#this.......

[jude-st-francis]

i just don't understand how you don't miss me...

[lightwxrker]

Have you seen him? Now you have =)

[your-thighness]

YOU'RE WELCOME

[bibiana112]

Lies down, tries not to cry, cries a lot

I fucking cried so much because of this one you have no idea this is forever burned into my brain I love whatever this trope is

[talkfastcal]

whoever is in charge of the camera in b5 needs to stop

[burninglilys]

<3 <3 <3

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

celebrating pride by listening to cowboy like me and crying my eyes out

[sobachas]

She remembers the golden haired boy so full of life that ran the halls of the Grand Palace. His mother chided after him with a fondness she envied, but his charm wore away all feelings of displeasure. Never seeming to sit still, she found herself enchanted by the stories he told her in the shadows of the night. Their toes brushed the surface of the waters of the lake, and he told her his dreams of the sky. The water, the sea, he would be a boy who conquered it all and all Genya could do was giggle at how outlandish his stories became. Little did she know what his dreams would lead him to.

To see the boy who never stopped moving, laying still across the bed, caused her heart to hammer in her chest. She took her seat beside him when Zoya had been pulled away to rest, and her hands hesitantly find his. Touched by shadows, the marks remained even when the creature had left his body and taken everything it could with it. She wants him to roll over, prop himself up on his elbow and tell her jokes about what it felt like to soar the sky on his own wings. She wants him to pop back up, an impractical jokester making his dramatic entrance. She wants to look away from the peace in his face, but she can’t seem to.

Genya doesn’t cry, she can’t bring herself to express the pain in her chest. She’d lost the young Lantsov years ago when he had left the Palace, and she had never had the chance to find him again. She doesn’t speak unless spoken to for the days that follow. She assures David she’ll be okay when he gets called away to the confines of the workshop. Instead, she makes her way through the familiar halls of the Grand Palace and into the corner of the kitchen they would hide in as kids when they didn’t want to get caught. She sat down with her back against the kitchen counters, and remembered the days that were so much better. When they were so much younger. That night she sheds her tears as silently as she had mourned.

my muse is dead, how is your muse dealing with it?