Mina hearing stories of gravestones erected over empty graves, for the dead whose body was never found, killed far away from home….all the while with her Jonathan silent for a month as dread grows in her heart.
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thinkin about how ava's mom was adamant that she be an musician/dancer/artist 'cause she was good at it for the "wrong reasons" and tried to remove her from her passion of math when she kept seeing it in other places. and we think "oh isn't that strange and cruel ava's mom is so weird" then you reverse the roles and think about kids who are forced to go to tutoring to be good at academics.and it's a pretty blatant statement. it's just been in my head a lot.
also, the fact that ava's quite a bit like her mom. how her mom lets her play the song she hates. how the only reason ava agrees to play is because her mother doubts her abilities to do the thing she hates and how nobody listened to her theories. she proves to her mother she can do it. she could always do it, no thanks to her.
and caspar is nothing like his mothers and how he was "always bitter" and how he told maggie that baby-caspar would love her so, so much despite her shortcomings and how his son didn't leave him a note when he left. and how his moms argued in a public area for "neutral ground" and he's spent at least one of his breaks arguing with his wife at the dmv, alone, monotonously. and how caspar had a lot of collateral damage from the homophobia and it was hard and stressful for him, and he tells his wife his kid is just gonna have to "learn to live in the real world" and he knows he's wrong
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do you think merlin ever faintly hears arthur saying his name just like he used to when he was alive
do you think merlin cant tell if its arthur reaching out to him or the loneliness making him hear things
do you think merlin drops what hes doing to search out for arthur with his mind
do you think no matter how many times it happens without arthur returning merlin keeps trying anyways
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💎💎💎 Well then, Siavash's thoughts about Eneas?
When cornered Siavash is usually an expert at deflecting, but you catch him glance up guiltily as soon as the name is out of your mouth, and there’s no way he can hide the color that rises to his cheeks. He makes a good show of laughing it off but he’s been caught and he knows it. And he knows you know it.
“Three thoughts for three diamonds,” he says with exaggerated casualness, flipping a strand of hair from his face. “I can do that.”
“First thought. He plays the violin superbly.” A defiant grin. Are you going to make him elaborate? Delve into music theory?
You hold your ground. He must complete the thought.
“All right, fine. It’s warm, true, enchanting, terrifying. Like your soul is the strings and his bow makes it resonate…”
He trails off as if his tapered ear has caught a melody on the breeze only he can hear.
“All right, second thought. He’s fascinating.” That second thought seems to absorb him completely, and he’s elsewhere again for a moment. His eyes have gone dreamy. You are patient.
“Of course, that’s his talent. It seems too obvious. But I mean everything about him, not just the mask he happens to be showing the world. Underneath it—the core of him that he hides behind veil after veil—the golden tattoos and the pale scars. The depth of years stretching out behind him. The mystery of the places he’s been and the stories he tells. The secret longing in his heart—for freedom, for connection, for life.
“And in the center of it all is—" he stops himself. He will not entrust you with Eneas’ deepest secrets. “I’m fascinated. I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.”
You make a note to ask how he knows about the tattoos and the scars, but that may put him on the defensive. You simply nod for him to continue.
“Third thought. Eneas is manipulative, sometimes even cruel, but he loves people more than anyone I’ve ever met, including me, and that’s saying something. The power of his enchantment emanates from his heart.
“He knows people. He loves what’s beautiful and what’s ugly and he sows their seeds, and he can coax blooms from all kinds. That’s his garden—people. He tends them, waters them, nourishes them, prunes them, twists their vines into elegant or terrible shapes, shines on them until they burst into flower of bright color or pale, monstrous blossom. And his favorite thing is to walk in his garden. He loves all of them.”
You can see Siavash steeling himself, drawing a steadying breath. “But that’s aesthetic love, not—not love love.” His voice falters.
He’s unable to meet your gaze anymore. He speaks barely above a whisper when he finally continues.
“That, he takes but he’s afraid to give. I think I know why but it still h—”
He squeezes his eyes shut and blinks to clear them. “It might heal him but it might also destroy him and I—I wouldn’t want that.”
He manages to transform a shaky breath into a laugh. There—he got through it. He’s smiling as much from relief as to hide the turmoil.
“I know you’ll report back to him. He has you on a string too.” He shrugs as he gets up to go. “I don’t mind.”
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