#topshelfperverts

The moment a guy realizes hes bisexual caught in 4k

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.

"If it was meant to happen, it would have happened already."

"home?" michael repeats in quiet disbelief, eyes locked onto david a moment or two longer before his gaze travels to the rest of the band behind david. each one of them smiling, a knowing look in their eyes-- though michael still feels left out of the loop. he's not what he used to be. he's one of them, now, and all of the signs of the 'what' point to vampire but... not quite. he thinks about all of the pain he's experienced in the last few hours, sharp, gnawing at his gut. and seeing his dad again...

"COINCIDENCE." in a cave, all things echo. the larger the hollow, the greater the reverberation. "coincidence?" the word resounds a second time ⸺ the hole he has dug them into is proving to be deeper by the minute. "is that what you're calling yourself these days ⸺ i thought it was captain."

dove turns and paces away. to her vanity, it is more or less ten steps. more or less the agreed upon preamble of a duel.

"you can't really mean to tell me, jack," at the desk's edge her hand brushes an array of trinkets and rusted sentimentalities, the practiced act of searching for something. under her fingerpads an ivory comb; ornate hairpins; a jade flacon of perfume, round as a hip. an array of deflections. dove keeps her chin angled toward them and away from the mirror, proof of her distraction, and monitors the dark blur of @topshelfperverts's body in the curved belly of a brass swan instead.