xryptik

[xryptik]

WHEN I HAVE NOTHING LEFT

─ grief with mel.

⠀⠀⠀⠀˖ ⭒ gender neutral, platonic or romantic, she sacrificed everything and lost everyone my poor girl </3

grief with mel is controlled, quiet, lonely; a type of grief made from walls built around her, of having to be older than she was, and dealing with whatever life throws at her in a way a medarda should ─ in a way someone who was raised to never show weakness should. mel was offered a throne, but when she could not show her mother the ruthlessness she expected (when she became a weakness to the woman who could not stand to see her so sad, hurt, unhappy with the choices made by someone who called herself a wolf) she was sent off to take care of the family’s interests ─ an excuse, mel knew that, a reason made in false to remove her from being in the way.

mel grieved as if she herself controlled what she felt, as if she knew how to deal with the emotions that stirred in her chest. as if the feeling crawling across her heart and constricting her lungs every time she remembers, didn’t suffocate her every time, didn’t wake her every night in tense shoulders, heavy breathing, and cold sweat on her back. and everyone believed her; that she was as controlled and aware and attached to herself as she made it seem. ─ but she could never quite fool herself; because only she knows how the memories affect her, how the reminder that her mother sent her off because she was a liability, lingered ─ poked and prodded and stung.

(was she though? she knows now that’s not the case, but she wonders then how her past self might’ve felt if she too knew, if she would have such a strong resentment that she once did. the type of resentment that curled around her bones and pricked at her eyes and made itself known every time she just tried to be.)

(but then ─ who did she resent more? who was at the forefront of her thoughts every time the feeling surfaced?)

(was it resentment at all?)

mel grieved quietly ─ not silent, never silent ─ but quiet, alone, with only herself and the paintings surrounding her to witness. because silence was not sharp brush strokes, harsh colors, and quiet remembering. she grieved for both the past and the present in a quiet that was only ever filled with the scraping of her canvas as color after color covers the white in a memory that always stayed right at her fingertips, resting on her eyelids to remind every moment she blinked. 

her grief was never loud, never obvious and bold; but it was there, because who would not grieve if they too had been through all that she had. 

but then there’s a point where anger is grief, when all that was unknown to her became known. when she began to lose it all ─ when she was told of the power that lurked beneath her skin and shined through her eyes in a hue of light meant to save, protect. when mel realized she was more; at the cost of all that she held dear.

you remember when you first saw her grieve; when she appeared in front of you, young, round-faced, and meant to hold the responsibility of the medarda’s name on her shoulders, heavy, and gold. it was brief, small; only noticeable for a moment when she looks on at piltover as if it were a world she was afraid to step into ─ and then it was gone, as if it was never there in the first place. (you got an idea then, about what type of before she might’ve experienced, a type of before that had already begun to shape her, a type of before that was still there, curled around her arms and resting sweetly on her head, like a hug that held no comfort.)

(perhaps war could be described as just that, after all. ─ but you think mel would describe it differently, as someone who experienced it so young.)

“have you decided, then?” you say, just above a whisper when you stop just a step behind her, almost next to her. there’s a gloom that settles over what had become of piltover; the aftermath of all that had to be done to save a city that was already at war to begin with ─ a war with itself. 

if you surprised mel, she doesn’t show it as she turns to you, the gold on her shoulders almost threatening to blind you under the spotlight of the sun. there’s a frown on her face, something you’ll admit you weren’t quite used to; because you were used to smiles, most not real, but meant to please, to convince, to sell, and the less often smiles that were ─ soft and caring, and reserved for those she held close to a heart that was full of grief. 

“I have,” she confirms.

there’s an ache in your chest ─ an ache of knowing you’ll miss her; your conversations, mostly full of your grins and teases, and mentions of customers down by the dock. and the sighs full of her small annoyances in her interactions with the council, her wish for more, her quiet laugh; fond and real, because she was comfortable with you. ─ but you also ache for her; an ache for all that she’s lost and all she continues to lose, because war is never easy to end. because there’s more weight to her shoulders than there used to be. because she grieves like she will forever be alone; and you wish you could tell her she wasn’t, that you would be by her side, forever and more. 

but that would be a lie ─ not because your care for her was not deep, but because you could not follow her as she took her mother’s mask and intended to end what had been happening for generations. because to tell her so would leave the impression that you understood ─ when you don’t, not really, because you don’t hold the weight she does, don’t grieve like your blood boils and carves and hates you for being yours. 

your hand grabs hers, gentle, loose, and you smile at her, sad but understanding ─ because you didn’t relate to the weight she holds, but you understand this was all that she must do, that there’s blood under her skin and a name to her that you could never truly grasp the meaning of. 

“take care.”

she smiles at you then, gentle, grateful ─ because you might be the only friend she has left, because all else has been taken (grounded to stardust, stained her hands in blood, and surrounded in black thorns with roses that looked like death). she doesn’t respond, but you’re almost happy she doesn’t, when she squeezes your hands and nods slow, almost unnoticeable.

it’s the last moment you’ll have with her, maybe not forever, but for a while. so you ache, quiet just as she has always done, and you understand what you can.

[xryptik]

well given how i havent eaten youd think si rifht

[xryptik]

asking myself if im hungry because erm idk

[xryptik]

hey whats that mean

Devil i think i found you

[xryptik]

its funny when events that probably couldve been traumatic dont bother you so you'll end up casually dropping stuff like "so after that time i almost got lost at sea as a kid-" and theyll be like WHAT and youre like. oh yeah dont worry its just part of my lore. its honestly not even a top five interesting backstory moment. focus please.

[xryptik]

ew a cybertruck

[xryptik]

can i go back home to my cat

[xryptik]

okay i need ti shut uo im sotry

[xryptik]

i love you guys a lot mutuals and im sorry i dont reach out im just really bad at that

[xryptik]

its really not that big of a deal devil shut up you cant force someone to be friends with you

[xryptik]

now im all sad this fucking sucks

[xryptik]

i hate not knowing anything

[xryptik]

[xryptik]

i have no idea what my moots are talking about half the time but at least theyre having fun

[xryptik]

i got a pink star on my nose

[xryptik]

I really hope that our spouse don't give up their dreams when we mary them like some of the Stardew villagers do.

I got so sad when I married Alex and he gave up his dreams to be stuck with me on a farm forever. It would be so nice if they could go to work like they normally do since most of them are really necessary to the community like Ryis, Valen and March.

[xryptik]

hi im being dragged out to an arcade again