#survivores

[the-fierce-dog]

[searsage]

ES: The Scale Of Devastation and Reconstruction

art for @mortior's endanger i got to excited when i herd about the sequel!

[mis-timed]

(...)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎inbox prompts, featuring @survivores.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎__‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you make me want to be a better person.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"

it has not been easy, and yet it has been masochistically gratifying, to grow to trust the woman before her. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there are still thousands of steps between them, between the crossing and the point of comfort elphaba has set for herself, and yet she feels good where she is now, if not a little confused.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ there's a knit in the center of her features, lips, nose, and brow all pulled inward in a questioning glance, still waiting for the second verse to fall ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ how so?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ pity?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ friendship? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she wants to ask, to pry open the brain of the other to understand how they got here, how strong their red tethered string is, but instead she just straightens out her gaze,

"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i don't think anyone has said anything like that to me.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and it's true, if not heart-wrenching. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she would be a fool to not admit it, the way she's seen galinda grow before her, and the way elphaba has molded with her, and yet she hadn't quite, at least not completely, attributed it to herself, to their unplanned union. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎thank you, galinda. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you make me want to be a better person, too.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"

[mis-timed]

(...)‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎inbox prompts, featuring @survivores.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎__‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i'd rather be alone with you.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"

how long ago was it that she was claiming there was no such thing as love waiting for her:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it seems foolish now despite it's reality within the moment.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her heart no longer beats and yet she could swear, and would under oath, that it pounded in her chest whenever she saw a flash of him, be that in the corner of her eye, in fleeting dreams, or in the centimeters between them.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her husband, her husband, her husband, it repeats in her mind like a religious hymn, singing with a melody of hope that blinds her‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎especially for what's to come.

"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and i would rather be alone with you.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her voice is like honey, dripping from her tongue before she's pecking a series of kisses down his cheek until she lands perfectly on his lips.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and oh does she shower him in so many more, laughing between each while she pulls him close.

"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but i want friends!‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and i think this could be good for us‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎we get so holed up in here.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎arms are held around his neck, their chests pressed cold against one another, and she feels so alive, more alive now in death than she ever did before knowing him.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a dramatic pout creeps onto her lips, playful begging, playful silent pleas.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and i promise, i promise you that we will be alone for the whole rest of the night, hm?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and we can do whatever you want, my love.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"

[mis-timed]

msg , accepting.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you know you matter to me, right? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(@survivores)

there've been many-a-times in which he's looked confused, head tilted and the corner of his eyes furrowed:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but there was a gentleness about the way he stared at her‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it wasn't a fake confusion, one rooted in the shallow ease of his mind, but a type of confusion that sat in the pit of his gut, making nausea stir.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i mean,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎he keeps searching, lips parted as if he was waiting for the perfect and easy response to just come to him, and it couldn't.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎for once, there was an embarrassment rooted in his thoughtlessness.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎he wanted so badly to say the right thing for her, and for only her:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎and he didn't know what that would be‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(unless he does, and it seems too vulnerable to even mutter).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i hadn't thought‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎or, uh,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎quickly he shakes his head, as if starting anew,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you matter to me too, you‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎of course you do.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"

[mis-timed]

claudia... died. LESTAT 4 SATINE 😘😘💋💋

his words seemed to move right through me, as if it passed through each cell in my body, burning along the way ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎an untrustworthy man stood before me and yet i couldn't find it within myself to call him a liar.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i wanted to, terribly, i wanted to grab him back the back of his head and pull, in punishment for the harm his words were doing.‎

visions passed in the back of my unblinking eyes, times playing in the gras as a little girl with homemade dolls, preparing for the day i could hold a little girl like me and tell her she was everything i couldn't be, and everything good that i was.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎although the image is fleeting, somewhere i saw the grin of my mother, red haired and frail, slipping away while watching me imagine a future she would never see‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe it was for the best:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎what shame she would have for the monster i had become.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she was the closest i had come to having that dream, even if she wasn't mine, even if she was stuck in the grips of the man before me‎.

"‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎excuse you? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎looking back now i could tell the honesty in his statement from the way his face was contorted‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i had never seen @survivores look so sad, and while that word seems like such a hollow choice, there is no other way to describe the weakness in the infallible creature before me:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎just sad.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" when? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the moment the question left my lips it felt useless, i knew his answer would give me no closure, unlike the next thing i posited:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" how? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i once wanted a daughter so bad and i could feel it on the tips of my fingers all those years ago, and then all of that was gone.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎from the corner of my eyes, blood started spilling quickly and inconsequentially, pooling onto my cheeks like a blush.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" what did you do? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i refused to let him be guiltless.

(𝙸𝙽𝚃.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚄𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃, 𝙳𝚄𝙱𝙰𝙸).

her fingers tighten around the stem of the glass before her, shifting uncomfortably in her seat before the other:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎shame decorates each inch of her features, and in the deep warm lighting, she looks almost human.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" you know, "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎there's a shake in her voice, melodic even in her discomfort‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" i know you believe we don't feel anything, but let me tell you something real you can put in that book of yours. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎violet eyes flick up to the older-looking man, and she has to blink away the blood that pools in the lower line of her eyes.

" across all vampires i have met, there is one emotion that i am sure they all feel:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎grief. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her voice is barely above a whisper, only stretching to his ears‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(shortly, in the relative stretch of a vampire's life span, the whole world will know their secrets, and yet she's scared for anyone dining around them to hear her guilt).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" don't let any of them twist the story‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her death was one of the greatest losses in my life, and i do not want them coming out guilt free, even if it means i look worse in the end.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i should have saved her, i could have‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎– "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her jaw tenses and she lifts the wine glass to her lips, sipping the flavorless liquid gently.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she has to force it down.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" i believe if it hadn't happened‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe my husband would be here now. "

[mis-timed]

msg , accepting.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" there is no story that does not lead to another story. "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(@survivores)

my fingers flush through the pages of the old book once, twice, the smell of paper filling the air as i stare unblinkingly towards the other. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i refuse to tell him how his words broke me, how the story made me believe in more than what my maker and father have made me believe.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎gratitude, something i hadn't imagined feeling at any time other than when warm iron slipped over my tongue, it fuels me as i wait excitedly for more, more information, more love, more tragedy, more of whatever it was he and satine have.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎i was promised no beauty and yet, the novel reminded me that may not be true.

" so then are ya' going to write another book, another story, a sequel about you two?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎maybe with me in it? "‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎my smile feels so reminiscent of what i used to be, girlish and young, even as i try to fight it and recreate what i've seen in others, in non-children.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ " no pressure of course.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the book was just so‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so good. "