ann i cant


akira yes!!! wait no that’s a bad idea abort abort

okokokok here’s to make up for the angst have some dorks

Sometimes I sit here and I can’t write half a sentence and then I remember Daniel Molloy landed himself a novel that generated 11 other books and a multibillionaire vampire twink boyfriend just by walking into the right bar at the right time, and I’m not saying he deserved it when Armand locked him up in a basement, but I am not entirely horrified by it either.




~~ You see, I found Persona 5 by one of my favouriteyoutubers playing the game. And since then, I have been watching one of his walk throughs. And now! After how many months of wanting the game myself, I’ve got the game! And it was bought by one of my friends, which I’m not gonna lie, I actually cried over, and wasn’t expecting it at all.

So yes! I’m gonna be playing the game myself, finally! Aaaah I’m so excited!

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

it was a chorus so sublime

Summary: “I miss Him,” says Anne, her voice lost to the arches of the cathedral, trapped here in this limbo of life and death in a war-torn galaxy. “That’s why I came here. I was wondering if He’s still watching over us.”

“There is no doubt in my mind,” says Aramis, his voice thick with something she can’t place, looking directly at Anne as though her presence is what is solidifying this conviction.

LITERALLY CANT BELIEVE @parlegee CONVINCED ME TO WRITE ANNAMIS SPACE DYSTOPIA AU THE WEEK BEFORE MIDTERMS!!! anyways here u have it just in time for valentines day, can u actually believe me. the premise is like ….. star wars mixed with the hunger games mixed with like …. gothic cathedrals and catholicism???? gosh who knows but its HERE and i am SORT OF HAPPY WITH IT so im posting it. did u know the doc name for this was “the nunnery sceneTM but every time i cry it gets faster” bc that was indeed the name and this is indeed a version of That Scene, which my good friend @emilybrontay said “was kind of Holy, phil,” and she is Correct. love yall!!! can u believe annamis invented romance!!! also titles from florence and the machine bc mother florence wrote a whole discography about this ship, guys.

The stars are shining through the crumbling gaps in the building’s domed ceiling.

Anne can see them, count them, watch as they twinkle and shine at her almost in mockery, silver and gold against the ink blue of the sky. Her feet make muted sounds against the gravel as she steps across the stone of the old church, down through the pews and towards the front. Great big slabs of marble are lying buried into the ground, cracks not webbing but tracing patterns around them. It’s almost artful in its destruction, deceptively beautiful, spanning across the floor and sneaking under her feet. There is dust choking the once-shimmering gold and bronze gilding of the arches, flying high into the sky above her like someone has thrown a swath of the industrial glue she’s seen Constance use on broken plates over the architecture.

Most of the glass in the windows is shattered, blackened. Anne wonders if it used to be stained.

She feels her hands raise up to cradle each other at the elbows; there’s a cool blanket that’s seeping in through the gaping blast holes in the architecture, brushing against her cheeks, and the silky fabric of her dress is not conducive to remaining comfortable in such weather. She thinks that perhaps she should go back to their safehouse, change into something more sensible; her jacket and circlet are lying on the table, she knows, easy to reach, ready for her to don again tomorrow. The clasps of her boots would not be that hard to fasten, and she would be ready to face the galaxy, the clothing bringing with it the seamless, trained ability to armor herself with words.

The sounds of her slippered footsteps should be echoing more than they are, Anne thinks. It feels as if she is being swallowed by the vast night sky above her. There’s already a lantern at the front of the cathedral, by the confession box. The mesh itself is destroyed, left in tatters – one side of the box has great black streaks running across it, and in the warm orange half-light Anne cannot tell if it is dust or the fingerprints of a burn, the flames of the explosion having dragged their hands across one of the most intimate spots in the church.

She sits down.

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