#fxdelitas

THWUMP.

Make Me Choose Between ______ & ______ ?

Cynthia hesitated, not wanting to answer. She knew what she’d say, of course - she was ashamed at how quickly she’d come to the conclusion. She’d spent months, if not years of her time since coming back complaining about her father playing favorites, and here she was doing the same. Was it that he had set a bad example?

She didn’t think so. Somehow, she just knew that she’d managed to let herself fall into the same trap without even noticing until it was possibly too late. She loved Haley, yes - but the girl was standoffish, isolated, her phobia taking that aspect of her personality and magnifying it to unimaginable levels. They couldn’t even touch - how was the princess meant to bond with a daughter she couldn’t even hug?

Morgan was smart, and beautiful, and affectionate and most importantly physical. She had so much in common with her mother, really, even if she’d inherited a terrifying amount of her father’s brains. She was someone she could actually relate to and spend time with, even if Cynthia found herself out of her depth. Which was why, even though she hated herself for it, she knew the answer as soon as the question had been given.

Send a word and I’ll write a drabble based on the below scenario.

Lyra: My muse reflects on a significant relationship.

She made him colder.

He wanted to wrap it up in words, but he didn’t know how to do so without spilling the secret that caused the whole incident.  He started there, with the word ‘colder’.

She made him colder.  She took the warmth from his heart by letting it out through a small little hole, metal-stained.  Gunpowder, gunpowder, could he use it?

He wrote it down.

Seth had already worked out a nice little riff, humming the notes as he wrote.

The relationship had been good until the end.  It came to a jarring, halting stop, complete with sirens and a hospital visit.  Could he twist that into a metaphor?

A hand sifted through his bangs.  He was in that mood again -- he had to get something down.  The emotions were whirling inside of him, raw knives against his heartstrings.  His best work was in that vulnerable place between motivation and tears.

Before she broke his heart so thoroughly, she’d been wonderful.  A bubbly girl that begged him to write songs about her (back when he was bad at it), and he wrote hundreds for her but never showed her a single one.  

Everything was good until the end.  How could he put that into words without telling the whole truth?

Gunpowder, gunpowder, on your breath and in my chest.

That sounded good, he decided, just about the time the scar she gave him pounded with imaginary heat.  He sighed.  It ached when he thought of her, and he hated it.  It felt like his heart was aching from her, and not the wound that she left him with.

There was no denying it.  She changed him, though for better or worse he still didn’t know.  People were weird like that, he concluded.  You could break them to bits and they’d still find something good out of it.  Maybe he just needed to find something good about it in order to move on.

If I get 7 🐌 I'll post a munday selfie

Omg----Toshi XD

Tremolo tremolo FUCKING HELL MY LIFE IS ONE HUGE NAGA-DAMNED TREMOLO!

In the privacy of her own room, a very scarred knight was waging a particularly fierce battle with the smallest member of the string section- the violin, as she managed to wave her way through a particularly complicated piece, filled with particular crescendos, touchy tremolos, and very abrupt and frequent switches from fortissimo to pianissimo.

Of course, for her right arm and left hand, this translated to one thing.  Well, two things, actually-

Not.

Fun.

Regardless of her own personal suffering, this song was the ultimate test of skill for any violinist, and as both a knight and a noble, it was an art that was expected of her- and one she would see through.

But for the love of Naga’s bathing suit area, WHY WERE THERE SO MANY FUCKING TREMOLOS?!

The last note couldn’t have come soon enough, and as the last note of the massively over-complicated piece died a slow, painful death, she set herself into a resting position immediately, and stowed her instrument away.

Feeling great accomplishment, the scarred knight lay down on her bed, to rest after a long session of practice.

An errant breeze came through her room at that time, and the pages of the music sheets she had been reading flipped back to the title...

Ode to Your Ghetto Ass

@fxdelitas / @sparkles-and-swords

based on

The male of the pair is, quite frankly, a train-wreck of etiquette.  He’s doing every last thing wrong and you ca’t help but stare, and the morbid side of you is more than a little amused.  Final diagnosis?  Huge nerd who would cry over a kitten.  Not even like, a sick one, just a cat.