the damn things overlap.

rules!

navi!

different ways to say ‘i love you’ ( accepting! ) / @damnthings​ said:

❝ It’s a lullaby. Would you like me to sing it to you? Would that help you fall asleep? ❞ ( for EVEY & BASH / royals )

Sebastian turns away from the window ( dark glass slick with winter rain, which blurs his already rumpled reflection ) at the sound of her humming. His blue eyes are bleary with fatigue, a headache’s brewing in his temples; he wants nothing more than to lie down with his head in someone’s lap, to be peaceful and still, but the restless energy that’s kept him up until all hours all this week is still refusing to let him settle.

He drums his fingers against the leaded panes in a hurried, anxious rhythm that’s entirely at odds with the low, slow, lilting notes of her lullaby. Something about it sounds mournful. It makes him wonder, briefly, whether she’s homesick, whether she’s as sick and weary of these castle walls as he is, but he doesn’t ask.

“It’s a kind thought, sweetheart,” he says instead, trying not to sound brusque. He stops tapping and starts pacing, with the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between forefinger and thumb. “But I think it’s going to take more than music to soothe me tonight. If you want to get some rest, I would suggest you retire to your own chambers.” The church bells have just chimed twelve in the distance, and ( privately ) he doubts whether he’ll get to bed much before dawn—if, that is, he even gets there at all.

Your Majesty,

     I pray this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. The matter is neither pressing nor terribly important, only an informal introduction. Forgive me if I have breached any convention; it is my understanding that the customs of your land differ from those with which I am familiar. Know that any discourtesy on my behalf is unintentional.      I leave my home on the morrow. It seems queer to wed without the slightest idea of just who you’ll wed, however typical it may be for those of our station. At risk of overstepping boundaries, I must say that my curiosity feels like it will be the death of me. Do you enjoy the theatre? Do you fence? Is the terrain much different from the highlands? Surely, I will miss my home, though I am hopeful that time will lead me to love England. The gravity of this highest of honors does not escape me, though I must admit how nervous I’ve been. My focus has left me and I find myself at the window more often than not, sitting and wondering about it all, heart jumping in my breast.      Forgive my prying. You needn’t respond if I’ve offended. I pray, though, that I have not, and I look forward to receiving word back. It will brighten the journey.

“  LONG  STORY.  ”   HE  SAYS  THIS,  BECAUSE  HE  CAN’T  ANSWER.       someone has words for what happened.  someone could piece those words together, and say, without emotion, that rhae knew every cruel intention in every gaze, and every bruising mark left in the wake of an angry hand.   but rhae doesn’t have those words  —-  he wouldn’t know how to begin.  his stomach growls, and he stares, with his hollow, lilac eyes, at evelyn’s hands.  the boxes offered to him contain things his stomach would reject, but he hasn’t eaten since the previous day.

when he takes the offering, he doesn’t discard the trash, and holds both close to his chest.  another week of survival, if he can ration this out.  another week closed to death.  his hands tremble  (  his hands always tremble now, for some reason or other  )  but his grip on these meals conceals it.  “  you work at a bakery.  ”  he’s peiced this together in the passing moments.  his eyes are tearful.  “  you survived that place.  ”

A slight tension flickers through his posture when hands shoot up to frame his face, but he catches himself before flinching away. He sits still again but gives Seamus an apprehensive look the entire time. A soft sigh accompanies the huff.

“Don’t think of it as copying. You’re trying to be me. Here,” He adjusts to sit the same way Seamus is before taking his hand and putting their palms together flat, held up between them. “Think of it like a mirror, but I’m the reflection. Focus on the eyes again.”

Quinn is like a comic, a cartoon. Their big-eyed, bushy-tailed innocence makes Spirit feel oddly paternal. 

If she has to show some kid with fucked up powers left from right, she knows all the right things to do and she knows how to not royally fuck somebody up. Right? Right. 

Spirit is unreasonably confident in her ability to adopt all the best parts of growing up with Harris while ignoring all of the worst. 

“I’m not with anybody, I’m not trying to fuck with you, it’s just - the thing. You’ve got going on.” Spirit gestures vaguely around Quinn. “The fucking costume, it’s stupid. And a lot of work, right? Isn’t it easier to be harder to describe?” Revealing anything else might give Quinn a stroke.

As exhausting as the effort is - shouldn’t breathing be enough right now? - Spirit’s eyes dart in every direction Winston twirls his knife. When it presses against her skin again, she’s not as keen on teasing like she was before. 

A larger part in this. What does he think he’s doing, picking storylines in a fucking LARP session? She opens her mouth to snap something about Winston’s psychosis, but all that comes out is a frustrated grunt. 

“Sure. I am in an ideal position to sign a binding contract right now.” She’s too monotonous for a hint of sarcasm.

     he’d driven a ways, through early morn and a bit of early-fall wet sleet, but finally, will’s reached the proper doorstep. mindless, empty tasks like driving were easy. easy as long as he could sit back at ease, loosen the tension in his shoulders and find it within him to embody that emptiness.

     when the door finally opens, will does his best to seem… presentable. not quite smiling, but standing straight, head a bit bowed. if not amicable, than at least… the appearance of submissive. “hi, i’m… will graham. i texted you about your- facebook post.”

@damnthings- for silas

andy & matis.

once matis makes it clear that he’s open to questions, andy assaults him daily with a grocery list of inquiries about earth living that she doesn’t want to bring up to the ground crew.

they have a mukbang type thing where, when andy’s curious about earth food–– especially of the junk variety–– matis gets some and they share meals together. she has her perfectly grown and balanced meal and experiences the joy of a big mac combo vicariously through matis. she also uses this as an excuse to share mealtimes with someone, a luxury that had disappeared with the crew.

matis mentions the concept of web-comics once and andy develops an addiction and he becomes her dealer.