#we're evil

[perseusannabeth]

Every time I discuss lmbyh with my beta we end up with even more angst planned...

[anna-kendrick]

Getting a call that her wife had almost bled out on the bathroom floor while suffering from a miscarriage, was not something Chloe thought she’d ever have to hear.

[dreamboatdani]

school

when my ELA teacher got out of the zoom meeting and i became host and i made my friend co-host

us:

(Ik its an overused meme ;-;)

[death-trap-exodus]

16. Noah. (Revenge on Obs, but what if it isn't Obs at the time 🤔🤔🤔 :> )

Fun fact, I killed him to Killer Queen.

[butteredonions]

God between you and Boss you guys are destroying whats left of my soul, I mean I love it but slowly dying.

dear anon, I love you. thank you for the gleeful cackle joyous out loud laughter this ask brought into my life. I’m so sorry for the pain and misery you are enduring in our name <3

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea would be lying if she said that it was easy.

The first year she spent abroad was rough. It was an effort to not reach out to Conrad every moment. Every time she turned the corner in Paris there was something new and exciting that she wanted to show him, something she wanted to scream about with her best friend. She had to get a new phone number when she finished making arrangements to permanently live abroad - a roaming plan wouldn’t work forever. But Dora had Conrad’s phone number etched into the shadows of her heart, having forced herself to memorize it one night in high school so she could call him from anywhere. 

She wasn’t expecting the degree of loneliness. Dorothea had her parents, who would call her once a week and catch up, and she had Connie’s mom, who would call once a day, but never provide any details about Conrad. She had Connie’s dad, who occasionally sent her bits and pieces of his drafts in the mail, who always had some piece of advice to provide about her articles, who always made her a better writer. A better person.

And she had her words. They have never failed her.

By year two, she started making friends. Other travel writers and backpackers who felt the same yearning she did to explore all the places of the world that felt bigger than herself. To soak in the steps at the base of Mount Vesuvius, or to laugh and cry at the karaoke bar at the small Roman cafe on Friday nights.

They were with her when she cried in front of the Notre Dame in Paris, on the day that it reopened. Her most popular piece to date, A History of Burning, was written that week as she sat among the pews and lit candles, under the rainbow-colored streaks of light that danced with the tinted windows. In it, she explored cycles of violence, the things that we burn for, the things we set fire to, the ways we rebuild.

By year three, she felt anew. Dora was louder, taking up space outside of the four sides of the paper. Her group of companions grew and shrunk as different people came and went and returned, sometimes she herself peeling away from them to go on a solo pilgrimage. She danced along the streets of Thailand, shrieked Happy New Year more than once from balcony buildings in Spain. 

But by year four, there were the occasional moments when she felt herself being pulled to a familiar place. The frayed bits of her heart, the ones that she kept boxed up and put away neatly in a corner, the wine-stained dress sitting at the bottom of her suitcase waiting to be dry-cleaned. She couldn’t escape the memories, was surprised to wake up one morning to a yearning to return home, was shocked to realize that she never stopped calling it home in the first place.

And then one day, she received a job offer in her inbox. 

That’s how she found herself back here, in the city she ran away from. 

The first day after she returned, she set out to explore. There were so many things that changed, but so many things still the same. Dorothea walked the entire day, finding new places in tucked away corners, scribbling in her notebook, her love renewing. The parts inside of her that she had set fire to were rebuilding.

That’s how she found herself standing on a familiar street, looking up a familiar window, wondering if there was still a splotchy stain of red wine on the hardwood floor.

That’s where she ran into James. 

Dorothea had met James during her second year of travel while he was on a business trip, and had clicked immediately. They had never taken their friendship any further because of the looming goodbye between them, and sure enough at the end of the two weeks, he had returned home and she was onto a different country.

But oddly enough, finding him in New York was…comfortable. And with him she could avoid the hurt, avoid the dread in her heart when she gave into thinking about the man she truly loved.

Conrad.

So when Dora spots him from the window to the fancy restaurant where she’s to meet James’ sister, she stops walking.

“What are you doing?” James laughs awkwardly.

“I need to go home. I’m-I’m not feeling well.”

“Don’t be silly, we’re here already. You were fine like two seconds ago, what’s the matter?” He doesn’t pause to listen to her answer, taking her hand and walking into the building.

Every step they took closer felt like someone was pouring fire down her throat.

Dora saw the moment when her husb- when Connie noticed it was her. The way his eyes flashed for a split second, and she swore that it was the same look he wore on a fateful night five years ago. 

Not quite having paid attention to introductions, Dora snaps her attention back to Ava, the person she’s here to meet. “Hi Ava. It’s nice to meet you.” Her chest clenched as shook Conrad’s hand, no words exchanged between them, wondering if he could feel the trembling of her hand. She forces herself to take a deep breath as she takes her seat directly across from him.

“James has been talking about you non-stop for the past few weeks. He says that you just moved to New York?” Ava says.

“Moved back.” Dora smiles at Ava politely, hoping that she can’t see the absolute terror in her face.

“Dora grew up here.” James chimed in from beside her where he’s already taking a look at the wine menu. “The great Dora Hawkins was offered a job at the New Yorker. Started last week, right babe?” 

“Yes.” Dora confirms, averting her gaze from Conrad, looking at anything but.

“Hawkins? Wait that’s so funny, Connie’s last name is Hawkins.” Ava places a hand on Conrad’s shoulder and squeezes. 

This causes Dora to glance over at Conrad, who is still staring at her. She can tell from here that his jaw is clenched, a flash of a memory dancing in her mind of the time he had to wear a mouth-guard for three weeks in high school from clenching his jaw so much.

“That is funny.” James half-heartedly replies before glancing up at Conrad from the drinks menu. “Conrad, you’ve been here before. What’s the best wine selection?”

Hawkins.

The word rang between the two of them like bells. 

Yes. She tries to whisper to him with her eyes.

When her gaze falls, she almost chokes on air.

A thin gold band catches her eye on his right hand. She would have noticed sooner when they shook hands if her fingers hadn’t been so numb with panic. Again, a flash of the two of them taunts her, Dorothea and Connie on their wedding day, the sight of his face crumpling with joy as she walked down the aisle, his nervous laugh as she slid that same ring onto his left ring finger. I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

Dora feels a sudden pull to run across town and show him the matching gold band that is meant for her finger, the one she carried with her across the world, the one she could never bear to part with, the one she looked at and would slip onto her fingers on long nights with a glass of wine.

I never forgot about you, either. 

[witchaotics]

“Poor thing, he’s a bit overstimulated.”