Send MOM + a question for my muse's mother to answer the question. || @topshelfperverts and this time tagging @petitsdieu and even @godresembled just for fun || always accepting, come fuck up my muses.

"They came into the world holding onto each other. The midwife had to separate their hands. I've never stopped thinking about that."

She is quiet for a moment in the way of someone sorting through things too carefully folded to unfold quickly.

"Valyalina has her father's patience and my stubbornness and the water's good sense, which is more than either of us can claim. She learned the Deep things. The Slow things. She became—"

Something softens. Something that has not softened in a long time. "She became what I had hoped to give them both."

A breath. Then:

"Feyd-Rautha was—"

She stops. Starts again.

"He was so loud." Not unkindly. The way a beautiful, destructive storm is described. "Valya would sit at the water for hours and Feyd would throw rocks into it just to see what happened. Just to make it respond." A smile. "He always needed the world to respond to him. I used to think that would serve him well."

She thinks of the last time she saw him small. Whether she had known, holding him, that it was the last time. Of course: she must have. Valya is not alone in Knowing and Seeing and Haunting.

"They were so different and so exactly the same. Valya knew what the water was saying. Feyd just—" a pause, "he just wanted it to know he was there."

Something crosses her face that doesn't quite resolve into any one thing. "Vladimir took that from him too. That particular loudness. What came back was something quieter and much more dangerous and I still—"

There is no end to that sentence.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Will's far too smug for a lanky eighteen-year-old in summer flannel, bed hair, and a mouthful of cereal. Loitering in the kitchen, however, is how the Byers boys have always rolled in the mornings: Only usually it's Jonathan up early, and Will comes slinking down the hallway rubbing the last of sleep out of his eyes before the smell of eggs and bacon can irrevocably draw him into the land of the living.

The cherry on top:

"Are you in vacation mode or does film college not come with morning classes?"

Morning classes. Will's eyes catch the orange gleam of his graduation gown behind Jonathan, thrown casually over the back of the couch. Excitement flurries through him at the thought that Oh, I won't have to deal with those anymore either.

❛ at least i found a nice room. the other rooms are much worse. ❜ — bucky for steve @godresembled

"Believe it or not, I can relate." It had only happened once and Wanda had never done it again but the vision of that dance hall still haunted him.

{ 🫀 @godresembled broke and bought: Modern!Ben:// accepting }

First, Ben feels a nail on his shoulder that makes him feel like a mound of worsted wool at the mercy of a cat’s claw. He feels eyes and optics shifting, and he turns to follow them. His company… these… people… glance and carry on, as though they watch this scene unfold every night. It’s uncanny, he’s drunk, but she’s standing right there. 

“Selina…”

She gives him a look. That look. Knowing and teasing, and perhaps concerned. Although there’s no… no reason for any concerns. Concern? He’s fine. Ben knows what fills the glass in his paw, and he knows where he is. 

He did not know that Selina worked here.

“I’m…” 

A little disheveled. Tie-less yet again, unbuttoned. Pushing back his hair, which did not look this rumpled four hours ago. Definitely not doing anything illegal. Sort of.  

“It’s really not what it looks like.”