Me Rn As The Anti-elle-woods Like : Did You Guys Know That Grad School Is Um... Hard ?

me rn as the anti-elle-woods like : did you guys know that grad school is um... hard ?

EVEN THE WAY HE MOVES seems strange somehow. the lestat that stands before him is entirely different than the one in louis' memories, the one that had followed him through the streets of paris & lingered around the penthouse in dubai. this version is smaller, paler — but no less beautiful. after breaking from their long embrace, lestat takes an unsteady step backwards, then another, his touch falling from louis' waist to link their hands instead. & for the first time, louis lets himself follow the pull of the unseen tether between them without any resistance.

the inner room where the coffin sits is just as neglected & ruined as the rest of the house, though at least here boards have reinforced the broken windows to keep the day out. the coffin itself matches its surroundings perfectly, its frame cracked & the velvet within ragged & covered in dark stains. lestat trips as he steps inside, clumsy in a way he never was in louis' memories.

& now, nearly a hundred years after waking to his new life, louis murmurs a soft word of thanks & steps carefully into the coffin beside his maker again, just as he had on that first night. ❝ why didn't you get yourself a new one ? this one must let the sun in with all these cracks. ❞ he asks as he settles, lying back into lestat's arms. but he already knows the answer. he could remember at one point flinging this very coffin over the balcony railing in his anger. but lestat was sentimental & quite attached to it, so they'd had it repaired in lieu of buying a new one. louis had thought it silly, at the time. but now he wonders if it's not too late for the same to be done for the two of them. & he cannot pull his eyes away from his maker's face, a hand softly tucking a fallen lock of golden hair behind lestat's ear before coming to rest against his cheek. perhaps in the past louis would have held his tongue, but this time he allows himself to give voice to what forms in his mind when he looks at him. ❝ i missed you. ❞

'NOT TODAY.' Those two words, so innocently thrown out, stuck him like a knife. Tomorrow, then? Or perhaps the night after that. Regardless, Louis planned to leave him once more, and, loath as he was to do so, Lestat would let him just as he had 77 years earlier. He nodded and managed a half-smile. "Good. Good. Far too dangerous for that... good." The fact that there time together would be short only meant that he must memorize every detail so it may be feasted upon for years to come.

The thrashing of the wind and rain was mere background noise against the resonance of Louis' voice. "Of course, mon cher. Always." He took an unsteady step back as if he intended to backwalk his former companion into the adjoining room. It was only after another step was clumsily taken that Lestat allowed his hands to fall from Louis' waist to his hands. He held the hand of his former companion as if it were made of porcelain and carefully led him into a small room, with boarded windows, and empty save for the coffin placed in its center.

Although, it had braved several cross-continental trips and was nearly half a century old the coffin maintained its regal appearance. The wood remained unblemished, with a polished sheen that reflected even in the worst lighting. It's ornate decoration wrapped around the top as sharp and finely finished as the day it was carved. He opened it with a flourish, revealing that even the fabric had neither aged nor stained.

Lestat carefully stepped in, his grip on Louis' hand tightening as his foot hit against the coffins side causing him to lurch forward. He gave an airy laugh, the excitement of it all having him lightheaded. Once settled he reached out for Louis hand once more, "still wish to be on top, beautiful one?"

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE that this is the same room that had served as a kind of combination prison-slash-torture-chamber for he & ed over those horrible months. in fact, the little nook where they are lounging together now is almost exactly where izzy had lay when his captain had ordered his toes removed, one-by-one. but ed doesn't live here any longer — he's ashore, with stede, where he wants to be — & izzy has a new captain now. & frenchie ( along with wee john & the rest of the crew ) had clearly worked some kind of magic to exorcise the demons from the ship. now, sunlight pools on the floorboards where shadows used to linger. candles burn in every lamp & all the knives & splintered furniture have been removed in favor of more comfortable seating. soon, they will add more color, fill the walls with art again. soon, it will look like an entirely different space.

& he's never before been accused of being an optimist, but izzy only shrugs at it now, softened by the term of endearment frenchie bestows on him. ❝ i don't know, ❞ he admits. ❝ maybe it's the music, or the calm day. maybe it's you. ❞ it's gentle ; far more gentle than he's used to being. he would never say such a thing if there were anyone else around to hear, but there isn't. & even in the midst of the storm, in the arms of the kraken, frenchie has always kept izzy safe. ❝ you want to hear me sing, then you'll have to play something i know. ❞

THE SOFT MELODY WASHED OVER THE CABIN cleansing it of the dark aura which had lingered for so long, well, that and the candles Wee John had lit. "Keep talking like that and people might take you for an optimist." His words blended into the final notes of the song and judging by the look on Izzy's face he hadn't distinguished one from the other.

"Oi, mon rayon de soleil," Frenchie gave Izzy's good leg a gentle poke with his foot, "what's brought this on? You're away with the faeries today." And he wasn't the only one. Frenchie thought this must be what it felt like to be a summers breeze. He caressed the neck of his lute, and as he looked at Izzy he found himself smiling once more. I don't think I've heard you sing. Not even a shanty."

🪐 — OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH : @baldursgoons ( aurora ) for birdie ▶ ❝ we’re friends. friends tell each other these kind of things. ❞

IT'S BEEN AWHILE since birdie has had a real friend, & she pauses in her work at mending a heavy winter cloak to look up at aurora in surprise. ❝ oh. they do ? ❞ of course, birdie considers almost everyone to be her friend, even those she hasn't met yet. but it's hard to keep friends when you don't stay in one place for very long, & birdie tends to wander on her own more often than not. so to hear the assertion being directed at her brings a broad smile to her face, her pale feathered wings giving a giddy flutter. ❝ i didn't know. i guess i've never had one stick around for long enough to ask. ❞

she hesitates, but aurora seems genuinely curious. & though birdie hasn't had anyone ask for awhile, the story hasn't faded from her memory. her eyes drop to her stitching as she begins. ❝ my father was a mortal — i never met my mother, but he thought her an angel when they first met, on account of her wings. he said they were so great they could almost touch the ground. when she left him, she left me, too. i didn't have my wings when i was a baby, so i guess she thought i was a mortal, & that i should be with my own kind. but when they came in ... ❞ she pauses, glancing back up to catch aurora's eyes, her wings settling close against her back. ❝ my father didn't enjoy having the reminder of her. so i left. i've been on my own ever since. ❞ & birdie smiles then, shrugging. it isn't a sad story ; not to her. after all, it ends with her being set free.

❝ & you ? what of your family ? ❞

You overpaid, with crumpled bills and some earrings with blood on them, like they were ripped from the lobes. You had a body about to bloom and the mind of a sophisticate. You didn't smile.

🪐 — spotify wrapped memes : @immobiliter ( beidou ) for stede # 38 ▶ speed drive by charli xcx

THE SENSATION OF EYES ON HIM was not altogether unfamiliar — but to have the gaze be not judgemental & snide but instead adoring, affectionate, even admiring ? that was something stede bonnet was not yet used to. & he found himself positively preening under the attention, hero worship for the-man-who'd-killed-ned-low in no short supply. but there is one familiar face amongst the crowd that is not smiling. & his drunken pride takes offense to her clear distaste, will not let a slight to his swollen ego go unchallenged. ❝ i see you looking with that side-eye. ❞ he calls out, a hush falling over the tavern at his words. clearly, beidou still held a grudge against him from the last time their paths had crossed. ❝ wow, you're so jealous. ❞