#thaw!q

[ifievertoldyou]

despite everything, it's still you.

closeups !!!

[thresholdbb]

With how much Voyager plays with the concepts of reality and illusion, there's an argument that they never actually escaped the Caretaker

"When your only reality is an illusion, then illusion is a reality."

[didderd]

Hello beautiful creature!

Question for him beautiful, adorable and handsome Crack;

I understand that one of your hobbies is cooking. Doesn't it affect you to handle animal products such as very large and recognizable pieces of meat?

Crack: Yeah, I uh... don't touch th' stuff... Jus'.... vague cuts a' boneless meat... But... 'still struggle with cuttin' this stuff sometimes..

[splendidemendax]

we're half way through season three of voyager and janeway has already defeated god and two separate abstract concepts. i love her for this.

[studentofetherium]

[eggwhiteswithspinach]

👏 Thaw

[hina-hina]

Perhaps when you’re ready can you write a Ghost and Soft!Reader and their child?😭❤️ I love your writing by the way!❤️❤️

Hello friend!! This is such a cute idea to go along with the soft!Reader series!! I'm so happy with how well received that post is and I'm loving everyones comments and ideas (ﾉ*ФωФ)ﾉ Hope you enjoy this one, thank you for requesting and I'm glad you like my writing!! (I put aside my final paper for class so I could post this today o_o)

I guess this is kinda a series now so chronologically it goes Soft!Reader post, Ghost getting secretly married post, then this one!

|| Ghost and Soft!Reader with a Child ||

Warnings: cursing, labor mentions, some angst

Ghost had been on deployment when you found out you were pregnant

You were shocked an unsure of how Ghost was going to react when he found out

but also really excited

Despite the two of you doing video calls whenever he could, you kept it a secret until he got back from deployment

You put the pregnancy test in a small gift box and wait for him to arrive

You are filled with anxiety all day, worried about what his reaction would be

When he comes in, you can already tell he is extremely tired so you don't want to bombard him immediately

So you hug him when he comes through the door, pull up his balaclava, and give him a few soft kisses

He immediately relaxes, happy to be home

You instruct him to go take a shower and he goes without fuss

When he comes back out in a simple black t-shirt and sweats, his wedding band still attached to its chain hanging from his neck, you feel your heart skip a beat

"Sit down," You instruct

"Awful bossy this evening, aye?" He teases, but does it anyway, small smile on his maskless face

"Hush!"

You present the small box to him, biting your lower lip nervously

He raises an eyebrow, large hands coming up over the box as he shifts his eyes between it and you

He opens it gently, staring at the small device for a moment before his eyes widen

"Your...."

Sets the box aside and immediately stands

"Your being serious?"

You simply nod and his eyes shift down to your stomach before he grabs you into a hug

He would be scared and distant at first, he would need time to process

I do think he would be good with kids

Once you two talk it out, he would become completely on board

Ghost is a girl dad, fight me

Would be so nervous when he goes to appointments with you

He Is so used to the good things in his life being taken away,

When he learns its a girl, he becomes slightly uneasy

He's not sure how he's gonna be with a kid period but knowing its a girl? He is terrified

Nonetheless, he finds himself buying things that he thinks you would like for the baby anyway

would hate it if he had to go back onto deployment before the baby is born

You reassure him you'll be fine and he reassures you he will be back for the birth

An ultrasound picture is placed alongside the picture of you in his breast pocket

Eventually tells his team he's going to have a baby and they are in shock, even more so than before

Imagine you go into labor early and he almost misses it

He shows up still in uniform (minus the weapons bc there isn't anyway he is getting into a hospital with all that on) and black grease paint still smudged around his eyes

But, damnit, he's there

Is scared shitless during labor

He doesn't want anything to happen to either of you

But you deliver the baby and it's handed to him and she looks so small in his hands o(*////▽////*)q

Tears fill his eyes and he feels his cold heart thaw a little more

He gets leave for a little while to take care of you and the baby

He doesn't want to leave you two but you reassure him that you know his work is important

You make him promise to always come back to the two of you

The little girl grows up looking up to Ghost a lot and he feels he doesn't deserve it but loves it anyway

Whenever he comes back, he wants to spend as much time with the two of you as possible

He sends her letters that you read to her before bed

She helps you make care package and includes her drawings

A third picture is put into the pocket, one with all three of you

He brags about all of his daughters accomplishments to his teammates

Imagine one day he decides to surprise her at school when he comes back home

So after you drop her off, you go and pick Ghost up

The two of you go to her school and the teacher sends her to the principal's office

Ghost is waiting there with you, uneasy about being around so many people but when he sees his little girl? He is GONE

She comes in and immediately brights, running to her dad

Immediately drops to his knees to hug her when she comes running at him

Hugs her so close, then stands and goes over and grabs you too

He has never been this happy to be home

[gardenschedule]

Perceptions of Paul as calculating & John's paranoia

“McCartney’s mistake, which he now admits, was to seem invulnerable. […] And yet, he says, the contrast between himself and Lennon, so assiduously cultivated by journalists, was a fabrication. “I wasn’t brilliant at school. I was trouble, just like John. I got caned practically every day, and the only exam I ever passed was Spanish. John and I weren’t black and white, although people took John, for all his aggression, to be the good guy, because he showed his warts. I’ve only just realized, after all this time, that people like to see warts. It makes them sympathetic. I’d always though that, in order to be liked, you had to be unwarty.””

Living with The Beatles’ legacy, the smears that Lennon left behind… and the battle to win my babies back, The Times Newspaper, Monday January 4, 1982.

Paul was the easiest to talk to. He had such energy and such keenness and, unlike John, enjoyed being liked, at least most of the time. I don't see this as a criticism; John himself could be very cruel about Paul's puppy dog eagerness to please. The irony was, and still is, that John's awfulness to people, his rudeness and cruelty, made people like him more, whereas Paul's genuine niceness made many people suspicious, accusing him of being calculating. Paul does look ahead, seeing what might happen, working out the effect of certain actions, but he often ends up tying himself in knots, not necessarily getting what he thought he wanted. I think there is some insecurity in Paul's nature, which makes him try so hard, work so hard. It also means he can be easily hurt by criticism, which was something that just washed over John.

Hunter Davies, Western Mail: The Beatles. (April 9th, 2004)

Even Paul’s immaculate manners could not thaw her. ‘Oh, yes, he was well-mannered–too well-mannered. He was what we call in Liverpool “talking posh” and I thought he was taking the mickey out of me. I thought “He’s a snake-charmer all right,” John’s little friend, Mr Charming. I wasn’t falling for it. After he’d gone, I said to John, “What are you doing with him? He’s younger than you… and he’s from Speke!”’ After that, when Paul appeared, she would always tell John sarcastically that his ‘little friend’ was here. ‘I used to tease John by saying “chalk and cheese”, meaning how different they were,’ she remembered, ‘and John would start hurling himself around the room like a wild dervish shouting “Chalkandcheese! Chalkandcheese!” with this stupid grin on his face.’

Philip Norman, Paul McCartney: The Life. (2016)

“He always suspected me. He accused me of scheming to buy over Northern Songs without telling him. I was thinking of something to invest in, and Peter Brown said what about Northern Songs, invest in yourself, so I bought a few shares, about 1,000 I think. John went mad, suspecting some plot. Then he bought some himself. He was always thinking I was cunning and devious. That’s my reputation, someone who’s charming, but a clever lad. “It happened the other day at Ringo’s wedding. I was saying to Cilia [Black] that I liked Bobby [her husband]. That’s all I said. Bobby’s a nice bloke. Ah, but what do you REALLY think Paul? You don’t mean that, do you, you’re getting at something? I was being absolutely straight. But she couldn’t believe it. No one ever does. They think I’m calculating all the time.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

In the wake of his death you didn’t tour for most of the ‘80s. People suggested that you were scared to go on the road. Was that true? No. People speculate about anything. They always credit me with motives I haven’t even dreamed of. It’s interesting, the way they sort of perceive my life and analyse it for me. In that case, I never thought about touring much. People used to say, “Oh, it’s 10 years since you’ve toured.” I’d go, “Is it? Y’know, I’m not counting.” That’s all that was, really. I don’t know why. Maybe I didn’t fancy it.

The Q Interview, 2007

Astrid in Germany was always a bit suspicious of Paul at first, though his relationship with Stu was also bound up in this. 'It used to frighten me that someone could be so nice all the time. Which is silly. It's ridiculous to feel at home with nasty people, just because you feel that at least you know where you are with them. It's silly to be wary of nice people.'

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul is the easiest to get to know for an outsider, but in the end he is the hardest to get to know. There is a feeling that he is holding things back, that he is one jump ahead, aware of the impression he is giving. He is self-conscious, which the others are not. John doesn't care, either way, what people think. Ringo is too adult to think about such things, and George in many ways isn't conscious. He is above it all.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

Paul today is still the public Beatle, giving interviews at fairly regular intervals, being open and honest about himself and his past, his worries and his pleasures. Naturally, as ever, there are people who suspect his motives, putting him down for being too charming. Paul may be a bit of an actor, acting the part of Paul McCartney, the charming superstar, still loved by every mum, which can make him sound rather prissy at times, but I believe he does tell the truth about himself.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

“My problem is to me, I come over as this very together guy, always got his finger on top of everything: the man with no problems. School – a doddle, got all the exams. This is the sort of image of me. Actually, I had murder getting through exams, like I was saying about being on tour during my GCEs. I was like the kid who was getting the cane. Just like John was, but he [Phillip Norman] makes me the very shrewd, always-going-to-succeed guy, and John is the kind of cute, working-class hero. In actual fact though, John was just as shrewd and ambitious as I was. What does me in is he adds to this image I’ve got; I resent that, because I know I’m not that, and I know I’ve never been that.

Paul McCartney’s thoughts from 1983 on Phillip Norman’s ‘Shout!’

The funny thing is, when Apple [started], everything was laid out on the table, it’s like a Monopoly game. We saw who had what. I suddenly had more Northern Song shares than anybody, and it was like, oops, sorry. John was like, “You bastard, you’ve been buying behind my back.” John saw everything like a Harold Robbins movie, you know, which it was. He’s not incorrect. I couldn’t get over the fact that we were really involved in all this. I think to this day, he’ll not understand. I don’t think he would accept right now, my naïveté in it. I think he still suspects me of trying to take over Apple. He still suspects that when I offered the Eastmans as [managers] instead of Allen Klein, he naturally assumed that I would be taken care of better than the others, and that the Eastmans could never be moral enough to be equal in their judgment and do the Beatles’ thing rather than Paul’s thing. I think they still suspect to this day.

The point I was trying to illustrate is that it wasn’t so much John being a bastard as it was his being suspicious towards me, always being suspicious towards me. There was Northern Song shares. And I swear on any holy book you want, I know he won’t believe it, but I know for sure that I didn’t buy them with the view to— If I was really trying to do it, I could have bought an awful lot more. So it does hurt a little bit that there’s someone who still thinks, like, I’m out to get them, or that I always was. That’s one of the nice things about it— It’s a pity [I never said to John, “Fuck off, I’m not trying to do it”—and never was]. But he knows I was kind of— We were behind the scenes, and we did a few little [things] that we had to do, and our ambitions, and it was never a kind of terrifying skeletons in the closet. It was always just normal—but, uh, they …

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

SG: Were the other Beatles anti-Linda? PMcC: Uh, yeah. I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko. But you know John and Yoko, you can see it now, the way to get their friendship is to do everything the way they require it. To do anything else is how to not get their friendship. This is still how it is with John and Yoko. I know that if I absolutely lie down on the ground and just do everything like they say and laugh at all their jokes and don’t expect my jokes to ever get laughed at, and don’t expect any of my opinions ever to carry any weight whatsoever, if I’m willing to do all that, then we can be friends. But if I have an opinion that differs from theirs, then I’m a sort of an enemy. And naturally, paint myself a villain with a big mustache on, because to the ends of the earth, that’s how they both see me. They’re very suspicious people [John and Yoko], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

I was never out to screw him, never. He could be a maneuvering swine, which no one ever realized. Now since the death he’s became Martin Luther Lennon. But that really wasn’t him either. He wasn’t some sort of holy saint. He was still really a debunker. “For ten years together he took my songs apart. He was paranoiac about my songs. We have great screaming sessions about them.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

SALEWICZ: Oh, he was presumably very paranoid. PAUL: I think so. I mean, he warned me off Yoko once. You know, “Look, this is my chick!” ’Cause he knew my reputation. I mean, we knew each other rather well. And um, I felt… I just said, “Yeah, no problem.” But I did sort of feel he ought to have known I wouldn’t, but. You know, he was going through “I’m just a jealous guy”. He was a paranoid guy. And he was into drugs. Heavy.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London)

Miles says, “I think Jane was always a bit irritated by John. Because he was so acerbic and difficult to get on with. And paranoid. He didn’t make life easy. I suppose it’s a sort of rapier wit, but it was usually just plain ordinary rudeness. There was nothing special about it.”

Paul McCartney profile for FAME Magazine (March 1990)

“They [Lennon & McCartney] saw each other again in 1977. The Lennons and McCartneys ate dinner together at Le Cirque, Paul’s favourite French restaurant in New York. John regretted going; it was a loathsome night. Paul and Linda blathered on and on about how perfect their lives were, how they had everything they’d ever wanted, and how they were as happy as they’d ever been. Something very paranoid suddenly occurred to John. Maybe Lorraine Boyle was spying on him for the McCartneys! He woke up the next morning still feeling disturbed; he consulted the Oracle. Swan assured him that Paul and Linda were frustrated and unsatisfied. Their marriage was in trouble, he said, predicting it would break up within the year. Lately Swan’s visions had been astonishingly accurate. Relieved, John began composing a song—a little ditty, really, that would never be released—in praise of the Oracle’s powers. But he still couldn’t understand why Paul and Linda had been together for as long as they had. There appeared to be a psychic connection between John and Paul. Every time McCartney was in town, John would hear Paul’s music in his head.”

Robert Rosen, Nowhere Man: The Final Days of John Lennon, (2000)

JOHN: […..] And he’s (Jagger) goin’ on about “he never calls. Do you think he ever calls? He never calls me. And he keeps changing his phone number all the time… And he’s hiding behind the kid.” I was hurt by it! You know… The fact that… A, I never call anybody. It’s not pride, it’s just that I never, ever have. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: I never call the other Beatles, I never call anybody. They always call me. REPORTER: Why? JOHN: Cos I’m self-involved! I’m paranoid, too. I don’t like phones… There’s nobody on this earth ever got a call from me that isn’t related, probably. Or a very old friend…

Sept 1980 – John

“Yoko was an extremist and was even more intense than John taking any idea or comment of his to the limit. If, for example, he complained about any of his fellow Beatles she would hint that that Beatle had always been an enemy implying that John should never deal with that person again. Her extreme positions fascinated John and help him take his mind off himself but when she became self-involved and paranoid herself -her paranoia usually dealt with her career, her fame and the fact that even though she had always been famous everyone conspired to keep her from getting even more famous- he had no place to turn. His insecurity about his solo career, his childhood, his relationships with the other Beatles, the way the public perceived Yoko overwhelmed him and he became more and more involved with drugs.”

May Pang, Loving John (1984)

John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Some three year later, during the making of Abbey Road, Lennon installed a twin bed in the studio so that Yoko, recuperating from a car crash, could survey proceedings and pass comment though a mike he had suspended over her. The other Beatles positioned themselves around the room as best they could. Yoko would later tell Paul that if, for any reason, he’d seemed to be standing too close to her, all hell would break loose when John got her home. Lennon, she said, was ‘very paranoid’ like that.

McCartney by Chris Sandford

But we were actually quite supportive. Not supportive enough, you know; it would have been nice to have been really supportive because then we could look back and say, “Weren’t we really terrific?” But looking back on it, I think we were okay. We were never really that mean to them. But I think a lot of the time John suspected meanness where it wasn’t really there.

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Chris Salewicz for Musician: Tug of war – Paul McCartney wants to lay his demons to rest. (October, 1986)

I just read about this thing that’s going on sale at Sotheby’s – this Apple booklet with John’s comments in the margins in his own handwriting. It is so bitter. Like, there’s a picture of Paul and Linda’s wedding – and John’s crossed out “wedding” and written in “funeral.” I think it starts to tell there. Another caption says, “Paul goes to Hollywood” – and then he’s apparently written in the margin, “To cut Yoko and John out of the film.” He often thought that we were tryin’ to cut Yoko out of things, to cut her out of Let It Be. I suppose we were, in some degree; because she wasn’t in the Beatles, and it was a Beatles film, and it wasn’t absolutely necessary to have long footage of her in there. She certainly was in there, but obviously they felt she should be in there a little more. I bent over backward trying to see John’s point of view. I still bend over backward trying to not malign him.”

Paul McCartney, Rolling Stone, September 11th, 1986

[blackhairedjjun]

flowers of every color | 7. striped carnations

overall summary: when your father is assigned as the new head gardener to the royal family, you are also tasked with helping him maintain the castle's many gardens and extensive floral arrangements. by chance you find yourself crossing paths with the "ice-cold" crown prince, choi yeonjun... who turns out to be not as ice-cold as everyone says he is.

chapter summary: as you are confronted with stigma from the court after your punishment as well as the reality of yeonjun's engagement, you send him one last message -- and make a decision that you regret.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst angst angst, confrontations, exactly one (1) swear word

notes: i am posting this earlier than planned bc i got a sudden burst of inspiration over the last few days and i've been writing more! same as last chapter, there are OCs here to fill out the other kingdom so that i don't depict others' faves as the "villain" of the story

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by the time you are released from your punishment, the ongoing efforts to secure a marriage for the crown prince are no longer a secret. the whole castle seems to be abuzz with preparations for the first of several meetings with the prospective bride, princess ajin, and her mother, queen hwayoung. everywhere you go, you see the castle spruced up for them, from new velvet curtains hanging from the windows to the rarely-used porcelain dinnerware placed in the dining hall.

to aid the preparations, you and your father have been assigned to make floral arrangements that are both welcoming and hardy. today you are planting some marigolds by the front entrance; you know that the bright orange blooms will both cheer the guests up and ward off pests. the skies are thankfully clear as you work.

while you are crouched down making sure that each plant is positioned well enough without overcrowding, you overhear two servants chatting as they each carry a stack of cream-colored linen. you’ve been part of the castle long enough to recognize that this particular linen is reserved only for the most important guests.

“...if it will be a good match,” one of them says to the other.

“princess ajin is going to have a hell of a time with his majesty,” the other replies with a snicker. “let’s see if her charms are enough to thaw an ice-cold prince’s heart!”

“oh no, i heard the princess is pretty ice-cold herself. she had to be dragged to come here and won’t look anyone in the eye, like she thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

“they’re perfect for each other, then! you couldn’t arrange a better match.”

they both burst into laughter. you ball your gloved hands into fists and grit your teeth, fighting the urge to stand up and tell them off that yeonjun is not the cold-hearted prince they think he is. but before your anger rises too much, one of them spots you from the corner of his eye. he gives his companion a light shove with his elbow and they both move away from you, their voices becoming more hushed. still, the other servant can’t help but stare at you with wide eyes before turning away.

you swallow hard and turn back to your marigolds, sighing to yourself as you secure the soil around each plant. you’re in no position to defend yeonjun from the servants’ rumors, not when you yourself are also the target of gossip; what more for preventing something as important as his marriage?

you pause in the middle of your gardening to wonder why yeonjun’s arranged marriage bothered you so much in the first place. you always assumed that he would stop being friends with you when he got married, but why? surely the royal household would benefit in keeping you and your father as long as you didn’t cause trouble; capable staff are hard to replace, after all. aside from that, yeonjun liked you well enough to actively seek out your company, and he would probably do so as long as he could squeeze out free time. 

so why are you so afraid of this marriage? 

you try to delve deeper into the question, but you hit a wall of emotions that you dare not climb over. perhaps you could climb it if you want to, but whenever you try to, you are overcome with a strange dread. a feeling settles over you that whatever is on the other side of the wall will make things much more complicated than they already are.

instead of climbing the wall then, you step away from it and resume planting the marigolds.

一

you spend the next few days avoiding yeonjun and, to some extent, soobin and beomgyu. while you are busy planting more marigolds in the western gardens, a servant passes by and asks if you can deliver some fresh flowers to the tearoom, and you politely decline. “i can prepare them if you like, but i’m too busy with other things to personally deliver them,” you say. the servant simply nods and leaves, but you still catch her shaking her head and muttering to herself.

you decline a few more of these errand-invitations, and you find yourself avoiding parts of the castle that you know yeonjun frequents: the tea house, the horseback riding grounds, even the portion of the castle grounds overlooking the library where he has his lessons. you stop delivering flower vases to his room altogether. the preparations for the princess’ arrival even provide you with convenient excuses: i’m busy replanting some flowers at the southern gardens, or i’m making the floral decor for the dining hall. even if you do want to see them, the work you’ve been assigned is just too much.

still, you catch glimpses of yeonjun or soobin or beomgyu from time to time as they carry on with their duties. you deliver flowers to the castle and pass by a study room where yeonjun is practicing etiquette (for the princess, maybe — you don’t dwell on it), or you’re on your way back to the greenhouse and hear excited screaming, only to see that soobin and beomgyu are playing a badminton game that has gotten a little too heated.

on arrival day you’re at the southern gardens on watering duty. with the days getting warmer, you need to make sure that the soil doesn’t get too dry, and you’re more than willing to distract yourself with the job. you’re so immersed in your work that you don’t even see the small party strolling by; you only notice them because of the sound of a familiar voice.

“your majesty should not rely on me too much, because i won’t…”

you look up before you can stop yourself. yeonjun is walking some distance away, flanked by queen hwayoung on one side and princess ajin the other. you notice that the princess’ arm is linked with yeonjun’s, just as he used to do with you, and you feel a sting in your heart.

as soon as the princess walks close enough, your insides freeze. she looks absolutely beautiful, her dress studded with tiny rubies against wine-colored silk and her updo emphasizing her sharp features. but as beautiful as she looks, you can’t read her face at all. her lips show no trace of pleasure or displeasure, and her eyes seem to be empty of all feeling. the servants were right too; she faces straight ahead, not even bothering to look at either yeonjun or her mother during their conversation. you wonder if she really is as cold-hearted as they say.

the trio passes you by. neither princess ajin nor queen hwayoung seems to notice you, but yeonjun turns his head ever so slightly to face the princess 一 then he sees you.

to those who know him less, the change in his expression would be imperceptible. but you see the way his eyes soften, the way his lips part by a sliver, the way the stern tone of his voice mid-conversation loses a bit of its edge. his eyes meet yours for a moment, sending an unspoken message, until queen hwayoung turns toward him and his attention is taken elsewhere.

you feel… heavy. the old sudden warmth in your chest comes back, but this time it never settles comfortably in you, filling you with a sinking feeling instead. you turn away and look down at the flowers you’ve been watering and shake your head as if to shake off the unpleasant feelings.

you need to put a stop to things, you think. as much as you want to cling to him again like old times, it makes your heart ache too much — and you know it makes his heart ache too much as well.

the next day you prepare a flower vase for yeonjun’s room for the first time in who knows how long. your hands tremble the whole time as you fuss over the arrangement, and once you make the journey to his quarters, you feel the heaviness in you again. you head up the steps and down the hallways as quietly as possible, ducking into a room whenever you pass by a servant or a court official; it’s a miracle that no one sees you or the vase held snugly in your arms. your heartbeat quickens the closer you get to his room, and though part of it is from the adrenaline of trying to stay hidden, much of it is from something else entirely.

as you make your trip, all sorts of images flash in your mind. one moment you see princess ajin staring blankly ahead, arm firmly linked with yeonjun’s; the next you see yeonjun facing you inside the gazebo on ball night and gazing at you with fondness. you see the yellow roses you delivered to his bedroom when you declared that you’d be friends, then you see the ornate arrangements of zinnias you made for his prospective bride and her mother. with each step you the images feel sharper, and you feel yourself closing in on that dreaded wall of emotions again.

when you enter the prince’s quarters, each footstep feels heavier than the last; when you finally reach the ledge for his vase, you have to position yourself and screw your eyes shut before setting the vase down with trembling hands. once the vase is in position, you slip out the door and nearly run all the way down back the way you came. you don’t allow yourself to think, and instead pray to whatever gods are listening that you made the right choice.

you leave behind a vase of striped carnations: frilly white flowers with crimson staining the edges of each petal. a beautiful sight, but their stems hide a solemn message.

i can’t be around you anymore. i’m sorry and thank you for everything.

一

you fill the next few days with work, taking even the portions of work for your father or the other servants. you water and fertilize both the western and southern gardens, you replant and tend to dozens of plants in the greenhouse, you run to and from the castle to provide fresh flowers and herbs 一 as long as the assigned area is in the opposite side of the castle as yeonjun’s bedroom, at least. the work takes your mind off the thoughts that were plaguing you, and if you focus on them enough you could tune the worries out. it’s easy for you to ignore the stares of the court officials or the whispers of the servants when you are too busy pulling weeds out of the bed of daisies or trimming off rose cuttings in the greenhouse for planting.

yet no matter how much you trick yourself into believing that you can work your worries away, they eventually catch up to you one day as you head to the kitchen to deliver a fresh batch of herbs. as you round the corner, you spot a familiar figure walking towards you.

“y/n!” you hear yeonjun call out.

 you pretend not to notice him and try to walk past, but he steps in front of you.

“y/n, please!” yeonjun moves closer and looks at you with desperation in his eyes. “can we talk for once? you’ve been avoiding me for a week. what’s going on with you?”

“i’m busy,” you say, and you try not to look him in the eye. “i have to bring these to the kitchen.”

“don’t do this to me, please. you can spare a few minutes to talk.”

“no, i really can’t.” you try to step past him but he only moves in front of you again.

“you can at least explain what you meant by your message. what do you mean, you can’t be around me anymore? is something wrong? none of the staff have told me anything. i’ll do anything in my power to make things work for you. i can talk to the chamberlain, the servants, anything一”

you swallow and stare at the bag of herbs in your hands. “there’s nothing to explain,” you lie. “just... don’t be around me, okay? it’s not good for either of us, yeonjun. it’ll get us into more trouble. i’m sorry.”

“‘not good for either of us’?! don’t tell me you really believe that!” he’s half-shouting now, but there seems to be more fear than anger in his voice. “i don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn! why won’t you let me help you? there has to be a way to make things work!”

“there really isn’t, okay?! it wasn’t meant to end up like this in the first place! that’s what got us in trouble!”

 “end up like what? end up as friends? but we一” you try to ignore the crack in his voice一 “we said we’d be friends. can’t we act like friends just this one time then, at least? or do you seriously believe that it’s not good for either of us?”

“i said what i said, okay?! maybe we shouldn’t be friends!”

you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. now they hang in the air as silence fills the space between you and yeonjun.

he stares at you and opens his mouth to speak, but only lets out a pained whimper. you see his eyes start to water and you look away.

“that’s how you really feel, huh?” he barely manages to string the words together. “fine, then. if that’s what you think is good for us, then maybe we shouldn’t.”

he turns on his heel and leaves.

“yeonjun, wait一” you run after him, but as soon as you turn a corner he seems to have diseappeared.

you curse yourself and bite your lip to keep yourself from screaming in the middle of the hallway. you stare at the bag of herbs you’re still holding and feel the urge to throw them onto the ground, but instead you let out a long exhale and focus your gaze on a still life of fruits hanging on the wall. your attention falls on one of the painted oranges, and whenever your frustration starts to build up again, you stare at the orange as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

it’s a miracle that you manage to calm down long enough to deliver the herbs to the kitchen. when one of the chefs asks you what’s wrong, you ignore her and head straight back to your quarters.

in your room you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, realizing just how badly you fucked up. in your attempt to protect yourself from punishment and yeonjun from abandoning his duties, and especially in your attempt to get away from the wall of emotions that you can’t confront, you ended up breaking the one thing you cherished most in the whole castle: his friendship.

you curl the blankets around yourself and try to sleep, hoping that you’ve simply ended up in a bad dream.

end notes: hehe i love angst :) also princess ajin was originally not part of this chapter in the original outline, but after seeing the feedback from ch6 + thinking about the setup for her from there, i decided that i should probably introduce her here

taglist (open!) @seosalad @lilplilplilp @yeonboy @pyuae @hyuneyeon @strawbrinkofdeath @yushiu @mazeinthemoon @banggyu0308 @shytubatu @kyaneosprincess

[ifievertoldyou]

The Quackitification™

little analyses + bonus pictures under the cut :D

mediums: #2 pencil, standard 8.5x11 copy paper, royal purple crayola colored pencil

analysis time

references analysis

pre-thaw!q is intended to be q at the meetup with phil (minus the beanie) so i referenced those meetup pictures a lot when drawing him, and just really wanted him to contrast with the other qs in how carefree and happy he looks. to make it seem as though, well, he's from another world than them.

i referenced a lot of different quackity pictures with the middle 3 qs, so those ones weren't really based on any specific picture. they were all just mixes of different cc!q pictures, just like how q is kind of a mix of cc!q and c!quackity during these times, though the amount of each that he has varies depending on when in the story you're looking.

current q was heavily referenced off of that one photo of the LN!quackity photoshoot that cc!quackity did a while back, because at this point, q is his dsmp character, mentally, and now, physically. i just wanted there to be such a contrast between the first drawing being referenced off of a picture of cc!q being a cc, and the last drawing being referenced off of cc!q dressing up as his dsmp character. only it isn't really dress-up for poor q anymore.

okok now eye direction analysis time

i very intentionally drew each q looking in a different direction, so now i'm going to talk about my reasoning for that

the q from before the events of thaw has his eyes closed because he doesn't yet know the awful truth that the fun story he wrote actually happened somewhere. he looks so joyous, but at the same time, it's mostly because his eyes are still closed to the reality that he will have to grapple with throughout this story.

next we have beginning/desert!q. he doesn't have his blessing yet, and his eyes are wide with fear. he's looking to the right to indicate that the cc is still in there. after all, in q's world, he preferred using his right hand when writing, but he had to change that as he began adapting to this world, so as to not blow his cover. but desert!q hasn't yet had to do that, he's still the cc, just more scared and.. lost than usual. he's still currently abiding by the same rules and worldview that he had in his original world, so he's looking to the right, to what he knew in his original world.

then we've got post-bet!q. he's got the magic eye now, and he has to deal with way more issues than before, as he learns more about how fucked up this world is, and how horribly twisted his storytelling became here. he's looking down because now he's not just scared now, he's guilty, he blames himself for all the bad things that happened to quackity and he blames himself for all the bad things that happened to him too. he no longer has that optimistic outlook about the world, and has begun losing his old identity much faster than before. this is also where he starts adapting more to this world, and, eventually, learns to write with his left hand. there's a shift towards behavior that is more like manberg/pogtopia!quackity that's beginning in him now. he's started to look away from his old morals from before he got here and has begun doing and thinking things that he would have never done/thought before this story took place.

butcher!q is looking to the left. this is for several reasons. one, to signify how, kinda like how charlie put it, it'd be hard to tell the two gamblers apart if it wasn't for the blessed eye, because their ways of seeing the world have become so similar now. and two, it's set up for q's eye getting blinded, since it's his left eye that he loses, and that's where he was looking (at least i'm Assuming, since we haven't actually gotten a description of his blind eye from the outside pov yet) when he got blinded.

and then we have thaw!q as we know him after chapter 66. his blind eye is stuck looking to the left, and his seeing eye is looking forward, with his expression carefully neutral. he looks more like quackity than he ever did before. and he looks more like the quackity he always used to imagine than he ever did before. more importantly though, he Acts more like thaw!quackity than he ever did before, even though he has been progressively acting more and more like him all throughout the story. he's purposefully looking forward to show a sense of confidence. no longer will he allow himself to have downcast eyes or show such visible emotions (or emotions that aren't anger, at least). now he will look ahead confidently, with his best poker face, trying to seem unbothered, but deep down, the experiences and worldview of quackity will always weigh on him without him meaning to, just like his blind eye will look to the left.

misc notes

i made the hair slightly longer with the latter three qs, to show that he's been there for longer

i also made his hair longer to make him resemble my thaw!quackity design a little more (though it still isn't quite as long as my quackity's is, just because that would take some Insanely fast growing hair to get there in a month)

i initially wanted to give q some of his beauty spots, but i quickly found that it was very difficult to keep their placement consistent enough, which bugged me, so i cut that idea out

i struggled a bit with q's scar, since we haven't seen a *whole* lot of descriptions of it yet, especially not of when it's been completely healed over, as it's still currently fresh in thaw. but ultimately i settled with this design, though it took me a couple hours to figure out how i wanted it to look

i used a duller pencil when i drew pre-thaw!q, and at first this wasn't intentional, but i decided to sharpen it after i finished him, so cc!q's lines look a lot softer and duller than the other qs. but i decided halfway through this project that i'll Make it intentional, as a way to comment on how q used to be so soft before coming to this world, and he progressively got sharper and more put-together, just like his linework (though post-bet!q's linework is a bit messier and all over the place, since he's kind of going through it and hasn't quite perfected that mask of anger just yet. though, if i could've, i probably would've made his linework ever so slightly less dull than pre-thaw!q's but not nearly as sharp as the other qs. unfortunately, i can't really accurately control the dullness of my pencil at will, so that didn't happen-) but yeah, happy little accidents ^^

fun fact: i drew the first 4 qs on the same paper, and drew current q on his own separate page. he is also about 4x the size of the other qs, and is significantly more detailed

i thought about fully coloring everyone, but decided that i'd probably never get this thing done if i did that. though maybe one day i'll revist this and color them all, who knows?

now for some bonus pictures

this was my initial q design before i decided that actually, his scar looked way too much like quackity's and wasn't neat or straight enough for my liking. so uh, yeah, here's thaw!q if his scar was more thaw!quackity-ish! one of the many casualties during the great q design war™

a couple of wips, as a treat for making it all the way down here

okay that's all, thank you for making it all the way to the end of this post ^^

as always, reblogs are very much appreciated, and also make sure to check out the original fic by @alexanderwesker that i've been talking about throughout this post, if you haven't already! ^D^

[quotemenevervore]

I have decided that the lore is bullshit™️ and I’m going to make my own (with Squishy’s help)

@local-squishmallow

With that being said, SM is likely no longer getting updated. I may steal a few stories from SM to put into this AU, but overall it is likely going to be left as it is (I won’t delete it, dw, it’s also on my ao3)

So, introducing: Time Heals All Wounds (will be tagged as ‘thaw au’)

(Yes, there will be noms and G/t in this au, similarily done like SM)

The main takeaways is that Wilbur, Dream (along with XD) and George aren’t main figures/there, and the ‘ending’ didn’t happen.

The only ending that is being used in this au is Q’s because his second death is important to his turnaround in the au.

Lady Death saves Karl from XD’s clutches, which returns his memory and allows him to have all of his powers that come with time traveling. Not only does he not have to keep it secret anymore, but he can also strive to change their fates so they don’t wind up like their pasts and futures.

XD loses his power, and along that his control on Sapnap, Karl, Foolish, George and also Dream. Dream and George simply take themselves and move somewhere more remote, wanting peace and quiet. Punz goes with them and Wilbur already left (good riddance.)

Techno and Phil get involved first, as they are Lady Death’s biggest reapers, and they help Karl develop his powers and cope with getting his memory back all at once. After that, Karl has some trips to make.

Main plot is Karl, (and I quote myself ‘using the power of friendship’) dismantles the governments by trying to make everyone understand (with Techno’s and Eret’s help (as Eret is an immortal being as well and knows how dangerous history is to repeat) that the governments are only hurting everyone and that they can all live in peace together.

Q dismantles his government without even being visited, Slime’s words still ringing hard in his mind and had already decided to take the higher path and try to rekindle anything he had before so his last life could be spent happily. It’s Q trying to find Sap in a dismantled Kinoko that Karl finds him, and immediately apologizes for their fight and explains fully. Sap finds them at some point during this discussion and it ends in a tearful but happy reunion of the fiancés.

Tommy is mainly with the BeeDuo now, but after everyone (thanks to Karl) has a group discussion about what all was wrong and people forcing others to admit their mistakes and apologize for them, he’s seen as what he had become: a traumatized child that needed someone for him, especially after losing his ‘brother’. Techno takes him back under his wing, and Niki slowly, reluctantly opens up to him. She essentially becomes his sister figure.

Only one ‘government’ remained: the Eggpire. And now the entire smp was together to face it.

[melynen]

The Great Thaw - 00Q00 - G

“What are you doing?”

Bond looks up from the floor where he’s sitting and cradling a half finished bottle of Bollinger.

“The fridge-freezer’s not working,” he replies, as though it explains everything.

Trevelyan looks pensive for a moment, then shrugs. “Fair,” he says and sits down next to Bond. “Pass me a bottle?”

Q, for his part, simply looks exasperated. “You see that the freezer’s broken, and your solution’s to go for the champagne? Not the ice cream that’s more prone to melting?”

Bond and Trevelyan share a look. Then they, as one, get up and reach for the bowls.

Written for @dude-watchin-with-the-brontes for the Collab table.

[netherfeildren]

Have you ever been thinking about what Joel would be like in the Star Wars universe and vice versa with Din in The Last of Us universe? I feel like some people think they're similar and would act the same as their counterparts, but personally feel like there's a difference idk tho

oh this is such a good q. I actually don't think they're anything alike or like... they are in the obvious ways I guess, fathers, protectors, fighters, whatever. but personality wise, I think there is something much softer and sensitive and emotional about canon din than there is in canon Joel. and I think it's easy to confuse the two bc like in fic Joel is written to eventually end up very open, loving, etc etc but in canon I dont think he's like that very much. and I think there's also something about din that still remains very boyish, like stunted or something, the trauma of his childhood and losing his parents is still very present in his personality and I think that translates to their differences. Joel's sooooo idk... hard, there's like something calcified about him, and even though Ellie does thaw him that was still there before her. and despite din's violence and all that I don't think there's anything like that in his character.

but in terms of what they'd be like, Joel would so be a Han without the like... dead beat dad allegations LOL smuggler Joel, piloting a hunk of junk and thieving and brawling his way across the galaxy... omg that's so hot I need to write that I need to read that, somehow this needs to happen Joel in Han's sluttly little vest and a thigh holster around that big ass thigh yummy

[studentofetherium]

[masterprocrastiwriter]

Listening to Lana Del Rey lately makes me think of Quackity and Schlatt and their lavish lifestyle in a reimagined version of Las Nevadas. The parties, diamonds, drugs, and the like. Some of her songs fit them so well, one of those being Cinnamon Girl off of NFR. Reading its lyrics makes me picture Quackity and Schlatt on opposing sofas in a small smoking room with one side being a full window pane wall overlooking the beauty of Las Nevadas, Q gazing over Schlatt, who was suited in a black blazer and crimson dress shirt with a gold feather pendant on his neck, sprawled across the furniture drunk and asleep with a hand dangling around the neck of a half-drank whiskey.

Quackity would be in his silver gown glistening more than champagne ever could, freshly high and pondering of their sexual affair and desiring things beyond that, wishing to Schlatt that he would stop keeping him at a distance through alcohol, cigarettes, pills, or powder, and instead further embrace Quackity wholeheartedly, which in their sober minds they'd think it's ridiculous and impossible. Besides that, sex was one of the ways for them to cope with the pains that haunt them throughout their lives, but for once he wanted to find another way to cope or rather to ease his bruised and troubled soul with a mere embrace, something he never thought he'd yearn so badly for Schlatt to do.

Just because at the moment Quackity strongly wondered, 'would we be better had we become more than what we are now?' He doesn't want to feel orgasm, he wants to feel a love that's just as physical; whilst stoned, such feeling is of desperation heavy to the chest. It's that desire to be touched, gentle and delicate, for the sake of doing so or as a subtle confession. That desire to be held in his beloved's arms without it proceeding to harm or fucking but just to thaw the ice that walled his self in aching cold. That desire to be acknowledged less as a hole to fill and more as the one who's been there for someone else. He could only imagine how good that must be.

[pynkhues]

The reunion scene really just packs such an overwhelming punch. It's just such deep, visceral emotion. And it's not just, oh they're crying--I'm sure we've all seen scenes with actors crying a lot where you're left cold. So it's the writing and the acting just getting to such a raw nerve kind of place. I could go on about all the little moments I love, and I REALLY want to read your longer thoughts on the scene, but Sam's voice breaking like that on "Did you hurt yourself" lanced through me so intensely the first time I heard it, and it gets me every time. For someone with such a deep voice (both Sam and Lestat lol), to be so overwhelmed with emotion that he loses control of his voice completely....just, wow.

I am SO so so so excited to read your reunion fic, you have no idea. :)

It's everything to me, anon!! It really is just so loaded with emotion, but I also think what makes it so cathartic and resonant is that it really feels like the culmination of these two seasons, both in the sense of Louis' arc, but in the connection these two characters have. It's so, so affecting, and I promise, I'll finish my big post on it soon, haha.

And thank you!! I am hoping to post my reunion fic today (although I'm also out for half the day to have lunch with friends and see a Q&A screening of Memoir of a Snail which I am very excited about), but have the opening scene (and maybe a little bit of the scene that follows ;-):

-

It had been a gloomy fall for London in 1958 when Louis and Armand had gone to see the play.

The decision itself had marked a - - transition for them. After all, Louis hadn’t found himself inside a playhouse since he’d burnt the Théâtre des Vampires and all those who tread her boards to the ground, lucky, perhaps, in that he’d never felt a real inclination for the stage, although he knew Armand still held the artform close with something akin to fondness. In fact, Armand had made a point in those years of regularly attending the West End during their stays at their Chealsea apartment, Broadway the summers they’d spend in their Manhattan townhouse, keeping careful track of productions across both professional and amateur venues. The spectacle of his former career turned specter as he haunted the stages, documenting in the little pocketbook he’d carry with him his thoughts and observations, collecting playbills and programmes, newspaper clippings and ticket stubs with the care of an archivist, documenting a landscape dominated by new musicals and post-war dramas, and by the rise and fall of flush-faced stars.

For a time, Armand had tried to keep this from him. Had been sensitive to the events of Paris and inclined to, publicly at least, make Louis’ interests his own. He’d read the books Louis was reading, attend the gallery showings Louis was attending, travel to the sweating, flyover, working towns Louis would and pretend to see the potential in them that Louis did, and Louis had been amused in part, but bored in almost every other. The feeling of speaking to his own echo dulling his senses as the years wore on to the point that it had almost been a relief, that night in ’56, when Armand let slip that he’d been moved by a new musical – The King and I, at Broadway’s St. James Theatre.

They’d fought, of course. Bitterly and fretfully and Louis can admit cruelly, but it had felt good to fight. Felt like the lick of a flame to a snowed-in life, a heat to thaw the ice of his frigid, shiftless mood, and his temper had risen with his voice as Armand used words like patient and over and almost a decade before they settled it in bed. A rough hand and an open mouth and Armand had played penance like the worst actor in his old revue.

Still, a seal had been broken, and Armand had taken to mentioning his attendance at the Winter Garden Theatre and The Stoll – Kismet and The Water Gipsies and hammy dramas that would last only the blink of a season – and soon Louis was deaf to it again. Found the hurt and irritation didn’t spike for long, but rather blunted through its repetition, which perhaps had been Armand’s intent all along, because one night, he left out the paper on an advertisement for Peter Brook’s The Tempest, set to premiere at Theatre Royal on Drury Lane.

And Louis couldn’t say why he said yes, why he agreed to accompany Armand that night. If it was to shock him or to acknowledge his patience or stir another fight, if it was even to try and set the events of Paris behind him, but he’d quiffed his hair and donned his Roman suit, and settled into the fine red velvet seats of the Theatre Royal with the hope of being moved in any direction at all.

And it had, is the thing. Moved him. Just not in the way he’d expected, nor in the hours, because as the lights had dimmed, the sound had started. A loud rumble of thunder and sudden slope of rain, the theater shaking with the affect of a storm, the sort that avoided London’s dreary isle as it set sail for a newer world, and oh, how the actors had tumbled onto the minimally laid stage. One, two, then several more, rolling around the boards as if on a ship, battling the elements as they tried to secure the hatches, and in the moment of it, Louis wasn’t in his seat in the London theater at all.

No, suddenly, with the wail of weather and the shuddering curtains around the stage, Louis was nine-years-old again and home in Louisiana, chasing after his daddy as he boarded up doors and windows. Louis was fifteen, wind cutting at his cheeks as he hauled a babbling Paul in from what he promised wasn’t any sort of rapture, twenty-four between Jonah’s trembling adolescent legs, down in the liquor cellar beneath the colored hotel off Bourbon Street, thirty-three in flesh, thirty-eight in years, exasperated, hammering nails into plywood and spitting fury at Lestat, who danced through the house like a hurricane all his own, feeding off the weather outside, and - - oh, it hadn’t been fury at all. Not when Lestat had his hands on his, pulling him close, the bright sparking look in his eyes catching in Louis’ own, and Lestat was new to this, new to hurricanes, but it wasn’t dread or terror in his eyes, but enchantment and so much fuckin’ love, and the way he’d said it. Louis, this wild, wonderful city of yours, she’d have us hear her tonight! as he pulled him in for the dance, it - -

Fuck.

And it’s that, is the thing. That that has Louis scrambling up in his seat, yanking at his tie, shoving past the legs of pestered patrons, desperate, suddenly, for the still, the quiet, the drizzly tepidness of London air.

He bursts out the aisle and beelines for the exit, flinging open the theater doors, struggling to catch a breath he doesn’t need to take. He rounds Drury Lane, tries to let the bustle of the people, the honk of car horns, the autumnal chill chew him up and spit him back out into this moment. Stick him steady here in this spot, and he doesn’t even realize he’s crouched on the sidewalk, head in hands, until he feels the weight of Armand’s touch on his shoulder, fingers clutching in a pale offer of comfort.

“Too soon, perhaps,” Armand says gently, and Louis shakes his head, holds onto the thread of Armand’s voice, tries to will it into an anchor.

“No, it’s not the theater, it’s the show,” he wets his lips, takes a breath. “It reminded me of the hurricanes, that’s all. Back home. A lot of memories tied up in all of that.”

Armand’s hand curls a little tighter around Louis’ shoulder, and for a moment, Louis thinks that it’s working. That maybe Armand’s presence here, now, is enough to steady him. To ground him here on the street, among the puddles and the passerbys, that the feeling of being very far from home yawning awake in his chest is nothing that can’t be put back to sleep with a walk, a drink, a fuck in the dewy grass of the park he sometimes picks up in. At that, he feels Armand shift above him, the thought heard, perhaps, and Louis raises a hand to cup the back of Armand’s in an approximation of a comfort returned. Armand could be the fuck in the dewy grass. If he wanted to be.

“We could go there together,” Armand says, and Louis’ surprised Armand would suggest it – he typically prefers their bed – only that’s not what he means at all. “To your New Orleans. It would be good, perhaps, to revisit the places of your mortal life, the places you worked, the - - ”

“Should we revisit your old whorehouses too?” Louis bites, offense at even the suggestion struck like a match in an instant. Above him, Armand’s jaw clicks shut, and the wet breath of regret snuffs out the flame of Louis’ temper almost as fast as it had been lit. He shakes his head, pushing out of his crouch to stand.

He looks over, takes in Armand’s blank expression, his amber eyes carefully guarded, and frowns apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softening his voice, even if the thought of Armand in New Orleans has his toes curling in his brogues. “I didn’t mean that. You’re just - - you’re not to go there, you hear me? Don’t know how she’d treat you.”

It’s a cool look that Armand returns to him, tilting his head to the side, inquiring, dark curls slicked back like he’d often wear them in Paris, and Louis finds himself carefully drawing up those early memories – of his father, and Jonah, and Paul, of juddering windows and roaring grey skies and Grace’s little hand in his and - -

“You’re thinking of him,” Armand tells him coldly, seeing through Louis’ ruse, and Louis stares back at him.

A blink and it all slips to nothing but him as he falls on top of Lestat in his coffin, the creamy silk lining offsetting the pink flush on Lestat’s cheeks, the roof above them shuddering, walls shaking, glass shattering somewhere downstairs, but then - - Lestat’s mouth. Open, warm, wet beneath his, fangs sharp as Louis slides his tongue beneath them to lick his way inside.

His pulse, now, a jackhammer in his chest.

“I’m thinking about the hurricanes back home,” Louis tells Armand, frank. “That’s all.”

*

It’s like a matryoshka doll, Louis thinks now, memories inside of memories, the past a rope that can never be unknotted, and it shouldn’t matter, not now, not when the floor is juddering beneath them, the walls cracking, the lights flickering, because this is not their house on Rue Royale, steady and sandbagged and half-boarded up, and Lestat’s not dancing down hallways, he’s trembling in his arms, and it doesn’t take all that history to know this place isn’t going to hold.

“We gotta get out of here,” Louis yells, pushing a little at Lestat’s waist to give them a degree of separation. Just enough distance to breathe again, but Lestat’s not looking at him, head still dropped, hair a limp, yet still-golden veil around his face, and Louis has to resist the urge to shake him to get him to see what’s happening around them. Instead, he just says: “Lestat.”