deserved,  but that felt okay to taissa,  because she could justify it knowing she’d still treat her right.  but none of this was right,  not marrying her,  not the thought of leaving her today of all days,  and not the thoughts that have festered in her mind not only for the last few years, but even worse the last few weeks:  she was still in love with mikayla desousa,  and she always would be.  there was no escaping that.  there was no ignoring it, or burying it, or pretending it wasn’t real, because it was.  and as awful as it made her feel to leave her fiancee on their wedding day, she knows she’d regret marrying a woman who wasn’t mikayla,  even if mikayla would never actually take her back.

she deserved a conversation, a warning, but tai was afraid that if she let herself have that conversation or see the other woman at all,  she’d crumble, change her mind, and force herself into a life that would never make her happy.  she had to just go.  she raced out of the venue with no plan in place;  she didn’t change, she didn’t grab her things, she didn’t even know where mikayla was, but she knew who would — the one person she’d hoped not to see on this day.  she offered misty no explanation and no apology for giving her no invite to a day that had already fallen apart anyway,  and she refused to take her up on her offer to drive her to her destination.  this wasn’t about anyone else —  she needed to see mikayla alone.  and if she slammed the door in her face, at least then she’d know.  and she’d worry about the rest later,  the fallout, the abandoned fiancee, her reputation.  for once, right now, the fallout did not matter to her,  only focused on reuniting with the woman she loved.  

walking up to mikayla’s doorstep,  taissa hadn’t even processed what she looks like now:  still dressed in white,  the end of her coat train scoffed up from her travels,  her hair lightly tussled from the wind.  her eyes were surely bloodshot,  the lack of sleep reminding her of days when sleep had been the most terrifyingly uncertain thing for her to face,  made better only by the woman who was next to her each night.  she can’t dwell on it all;  all she can do is smooth out of her suit jacket and her hair and prepare to see someone who might have already sworn her off.   on the doorstep,  she waits for a moment,  straightens her posture,  takes a deep breath,  and collects herself.  mikayla fell in love with her confidence, and tai searches for it now,  hoping that the smile on her face isn’t filled with sorrow and regret and guilt, but rather something more familiar to mikayla — love.  she knocks on the door and prays that mikayla doesn’t hesitate,  because if she waits too long,  everything tai has done wrong and every impulsive choice she’s made today will hit her all at once,  and she’ll crumble from the weight of it all.  she just has to see her,  nothing will be okay until she sees her.  

the door opens,  and tai freezes.  a million things run through her mind — an explanation, an apology, a confession.  none of them come out.  suddenly,  everything she’s thought of saying the whole way here leaves her,  and all she can do is greet her in the most casual way she can think of.   ❝  hi,  mikayla.  ❞