#they managed to make it even sadder i can't deal with this....

[eliseliedl]

Persona 3 Reload 11 / ? Shinjiro petting Koromaru one last time 😭🤧

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[oneeyedoctogod]

Gods this fandom sometimes, I swear. I'm sorry I read two deeply bad takes back to back, and I have to rant. I'm sure others have said it better than I, but really. Come on. I actually have to wonder if people who talk about the extras actually read them because...

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji didn't leave the cultivation world in canon. They elope, and then they come back. The fact they're not involved in the bigger politics is... pretty much to be expected, but they very much do participate in the day to day lives of the Lan sect. They go where the chaos is to night hunt, they teach, Lan Wangji comforts his brother in his seclusion, and Wei Wuxian meets some new Lan disciples.

As for the cottage fantasy... Again, I honestly have to wonder if the people talking about it actually read the extra it's in? Because it's just that. A fantasy. A dream. It's basically a representation of Wei Wuxian's wants for a domestic life, something he definitely has now! He's always been characterised as someone who wants to help others and who loves cultivation. Why would you think the dream is to be taken literally?

And the idea that Wei Wuxian has 'several important relationships just floating there', that he's not dealing with... Where? Which ones? He teaches the juniors and grows closer to Jin Ling. He doesn't exactly interact with Lan Xichen, but he asks after him. He meets Mianmian again and wishes her well. He asks after Wen Ning after Lan Sizhui comes back then has some father-son bonding moments with him!

Nie Huaisang and Wei Wucian aren't close. They were friendly once, but they didn't ever meet after the lectures. I don't see how that qualifies as an "important" relationship, especially with Nie Huaisang never openly admitting to his part in Wei Wuxian's resurrection. But even then, Wei wuxian says he'll be keeping a close eye on him, so one can imagine they meet again at some point.

As for Jiang Cheng... what more do you want Wei Wuxian to do exactly? Even if you want a reconciliation, why can't Jiang Cjeng be he one to actually grow up and do the work for once? He's the one who never apologized. He's the one who is still openly hostile in the extras. If Wei Wuxian wants to move on and not interact with him, he's well within his right to do that, given how Jiang Cheng treated him. Hell, he's more generous than most since he encourages Jin Ling to talk to Jiang Cheng. If I'd been treated by someone like Jiang Cheng treated Wei Wuxian and saw him hit our nephew several times, I certainly wouldn't encourage them to meet. (But that's Wei Wuxian for you, the moral ideal and better than all of us.)

Anyway, I really don't understand why people insist on making Wangxian have a sadder ending than the one they actually did. It's a HEA for them, sorry guys. And yeah, maybe Wei wuxian has some trauma to work on... but the whole point of the character is that he doesn't let his trauma define him. That he wants to forgives, forgets and moves on.

(Also, just because he doesn't have a breakdown or the cultivation equivalent of therapy in the extra doesn't mean he's not working on them? He finally is at peace, with a solid support network. Maybe he does talk about his past hurts with Lan Wangji - Lan Wangji certai ly knows when to comfort him when he needs it. But the narrative point of the extras is to show they're moving on from the past! And you know what, sometimes the beat thing to do to heal is to do just that. They're living their best lives, deal with it.)

And finally... shit did you really read the whole book and come to the conclusion Wei Wuxian should have 'learned to accept help'? Who the fuck offered help? Who did he refuse?

(Don't say Lan Wangji. 1) I love him, but "Come back to Gusu" is very much not an obvious offer to help, and when Wei Wuxian understandably misunderstands him, he never manages to correct it.

And 2) once Wei Wuxian tells him explicitly he's not leaving the Wen remnants behind, Lan Wangji understands and backs off. He approves! I'm sure he'd do more if he could, but just like Jiang Yanli, he can't!)

Jiang Cheng literally said, 'No one will help you, no one is on your side' (and then made sure that was true by saying Wei Wuxian was the enemy of the cultivation world). Jin Zixuan chose to ask the one who was ambushed to disarm rather than the 300 cultivators attacking him and lunged at him when Wei Wuxian refused to comply (because he'd be killed if he did!!). How is that help?

Who else tried to help? Whose help did Wei Wuxian reject?

Wei Wuxian was presented with a series of bad choices and took the best he could, the ones aligned with his principles, accepting he'd have to face consequences at some point but also knowing it was still worth it. He's not the one who failed or made a fatal mistake or betrayed his word.

Rant over. Sorry about that.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hiiii! I've been scrolling on your account for the past hour and haven't found what I was looking for, so here I am. I've been wanting to read a Sterek fic where Stiles just takes a gun and shoots straight or whatever and when everybody is like wth he just says: what? My dad's a cop! Just, super badass Stiles. Pleaaaase

Let's see.

Bang Bang Baby by rlnerdgirl

(1/1 I 5,388 I Explicit I Sterek)

When Stiles said he was going to Los Angeles for a week for “PD,” Derek is pretty sure it’s the flimsiest excuse for a solo-vacation, and he feels bad having to call him back early. But there’s something in Beacon hills, something more dangerous than they’ve dealt with in a long time. Turns out, Stiles did go to professional development, to help him deal with shit in Beacon Hills, and when Derek gets a look at what he’s been doing, he’s more than a little conflicted.

Derek manages to blink, tearing his eyes from the gun and bringing his attention to Stiles’ face. “That isn’t a gun.” His voice is rough, mouth still parched.  

The smile that pulls at Stiles’ lips makes him frown. “No,” Stiles agrees. “That’s a Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle, which, according to my instructors, I am a natural at firing, so much so that I have been suggested, many times over the past week, to enter some kind of,” the hand on the back of Derek’s neck stops stroking as Stiles’ wrist moves, hand making a gesture of some kind, “competition for, because apparently shooting competitions are things that exist. I mean, I guess I knew that. I just didn’t realize shooting this would be a competition.”

I'm the ghost of my mistakes by GreyHaven

(20/20 I 29,696 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles hasn't been known as Stiles for the past six years. He's Mitch Rapp, a CIA assassin with 117 kills under his belt. When he gets a late night call from Scott, saying Derek has been taken, he's on the road back to Beacon Hills in less than ten minutes. He's going to get Derek back, even if that means adding a few more kills to his ledger.

Hear The Wheels As They Roll by crossroadswrite

(2/2 I 44,919 I Teen I Sterek)

“You can’t be here. This is private property,” someone calls out and for some reason that voice sounds painfully familiar.

When it hits him why, Stiles almost chokes with the realization, “Derek Hale,” he says, unbelievably happy because he remembers Derek when they were young.

Derek looks grumpier, sadder, angrier. Stiles can’t really fault him for that. He also looks surprised that Stiles knows who he is. He squint/glares suspiciously at him, his nostrils flare for a second before he widens his eyes almost dramatically.

“Stiles,” he says quietly, like he can’t really believe it.

Stiles beams, “Yeah, you remember me!”

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea suggested this series!

The Sum of It's Parts by KouriArashi

AND

@merchymynydd suggested this one!

So Take a Long Shot by relenafanel

(1/1 I 2,650 I Teen i Sterek)

Stiles is ten when his father teaches him how to shoot. He sucks with a handgun, more likely to shoot off his own foot than the target.

The same cannot be said for his skill with a long-range rifle (but he's no one's weapon).

Eventually, Stiles knows, the secret will come out, because there are just some people he will save at all costs.

(That day comes when they're hunting a redcap through the forest and can't reach Derek in time)

[light-wynd]

Rambling About Menthe and Elphane

(Alternatively: My Exams Got Postponed But I'm Still In Too Much Pain to Draw, So Here I Am, Going On About My Favorite Melusines For Entirely Too Long)

Yeah. I think about these two in particular a lot, and just wanted to talk about... basically everything I could think of that I felt was worth mentioning regarding them (and a bit about Aeval too) to take my mind off of feeling like shit, along with a few general thoughts and speculations based on what we know about them.

Putting this under the cut, not because it's got story spoilers or anything (I don't think it does anyway), but because it's longer than anything I've posted before.

Does this qualify as a character analysis? Idk man I'm not a writer, I'm not confident enough to call it that.

Think I'll just begin with Menthe since I have the biggest soft spot for her - I honestly relate to her a lot more than I like to admit, and just... really want to give her a hug, she could probably use one. All we ever really see her do is stand there sighing to herself at Arouet's café, drinking tea and coffee just to keep herself awake. It's a stark contrast from how we see the other Melusines act, to say the least - not to mention how much trouble she seems to be having with adjusting to human society in comparison to them too. She's really bothered by how large everything in the city is (and that everything that is actually her size was made for young children). She's struggling with her job in the Gardiennage and thinking about finding a different one, even if there aren't a lot of options she's suited for when it comes to "human work". She even wishes her body was more humanoid like Sigewinne's if it could make these things any easier, and there's just something heartbreaking about that - not to mention her constant exhaustion. Yeah, poor thing's not doing great. The fact that she says she was initially very enthusiastic to integrate into human society makes it all even sadder - all these difficulties must have hit her particularly hard.

For this next point, I feel like I should include this screenshot from the café's message board (there's a couple more entries about her, but this is the most relevant one):

The thing about that is, all the other Melusines working for the Gardiennage must've encountered pretty similarly disturbing things just by the nature of the job, investigating crime scenes and all that - and yet only Menthe seems to be affected by it this deeply, judging by how cheerful the others act and how casually they talk about their work. This makes me think that she's either had some sort of traumatic experience that's unique to her (especially from the wording of "unfathomable darkness"), or that it all just gets to her more than the others for some reason. Either way, it would certainly explain why she'd like to change jobs - and I genuinely hope she manages to one day, for the sake of her well-being. Maybe she really will end up working in the infirmary together with Sigewinne despite her worries about the inmates not taking kindly to her, who knows. (Also I gotta say, when I first saw her "maybe I should just go underwater" line, I thought she meant she was thinking about giving up on human society and going back to Merusea Village - but of course she's talking about the infirmary in the Fortress of Meropide. Still, it does kind of sound like that is the last option she can think of when it comes to work she could do, which is a bit worrying in its own way.)

As for the adorably grumpy Elphane... can't really talk about her without bringing up Aeval too, they're a package deal after all. Most folks seem to assume that Aeval is the newer tour guide of the two, considering how enthusiastic she is, but funnily enough it's actually the opposite! (Probably just by a few days at most, but still.) It's easy to miss this since their aquabus dialogues seem pretty randomized and there's a lot of them, but these two both used to work for the Gardiennage as well - and apparently, Elphane was "the ace up the Marechaussee Phantom's sleeve", while Aeval on the other hand presumably didn't do so great (according to Talochard's quest, being assigned as a tour guide is what happens to a Melusine who's bad at being an investigator - and yeah, honestly I can see how that would be the case here). So first, Aeval got "promoted" to the aquabus (in her own words... guess nobody had the heart to tell her otherwise), which upset Elphane so much that she just quit her job - while on track to a high-paying promotion to the Opera Epiclese, mind you -, put on a new uniform and got on the aquabus with Aeval. Of course, they ultimately ended up assigned to separate lines, but at least they're colleagues again. It's pretty clear that Elphane isn't enjoying this job whatsoever, but she keeps doing it anyway for Aeval, and is still fairly skilled at it in her own way.

So yeah, Elphane is actually incredibly sweet and caring... when it comes to Aeval anyway. Hell, she even recommends that you visit Aeval's line at any chance she gets - whether it's for better commentary, a friendlier guide or just a more photo-ready aquabus, she directs you there. She genuinely seems to look up to her, and maybe even wishes she could do a better job as a guide like her deep down. Something that could point to this is that she gets very flustered by compliments, which might indicate that - unlike Aeval - she doesn't get a lot of positive feedback, so she's not quite sure how to handle it. Aeval looks up to her quite a lot too, and they seem to do pretty much everything together when they're off work (including shopping for cute clothes, which Elphane vehemently denies her interest in, ahahah) - I'm not sure what their relationship is, they just refer to each other as colleagues and Elphane being Aeval's senior, but they're clearly very close and it's absolutely precious. This is even reflected in their designs: they both have a very similar pink-blue color scheme too, just with Elphane being predominantly pink with blue accents and Aeval being the other way around - their uniforms included - and even their eyes are complementary colors to each other. Really cute way to show both their connection while also highlighting their personalities being pretty much opposites.

One last thing I want to point out is that both Menthe and Elphane struggle with their jobs in their own way, and seem to be among the few Melusines to really do so to this extent in the current time - but probably the biggest difference is that while Elphane doesn't show all that much enthusiasm or effort towards her work, it's kind of implied that Menthe on the other hand is overworking herself, judging by Arouet's comments on her constant mental and physical exhaustion. Of course, it could also be that she just has no energy because of how depressed she is - but in any case, she's doing her best to keep it together and power through it despite everything.

Aaand that would be all for... whatever this was. If even a single soul has actually read this whole thing, thank you so much, that alone makes having posted this feel worth it! And if anyone wants to talk Melusines, I'd be more than happy to ^^

[sparatus]

2, 14, 24 for microfic!

micro story prompts

oh i can make this shit hurted, thank u :3 second two are under a cut i went off a lil

2. This Was A Mistake - Tasora Rennis, Garrus Vakarian (Garrus/Citadel DLC Turian, post-Archangel, ExDiff canon)

She shouldn't have agreed to this. How could she be so naive? She should have stopped this ages ago, just cut her losses, had her cry, and moved on. She'd known she should, and how many people had told her to? She was a grown adult, an ambassador even, not some twitterpated child.

Yet here she was anyway, sitting in the hospital, letting the stupid idiot she'd given chance after chance after chance try to beg for just one more.

And the worst part was, she wanted to.

She pushed herself back, away from the bed, away from Garrus, away from her own stupid fucking feelings. "I'm sorry, Garrus," fell from her tongue, her subvocals pulsing the sorrowful honesty of it. "I- I just- I can't, I'm not doing this again. I- I shouldn't have come, I'm so-"

Claws grazed across her wrist, but slid clumsily off, the painkillers too much for even a desperate brain to overcome. "Tas-"

Her heart lurched into her throat at the pathetic whimper that one syllable made it out as, but she didn't dare turn around. It was- it was just too much, how was she supposed to deal with it? Some half-cocked idea to go out and "clean up" fucking Omega, chased by Spectres, Cerberus agents, a big damn shootout, a betrayal that maybe wasn't, taking a rocket to the face - and all that, and he couldn't manage one good fucking reason he hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't given any reason to believe he was even alive, much less still cared about her? And throughout the whole thing, he... he didn't even have the decency to sound like he wouldn't disappear again.

She swallowed, forcing her lungs to fill again. "This was a mistake," she pushed out. "I- I knew it was a mistake, and I still-"

Another high, desperate whine, and this time she was stupid enough to look back. His single unbandaged eye caught hers, glazed over with the drugs and pain but still shining with understanding, with something darker and sadder and much, much more painful than any half-destroyed face could inflict. "Tas," he slurred again, and this time it sounded more like a lost child's cry. "I'm- I'm sorry. I don't... I just..."

He swallowed, and she couldn't help but notice the wince as his throat moved. "I just want to go home."

And as the sob cracked through his subvocals with a painful-sounding gasp, she felt one more chance pick a hole in the ice around her heart.

14. Overgrown - Saren Arterius (post-canon, mentioned Kryterius, no-Reapers AU)

Nobody has tended the yard in quite some time.

It makes sense, Saren supposes, settling down on the back step and cracking open whatever fizzy energy drink Nihlus handed him. The little house in Ifura has sat empty for seventy long, lonely years. He and Desolas and some of their friends have all taken turns swinging by from time to time to keep an eye on it, make sure nothing is stolen or broken down, fix whatever needs fixing, but there's no point in cleaning up tallgrass prairie that's just going to die and crumple and be buried in snow the following winter. Even the handful of times he and his friends had holed up here to lie low until their targets forgot about them, they'd deliberately not done any maintenance beyond what they needed to make the house livable for a couple months, and left the yard to its own devices.

A dark brown drake in long, flowing, clay-spattered clothes settles beside him out of the corner of his eye, calling to a downy chick poking an insect with a stick. Saren takes a drink. The autumn breeze sighs as it crosses the long-forsaken yard and swirls through the empty space beside him, melancholy and pensive.

The grove he fled into stands taller now, has crept closer to the house with nobody to remove the growing saplings it's laid down. It's somehow all the gloomier. Electric blue eyeshine glints at him from the shadows, just for a moment, and dark red stains the grass as it drips from glistening teeth. He takes another drink, and when his hand goes down, the eyes are gone.

He hums to himself, watching the kolakoe tree sway in the breeze. It hasn't gotten that much bigger since he was small, but there's a split where a storm carved off a large branch, and there's knotholes where he doesn't remember them. Granted, his vision isn't what it used to be, he can admit that now. A lot of him isn't what it used to be, really. His prosthetic doesn't like the growing cold, either. Crawling into bed under the heavy covers and pressing up against Nihlus's bulk in an hour or two will feel all but divine.

The wind tickles his cowl again, and this time it sings a lullaby with his mother's soft coo. Maybe it's time for bed.

He doesn't stand just yet, watching the unkempt prairie grass undulate in the breeze. Desolas doesn't like coming back here, too many memories, but Saren finds comfort in it. The house missed him, he thinks, and will welcome its son returning after all these years, now with a husband of his own. At some point, he and Nihlus will have been there long enough the dead won't be lonely, the yard will no longer be overgrown, and his brother can come home again.

24. Tender - Desolas Arterius, Valis Abrudas (Desabrudas)

They call him a Titan.

That's the only thing he could be, they all seem to think, something greater than a man who strides across the stars with power and charisma enough to make lesser beings pine for his favor. Countless separatists and rebels and enemy aliens fall before him, command coming almost effortlessly, like the tactics and leadership elder generals spend decades honing are written into his soul. His men adore him. His superiors envy him. He is the Titan of War, come down among mortals to remind them of what makes them turian.

To Valis, though, there is no Titan, no almighty higher power sharing his strength with the army for his own ineffable reasons. There's only Desolas, her friend, her lover, her own personal pest she stopped trying to get rid of ages ago. And Desolas is only a man.

But, she supposes as she sinks down between his knees and lets him hold her face so very gently in his long, ragged talons as she takes him between her jaws, maybe the man is worthy of such devotion, too.

The hastatim honed him into a weapon, something violent and hard and sharp, but he's nothing but soft with her, cupping her face in his hands and pressing the most delicate of kisses to her head, and that's its own form of grace, she thinks. This great, dangerous Titan, crafted solely for war, ignores all the praise and worship from his men, his superiors, his public, and instead has eyes only for her, and holds her in an embrace that yearns for peace.

Sometimes, when he's asleep in her arms and the glorious divinity has left him to lie as only a man once more, she thinks about the future, what the universe might hold for a man their people think a god. Is it selfish of her, she wonders, to want to take him away from his adoring worshippers, to hide him away in some peaceful home where he can hang up the mantle of godhood for good? To scrape away the clinging dark of war, to make him into something for her and her alone? They've discussed kids before, late at night in the quiet spaces where they can be Desolas and Valis again instead of Colonel Arterius and Major Abrudas, and she wonders what kind of sacrilege it might be to want to bear the chicks of such a man, or if it would instead be simply the highest form of devotion she could show.

If he is a Titan, she decides, then let her be his paladin, his priest, his most devoted of followers, and let the unholy things they do when nobody else is looking be the most beautiful and sacred acts of all.

[gayspock]

ehr

i feel like i just resent every fucking person whos ever tried to tell me that you'll find somewhere someday and think about all the places I ve been and existed and left and have never felt a fucking thing because I just never felt anything but a sad and miserable fucking detachment. it felt like uni never happened might as well neve have happened and the same with school and everything else because i just float from place to place and even when 8 try i really try I feel like I'm always just left out and sad and unhappy and I've tried to believe it's not in my head but the evidence is always so fucking undeniable because it's not in my fucking head it's a genuine fucking documentable fucking case of being left out of every single fucking thing all of the time. Being told things weeks and months after it's gone by playing stupid fucking catch up games everyone always hanging out and neve being taken seriously and it's pathetic it's really fucking pathetic I kept crying about it all the time and still do because I know in my heart of hearts I'm notging to most of the people I've crossed paths with and they won't even remember me and they never do and I just keep crying like ah everyone else manages to find people they can at least exist around but if I even as anything im2just fucking not anything now like there's notging to like there's nothing to love I think about how my grandad told me that before that it's too fucking difficult to love me and it's thst unspoken fucking thing most people are too nice to say it or to truly fucking believe it it's a whole load of you'll find something sometime somewhere just keep trying but it will never ever be here and now I'll never be anything meaningful in anyone's lives and I want to get angry and blame people but I can't do anything but cry about how fucking worthless I am and to the point now whwr e I'm thinking about how it was always going to be this how it's always going to be thks how I can't unstick myself how I can't muster the energy to manage anything how I'm dying like this and how I used to fucking try and cope by imagining being with people seeing people regularly and existing in the world or having some sort of life and how this is something nearly everyone else has in some way maybe in smaller doses like they've had it once and it's gone or they have a family member at least who's there to see they're still alive Ispend every day fucking alone and I have done and. I keep thinking OK random aside the aside of I fucking can't listen I don't even try any more because the truth of literally everything JSUT sends me nuts so hearing stupid fucking platitudes and canned fell good crap is never anything but just this. Really cruel exercise of "If you don't respond well to this you're obviously making yourself miserae" anyway the fucking wowee! What would your child self think if they saw you now! Haha surely they'd be so psyched you made it! and it's always been one of those fucking sentiments in particular thst just fucking grips me in fucking horror realising notging fucking changes that I 8sed to cry every fucking day of loneliness back then and sob and wish trying mattered or someone would care and wishing I was safe and I think my child self would fucking hate my fucking guts and that I'm notging but confirmation that it's not getting better, that all the anxiety was right, that there's no fucking way out. Maybe thst it's even worse than that because you do nothing but figure out you're even stupider and worse and there's so many more things you have to deal with and they're so fucking hard to do by yourself and to stop trying so hard because it does nothing but JSUT tire you out and make you sadder but even then at the end of the day it's so fuckkng pointless because who cares who fucking cares you should kill yourself before you're too old it's pointless bro big smile

[weiszklee]

My flatmate's cat died a few hours ago, and it's making me sadder than I thought it would. He was old but could easily still have had years in him, at least he died quickly I guess, good for him, all the more shocking for the rest of us. He was very curious and cuddly, loved to come in my room and hang out in my wardrobe or lay around on my shoulder bag on the floor. And now he won't anymore. I only knew him for a little over two months (the flatmate only recently moved in with us), I probably won't get anything done today, but I will get over it. I don't think I could ever have pets of my own, this is too much to deal with.

I hear there are very different ways people relate to dead bodies, I am decidedly in the camp of: They're grotesque, occupying the form of something you loved, only to serve as an even greater reminder of what is now absent. I gave the dead cat a pat on the head, and that was about all I managed to do. My flatmate keeps talking about it like he's still in there, and I can't fault her for it, of course, but that's almost making me nauseous.

She's gonna have it cremated later today and keep the ashes, decorate the container or something, I hope that helps her. I feel a bit lost, in a way I wish I could do more for her, but I tend to deal with heavy emotions by isolating myself, so I don't really know how.

[inkprincesse]

Hey uh idk who needs to hear this but

Some of y'all actually might be better off talking to your parents.

Hear me out. I have CPTSD so bad that when I was first tested for ADHD at 24 the tester looked at me in horror and told me that it was obscuring anything else that could possibly read as a symptom. It took 4 years to clear it up enough to be diagnosed properly.

My dad caused most of that. There is no two ways about it. School was a lot of it too, but I stayed in fight-or-flight nearly my whole childhood because the man who was supposed to take care of me had unstable moods but was always yelling at me to stop crying, and the woman who should have been defending me was frozen in place because she can't handle feeling too many emotions at once or she short-circuits.

They both continued to act like this as I got older, and honestly, if I hadn't been forced to live with them during the pandemic it probably would have driven a huge wedge between us.

But I did. And because of that, yeah, we fought a lot. There was a lot more yelling and a lot of echoes of the shit I remembered when I was little. But a wild thing happened: They started listening to me. And some of those conversations actually began ending productively. They listened. They even began to realize that my dad was also showing a lot of the same symptoms as me, just in a slightly different way, and ever since he's been asking me little questions about my symptoms and how I managed them and kind of nodding like he's taking notes in his head.

He's been a lot less angry lately. I don't think that's a coincidence.

They also--get this--APOLOGIZED for shit that had hurt me, and it actually felt so good.

What's more, once I got some of these apologies I thought I had wanted so bad, I realized I really didn't want them to feel that remorse in real life. Because when they were actually sitting in front of me and clearly actually comprehending why I still have panic attacks and hard triggers at 28, and blaming themselves, I realized I CAN'T blame them. Not really.

Or maybe I can, but I don't want to. Both of my parents were working with the tools they were given at the time. Their problem wasn't that they didn't love me or that they didn't want to help--the problem was that they'd been given shitty tools. How could my father teach me emotional control tactics he'd never learned? He learned to stop crying at little things when he was a kid because he was yelled at--it was all he knew. He never LEARNED to question it, and honestly, I can't be mad at him for that, because it's so much sadder. That means this man internalized that for over fifty years of life. That must have SUCKED. I made it half that before I exploded.

I was talking to my mom the other day, and she noted that the only things that seem to work on me when I have a panic attack are things she uses for the preschoolers she teaches. And I explained to her that yeah, that makes sense, because that's about the age I was when I stopped understanding how my emotions worked. And she said the words "I feel like I failed you" and I almost cried. Because the thing is, no she didn't. Maybe there were times I felt like she did, but realistically I know she didn't cause anything that wouldn't have happened anyway, because I've seen her with those preschoolers. I've seen her read book after book about how to deal with the ones that are like me, and I KNOW that if they had been available to her she would have done that then too. They just...weren't.

My point is like. Sometimes you do have to cut your parents off, because they're shitty people. I see that a lot and this post doesn't make it any less true.

But other times it is so, so worth it to talk to them about it. Even though it's hard. Even though it might hurt for all of you the entire time. Because sometimes your parents weren't shitty people--sometimes they're just people who were only ever shown one way to be.

Unfortunately, for some of us, you really are the main character, and you DO have to be the one to break the family curse. I'm sorry. It sucks.

But I do promise it's worth it.

[deusexlachina]

Wannabe Warden Part 3 (Varric and Anders): Fail to impress a Grey Warden

In which I would like to perform a daring rescue for a Grey Warden but am far too weak and instead install my transition goals as chief of police so I can recruit powerful criminals without fear of legal reprisal.

A year into my mercenary life, someone decides to rob me. A clean-shaven dwarf named Varric comes to my rescue, and advises the pickpocket to find a different line of work where he doesn't pick fights with people he can't handle, life advice that would have immensely benefited me a year ago.

There were a number of Varric mods, but most of them took away either his beardless face or his tits-out chest, both of which are iconic enough to be the focus of his tarot card in Inquisition.

I am perverse but not that perverse. So I only give him a more OP-looking Bianca, which is a package deal with a blue shirt.

Varric introduces himself, saying he's heard the name "Hawke" a lot, presumably from Other Aveline, who uses the term insistently in a desperate attempt to avoid a situation in which I'm Aveline and she's Other Aveline.

Varric asks me to invest in an expedition to the Deep Roads, which I would suspect is a con, except he has a friendly face and the avuncular voice of Brian Bloom.

This is my chance! In the Deep Roads, I can not only fight darkspawn, but if I'm lucky, encounter some Grey Wardens who will be happy to have a new recruit. The Deep Roads Expedition becomes the focus of my life - my Main Quest, if you will.

Varric says that the expedition has everything it needs besides my help, fifty gold coins, and also a map to where the expedition is heading. So. It has everything except everything it needs. Fortunately, Varric hears rumours of a Grey Warden in Kirkwall. I hope it's Good Queen Morwen! She's a badass! I hear she's a better tank than a warrior. (I didn't take her name because everyone knows her and it would just seem arrogant).

Unfortunately, it is Anders, who is only not known as the goofy chucklefuck of the Wardens because he fought alongside Oghren.

However - despite the jaunty tuquoise-and-yellow robe I've put him in - this is a much sadder Anders than the playful little goblin in Amaranthine. He merged with his friend, Justice, a startling twist of events that is very impactful if you know either of these characters, as I didn't on my first playthrough and Aveline doesn't either. After Justice came inside Anders' body, their relationship changed forever. Without boundaries between them, Anders lost his mirth and Justice lost his cool head. Two noble souls become worse than the sum of their parts.

I'm just here for a Grey Warden to take me to the Grey Warden tunnels so I can drink Grey Warden juice to become a Grey Warden. I ask him for help on the Deep Roads expedition, and he offers it if I can rescue his boyfriend, another runaway mage. Unfortunately, this is a trap, and unfortunatelyer, I am not strong enough to fight my way out of the trap, because this is Nightmare Ultra. So before I can get stronger by having Anders on my side, I need to get strong enough to fight my way out of a trap.

I start with helping Other Aveline with her new job, which is being a cop, because the cops saved her miserable life and also because Other Aveline sucks. Aveline Cops Are Bastards. This is extremely punishing, but eventually, I manage to save Guardsman Donnic, who has a crush on me even though I've never seen him before in my life. The chaser fuck.

In a plotline that makes me feel like Varric wanted to write noir, Donnic testifies to corruption within the guard that goes right to the top. I use this as leverage to install Other Aveline as Captain of the Guard, giving me the exact sort of illicit connection to the police that got her predecessor fired, because, as we will see time and again, Kirkwall has not invented the Rule of Law.

[softersinned-arc]

Her fingers beat a rhythm against the cup and her smile shifts into something gentler, sadder. "He didn't tell me that," she says, voice soft as though she's trying not to disturb some fragile peace. "But it doesn't surprise me. He's all heart. It's the sort of thing that makes for good kings and grieving men." Astoria's fingers pick up speed, and the tea in her mug starts to heat, bubbles forming at the bottom of the cup and rising slowly. She notices it only when it's come to a simmer, and she withdraws her hands, presses her palms to the tabletop. "All that heart is hell after a few years. I don't know how he's managed it for this long."

For all her many flaws she's never been much for insecurity; old loves are just that, however they ended, and she doesn't resent them. If anything, she wishes Arthur had more to think on, if only so he hadn't gone through so many centuries feeling so alone. "I don't know how he does any of it," she confesses after a moment, taking the mug in her hands again. "I've always been good at shutting down the parts of me I can't tolerate feeling. I can't imagine carrying that sense of responsibility for everyone else's wounds in addition to my own." Under the table, she stretches a leg out to nudge his shin with her toes, and she lifts the tea, though she doesn't drink just yet.

"I've been warned against playing darts with you," she tells him rather dryly, but her eyes are sparkling with laughter. "You should teach me how to throw a knife, though. Just sayin'. Friends don't let friends suck at throwing knives. But I can respect that—not wanting to engage with that kind of violence." A short life must seem like a privilege, if it means carrying regret for comparatively little time. "And I think it's a fair fear. Human nature seems to tend toward the cruel when they think they won't have to deal with the repercussions of the damage they do. Remember that Abramović performance? Rhythm 0, I think?" She remembers her own experience with being the subject of experimentation, and that had been idle curiosity more than anything. What would anyone do to get their hands on real immortals?

What would she do? She has limits, of course, but there will come a time when she asks Arthur for a blood sample so she can try to replicate it for herself—and because she loves him it will be just that, an expression of love, the overwhelming desire for more time with him. Because she is herself, it will be the transformation of her desire for more time, rather than its inception. She would never harm him, would never harm anyone he loves, but those limits are selfish at their core, because she loves him and therefore he is a piece of her.

Even so, she knows how badly she wants it—what would someone else do to get it, if they felt that same desire, without the limitations she builds for herself out of love and her own memory?

"My kind of witch doesn't usually go in for that sort of thing." She shouldn't be talking about this with an outsider, she knows, but she and Desi are bound together, now. She is as much an outsider as he is. It doesn't feel like a betrayal of her own to tell him. Besides, a secret for a secret; hasn't that been her approach to this? And he hadn't chosen to share that secret with her, though he's dealt with the aftermath admirably. "Ancestral magic relies on death. Each witch draws from the witches before them, and when they die, they feed the witches yet to come. The witches who do fuck around with living forever end up excommunicated, and most are too weak to survive without a coven.

"But alchemists still try. Some nature witches give it a go, but they don't usually get far. I don't know if it's any help, but you're welcome to take a look at my library, see if there's anything there. Magically, though, as far as we know, it can't be done, and if anyone else has figured it out, they sure as hell wouldn't advertise it. But the invitation always stands." She takes a sip of her tea, now, and she nudges his shin again. "I think he'd like it if you visited, too.

"Thank you, by the way. My underwear choices notwithstanding." She laughs, now, wrinkles her nose. "Just between you and me, I think he might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. That's insane, right? Completely insane. I mean it, though. I mean every word."

     there is, admittedly, a rather impressive grin stretching his lips that desiderius tries to hide by sipping on a steaming cup of yunnan black tea.  as is normally the case, he’s tied his wild waves back into a ponytail so he can’t hide behind any of the strands.  the book in question sits between them.  everything he’d been able to gather about it’s contents was so split down the middle that he’s honestly not surprised to hear it may not help.  then again, he has not been so hit by the world that he wants it to end.  knowing what he knows about immortality he’d also never strive for it.  desi simply wants to make the best use of his time while he had it.  he knows about lykon and knows the death took everyone by surprise.  chances were he’d never live to andy’s age, nor would he want to.

     any thoughts on the book are cast aside by one word that sets his back a little straighter.  tilting his head, the immortal notes a gentle flush of color tinting the witch’s cheek.  my my.  that was interesting.  he leans forward, more than willing to gossip like the girls in town used to when he was growing up.  that’d hardly been his aim, though.  “ that is the most interesting shade of pink you’ve turned, ms. grim, “ desi winks before leaning back to take another sip of his tea. 

     “ i was honestly teasing.  i didn’t  expect him to open himself up enough to let the idea sink in.  arthur’s always bristled at the idea of relationships.  especially after michel. “  he wondered if astoria knew arthur had called several times to ask what he was doing.  that he had no right to take time away from someone as beautiful and wonderful as astoria.  love scared him.  desi wasn’t sure if arthur even realized the toll all his losses had taken.  “ did he tell you he bought their apartment building in paris after the incident?  still blames himself. “

     blue eyes cast down and his thumb starts idly drawing a line up and down the handle on his mug.  softly, the immortal continues.  “ i catch him talking to guinevere sometimes.  he looks up at the stars and he talks about his day.  like a journal, almost.  often he asks for guidance.  but, mostly, i think he’s comfortable being stuck in the pain he’s endured.  being happy and living for himself is a lost concept. “  lips part and his gaze shifts as if focusing  on something else.  “ not to say he’s been miserable.  he’s just never gone searching for joy.  like he’s a ghost watching his own life. “

     then, desi focuses back on astoria.  in the short silence he has the thought that he would absolutely be violent if she hurt him down the line.  not anything like heartbreak, arthur would survive that.  but betrayal.  the kind that would rip his heart out and shoot it like a cannonball to the middle of the ocean.  the words go unspoken because instinct always told him, as terrible as she thought she was, there was a kindness she managed for the very few who managed to slide their way in.  someone else could be there to protect arthur just in case something did happen to desi and that was worth more to him than any of the information the book contained.  although, answers would’ve been nice.

     with everything astoria has uncovered about both he and arthur in the duration of the mission there is another level of trust he feels he could - should - put into her.  for the foreseeable future she was as good as family.  though, the secrets of their immortal kin weren’t his to tell he could at least be honest where his own intentions were concerned.    

 “ i’m not looking to end it, if that’s what you’re getting at. “  he smiles easily enough.  reaching for the book, desi toys with the corner closest to him but makes no move to open it or look inside.  “ i’ve never liked violence.  i always hated how good i am at it.  so, this is how i help them since i rarely fight.  our fearless leader is terrified we will one day be trapped.  that someone will figure out we exist and will try to cage us like animals. “  desi’s focus goes a little distant remembering andy speak of quynh.  part of the reason arthur never wanted to get attached, he suspected.  “ i try to find temptation and lock it away. “

[h0neyjaehyun]

☁︎ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 ☁︎

Summary // Taeyong misses his little girl

Characters // Talia Flores + Lee Taeyong (ft. Hyung Line 127)

Month / Year // 2020

Word Count //

It’s been a couple weeks since Tali came back from her hiatus. It’s like she never took one. She came back with a smile, continued to do a comeback. Something clearly happened as she had injuries still here and there that weren't there before, and it must've been big deal since the managers are not allowed to talk about it and told them not to ask her anything about it.

But Taeyong had enough, he needs to know what happened that night. He needs to know so he can help her, through seem like she’s fine, she's not, at times you can see the disguise disappear when she's on the phone speaking to her brother in a different language that the members can't understand but can hear the sadness in her voice.

Things have changed whether he accepts it or not. Tali doesn't hang out with them that much, they tried to get her to eat with them, go out a little, spend time with each other. She would always say no, even if it was indirect no or a direct no. She has been getting more distant even though she seems so close. They started it, but they wanna end it, the guilt is eating them from the inside out even though they don’t know from what. She acts like nothing happened like she didn't just disappear without them knowing. Like she wasn't just ignored, like she wasn't just brushed aside on that dreadful night.

She acts normal on camera. Like anyone would, but off she would be so distant, there..but distant. Then when she did go out it was with other people, sometimes stays over. For example, Stray kids, her brother, Allen, Blackpink. Especially with Chan, Allen or her brother, Song-ho not that much as he travels, she stays with them as she feels safe as she did all those years ago.

She wouldn't even be in the same car as them sometimes for reasons they don't know which makes the genuinely upset. They would see her brother, Allen, a manager, Chan pick her up and drop her off at the same location just a little late.

They feel helpless and just want to get closer to the girl like they used to, to make up for what has happened even though they know nothing.

"You think it’s a good idea?" Taeyong asked.

"I don't know Taeyong, it's super risky, too risky for my liking." Johnny said looking over at the paper in front of him, having a name and number of a person that Talia barely mentions.

"She hasn't even introduced us to the rest of them what makes you think she would be happy with this." Yuta asked a little baffled Taeyong would offer this and also questioning how he even got it in the first place. Taeyong is getting desperate to getting closer with Tali and its quite obvious as his desperate attempts to get closer to the girl like they used was getting more sadder to watch each day.

"I- I....ever since that day everything has changed and I feel like she might know, and they haven't seen each other in so long. She might be happy to see her, you never know." Taeyong shrugged. The older members could see it in Taeyong's eyes. He was losing it, Tali such an important person to him, has been with him through thick and thin, and the fact he doesn't know what’s happening with her is making him a little crazy.

"Taeyong I think we should ask-"

"NO!" Taeyong cut off Doyoung, he cleared his throat and lowered his head realizing he raised his voice unintentionally.

"No, I want this to be a surprise I want to see the excitement in her face. I...I just want to see her genuine smile again." Taeyong's voice cracked hands on his face clearly about to cry, the desperate need to make the girl happy was there clear as day. If you could see him in the state, all you could do is feel pity for the man. Thats all the members could feel for him.

Yes, Tali is such an important person to them. But for Taeyong it was something different. She was like his wall, his child of hope, with such innocence dripping from her. A heart of gold he would say, and for him to see her so hurt, not seeing her genuine smile broke him. He wanted to see her bright smile again. From mistakes he made to make her life more and more difficult when he thought he was making it better, he thought he finally saw he was the problem, he needed to fix his mistakes.

He wants her to be happy, that’s what he promised her in his mind whether she knows it or not, thats what he promised her brother and now her brother won't even look in his direction and if he did, his eyes weren't the same as they used to be, they would be dead just like his sister's.

He just wanted his little girl to smile again.

[toscrollperchancetomeme]

Lestat de Lioncourt - A playlist

So, guess who made a Lestat Playlist (like there aren't enough already) and decided to sit down for 4-6 hours to find some excerpt corresponding with each song? Featuring 80s and 90s music (clearly showing my age...) as well as many european songs and showtunes. Enjoy!

1. Cathedrals – Ramin Karimloo (Original by Jump, Little Children)

In the cathedrals of New York and Rome There is a feeling that you should just go home And spend the lifetime finding out just where that is

And that was not a good year for me. I was wandering aimlessly. I was sick of things. I was furious with myself that the „beauty“ of life wasn't sustaining me, wasn't making my loneliness bearable.

I wanted to join them. Always do want to join them and never do. „Go home,“ he whispered. - Prince Lestat

(I actually feel like there are quotes that would correspond to this song in every one of the books and indeed have not yet found any other song that captures the general spirit of The Vampire Chronicles as perfectly.)

2. Edge of Seventeen – Stevie Nicks

Well, I went today Maybe I will go again tomorrow Yeah yeah, well, the music there Well, it was hauntingly familiar Well, I see you doing what I try to do for me With the words from a poet and a voice from a choir And a melody, and nothing else mattered

He sat next to me, hugging me and asking me why I was crying, and though I couldn't tell him, I could see that he was overwhelmed that his music had produced this effect. There was no sarcasm or bitterness in him now. I think he carried me home that night. And the next morning I was standing in the crooked stone street in front of his father's shop, tossing pebbles up at his window. When he stuck his head out, I said: „Do you want to come down and go on with our conversation?“ - The Vampire Lestat

3. I ain't scared of lightning – Tom McRae

No I ain't scared of lightning And thunder never killed I was born in a summer storm and I live there still

I wasn't part of the world that cringed at such things. And with a smile, I realized that I was of that dark ilk that makes others cringe. Slowly and with great pleasure, I laughed.

And the labor that brought it forth was rapture such as I have never known. - The Vampire Lestat

4. Junge Roemer – Falco (Young Romans – Full Translation)

Don't ask for new old values See white light, see only feeling The night is ours till morning We play every game Don't ever let this journey end The doing comes only from the being Only from dimensions, that Are worth illusions and sensations Give me more, give me more, give me more...

... and again she laughed. „Ah, but we are splendid devils, aren't we?“ „Hunters of the Savage Garden,“ I said. „Then let's go into Paris,“ she said. - The Vampire Lestat

5. Running up that hill – Candy Says (Original by Kate Bush

If I only could, I'd make a deal with God, And I'd get him to swap our places, Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building,

„Not even with Nicolas?“ „No, god, no!“ I looked at her. She nodded slightly as if she approved of this answer. „Why not with Nicolas?“ she asked. I wanted this to stop. „Because he's young,“ I said, „and he has life before him.“ - The Vampire Lestat

6. Florence – Notre Dame de Paris (Full Translation)

The little things always triumph over the large And literature will kill architecture The school books will kill the cathedrals The Bible will kill the Church, and man will kill God This will kill that

„I never lived in it. I push against the glass. But how do I get in?“ „I can't tell you that,“ I said. „You have to study this age,“ Gabrielle interrupted. Her voice was calm but commanding. He looked towards her as she spoke. „You have to understand the age,“ she continued, „through its literature and its music and its art. You have come up out of the earth, as you yourself put it. Now live in the world.“ No answer from him. Flash of Nicki's ravaged flat with all its books on the floor. Western civilization in heaps. - The Vampire Lestat

7. Go your own way – Fleetwood Mac

Loving you isn't the right thing to do How can I ever change things that I feel

If I could maybe I'd give you my world How can I when you won't take it from me

You can go your own way You can call it another lonely day

„Keep your promise,“ she said. And quite suddenly I knew this was our last moment. I knew it and I could do nothing to change it. „Gabrielle!“ I whispered. But she was already gone. - The Vampire Lestat

8. Désenchantée – Olympe (Original by Myléne Farmer - Full Translation)

If death is a mystery Life isn't exactly tender If heaven has a hell Then heaven can still wait for me Tell me how to handle this headwind Nothing makes sense anymore, nothing's fine

Laughter. That insane music. That din, that dissonance, that never ending shrill articulation of the meaninglessness... Am I awake? Am I asleep? I am sure of one thing. I am a monster. And because I lie in torment in the earth, certain human beings move on through the narrow pass of life unmolested. - The Vampire Lestat

9. A kind of magic – Queen

The bell that rings inside your mind Is challenging the doors of time It's a kind of magic The waiting seems eternity The day will dawn of sanity

And quite completely I understood that it was looking for me, this sound, it was seeking me out.

Blood like light itself, liquid fire.

It seemed beneath the roar of the flow he spoke. He said again: „Drink, my young one, my wounded one.“ I felt his heart swell, his body undulate, and we were sealed against each other. I think I heard myself say: „Marius.“ And he answered: „Yes.“ - The Vampire Lestat

10. La quête – Bruno Pelletier (French version of „The Impossible Dream“ from Man of La Mancha)

To try when your arms are too weary To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest To follow that star Ooh, no matter how hopeless No matter how far

I would remain in New Orleans if New Orleans could only manage to remain. Whatever I suffered should be lessened in this lawless place, whatever I craved should give me more pleasure once I had it in my grasp. And there were moments on that first night in this fetid little paradise when I prayed that in spite of all my secret power, I was somehow kin to every mortal man. - The Vampire Lestat

11. Wicked Game – Chris Isaak

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

Yet Louis gained a hold over me far more powerful than Nicolas had ever had. Even in his cruelest moments, Louis touched the tenderness in me, seducing me with his staggering dependence, his infatuation with my every gesture and every spoken word. - The Vampire Lestat

12. Do I disappoint you – Rufus Wainwright

Do I disappoint you, in just being human? And not one of the elements that you can light your cigar on Why does it always have to be fire? Why does it always have to be brimstone?

„And suppose the vampire who made you knew nothing, and the vampire before him knew nothing, and so it goes back and back, nothing proceeding from nothing, until there is nothing! And we must live with the knowledge that there is no knowledge!“ „Yes!“ he cried out suddenly, his hands out, his voice tinged with something other than anger.

And then I sensed it. He was afraid. Lestat afraid. - Interview with the Vampire

13. Ordinary World – Duran Duran

What has happened to it all? Crazy, some'd say Where is the life that I recognize? Gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday There's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive

I do not remember when it became the twentieth century, only that everything was uglier and darker, and the beauty I'd known in the old eighteenth-century days seemed more than ever some kind of fanciful idea. - The Vampire Lestat

14. I'm still standing – Taron Egerton (Original by Elton John)

And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm coming back again

But after the third night up, I was roaring around New Orleans on a big black Harley-Davidson motorcycle making plenty of noise myself. […] I was the vampire Lestat again. I was back in action. New Orleans was once again my hunting ground. - The Vampire Lestat

15. Catch my fall – Billy Idol

I have the time so I will sing, yeah I'm just a boy but I will win, yeah Lost song of lovers, fellow travelers, yeah Leave me sad and hollow out of words

It could happen to you so think for yourself If I should stumble, catch my fall, yeah

I've survived, obviously. I wouldn't be talking to you if I hadn't. And the cosmic dust has finally settled; and the small rift in the world's fabric of rational beliefs has been mended, or at least closed. I'm a little sadder for all of it, and a little meaner and a little more conscientious as well. - The Queen of the Damned

16. I want it all – Queen

I'm a man with a one track mind So much to do in one lifetime (people do you hear me) Not a man for compromise and where's and why's and living lies So I'm living it all, yes I'm living it all And I'm giving it all, and I'm giving it all

It is not enough any longer that my little rock band be successful. We must create a fame that will carry my name and my voice to the remotest parts of the world. - The Vampire Lestat

17. Let me entertain you – Robbie Williams

Hell is gone and heaven's here There's nothing left for you to fear Shake your arse come over here Now scream

I'm a burning effigy Of everything I used to be You're my rock of empathy, my dear

So come on let me entertain you

"I AM THE VAMPIRE LESTAT!" I shouted at the top of my lungs as I stepped way back from the microphone, and the sound was almost visible as it arched over the length of the oval theater, and the voice of the crowd rose even higher, louder, as if to devour the ringing sound. - The Vampire Lestat

18. La bien qui fait mal – Mozart l'Opera Rock (Full translation)

I can feel a violent urge I feel like I'm sliding towards the ground If I don't find out where this plague is coming from I adore having it under my skin Bewitched by mad ideas Suddenly all my cravings take off The desire becomes my prison Until I loose my mind

Yet I was in her arms in this chilling darkness, in the familiar scent of winter, and her blood was mine again, and it was enslaving me. When she drew away, I felt agony. - The Queen of the Damned

19. Tainted Love – Soft Cell

And you think love is to pray But I'm sorry I don't pray that way Once I ran to you Now I'll run from you This tainted love you've given I give you all a boy could give you Take my tears and that's not living, oh

„What do you think I am that I am so easily swayed? I was born a Queen. I have always ruled; even from the shrine I ruled." Her eyes were glazed suddenly. I heard the voices, a dull hum rising. "I ruled if only in legend; if only in the minds of those who came to me and paid me tribute. Princes who played music for me; who brought me offerings and prayers. What do you want of me now? That for you, I renounce my throne, my destiny!" What answer could I make? - The Queen of the Damned

20. Dancing in the Dark – Ruth Moody (Original by Bruce Springsteen)

They say you gotta stay hungry Hey baby, I'm just about starvin' tonight I'm dyin' for some action I'm sick of sittin' 'round here tryin' to write this book I need a love reaction Come on now, baby, gimme just one look

"I want you to put the book aside and come join us," he said. "You've been locked in here for over a month." "I go out now and then," I said. I liked looking at him, at the neon blue of his eyes.

"Do you love me now?" I asked. He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. "Yes," he said. "Want to go on a little adventure?" My heart was thudding suddenly. It would be so grand if- "Want to break the new rules?" "What in the world do you mean?" he whispered. - The Queen of the Damned

21. I want you – Savage Garden

Oh, I want you, I don't know if I need you But oh, I would die to find out

"You don't think you'll be back?" he asked. "I think you will, whether I call or not." Another little surprise. A little stab of humiliation. I smiled at him in spite of myself. He was a very interesting man. "You silver-tongued British bastard," I said. "How dare you say that to me with such condescension? Maybe I should kill you right now."

I thought of David Talbot's face, and that moment when he'd challenged me. Well, maybe he was right. I'd be back. Who said I couldn't come back and talk to him if I wanted to? - The Queen of the Damned

22. Lay your hands on me – Bon Jovi

I'm a fighter, I'm a poet, I'm a preacher I've been to school, oh baby, I've been the teacher If you show me how to get up off the ground I can show you how to fly and never ever come back down

I sat down on the bed beside him. And then I bent down and kissed his face again gently, as I had in New Orleans, liking the feel of his roughly shaven beard, just as I liked that sort of thing when I was really Lestat and I would soon have that strong masculine blood inside. I moved closer to him, when suddenly he grasped my hand, and I felt him gently push me away. „Why, David?“ I asked him. He didn't answer. He lifted his right hand and brushed my hair back out of my eyes. „I don't know,“ he whispered. „I can't. I simply can't.“ - The Tale of the Body Thief

23. 20th Century Boy – Placebo (Original by T-Rex)

I move like a cat, charge like a ram Sting like a bee, babe, I wanna be your man, hey!

He drew back with a speed that astonished me, cleaving to the wall. „Don't do this, Lestat.“ „Don't fight me, old friend. You waste your effort. You have a long night of discovery ahead.“ - The Tale of the Body Thief

24. Way down we go – KALEO

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve? Whoa, we get what we deserve And way down we go

„In chains, to my friend and my scribe, I dictated these words. Come with me. Just listen to me. Don't leave me alone.“ - Memnoch the Devil

25. Personal Jesus – Depeche Mode

Reach out, touch faith

"Don't tell me," Gabrielle said slurringly, "that it's a matter of faith." She sneered and shook her head. "You come like doubting Thomas to thrust your bloody fangs in the very wound." "Oh, stop, please, I beg you," I whispered. I put up my hands. "Let me try, and let him hurt me, and then be satisfied, and turn away." - The Vampire Armand

26. Papillon – Editors

Darling Just don't put down your guns yet If there really was a God here He'd have raised a hand by now Now darling You're born, get old, then die here Well that's quite enough for me We'll find our own way home somehow

"And if I spill my blood down into this coffin now," Lestat asked her, "what do you think will come back? Do you think it will be our Louis that will rise in these burnt rags? What if it's not, chérie, what if it's some wounded revenant that we must destroy?" "Choose life, Lestat," she said. - Merrick

27. Sunday Light – Choir Boy

Why, why, why, are you silent on the ride home? I'd love to see the temple with you Heavenly and bright, golden angel twisted scathing You were one of us, one of us, one of us, you were one of us

"Then come, Little Brother, take me to where you want to talk," he said, and I felt the soft squeeze of his fingers on my arm. "Why are you so kind to me?" I asked him. "You're used to people being paid to do it, aren't you?" he asked. - Blackwood Farm

28. Für mich solls rote Rosen regnen – Hildegard Knef (It should rain red roses for me - Full translation)

It should rain red roses for me All wonders should encounter me The world should rearrange itself And keep its worries to itself

I want to be a saint. I want to save souls by the millions. I want to do good far and wide. I want to fight evil! I want my life-sized statue in every church. I'm talking six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes- Wait a second. Do you know who I am? - Blood Canticle

29. Constant Craving – K. D. Lang

Even through the darkest phase Be it thick or thin Always someone marches brave Here beneath my skin And constant craving Has always been

I was hunting, thirsting though I didn't need to drink, at the mercy of the craving, the deep agonizing lust for heated pumping human blood. - Prince Lestat

30. Kalte Sterne – Jan Ammann (Cold Stars from the musical Ludwig² - Full translation)

Get up, ride home, on your horse, through your land Across the morning with your reins trailing behind you Build a castle like a dream, build it with mighty hands And it shall be named „future“

Build a castle like a dream Up from the ashes and close to the heavens Build a castle like a dream And realise the future as king

If we wanted to survive, if we wanted to inherit the millenia […] then we had to meet the future with respect as well as courage and count fear and selfishness to be small things. - Prince Lestat and the realms of Atlantis

31. C'est une belle journée – Mylene Farmer (Full translation)

I'm going to bed To bite eternity With my mouth wide open It's a beautiful day

And I felt the cold numbing shell of alienation and despair which had imprisoned me all of my life among the Undead – I felt that shell cracked, broken, and dissolved utterly into infinitesimal fragments. - Blood Communion

32. Princes of the Universe – Queen

Fly the moon and reach for the stars With my sword and head held high Got to pass the test first time, yeah I know that people talk about me, I hear it every day But I can prove them wrong 'cause I'm right first time

„I know that you meant full well to bring Rhoshamandes down, of course you did. But you had no way of knowing that you could. And no one would have predicted that you could. And with the willingness to die, you gave yourself over into his hands... and you disarmed him and destroyed him.“ – Blood Communion

And finally, because I can, a bonus track:

33. Primadonna – MARINA

And I'm sad to the core, core, core Every day is a chore, chore, chore When you give, I want more, more, more I wanna be adored

[abombihoney]

i hope you're happy, because you managed to make EVERYONE cry

that is such a sad idea! like, knowing how the only cordy that has the memories of the host still has some gaps there and there means that vi may end up forgetting things. what would be worse is that she may forget some things she did together with the team. even worse: maybe the cordy will also forget things which, you know, is BAD in a way. like, it may end up forgetting more important things.

tho, this really shows how she's also kind. like yeah, she uses bravado and anger to deal with her emotions, but that doesn't mean she's completely bad! she's just a teen after all (which also makes the situation sadder, since of course everyone would assume that she is lying; she's just a child! no one really believes a child, they are easy to manipulate. like, she is NOT lying but nobody believes her. the fact that she ends up in such a bad situation is horrible, since no child should fear the people that were close to her. of course she can't see the queen like a kind being anymore; she doesn't understand that she KNOWS. she KNOWS what she's saying, so of course vi would feel betrayed; no one takes her seriously)

tbh i also really like how you made crow be the one who helps them in escaping. it's a nice touch, considering that the team comments on how she seems to be overworked. she could have easily overheard the discussion (since it's a tattle) which was a sign for her that hey, someone cares a little for her.

(btw, you're working on a fic? that's awesome! also sorry for this whole dump! i'm very interested) - mothposts (i'm on mobile so i can't send an ask from my account)

Good! If I had to cry so did everyone else!!!!

on the memory thing: :)

Yeah nobody ever believes kids or teenagers about anything, I remember how much that pissed me off as a kid. I never could understand why I would have to explain myself about w/e, if the adult in question had already made up their mind, but was just hearing me out "to be fair" or some bs.

which as an adult now, there is a degree of "oh this is teenage emotions/oh yeah they're a teen. teens just be like that." Teenagers are very emotional, they lash out A Lot.

The teenage years are when you start learning all sorts of shit. You learn that adults don't actaully know everything, they probably don't know much more than you. Teenagers are really getting into the concept their own personal morals and ethics, every single small issue seems huge to them! This is the first time they're dealing with stuff in a context more complex than "following the rules is good, otherwise is bad."

anyway, kids aren't stupid. adults just tend to get up their own asses so much that they forget kids are just inexperienced people. Have you ever heard of baby powder effect? i think its called?

it's the concept that someone who changed your diapers is never going to take you seriously. anyone who knew you when you were just a baby are never going to see you as fully functioning adult, and worse, as an adult of equal standing. I'm sure that when you are the mother of your entire kingdom, you might have a problem with listening to your subjects.

Yes with crow it's also that she is the assistant to the head scientist. you don't see someone you know play card with occasionally get vivisected and just, go on with your day.

i have Thoughts on Kabbu and Jaune :)

Yes! the fic i'm working on is actually just fleshing out these concepts! I'm just adding narration, concrete series of events, and slighter better drawings. I already have seven chapters outlined lol.

[fallenrepublick]

you can't do this to me so I must demand: FORCE GHOST READER! FORCE GHOST READER! How would Maul and Thrawn deal with their late lover coming back to haunt them bc it's obvious even from the other side how badly they're doing?

Perfect I’m gonna make you all sadder

Maul

Already there had been instances where he could have sworn you were standing right in front of him, only to be met with emptiness the moment he blinked. As a result, seeing you standing before him scares him, but he makes every attempt not to interact with you, if only to save himself from disappointment again.

But blinking doesn’t make you go away, and the small, sad smile you offer only makes him realize you’re real.

And he runs to you, frantically, seeking you out beyond all hope, knowing nothing else in the galaxy could matter more.

But he passes right through you.

He may as well have lost you all over again.

But you’re as there as you can be. You say his name and it’s quiet, as if you’re guilty of something, and when he turns to look at you, you wonder if being here only made it worse.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say, stepping towards him, your movements too light and figure too translucent. “You’re going to be okay.”

His first reaction was to shake his head, arms recoiling against his chest.

“No, it’s not,” he whispered, hands raising to press against each side of his head. “It’s not okay, it can never be okay... What am I going to do without you? How could I possibly move forward?”

To see you standing there, to know for sure what had become of you, it made him even more fearful. You were at peace, in a place where you could continue beyond your death. But he would never reach such a luxury. Even after his own passing, he would never be able to meet you, to hold you again, to be happy at your side.

Still, you stood before him, holding out a hand that lingered just against his cheek, the energy of your ghostly form sending just the slightest ripples through the force towards him. If he hadn’t been so terribly aware of the situation, he might’ve thought he could truly touch you.

“You’ll find a way,” you said, smiling again, this time warmer, more comforting. “You always do.”

And he blinked, and you were gone, the only hint that you were ever there the remaining sensations of your hand on his cheek.

As days went by, he wondered if it were yet another figment of his imagination, if this hallucination just happened to be more intricate than the others.

But then he remembers your touch, how real it felt, and he clings to the memory desperately, promising you that he’d find a way.

Because he always does.

Thrawn

Your figure stood in his office, an unnatural blue glow about your frame that he was entirely unfamiliar with.

His first thought was that it was impossible. He knew that you were gone, that it was permanent in every way. So how could you be here? Why?

But as improbable as it was, you were too real to ignore, and the way you looked at him was something he missed far too much than he would like to admit. So he allowed himself this. If only for a while.

“You’re burying yourself,” you start, frowning sadly at his tired eyes. “Why are you trying to hide?”

He maintained a fair distance. He knew if he didn’t, he might snap.

“You managed to be the only one I never hid from,” he lamented, gaze downturned. “I’ve nothing to show anyone else.”

Your head tilted, searching his expression. “Keeping it in will only hurt you.”

As he came closer to you, he reached out, hesitantly hovering in front of your face.

“Can I...?” His voice trailed, almost afraid of the answer.

The expression on your face told him everything he needed to know. Yet his hand didn’t lower, instead following the curves of your face with his fingers, regardless of what he couldn’t feel.

“Don’t be so sad,” you said, smiling gently. “Nothing really changes or goes away. And if you ever want to stop hiding, I’ll always be here listening.”

Almost as quickly as you’d arrived, you were gone, and Thrawn was left with nothing but an empty room and a strange sense of being accompanied.

Of course he knew what you meant. Speak to others, find solace in those he’s surrounded with, even if it isn’t the same. But instead, he finds himself speaking to an empty room as he once did when you were sitting with him.

He doesn’t know if you still listen. But somehow, he wants to believe you do. And maybe if he ever sees you again, you’ll know he didn’t forget about you.

[taleweaver-ramblings]

Hi! I think you're pretty neat and I enjoy what you post, so I thought I'd send you an ask :) (No pressure if you don't want to answer). In your recite-from-memory post tags, you mentioned The Music Man! Since it's older but not Rogers/Hammerstein, I don't hear people talk about it very much. Do you still enjoy it? Do you have a favorite song or line, &/or a favorite moment? Favorite quality of the music? There's room in the play for both comedy and sincerity--what do you like of each?

First of all, thank you for making my day with your kind words! I am pretty much always happy to answer asks as long as I have time.

I still love The Music Man (it's in my top five favorite musicals) and just rewatched it a month ago — there are more instances now when I see stuff and I'm like "Yeeeeaaaaah, that's pretty much straight up harassment," but the story is still excellent. And I love both of the leads for different reasons. I love Harold Hill because he's one of my favorite character types in general and I am a sucker for the "charming conman accidentally falls in love with the straight-laced lady/does a good thing and develops a conscience" plotline in any form it takes — in fact, I think this show is probably what made me first fall in love with that particular assembly of tropes. And then I love Marion because . . . well, pretty much because if I lived in the 1950s, I would want to be Marion. (Well-read? Intelligent? With a job that keeps me around books and provides me a stable enough income that I can have high standards for what I want in a husband? And with enough force of will and personality to hold to my standards and deal with everyone around me? Storms yes.)

Favorite song, line, or moment? That's hard to pick. If I must choose, my favorite songs are the opening "Rock City" song on the train and "Trouble in River City," because they're fun to sing and also set up the story and the characters well. (Those and "The Sadder But Wiser Girl" are the ones I still know the best as well — a lot of the others, I know, but I'll get stuck in a loop a verse or two in.) That said, I think a lot of the music in the play is fun to sing, and it's fun to be in the headspace of the character singing it. Most of it is either very classic small-town-old-values-America feeling or it's Hill's salesman fast-talking. And while I've never performed, I'm a writer and a DM, so I can't help putting myself in the space of the singer, and . . . yeah.

On the other hand, my favorite moments in the play are both towards the end and are more serious/sincere: one when Marion gives Hill the incriminating page from the library book, one when Hill is talking to Winthrop. The latter might rank a little higher, just because there's something really excellent about Hill finally coming clean to this boy who's idolized him and admitting, in a way, that sometimes he even fools himself. Close runners-up would be Hill's first encounter with Marion, in which she shuts him down with magnificent efficiency (and Marion's following conversation with her mother) and the scene in which Hill manages to get the mayor to sign his non-existent son up for the band because . . . storms, we know the mayor isn't that bright, but that was some magnificent fast-talking.

I think that answers all the parts of your ask, but I am happy to continue this discussion! Thank you for giving me the chance to talk about it.