hhh i’m really not doin great
hhh i’m really not doin great
Some people choose violence. But there are times when violence chooses you.
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Midnight hour’s
Promises: Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk (Eli's POV)
I don't think I have posted anything from the Eli POV of Promises. I think I already posted part of the Dayja POV of this sequence... with Gimm...?
Eli turned his comlink over in his hands as he walked the durasteel halls of the Thunderwasp. A jolt in his stomach alerted him to the fact that he was approaching the portside fighter bay—he had no reason to be afraid of the fighter bay.
He hated that his body disagreed.
As if to reinforce just how far he hadn’t come since his academy days, his shoulders reflexively stiffened when he spotted a young man approaching—
But it was just an ensign.
He could chastise himself for that relief later, he decided.
Eli had to bite back a scoff when the ensign got closer; his head was down, his shoulders tense, hands nervously flexing at his sides.
Gods, did he ever look that terrified?
When one hand reached out to stop the other from flexing, giving it a quick squeeze before returning to his side, Eli’s bitterness began to fade.
“Ensign?” Eli said.
The young man stiffened and spun around rapidly before spotting Eli, throwing up his hand in salute immediately.
“I—” Eli held back a laugh. “I’m your rank, Ensign,” he said mildly.
The ensign blinked. “Wait, really?” he asked in surprise. Eli’s expression must have soured somewhat, because the ensign flushed immediately, mumbling, “Sorry, I just—sorry. Ensign.”
Eli felt himself soften; the bitterness had nothing to do with this kid, anyway. Of course, he looked to be about his own age, but he had the air of enlisted people who hadn’t been through the academy—they enlisted for whatever reason, got the barest of training but maybe did well enough on aptitude tests or had the right work experience that they ended up here and not somewhere else. He’d always be an outsider for that reason.
But, if he was here, it was because he’d earned it. Because it certainly wasn’t a family connection, Eli thought wryly. The man spoke with the hint of an Outer Rim accent—not quite Wild Space, but certainly not Core. There were some signs he was trying to hide it—the way he used to—but Eli had no doubt hearing a Wild Space yokel talk would take care of that in a minute. Usually did.
Eli tilted his head as he considered the ensign before him. His eyes were back on the floor, so Eli cleared his throat.
The ensign still kept his head down as much as politeness would allow, so of course you only saw those brown eyes through thick lashes.
His high, delicate-looking cheekbones would probably get broken in the first, real fire fight—after getting tossed by an enemy turbo laser against a bulkhead or propelled by inertia face-first into a console.
His hands weren't small but still somehow oddly delicate; they looked better suited to the piano than starships.
He was beautiful in the way fragile things were beautiful.
Somehow Eli had heard the thought in Savit’s voice and he realized:
He was going to be eaten alive on this ship.
Especially if he stuck around these parts—near assholes like Gimm.
Unfortunately, most ensigns stayed off the command decks: away from the watchful eyes of the sorts of people who would never stand for such a thing.
“First time on a ship this size?” Eli asked kindly.
Sure enough, the Outer Rim accent shone through brighter as the ensign responded, “That obvious, huh?” with a wry smile.
Eli gave him a firm nod. “You’ll catch on soon enough, don’t you worry. Don’t let any of these people think you don’t belong here—if you’re serving on the Thunderwasp it’s because you earned that spot, alright? And don’t you forget it.”
The ensign’s eyes widened. “I—I won’t forget, thank you.” He looked down at his datapad, and back at Eli. “I don’t suppose you could tell me which way is Hangar 4C?”
“That’s aft,” Eli said, turning to point out the direction. “Follow the black line to the main concourse, then it’s a straight shot to the back of the ship.”
The ensign sighed. “I was sorta hoping I was closer than that.”
“Well, you’re on the right level and that’s better than most people do their first time,” Eli said with a laugh that earned him a small, crinkle-eyed smile in return.
Yes… he was going to be eaten alive.
“Thanks,” the ensign said through a breathy laugh. “Well, thanks for everything,” he said, pointedly shaking his datapad. “I should let you get going.”
“You got it,” Eli said. He tilted his head and let his full Wild Space drawl soften his question: “Was there somethin’ else botherin’ you, Ensign?”
“No, just…” The Ensign glanced nervously over his shoulder. “I’m not sure what to expect,” he mumbled.
Eli’s lips pressed into a firm line as understanding (and a little disappointment) dawned on him. He arched an eyebrow and asked, “About the commander, you mean?” The ensign gave a reluctant nod and Eli said, “I think you’ll like it here—Commander Thrawn’s style might be a bit unusual, but he’s fair. Give him the opportunity to earn your trust and I promise you, he won’t disappoint.”
“That’s…” the ensign trailed off, nodding to himself. “That’s good to hear. And I didn't mean any disrespect, I just… I don’t know what to expect from any commander, really. I’m not from a military background. At all.”
“It’s fine,” Vanto said. A beep chimed at his chest and he pulled out his comlink, giving the ensign a quick nod and warm smile before answering, “Ensign Vanto, here.”
“Ensign Vanto, would you have a moment to join me in my office at 04:00?”
“I’ll be there, Commander,” Eli said, sliding his comlink back into his pocket. When he turned to ask the ensign his name and to offer his own in case he needed support, the man was already gone.
Concern bled into anger and fear when Eli went to security to cross-check his face in the footage with the personnel records.
The tech rubbed at his temple, slouching slightly in his chair in the small, dark security center. "Ensign,” he said through a sigh. “Are you certain that was the correct time?"
Ospry was a good guy, and Eli considered himself lucky he was on duty and not somebody else: but still. It was five fucking minutes ago. Eli just raised a pointed eyebrow at him.
"Well, look for yourself,” Ospry said, throwing up his hands and leaning back so Eli could see the monitor in front of him.
Eli leaned forward to get a better look. "It's a loop," he said immediately.
"Not possible: time stamps and encoding are all correct!" Ospry insisted. "You can't just splice any footage into the records without leaving some trace in the sub-frequencies." He held up his hands defensively. "Vanto, I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just saying that if this is a slice job it is the most perfect one I have ever seen or heard of."
Ten minutes later, Eli was storming into Thrawn’s office a full hour ahead of their scheduled meeting without so much as a knock. "We have a problem, sir," he announced by way of greeting.
Thrawn was seated behind his desk, the hand holding his caf stalling halfway to his mouth. His face steeled ever so slightly when he saw Eli's own expression. "Yes, Ensign Vanto?"
"Someone's sliced into our security archives,” Eli told him breathlessly. “I ran into an ensign I didn't recognize and went to security to cross-check his face with our personnel records, but I couldn’t find anybody on file who looks like him or…” he trailed off when he saw Thrawn begin keying a code into his desk-comm.
"There is no need for panic just yet, Ensign," Thrawn said neatly as the comm chimed its incongruously cheerful melody.
Eli twisted his mouth and muttered, “I was not panicking, sir.”
“You were not not panicking, Ensign,” Thrawn told him, and Eli could discern the faintest ghost of an amused smirk on his lips. Which most likely meant Thrawn already knew what was going on… and of course he didn’t feel the need to keep Ensign Vanto informed.
Eli let out a grating sigh and pulled out a chair, sitting stiffly and folding his arms across his chest.
“As you know,” Thrawn explained between sips of caf, “Colonel Yularen was here and he tends to travel with an agent or two in accompaniment.”
“Sure,” Eli said, shuffling a bit in his chair. “He’s usually got Agent Kallus with him when he’s on Coruscant, though.”
“Yes, but some of the agents he tends to take with him are somewhat more… subtle than Agent Kallus,” Thrawn said neatly.
Eli opened his mouth to respond when he heard the comm beep and Yularen’s familiar voice on the other end: “Don’t tell me you’ve already found something, Commander.”
“Unfortunately not,” Thrawn said. “There were some irregularities in our security system; I don’t suppose the particular agent you chose to accompany you could explain that?”
Yularen let out a grating sigh. "Yes,” he admitted. “Did he make too much trouble? He does that."
"It would not seem so,” Thrawn told him. “He merely cloaked his own presence."
"Apparently not well enough,” Yularen said wryly. “I wonder if he's feeling alright. I suppose since it was you spotting the… irregularity, he can’t feel too bad about that."
“It was not I,” Thrawn said, looking up at Eli with eyes softened on the edge of a smile.
“Oh?” Yularen asked. “Who was it? I might consider offering them a job myself.”
Then, Thrawn really did smile.
Good morning beautiful people!! Who is excited besides me!!!! #fall #autumn #comfortfood #cuddles #colors #chill #wednesday #vibes #mood https://www.instagram.com/p/CUIAox2Lesd/?utm_medium=tumblr
you ever been in the middle of crying your eyes out and then you accidentally miss-type birds as "birfs" and after having a good laugh about it are like oh actually im okay now. the world is not caving in on me after all haha false alarm, girls!
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 keeping shady
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Mellow Yellow @moncler
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Black Opium @ysl perfume
Lily Maymac 🌸🍒💋🌸 LaLa Lisa LiLi 🌈💋♥️
Get that Wednesday sunshine. 🌻
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Dunno whether or not to cut my hair short again or grow it out 🤷🏽♀️ what do you prefer? Short or long? 💇🏽♀️
Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 25. What a number. Not going to lie I've been super anxious because of my birthday. I always felt the pressure to have my life sorted out by this age. I haven't even figured myself out & feel like I'm no where close to knowing what I want to do or what's going to happen. Which scares me 😥 but this birthday is different... I'm gonna be more confident & independent. I'm gonna step out of my comfort zone & self explore. I'm so excited because I already feel like this is a new turning point in my life. A new era has started for me. You guys will see me evolve 😤🙏🏼 🎉 Happy bday to all my fellow Leo's! 🦁(I feel like everyone's bday is around this time 👀) Enjoy this video that was filmed at 6am this morning in the freezing cold 🥶 🎼 Song: Feels like we only go backwards - Tame Impala
love is blindess (i don’t wanna see) a spuffy wip
He’s not bloody fast enough. His weak, blood starved carcass doesn’t carry him up the stairs of the rickety tower in time to stop the blood from being spilled. He hears Dawn cry out, feels the power from the portal crackle through the sky, just as he stumbles out onto the awning. He doesn’t know where Buffy is, doesn’t know if the hell bitch is still standing, if his Slayer is still fighting. He decides it doesn’t matter right then. He has a promise to keep.
Doc turns to him with a wide smile, looking far more alive than he had any right to be as he says, “You’re too late, vampire. It’s done. The portal is open and nothing you can do can close it.”
“We’ll see about that, mate,” Spike growls, marching towards the demon.
Doc simply smiles and sniffs the air before frowning. He tilts his head and says in the same pleasant voice, “There’s no soul on you but you keep coming back to fight. Wonder why that is?”
“Made a promise to a lady,” Spike mutters before he reaches forward to clutch Doc by the throat. The demon lets him, doesn’t even put up a fight as Spike tosses him to the side. He supposes it makes sense. His job is done. Spike can smell the blood flowing from Dawn’s veins, it’s thick in the air and smells so much like Buffy’s it’s dizzying. “Alright, Niblet?”
“Spike,” Dawn whines. “It hurts.”
“I know,” Spike says, stopping in front of her. He rips the ropes that are keeping her trapped and pulls her into his arms, hand soothing over her hair. “I know it does, Niblet.”
The portal is growing in size with every drop of blood that falls from Dawn’s wrists. She throws her arms around him and he can smell the blood dripping down the back of his jacket.
“Come on. Need to get you away from here,” Spike mumbles, pressing a kiss to her temple. He stands up, pulling Dawn with him. She’s limp and tired in his arms, toes dragging along the ground, but as soon as she gets her footing, Dawn tries to pull away from him. “Hey now, Niblet. Spike’s got you.”
“No,” Dawn groans, feebly pushing against his chest with weak hands. There are tears streaking down her cheeks and she’s grimacing in pain but she doesn’t let him take her off her feet. “You can’t.”
“I bloody well can,” Spike grumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her up. She just fights him harder with her thin arms, kicking at her shins with her slippered feet. For a horrifying moment, Spike is reminded of trying to wrestle Dru into submission during one of her fits. “Dammit Dawn!”
“It has to have me!” Dawn screeches in his ear as the sky erupts behind them. Spike drops Dawn to her feet, staring with wide eyes as the dimensions begin to bleed together. Dawn’s spine straightens and she turns to him with the steely determination that only a Summers woman could have. “It has to have the blood. We both know it.”
She’s inching away from him, hands curled into fists at her sides as if she’s faster than him, as if he’d let her make that sacrifice. Spike sees the moment she decides to turn to run. The tower is shaking behind him - the Slayer.
He’s out of time.
Spike doesn’t think, shunts himself away into a dark corner like he did during those days in the chair. It’s the only way he can move forward, the only way he can let his demon out. Dawn stares at him with wide eyes, knowing eyes. She takes the chance, spins on her heel darting towards the edge of the landing.
He does his best to think about anything other than hurting her. Tries to control himself like he did in the alley with Buffy. God. That felt like years ago.
It’s not enough. The chip flares but Spike bites through it, dragging in mouthful after mouthful of Dawn’s blood. His knees give out on him, brain frying with electricity. Dawn’s struggling against him, weak kitten slaps that do nothing to stop him. If that damn portal wanted blood it would bloody well have it but not her - never her.
“Spike!” Buffy calls out behind him. Dawn’s heartbeat slows, slows too much, but she’ll live- barely. He’s lost his touch. “Dawn!”
Spike drops Dawn to the landing, eyes nearly blinded by pain even with his demon front and center, and crawls towards the end of the landing. Buffy grabs at his jacket, drags him towards her with murder in her eyes. Dawn moans beneath them both, voice barely more than a whisper on the wind. Spike doubts Buffy catches it at all as he shrugs his arms out of the duster and pushes himself to his feet, turning towards his girls but never really taking his eyes off the way the sky is splitting open.
Buffy wraps herself around Dawn’s thin frame, mouth turned down in grief and fear and a kind of resignation that Spike knows so bloody well. He prays, then. For the first time since he met Dru in that godforsaken alley a millenia ago, he prays that this works. That she won’t have to jump. That she’ll get the chance to find herself again. That she’ll be happy. Even if it isn’t with him.
“Tell the little bit I’m sorry,” Spike calls out to her, voice hoarse and lisping around his fangs. There are screams in the distance. People are dying already. Was only a matter of time, after all. “That I wasn’t fast enough but I’m keeping my promise, Slayer. Till the end of the world, right?”
Understanding floods Buffy’s face as she lets Dawn go, pushing herself to her feet. She stumbles over his stupid jacket, falling back down to one knee. Spike smirks at her. His eyes are cloudy enough that Buffy isn’t sure if he sees her at all. Maybe it’s the chip. Maybe it’s the stupid idea he’s got in his head. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. She just has to stop him.
“I love you, Buffy,” Spike says, voice thick enough to make her pause. “Know you don’t believe me. Not without a - well, doesn’t matter now, does it? Gonna die with you in my heart all the same.”
“Spike,” Buffy whispers as the tower sways dangerously again. Buffy doesn’t think before turning back to Dawn, wrapping her in arms as if that could keep her safe from a thirty foot drop. By the time the tower reestablishes something like stability, he’s gone over the edge.
There’s nothing when they get to the bottom of the tower. No ashes. No clothes. No sign of Spike. Nothing left but the leather duster that Dawn refuses to let go of. Buffy had wanted to leave it behind, one less thing to carry down a million poorly built stairs, but Dawn wouldn’t hear of it.
“He’ll want it back,” Dawn had croaked, staring at the edge of the landing where Spike had stood. “When he comes back to us, he’ll want it back.”
Buffy hadn’t had anything to say to that.
It’s been two weeks and the coat is still hanging off the banister like he’s just stopped by and made himself comfortable.
Buffy actively doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t acknowledge it exists.
She’s too busy with other things. Important things. Like bills and all of the classes that Dawn’s missed (there’s talk of repeating a year and she knows it won’t go over well with Dawn) and the fact that her heart is still beating in her chest even though . . .
Buffy never lets herself really finish that thought.
Xander questions it every time he comes through the door.
“You should just burn the thing, Buff.”
“It is trash day, you know.”
“Seriously, how long is that thing going to hang there?”
“Drop it, Xan,” Buffy snaps, pushing him out the door. “Dawn’s already going to be late.”
She eyes the jacket for a long minute before gingerly reaching out to grab it. It’s heavy. Soft, satin lining that smells of tobacco and blood. Buffy wrinkles her nose but she doesn’t drop the jacket, slides her arms into the sleeves and shrugs it on. Checks herself out in the hallway mirror and finds that the duster doesn’t look half bad on her.
It’s too long. The sleeves dwarf her hands, making her seem shorter than she actually is, but when she ties the belt around her waist and cuffs the sleeves you can barely tell that the jacket was never meant for her slender form. For a moment, she remembers Spike in front of her on his knees after regaling her of the night he got this coat.
She can’t strip it from her body fast enough.
The #groove is perpetual! A huge thanks to Mash Up & Cozy Condition for including "Concise" on their Instrumental Funk Jams #spotifyplaylist !
Listen above, enjoy the rest of our new project "Wax Progressive: Equilibria Vol. 2" wherever you enjoy streaming music. ✌️ X 💙