#thefaeriescafe

 ❝ Darling, I don't believe I've ever heard you BEG in your life. Though I can think of a few ways to make you start. Are you losing your wits? Need I repeat myself? Read the words coming from my beak:

Blackened lips collapse into a scowl followed by silence. A sickening.. deafening silence. Brick was the loudest of the three beings HIM called kids. A trait they could appreciate when that crude mouth wasn't pointed at them. A trait they unfortunately picked up from both his fathers.

HIM's own forked tongue hit the roof of their mouth, sucking their teeth. They flicked their claw towards Brick a few times as to dismiss his concerns or perhaps just him.

✧˚ · . 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑶 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑰𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑷𝒀 / accepting.

there's   a   period   of   silence   as   he   sits   with   the   pinkette.   eyebrows   furrow   downwards   to   show   his   growing   frustration.   sonic   ?   his   friend   ?   is   that   what   they   were   ?   is   that   what   friendships   are   ?   he'd   hardly   known   anyone   who   really   accepts   him   or   sees   him   outside   of   this   monster   persona   the   military   had   built   for   him.   amy   and   maria   were   one   thing,   but   sonic   ?   were   they   meant   to   be   something   outside   of   this   weird   double   alien   rivalry   they   had   seemingly   built   ?   or   was   it   just   a   continued   fallacy   that   shadow   had   built   to   further   justify   his   anger   ?   to   be   quite   honest,   he   didn't   know.

@thefaeriescafe | March 18th, 1942. (The day following the announcements of the third military draft lottery). Some mild inspiration from this picture!

There were always quieter days at work, but the mood today was somber. A year ago, everyone had known that America would enter the war and that it was, at that point, mostly a matter of time. But that wasn't true anymore.

The latest lottery had been announced last night, and Vivian had never found herself seeking out Clarence's hand more than to see if his number had been on the list. It hadn't. But that hadn't been true for everyone. They'd walked past people crying on the subway, and those who simply stared ahead with vacant eyes.

"They're going to ask questions about us soon," Vivian calls through the propped-open door between the washroom and the living room. She leans towards the mirror, pinning a hair roller in place. It's the usual shape of their nights. She prepares for bed, and then Clarence does.

"They already do," he says, voice growing closer. She catches his eyes in the mirror as he comes to lean against the doorway. And it's true, they do: about the fact that she works and has no plans to stop even once the war is over, that they don't have children, or own a house, or any of the other great number of things that make them just so subtly unlike the other couples.

"About children" she elaborates.

He grimaces. "You don't want children,"

She sticks another roller into her hair. "No," she agrees. "And you don't want them with me," but they both know that what they really want isn't an option. It was why they ever got married in the first place. She thinks the only reason they've managed to avoid more pressure thus far is because they had still been newly married enough, but it would be their fifth anniversary soon.

Clarence tries to laugh, bitter as it might be, and nods in acknowledgement of the truth of it all.

"They'll probably listen for a while yet about worries of ending up like our parents." Like her own father, she doesn't add, who came back in nothing but flesh. Now is hardly the time to have children, so soon to when everyone thinks they'll need to ration. But after the war... she'll be older then, but not so old as for it to still be unreasonable and they'll need a better excuse.

And there is, perhaps, a comfort in discussing the future like this. She doesn't want him to die in the war, as much a farce as the marriage might be. And the last day... they've come closer to the risk than has felt real since the day he had to register.

He seems to catch onto the concern before she needs to say it. "We need something they won't question,"

Vivian nods.

"Fear of being widowed?"

"Only so long as the war lasts."

"Notoriety?" This time, Vivian turns to look at him directly, and the sigh says it all. "The assistant and a daytime television star? We're hardly the most notable couple in New York," whatever dreams they both might have to the contrary.

They both fall into silence for a long minute while Vivian finishes preparing her hair for tomorrow.

"Infertility," she says a moment later, and Clarence's eyes light up.

"We play it off as a tragedy," he says.

"A mutual desire that just isn't to be," she adds.

"No one asks anything past it," he says, and a split second later. "But now that you're done, it's my turn with the washroom now."

-

An hour later, when there's nothing left illuminating their apartment but a lamp, she touches his shoulder gently. "For what it's worth, I am sorry I can't give it to you."

He catches her wrist before she can move away, leaning his head against it. "Don't be. How could I ever play the handsome heart-throb if I'm living the role of the exhausted father?"

"The same way you always have," Vivian answers. "You're a good actor,"

Clarence laughs, and it's just enough to lighten the mournful air. "Ah, Vi, if only you were the person running it all. Maybe then the world would see my true vision. You're the best wife I could have asked for."

'Via' stared at her 'mother' in both confusion & utter disbelief. Wait. No. Wait. The voice speaking to her was her mother's, but in the.. wrong body. THE WRONG BODY?! Nearly tripping over dainty feet to reach the mirror hanging just on the other side of the open closet door.

It wasn't the face of an teenager staring back at her ; oh no, it was much, much worse than she could have ever prepared herself for.

✧˚ · . 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚. / accepting.

sonic  gives  amy  a  worried  look,  almost  unsure.  lying  ?  what  would  she  have  to  lie  about?  what  has  she  been  lying  about  ?  the  last  thing  the  speedster  wanted  was  to  doubt  or  lose  trust...  surely  amy  had  her  reasons,  right  ?

✞ " Lute, stop this. " The herald places himself in her way, a hand raised flat to both pause them and in heeding. " Revenge is not our way, lieutenant. -- Think for one moment! You are a warrior of Heaven-- a higher being, not some mortal with a lifetime to waste! There is nothing after this! You are meant to be wiser than this by now! " He fervently insists, a plead for sanity underlying his fussing frustration.

" The demons have done nothing to you but defended themselves in a conflict they did not begin, such is the risk of attacking people outside of agreed arrangements. A risk Adam was warned of. " An attack he was squarely against and knew to be poorly devised, mind you.

My muse’s ( Octavia's ) opinion of your muse: It's difficult for her to describe how Octavia truly feels about her mother. Deep down, she knows Stella cares for her, but the extent of it all is left out in the open. It feels as though she's walking on eggshells around her ; to be the perfect daughter, the perfection Stella could never achieve in her life. Octavia loves her mother, in her own way - but Stella's hardened exterior makes it hard to believe that she may return her feelings.

My ( Kairi's ) opinion of your muse: Oh my GOODNESS?? You're flawless at her. The perfect combination of terrifying & grace. The epitome of wrangling the storm & keeping her so composed?? Stella is PERFECT in every single way, the way you express her inner thoughts, to her mannerisms & sharp tongue. You have such a perfect balance that makes her so INTIMIDATING & lovable all the same time. I cannot get enough of her ; she's horrible & wonderful all at the same time.

My favorite part about our muse’s interactions: The way Stella knows she cannot be emotionally available to Octavia, but still attempts to eliminate her fears of being an obligation ; a mistake to her? Stella being so gentle but having inner thoughts of self doubt & lack of maternal instinct? There's SO much to them that I cannot fathom to put into words. They're so opposite but the same?

A wish/plot I want to write for our muses: I just want Stella to BE THERE for Octavia. To be the mother she deserves ( craves ) but knows she cannot have. To have her feelings be validated, to understand her mother on a deeper level than what we've seen. I just crave mother/daughter angst & eventual bonding.