YELLOWJACKETS1.09 | "Doomcoming"2.02 | "Edible Complex"

YELLOWJACKETS 1.09 | "Doomcoming" 2.02 | "Edible Complex"

🪐 — COWBOY CARTER : @immobiliter ( misty ) for shauna ▶ ❝ i'm warning you, don't come for my man. ❞

SHE CAN ADMIT that they're all going a little crazy at this point, but misty is also definitely the craziest one of all of them. & right now, shauna is all hormonal & bloated & pissed off & just so not in the mood to deal with with the other girls' weird obsessive crush on coach ben.

❝ misty, gross, ❞ she says, pulling her face into a scowl. ❝ first of all, it's not coach's baby. & second of all, i'm not interested in him, ok ? you can have him, i don't care. ❞ & she almost says that coach definitely isn't interested in misty either, for the record, but she bites down on her lip before the words can come out. sending the other girl into an emotional tailspin won't help anything — it'll just make her freak out more. & shauna is busy with her own freak out at the moment ; she just has the good manners to keep it to herself.

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

🪐 — BLACK SAILS : @sunscess for asha ▶ ❝ you're exactly what i hoped you'd be. ❞

THE SUN IS RELENTLESS, & asha can feel sweat rising on her skin, her linen tunic clinging & darkening where it touches her. her face is flushed red when she turns to face the approaching princess, & she works to catch her breath as she straightens, standing victorious above a fallen knight. if she is so warm even in such light garb, she can hardly imagine fighting in dark leathen armor, as he is — or worse, mail as she is used to. but of course, the dornish would be accustomed to the heat. in fact, while the man looks rather irritated to have lost a friendly sparring match to a foreigner in his own courtyard, it also seems he has scarcely broken a sweat in the process. perhaps he had underestimated her ; he certainly would not have been the first.

❝ it was no easy victory ; your man fought well, ❞ asha replies, feigning modesty even as she inclines her head with genuine respect. & she returns her axe to her belt before extending a hand to the knight, helping him back to his feet. ❝ thank you for the match, ❞ she says — more to arianne than to him — her focus entirely returned to the princess as she draws near. there is something about her that holds asha's attention. & it was not mere beauty — though arianne certainly had that in abundance. no, it was the air of intelligence & poise, the quiet confidence that suggested unseen sharp edges lie beneath a silken exterior that intrigues the ironborn, that held her rapt. ❝ you've been a wonderful host to us, & your kingdom is a place of undeniable beauty, ❞ she says. & asha smiles, her eyes to dropping briefly to move appreciatively over arianne's alluring shape. ❝ if our two great houses are indeed to become friends, then i would happily act as envoy if it meant that i could return here for more frequent visits. ❞

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."