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palmofafreezinghand · 2 months

Note

requesting an angsty one shot if you feel up to writing it? :)

thank you for the prompt!

content warnings: discussions of infant death and grief

on ao3 here.

March, 1921.

Carlisle sped down the old logging road, the mechanical hum of a finely tuned European engine blending with the whistled ‘fee-bee’ of the chickadees greeting the first buds of Spring. His arm hung out the window as he drove, the not-quite-warm air causing his sleeve to flap in the wind. He paid no mind to the shine of his skin under the morning sun.

After a harrowing winter, the first buds of Spring were more than welcome. It appeared, his tide was finally turning. Or so he thought.

“She is in a mood,” Edward whispered pointedly, appearing at Carlisle’s window the minute his tires hit the driveway.

In a second Carlisle’s thoughts took a harsh turn to concern. The newest member of their household had not had an enviable introduction to their way of life, one haunted by desperation and grief, but as of late, she had improved. Smiles graced her face more frequently, a laugh echoed off the walls at least once a day, she had accepted the hand she was dealt with grace. At least he thought she had. Their tide was finally turning, right?

“Carlisle, leave her alone,” Edward whispered through clenched teeth, yanking the car door open. He barely waited for Carlisle to get out of the car before he threw himself into the driver’s seat. “This is all your fault,” the boy hissed as he slammed the car in reverse.

The winter — and all it brought — had been hard for them all. It was all his fault.

Despite this knowledge, Carlisle did not heed Edward’s advice, he rarely did. Instead, he quickly found her in the garden.

“Good morning,” he smiled, the rotting garden gate creaking as it swung open.

“Hello,” she said, barely louder than the crunch of a pine needle under a hare’s foot half a mile South.

She sat under a just-beginning-to-flower red maple tree. Her knees tucked to her chest, frizzy hair pinned on top of her head haphazardly, the circles under her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. Her gaze was fixed on a mound in one of the old garden beds, a single white flower peeking out of the melting snow.

“Are you well?”

She shrugged, which he learned to interpret as a half-hearted yes, but did not volunteer any elaboration.

He took a seat next to her, without another word, as he had many times before. Vulnerability was not a natural state for Esme Anne Platt — Esme Anne a married name he had yet to find out but desperately wanted to know.

If forced to guess he would say a half hour went by before she spoke.

“Snowdrop,” she said. Somehow her voice sounded as if she had been sobbing, however impossible that was.

“Pardon?”

“The flower,” she gestured weakly with her head, “is called a Snowdrop. They were originally imported from Europe, someone must have planted them nearby.”

“Intriguing.”

“It is often considered medicinal. People crush the bulb to treat pain. Ironic, is it not?” She scoffed.

He did not grasp her meaning at first until he followed her gaze. A beautiful painkiller growing from a double grave.

“This is where you buried them, is it not?” She asked when he did not respond.

He considered lying, ever since meeting her he was getting more comfortable with falsehoods. In two months he had lied more than in the rest of his life. This was not one of those times.

“How did you know?”

“The smell,” she said matter-of-factly, in a way that made his stomach twist. He had buried the bodies fifteen feet deep in an attempt to hide the grave from her, save her the torment of a constant reminder. The scent of rotting flesh — noticeable only by the newborn with heightened senses — was not a factor he accounted for.

The mother and son who lay under the garden bed, had been walking along the shore and had the misfortune of running into a bloodthirsty grief-stricken confused vampire. The bodies lay cold at her blood-covered feet a week after her own son had lost his life. The six-year-old boy was first, Edward had theorized the mother was partly out of instinct, and largely out of pity.

Besides his mother’s, they were the first deaths Carlisle considered himself responsible for.

As soon as she realized what she had done, Esme was horrified, rightfully. She pleaded with Edward and Carlisle to give the two a proper burial.

The garden was the easiest place, somewhere no one would find them.

Her remorse was palpable. Every silent day that went by felt like a noose tightening. The image of her greedily drinking from the neck of a child was one that haunted him every time he looked at her.

He was no longer capable of seeing Esme as the woman she was, but was instead the many versions of herself she once was. A bright tree climber with big dreams and a charming laugh, an almost-corpse with a broken spine and delicious blood, a murderer with an enticing smile.

He was the one who had turned her into this.

“It was not your fault—”

“Stop,” she interrupted him. For months he had insisted the deaths were not her fault, he should have had a better grip and used more restraint, he was the one who forced her into this life it was his responsibility to shepherd her through the challenges. She was not to blame.

She refused to hear a word of it, he had yet to realize this was because she knew he did not believe the lies he peddled.

His next words were weighed carefully, balanced against the slicing warning Edward had given. Carlisle could not imagine the thoughts that had driven him to such anger. He could not imagine half of the woman’s thoughts, still largely oblivious to the horrors that occurred in the ten years since they met.

“Is this,” he motioned to the flower, and grave, “the only thing on your mind?”

He presumed it was not. While, Esme had grieved the lives she took a shocking — quite concerning — amount, she had not mentioned the two strangers in over a month. When he had left her, a mere thirteen hours prior, she had seemed closer to her old, blissful sixteen-year-old, self than ever before.

She sighed, her eyes closing, her forehead falling on her knees, attention finally pulled from the grave. “Everything is on my mind,” she laughed humorlessly.

He did not probe further, despite every instinct telling him to be ask a dozen more questions. If he had been able to be objective about the situation, his overwhelming curiosity when it came to the subject of Esme would have been a cause of concern but he was doomed to be the last person to realize.

“May I speak freely?” She asked, pulling her face off her knees and stretching her legs out in front of her.

“Please.”

She sucked in a breath, watching as a crow landed on the garden fence. “I feel as if I have lost the right to grieve,” she said carefully as if dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature. “I miss my son more than words can say, but I feel as if that is selfish.”

“I can not fathom a world where grief is possibly considered vain.”

“I took the life of someone else’s son. I feel overwhelming guilt every time I have the gall to miss mine. It feels like retribution in a way, I will have to live with this pain for the rest of time.”

She was not finished, he knew this and thus did not say a word but let his left hand fall to lightly touch her knee, a movement that could be construed as natural or not. Her hand hovered over his for a half second, before squeezing his hand and releasing. He let his hand fall to the ground.

“Every time I feel the smallest bit of joy, I feel as if a boulder has been dropped on my chest. How can I dare be happy when he never will be? How can I stand to walk another day when I caused someone else this pain? I do not deserve the life you have given me, the safety, the peace, the contentment.”

“Esme —”

“I know I have been direful company as of late. I am, as difficult as it is, grateful for all you have done for me.”

“Esme, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. You have accepted this life with more grace than Edward or I did. I am the one who ought to be apologizing.”

“I do not deserve your kindness.”

“You do. You deserve a marvelous life.”

She scoffed, his reassurances running off like water on a duck. “I appreciate the sentiment, however untrue it is.”

“Your son would want his mother to find happiness. You are a loving mother, and a wonderful person, Esme.”

She bit her bottom lip hard, eyes darting across the garden, looking as if she was on the precipice of tears. “You do not know that, you do not know me. If you knew what I have done…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, letting out a shaky breath.

He could not fathom whatever occurred in the years they were strangers that she considered worse than a double homicide. Although, he paid more mind to the hurt caused by her accusation. ‘You do not know me.’ Why did this insult him so?

“I did not look,” she said, turning to look him in the eye. The contact lasted only a brief second before her attention was turned back to the flower. “When he…” she gulped, “died. That is the first time I have used that word. Died. I did not look. I was holding him to my chest.” Her right hand instinctively lingered over her chest, rounding as if cradling a newborn’s head. “He was coughing so hard, I was too scared to watch. He could not see me. Did he know I was there? Did he think he was alone?”

“Esme-”

“I don’t even know what happened to him,” she said almost in disbelief. “The doctor pried him out of my hands after a while, I loathed that man. The nurse told me to go home and I did. I left him there all alone.

“Es-”

“He thought he was alone, unloved, in his last moments, and then I left him,” she scoffed. “What kind of moth– person does that?”

Silence filled the garden. He let the words weigh down the air, like a fishing weight to the bottom of a pond.

“My mother died the day I was born,” he said quietly. He had told her this before, ten years prior, and again as a footnote in his life story but never with the weight it deserved.

Esme nodded in recognition she had heard the story before, he continued.

“I know she loved me. I have no evidence of the fact, besides my existence, and I was surely never told. Yet, I believe it wholeheartedly.”

“She did. She had to.”

“Why would your son be any different?” He smiled weakly. “He knows, Esme. The only life he knew on this Earth was in the arms of his mother, warm and unconditionally loving. I say this not as someone who cares for you but as someone’s son, he knows. I know your faith has been shaken, but I have enough for both of us. He knows. As a doctor, there is nothing you could have done differently. This is guilt you can not carry any longer. And, as someone who would like to think of themselves as your friend, please permit yourself to enjoy the life your son was denied. You are not a lesser mother for doing so.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, mindlessly picking at her cuticles.

At some point in their conversation, it had begun to rain, a bone-chilling rain, only a degree or two away from freezing.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Carlisle could no longer stand the not technically harmful, but certainly unpleasant, downpour. “Is there any chance I could persuade you to come inside?” He asked, slowly standing, attempting to brush debris off his pants.

She nodded and took the unnecessary hand he offered to help her stand. Once she stood on two feet, neither of them dropped the other’s hand for a beat longer than excusable, their eyes met and released their grip in unison.

He held the garden gate open for her, she gave him a nod of thanks, she walked a step and a half ahead, he tried to appear casual as he quickened his pace to keep up.

“Your hair curls when it’s wet,” Carlisle observed as they walked down the makeshift forest path. He had washed her hair during her transition, but he was less concerned about the texture and more focused on scrubbing out bone fragments and brain matter.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, reaching to tuck the stray lock of hair back into the style.

“Unfortunately?”

“It manages to get tangled if I look at it wrong,” she laughed lightly. “I used to straighten it with a clothing iron, but now I have to keep it pinned back.”

“It knots now?” He asked, their hair was one of the features least affected by venom but was still changed in the transition.

She paused and considered this question. “I have never worn it down since I… changed. Do you think it might not?”

“If I had to guess I would say no, although it may be best to wear it up while hunting.”

“My son’s hair was curly. It was very light,” she smiled to herself.

“Your husband was blonde?” He asked before he could think better of it.

She had offered very little information about her late husband. Carlisle knew he was dead, he had served in the war, they had married when Esme was in her early twenties, and Edward had told him to never, under any circumstance, bring up the man. Although, she had just accused him of not knowing her. How would he ever learn more?

“No, my husband’s hair was dark as coal, his eyes too. I have never seen eyes as black as his. Imagine my surprise when I gave birth to a blonde, blue-eyed baby.”

Her tone was remarkably distant, she did not speak of her late husband with the obvious love and care as she did her son, the smell of freshly baked goods, or lying under the afternoon sun. She did not seem to be grieving, or even mildly upset the topic was broached.

“He was beautiful. I know every mother says that, but he was.”

“I wish I could have met him,” Carlisle said. It was more familiarity than he had ever assumed, but it was an earnest sentiment.

“Me too.”

The rest of their walk was no more than three minutes, the silence between them comfortable now. They walked closer than necessary. He held the front door open for her, she gave him a grateful smile.

He turned towards the staircase, presuming her silence meant she wished for a moment alone as much as he wished for dry clothes.

Her voice stopped him. “May I ask you one last question?”

“Was that not a question?” He grinned, turning to face her, he was greeted by a sliver of a smile.

“I know I do not want to know the answer, but I need to know. What is the hospital’s arrangement for dealing with… bodies?” She gulped again. “I did not have any family nearby, no one would have known…” she trailed off, but the question she refused to ask was clear.

Edward and Carlisle had spent weeks dealing with the public aftermath of Esme’s death. While new to the community she had been a notable member of the small logging town’s teaching staff, and had been a quite beloved roommate to an old widow. The two had sworn to keep the details of their efforts to themselves. Perhaps, their policy could be bent, just once.

“Your son is buried in Washburn. He has a modest headstone… next to yours.”

Her brow furrowed, her head tilting to the side. “How? Who? The hospital?”

“Do you recall the woman you lived with?”

“Vaguely,” she sighed. The loss of memories seemed to be one of the effects of immortality she found most disturbing. “Her name started with a D.”

“Adeline Parker,” he offered.

“Della! She went by Della, she thought Adeline was too posh,” Esme smiled fondly. She had a dimple on her left cheek and a remarkably nice smile, one he knew he would be trying harder to catch a glimpse of soon.

“She came to the hospital, a few days after the two of you… passed. You had not returned, she was concerned. Fortunately, I was working that evening and was able to piece together the connection. I relayed the ne—”

“How did she receive the news?”

He considered this for a moment. Esme was already vulnerable. Would telling her about the older woman’s sobs that sounded as if she had lost a child herself give Esme closure or grief?

“As well as she could. She arranged the burials, and I offered to help arrange assistance from a local charity.”

“He has a headstone?”

“Yes, Adeline picked most of the design.”

“She could not afford a headstone.”

“I may have contributed, under the guise of a charity.”

“You did that for me?” She asked incredulously.

“Of course, Esme. It was the least I could do,” he said sincerely.

She did not say a word but instead launched her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Once he processed she was giving him a hug — one of the first of his life — he moved one hand to rest on the back of her head and the other on her back. It was entirely improper but neither could muster the energy to mind.

“Thank you, Carlisle,” she muttered.

#esme platt #carlisle cullen #esme's son #my stories #thank you for the prompt turns out i was really in the mood to write angst since this is like 3k words and the cut down version lol

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tamlinweek · 3 months

Text

The Language of Flowers

I didn’t care where I was going. After a while, I paused in the rose garden. The moonlight stained the red petals a deep purple and cast a silvery sheen on the white blooms. “My father had this garden planted for my mother,” Tamlin said from behind me. I didn’t bother to face him. I dug my nails into my palms as he stopped by my side. “It was a mating present.” ~ ACOTAR, ch. 19

To celebrate Tamlin Week, Day 3 (as outlined in depth here), one of our prompts is "Flower Language". The title of the book itself carries a double meaning. A Court of Thorns and Roses is not only a Beauty and the Beast retelling (as we know, he is the Beast, she is the Beauty, although they kind of share both roles), but she is also the Thorn to his Rose.

Roses are widely considered to be a symbol of love. Love was the answer to Amarantha's riddle, and why Feyre braved the Trials Under the Mountain, despite Tamlin trying to send her home for the same reason.

Roses are not the only flowers that mean love. Tulips and Forget-me-nots can mean love, too, but it can also depend on the color (as it does for roses.) The deeper the red of the rose, for example, the deeper the love is said to be, while white indicates innocence. (There is a link below for a list of rose colors and their meanings, if you're interested. In addition, there are links for herbs and other plants.)

While the number of plants and their meanings is too long to list here, here are a handful to inspire you:

AMARANTH: immortality, immortal love

ASH: strength, power, divine connection, authority, protection

BIRCH: adaptability, growth, renewal, death, returning from the grave, new beginnings

BLUEBELL: loyalty, constancy, humility, gratitude

DAFFODIL: uncertainty, chivalry, respect or unrequited love, return my affection, new beginnings

FERN: magic, enchantment, confidence, sincerity, shelter

FORGET-ME-NOT: true love, faithful love, memories

FOXGLOVE: insincerity, immortality, courage, adventures, bravery

HYACINTH: constancy, sorrow, playfulness, loveliness, jealousy

IRIS: eloquence, good news, faith, hope, wisdom, compliments, passion, purity

LAUREL: ambition, success, renown

MARIGOLD: pain, grief

MORNING GLORY: love in vain, affection

PEONY: shame, bashfulness, anger

ROSEMARY: remembrance

SNOWDROP: consolation, hope

TULIP: new start, rebirth, prosperity, indulgence, abundance

For more variety and more definitions, consider the following resources:

Floriography: Meaning and Symbolism

ProFlowers: The Complete Rose Color Meanings Guide

The Forest Fairy: Flowers for Your Fairy Garden

Grooving Trees: The Complete List of Tree Symbolism

Dave's Garden: Please Pass Me the Eye of Newt [Herb Names and Meanings]

Wikipedia: List of Plants with Symbolism

We look forward to seeing what you can create using the Language of Flowers and other plants!

#floriography #flower language #tamlin week prompts #tamlin week #tamlin week 2024 #tamlinweek #tamlinweek2024 #tamlin #pro tamlin

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angry-trashcan · 4 months

Text

Marriage Counseling.

Once again, the girls are having some girl time. This time featuring Legend and of course, Sage. Cinder (@neverchecking) and I wrote this one together. Because god damn is it more fun to do it that way.

TW: Name calling, degradation, heavy dom/sub themes, slight dub-con (like a little), brat taming, the briefest mention of a knife, dumbification, Sage. Let me know if I missed anything.

6K WC

MINORS DNI. SMUT BELOW THE CUT.

<><><><>

Just once.

Just once is all she asked for.

Just one time with only her and the woman spread out under her. Just once did she want to pull the moans from her alone. The door was locked, she double - no- triple checked to make sure that they couldn’t be interrupted easily. To make sure that They would both be able to love each other fully in peace.

And as Ceres let out another quiet moan, a soft cry of Aaliyah’s name spilling off of her tongue, she thought it may be possible. And as the brunette pushed her shoulders gently so she would roll over onto her back, giving Ceres full reign over her pleasure, the door slammed open.

Aaliyah nearly screamed out of frustration and the ruined orgasm that sat dying in her stomach. “The door was locked!”

“And now it’s not.” Sage spoke, his voice far too nonchalant for what was transpiring.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Aaliyah’s head hit the pillows under her.

“I can’t believe Ceres is topping.” Their head shot over at the new voice.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ceres spat, moving to get off of Aaliyah’s lap, reaching for the blanket to cover themself. Sage stopped her, his hands covering hers and throwing the blanket to the floor.

“I was invited, squirrel. Don’t spook now.” Legend laughed, walking closer to the bed.

Ceres looked back at Sage, “You invited him?!”

He shrugged, “I wasn’t told not to. Now come on, we have shit to do.” He kneeled on the edge of the bed, motioning for Ceres to come over to him. When they didn't move, instead watching the pink haired man sulk towards Aaliyah, Sage grabbed her elbow and pulled her into him. She squealed and fought slightly for a moment before he rubbed her cheek gently, reminding her who he was. And if only for a moment, they were calmed.

Aaliyah wasn’t as lucky.

Legend followed Sage’s lead, kneeling next to Aaliyah on the bed.”And what about you? Don’t wanna join in the fun?” His hand barely grazed her stomach before they were both off of the bed, her body pressing against his and a knife from the nightstand to his throat.

Ceres’ eyes widened at the scene, nudging Sage aggressively to do something. He cleared his throat, “Snowdrop, it’s okay. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I wasn’t okay with him touching you.” He paused, looking down at the woman in his lap, “That goes for both of you.” He mumbled into the brunette’s ear.

The knife clattered to the floor, Legend quickly flipping them so her back was to the cool wall, her hands pinned by his. “I knew you weren’t so tough under all of that shit talking.” He laughed, pushing his hips into hers.

“Go to hell.” She spat back, flecks of spit coating his face.

He laughed, freeing one of her hands for a moment to wipe it off. “Oh, darling, I’ve already been.”

Sage repositioned himself against the headboard, Ceres coming to sit in his lap. They went to straddle him before he stopped them. Jerking his head towards the other duo against the wall at the end of the bed. “Face that way.”

They groaned, “Sage-”

“Just do what I fucking say, Ceres.” He snapped, pulling her down into his chest.

A part of her resisted, not even enough to be convincing. They knew, first hand, that Aaliyah had a temper. She was fast and dangerous, and nothing, not even Sage, could truly stop her if she really wanted to do something. So, should shit go south, Ceres wasn’t even necessarily sure they wanted to witness that. It would probably turn violent no matter what, hell Sage had struggled with remaining in his place on the power dynamic before when the Sheikah got real pissy, but Legend? Who had no clue what he was dealing with? Who had probably only spoken to her just now for the first time?

But still, another, louder part of Ceres was cheering the Sheikah on as her teeth snapped incredibly close to Legend’s nose, making him pull back just a bit before slamming her against the wall harder, her head practically bouncing off the damn thing. They took a bit of joy in the way Aaliyah clawed at the wrist holding her hands, thin red lines painting the flesh. Sage didn’t seem too phased by it all, watching in some sort of sick joy.

"Here's to hoping your lil boy toy doesn't get too scratched up."

"Here's to hoping that he fucking does."

"You weren't this feisty with the rancher. Hell, I don't think you're ever like this. What's going on with him? Hmm? Got into a little argument? Mad that you’re not the one he's pinned against the wall?"

"Fuck off, Sage."

His grip tightens on their face, pulling them further into him. "Watch your fucking mouth. Don't fucking take your shit out on me."

"Think you're all high and mighty just because you're up here and he's down there toying about like a barbarian? Because that can easily be remedied."

They tried to free their chin by squirming a bit in his hold, but it only kept him more steady. "Now why don't you behave and watch. And think about how you're going to be taken apart the same way next."

"Like you have the actual balls to do anything. " Ceres spat back, watching Sage's pupils dilate. He paused, grip tight on her chin. There was the dull thud of Aaliyah's head against the wall as her and Legend spat cruel insults at each other and fought for dominance over a situation where neither held any real control at all. Sage swallowed then his eyes landed on Ceres, sharp and pointed, an endless sea of sapphire ignited by the challenge.

"Do you really want to play that game with me?" His words were low in their ear.

"Go to hell."

He let out a snort through his nose before looking back up at the arguing pair. "Aaliyah. Stop being a brat and do what he fucking asks."

The sheikah's eyes landed on his harsh blue ones. All the fight left her as Legend chuckled in her face. "Just like a fucking dog."

Sage half expects the harsh bite Legend receives for the quip and the snotty little remark of "I'll show you dog-" but she does fall to her knees like a well trained poodle, looking beyond livid but having no means to do anything about it. With no impending fatal injuries and that taken care of, he turns to Ceres. "You see that? How well she listens? It's because she knows with good behavior comes rewards," his hands trail up their sides, pinching at their love handles and clawing up their ribs. "But misdemeanors mean punishments."

Before Ceres can ever register it happening, they're booted from the comfort of Sages lap, instead looking up at him from the floor. He looks down, bored and disinterested. "Prove you can be a good doll and I'll think about rewarding you."

Their eyes are wide, mouth agape as they stare up at him. "I didn't even-"

"Do anything? You're running your mouth right now. I'd say that's something."

He sat back in his spot, watching Aaliayh slowly take Legend's dick into her mouth with a slight laugh. "She's getting a treat. You could too."

Ceres looked over to the pair out of the corner of their eye, another huff leaving them.

"I'm sorry."

Sage laughed now, a heavy dark laugh. "You think that's all it'll take? Oh, you're more delusional than I thought."

There's a harsh hand digging against their scalp but it doesn't pull. It never pulls. They know it won't pull but it's a reminder that he's there and watching. Always watching. "No, ‘fraid not doll. You're gonna have to put on one hell of a show to prove it."

He gently urges their head forward, the second they follow it turns into a jagged snap of his wrist and they're suddenly eye level with his crotch. Oh how they want to fight him and his cocky attitude but they're pinned and he knows it.

"Now go on. Put on a show for me."

They take a deep shaky breath, raising their hands to pull at his waist band. His free hand gently slaps them away. "Nuh uh. You haven't earned that yet."

She huffs again, instead looking up to let their eyes meet. Their mouth opened slightly, tongue lolling as it made contact with his clothed crotch.

"See. There ya go, doll. Wasn't that easy?"

A bitter remark burns at the back of their throat but they swallow it down as they let their tongue sit for a minute. Saliva dribbles down into a small puddle before gently licking up and against his crotch. They can feel his cock twitch from its confines but other than that that's all the indicator given by Sage that some part of him is enjoying this. Pulling back, Ceres pulls off only to return to the same starting point, marked with spit and a dark patch, repeating the process. Once, twice, three more times before laying an open mouthed kiss on the mound.

They work their open mouthed kisses down the mound to where the head was leaking, forming its own dark spot. She pushed another open mouth kiss to it, teeth slightly dragging against it. Again, he only twitched. They looked up to his face once they pulled back. His expression stayed the same. Bored. Though something in his eyes shone with something darker.

"You think that's it?" He scoffed. The hand in their hair turned into curled fingers and she was guided to look across the room. Legend looked close to collapsing in on himself as Aaliyah kept her nose buried against his crotch. She didn't twitch. Legend couldn't stop himself from the little flicks of his finger. "Watch her. Watch her obedience and I'm not even there. If you think a few sloppy kisses are gonna get my cock all hard and shit, your observation skills need work."

Blue burned against blue. “What do you want me to do?” Their voice was nearly inaudible.

He laughed through his nose, tightening his grip on her short hair. “I want you to understand the situation you got yourself into. You’re always so good for me. And the second he joins in you turn into… this. I don’t much appreciate it.”

Ceres’ eyes flickered with understanding for only a moment. Their eyes drifted back down to his wet pants, trying to find the solution to their predicament. His hand met her chin and pulled her out of her thoughts.

“You really do think so loudly.” His thumb ran over their bottom lip, prying enough for them to open up for him to slip it in. “Do I really need to do all the damn thinking for you? Like a little fucked out whore?”

Their eyes turned pleading, a small nose leaving their throat.

“Now, you’re going to behave, right?” They attempted to nod. “Nuh-uh, words.”

They choked slightly when his thumb pushed down against her tongue harder. “Use your words, doll. Don’t keep me waiting.”

She attempted to swallow before forcing out the broken and muffled words. “I’ll listen to you. I’ll be good.”

A devilish look covered his face. “That’s what I thought.” He stood suddenly in front of them, freeing his hands from them to make quick work of his pants. His half hard cock fell out, nodding to the side. His hand found their hair once more. “Well go on then. Behave.”

They swallowed, eyeing the cock in front of them. Has she ever taken him in her mouth before? They couldn’t remember a time when they had been in this position with Sage.

“Don’t tell me I need to show you what to do. A whore like you knows exactly how to suck dick.” His hand tightened in their hair.

“No- no I’m fine.” Her hands came up one by one. One resting on his thigh, and the other taking the base of him into her hand. His dick twitched again, standing straighter and taller at the contact. Slowly, she took his tip into her lips, testing the waters.

He gave no indication that it made any difference other than a twitch in his thigh, but it did little to disway Ceres. They gave a little suck in retaliation, flicking their tongue against the slit, swiping the precum away. It sat salty and tangy on their tongue, mixing with their saliva as they let drool push past their lips and down his shaft. A small suck was given once more before they were pushing on, head bobbing slightly as he began prodding the back of their throat. Their fingers wrapped around the rest of his shaft, mindlessly tugging as their free hand lifted to gently fondle his balls. Sage let out some low gutteral noise at the action, something so swift Ceres nearly missed it. Nearly.

Daring to push further, they nearly gagged on Sage as they breathed through their nose, feeling him prod the back of their throat.

Ceres had once asked Aaliyah how she had done it. The Sheikah, at the time laughed with a small shake of her head before giving some half-baked excuse of ‘Besides not having a gag reflex? I jam my thumb into my palm and hope dick sucking isn’t the way I go’. But as the familiar burning erupted in the back of her throat, Ceres threw all caution to the wind and clenched her thumb against the center of their palm. It quelled the nausea rather quickly and Ceres almost surprised themself with how much further they dared to go.

Out of their peripheral, they watched Aaliyah on her own knees. One of her hands was between her thighs, giving a subtle jerk while the other pressed against Legend’s hip, neither clenched. So either what she said was real and she didn’t have a gag reflex or-...Ceres paused.

Nope, didn’t wanna think about it. Right now, their focus was on Sage and Sage alone.

Their eyes gazed back up to his face. His own eyes lidded softly as he watched them take him to the hilt. He rocked forward softly, the tip nudging the back of her throat each time. “There ya go, I knew you had it in you.”

Ceres whined around him, the vibration sending a chill up his spine. She pulled back only slightly, catching another view of Aaliyah out of the corner of their eye. Legend had one hand against the wall above her, the other tangled deeply into her white locks. They had to admit that the view sent a shock to their core. Sage noticed the way they watched, if only for a moment. He chuckled, his chest shaking with the action. “Look at you, not even ten minutes ago you wanted to rip his head off. And now you’re getting off just watching him use her.” He took his free hand and ran it over their cheek, patting it just on the edge of too rough. They took the hint, pulling off of him with a small gag and cough, a mix of spit and cum dripping down her chin. “Go.”

They looked up at him, confused for a moment. Before they could ask, he was pulling their hair so they rose to their feet, looking him in the eye. “I said, go. Or are we back on our rebellious streak?”

Ceres winced, giving a small nod before he was dismissing them. They scampered over where Legend had his head down, his own eyes practically glowing under the curtain of his bangs. From beneath him Aaliyah probably did shine as she glared up at him, mouth full and cheeks flushed. If looks could kill, Legend would probably have died at the mouth of her at this point. Her lip raised just a bit and Ceres watched as the edges of Aaliyah’s canines (Who she’d been on the sharp receiving end more than a few times) dragged along the red flesh of his shaft. The man hissed and his knuckles matched her hair with the grip he had on her hair.

In a blink and you’ll miss it moment, Ceres nearly missed the red staining the very tips of her teeth.

But still, they seemed to be in some sort of stand-off, seeing who’d back down first. With Aaliyah it was unlikely, but Legend was as stubborn as they came. (heheh came.)

“There. I’ve fixed your problem.” Sage called, tying his hair up into a messy bun before looking over at the trio. His bicep flexed and with it the tattoo around it.

Ceres watched him from the corner of their eye, trying to figure out what exactly they were supposed to do other than just awkwardly stand over them and watch. A slap rang out across the room, Ceres gasping in shock and pain. Aaliyah pulled back a bit to see their face, watching as the red returned to frame her freckles. Legend jerked the Sheikah’s head back to where it should be, hissing down at her. “Your focus is on me right now.” Aaliyah’s eyes burned holes into Legend’s as she took him back into her mouth.

“Actually, let's trade.”

Ceres turned back to him now, eyes wide. “What-”

“Oh we are back on the rebellious streak! Here,” He grabbed her arm, pushing her into the other man as he retrieved Aaliyah from the floor, “you can put them back into their place.”

Ceres gasped as her back hit the wall, Legend now face to face with them. “I was perfectly fine where I was.”

“And now you’ll be so with me then. Won’t you, squirrel?” His voice fell low, nose brushing their cheek as he continued. “I’ll stop if you don’t want this.”

They took a shaky breath, watching his hands travel down towards their waist as she thought it over. “Please don’t-”

Legend gave a gentle nod, treating them as if nothing had changed. His fingers were gentle and his looks sweet, never once turning to the bitter and spiteful challenge that he had looked at Aaliyah with. His lips were gentle pecks against her own, loving and sweet, full of a longing Ceres didn’t even know he was capable of feeling.

Their chest thrummed with something foreign but they refused to dwell on it, wrapping their arms around his neck and threading their fingers in his hair.

Sage scoffed at the sight. He didn’t know when he became a marriage counselor but he’d add it to his resume. Looking away, his eyes found his own match, watching her stand from her place on the ground. She gave a grumpy little grunt before looking over at him. She looked angry on the surface but in between the lines of gold and topaz lining her irises he could see the fear of a life once lived still rearing its ugly head. So, he opened his arms and let her come to him.

She did so, feeling his arms lock around her waist and against the ink on her lower back as her own cupped his cheeks. Sage gave her a smile that seemed less sharp than normal. “You did so good, snowdrop.” He whispered against her lips, feeling her breath puff against his cupid’s bow. “Listened perfectly, did as I asked.” His one hand trailed lower, giving her ass a squeeze before dipping into the cup between the cheek and her thigh. “Fuck, you were hot. Could see every time you wanted to bite.”

Between the planes of their crotches, his cock began to harden between them as he raised her leg against his hip. The Sheikah gave a stuttered breath, looking between them before back up at him, eyes lighting up in a challenge. Before she could open her mouth he gave a hard rut against her, the head of his cock catching the hood of her clit and making her crumble. “That’s my good fucking girl. Always such a well trained whore. Bet you want nothing more than to be all cock-drunk and make me do the thinking for you and that little doll back there, huh?” Sage teased, feeling the way Aaliyah shuddered.

She nipped at his collarbone, teeth sharp and probably dragging cuts into the flesh that would blend with all the other ones she gave him. Yet, no true objections came.

Sage had none himself. Like he had said earlier, he and Aaliyah had been together long enough for her to understand one thing. With good behavior came rewards, (hehe came) and she had earned the right to let herself drown in pleasure with no other words but his name on her tongue.

He now pushed against the wall next to the other couple, her back hitting harshly. One hand held her leg around his waist, the other reaching down to where they were briefly meeting. Her hands never left his hair, the bun already falling around his face. She whimpered against his lips when they met hers again, the feeling rough but not nearly as rough as she was expecting from him. His hand sprawled across her pelvis, thumb easily finding her clit and rubbing small circles just above it.

She bucked her hips into his, trying to glide his dick into her along with getting him to touch where she needed him. “Please-”

“Now you’re begging for it? Damn, maybe I should do this more often.” He laughed, slowly guiding himself to line up with her entrance. “You want this cock that bad? That you’re begging for me to fuck you? I knew you were a whore, but this is a new low. Even for you.”

She whined again, rutting into him once more. “Sage, please-”

He leaned in closer to her, breath brushing against her lips as he spoke. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

He laughed in her ear softly as he pushed up into her. She hissed out at the sensation. She never forgot how big he was, it was hard to do, but each time it seemed like her body had forgotten for her. Stretching and struggling to adjust to his size.

Ceres watched them from the corner of their eye, breathing growing heavy as Legend bit down onto their neck. A small cry of his name left her lips, hands tangling further into his pink locks.

“Don’t tell me you're distracted by him again.” Legend hissed into their ear, his own hand coming down to cup her sex. Ceres sucked in a breath, ears twitching to pick up small breath gasps and the lewd little noises coming from beside her. Sage remained a silent pillar, head burrowed between a tanned neck and snowy hair, but Ceres knew who the noises were coming from.

“Not him.”

Legend hummed, gently tracing their entrance. A finger prodded past the ring of muscles, making them twitch as she let out her own noise. He pumped to his second knuckle picking up a smooth and steady rhythm. “Her then?”

A second finger joined the first. Maybe they were just deprived, or maybe they had missed Legend more than they cared to admit to themselves, but already their orgasm burned in their gut. The man knew all the right spots and where exactly to hit them, so it was almost impossible not to. Their hand reached down, wrapping around his jolting cock and making the man give a grumbled curse.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” Ceres snipped, rolling their shoulders against the smooth wood of the wall behind them. The gentle chill cleared their head enough to regain some composure. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Legend gave a grunt, rutting into their hand in time with his fingers. “Can’t say that I am.”

Ceres scoffed again, pulling at his hair as the coil in their gut wound tighter and tighter. So close to snapping they could practically feel it already.

Then Legend pulled his fingers free.

She whined, an actual clear as day whine. “Don’t stop. Please.” They pulled on his cock again, earning another rock into their hand.

He took a shaky breath, pulling back from her just far enough that he left her hand. “The bed. Come on.” He pulled her arms towards himself, getting her off of the wall and turned in the direction of the bed. They stumbled into the edge of it, turning so they were laying on their back on the edge of the bed. He shook his head as he approached them. “Turn around.”

They swallowed thickly, nodding slowly to the man before doing as he asked and turning over onto their stomach. He reached under their hips, pulling them up so that their knees were just barely on the bed, their head resting against the cooling sheets. His contrastingly warm hands ran over each side of her ass, squeezing it tightly before giving each cheek a few quick slaps. They whined again, his name coming to her lips once more.

“I know, I know. Just let me enjoy the view for a minute.” His hand suddenly tangled into their hair pulling it back and towards the wall that Sage had Aaliyah pinned against. “You understand, don’t you, squirrel?”

They attempted to nod, eyes watering slightly at the tug on their hair.

“See? I knew you’d come around.”

Across the room, Sage was rutting into Aaliyah harder, the pictures scattered across the wood shaking on their nails. Small cries of his name continued to leave her, his back being marked harshly by her claws digging into his skin.

If Ceres had to choose a word to describe the poor Sheikah, it would be debauched. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring into nothing and damn near rolling into the back of her head as she grappled onto Sage like a lifeline. Their thighs shined with whatever fluids were being dripped between them and she didn’t even seem phased by it. So focused on the man before her and him alone. Her hair was fuzzy and looked knotted even from here, with bite marks trailing up and down her neck and shoulders, but that seemed normal for the duo in all honesty.

No, what really set this apart was the way Sage watched her. He always had an eye on her in situations like these, with Wild and Cal and with Twilight, but this time Ceres could see the way he watched her every breath. Every hiccup. Every little twitch of her entire nervous system as her brain seemed to lag behind, too doped on endorphins and adrenaline to care. And he adapted to it. His lips brushed along her ear, against the second hoop, gently kissing it as he whispered whatever it was into her ears. He held her tight enough to his body there was no fear of dropping her even with the support of the wall.

Ceres didn’t know who’s place she wanted to be in. (which yeah same tbh)

Behind them, Legend laid a gentle kiss on their spine. “There you go.” The heat of his skin pooled against their own as he moved closer, the head of his cock gently prodding their opening. “You okay?”

“Please.” Ceres hiccuped, fingers curling into the sheets. “You’ve teased enough haven’t you?”

Legend chuckled, one of his hands leaving their hips before gently guiding himself. In one slick movement he pushed in and Ceres let out a sharp gasp. Legend himself hissed in pleasure before he was finally sheathed.

They took a moment to breathe, appreciating that Legend gave them that before he pulled back and pushed back in. Their body rocked forward, hips attempting to push back against him instinctively. His breathing grew ragged quickly, the feeling of them helping work him along with the tight drag of her walls overwhelming. “Pulling me back in like that. I’d dare say you did miss me.” He laughed, running his hand down from her hair to the small of their back. He pushed down slightly, the pressure sending a new wave of pleasure through Ceres.

“Tha- that's one way to put it.” They mumbled out, head falling back towards the sheets below them. He chuckled breathlessly before picking up his pace. His new pace and the new pressure allowed him to go deeper than before, nudging just against where they needed him to be.

Aaliyah whimpered, her eyes falling on the way Legend had Ceres pinned to the bed. Her hips rocked back up into Sage’s. He noticed where her gaze had gone, taking silent note of it. “You like watching them? Like watching the way he takes her apart like I do to you?” She nodded, her eyes staying on the way Ceres’ face moved with each thrust into them. “Do you want me to do that to you? Bend you over the bed and fuck you for all your worth?”

“I want you-”

“That’s not what I asked, Snowdrop.” He pushed up into her again, his thumb finding her clit easily once more. “I asked if you want me to bend you over the bed.”

Her eyes fluttered closed when he asked the question, the way his thumb was rubbing her just right. Along with the rough drag of him inside of her would send her to the edge quickly. The sweet sounds pouring out of Ceres’ lips only added to the way her stomach turned into a tight knot. “Please do.”

It didn’t take him more than that, lifting her from the wall completely and carrying her to the bed. He dropped her across from the other duo. His hands helped situate her so that her and Ceres were face to face, asses in the air for each to use as they pleased. Aaliyah almost began to beg again, but was stopped by the familiar stretch ripping through her.

She all but crumbled into a heap, light flashing behind her eyelids as her thighs quivered. Ceres watched in a great deal of amusement, using one hand to cup the Sheikah’s cheek. Behind her Legend gave a swift smack to her ass. “There, now you have your friend all up close and personal.”

From behind her, Sage trailed a hand along her back, past the trail of stale scars and streaks of gloomy back and rooted his hand into the base of Aaliyah’s hair. “An audience to watch you be my perfect little cum dump, hm? All you’re good for at the moment really. Maybe a real nice tit sucker if Ceres can ask real nicely.”

Legend’s own hand pushed further on her spine. “You want that? Wanna be sucked and milked dry like a fucking dairy cow? Oh, I bet you’d love that. Have you creaming all over my cock.”

Aaliyah gave some sort of noise, neither a complaint or an acceptance, but from the way her head lolled to look up at Ceres, they weren’t even sure she was mentally processing any of this.

Sage seemed to notice this too, giving a cruel chuckle as he leaned in over her back. “Or are you fucked too dumb to listen to a word we’re saying? Nothing but cock filling that pretty little head of yours? Makes sense with a perverted slut like you. At least now these two know the truth.”

Ceres swallowed tightly as Aaliyah shook her head, but her defiance didn’t seem to hold any real merit. Another swat at their ass had Ceres shooting up, her hands supporting her weight as Legend continued to drill into them. “Gonna let her suck your tits, squirrel? Put her mouth to more use than just the useless yapping it’s doing right now?”

“Please!” Ceres cried out, head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Hear that, snowdrop? Go on, show that little tease how good you can be with your mouth. Don’t wanna disappoint me now, do you?” Sage snipped, pulling out enough Aaliyah could lazily roll to her back. From there, the Sheikah reached with shaky hands fondling the flesh before bringing a pebbled nipple to her mouth. She gave it a few licks and open mouth kisses before Sage was once again spearing into her and she was left crying around the bud. Ceres twitched at the feeling, their hips giving a harsh jut as the coil wound tighter and tighter.

Aaliyah followed suit, the way she was repeatedly split open sending her towards her end faster than before. The spew of words falling from Sage’s mouth didn’t help one bit. Her eyes rolled back as her tongue lolled around Ceres’ nipple. Her own words and silent begging beginning to leave her.

“She really is fucked dumb, isn’t she? Wanna be like that? Wanna cum all over my cock with your tit in her mouth. Come on, Ceres. Show them how much of a slut you can be for me. And only me.” Legend’s thrusts picked up even more, his hands findinging their place on either side of their hips to pull them back against him. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, and goddesses be damned if they didn’t cum on his cock first. He reached under them, quickly finding their clit and pushing two fingers against it harshly. They bucked back, a moan closer to a scream filling the room. “There ya go, squirrel. Just like you always do.” Her hips shook violently as she grew closer from the stimulation all over her body.

Small moans of different names slipped from their lips, one hand coming up to grab at Aaliyah’s matted hair.

Sage laughed at the sight, “Didn’t think it would be that easy to get you to the same state of mind, doll. Fuck, look at you both. Too drunk to do anything but take what we give you.”

It was sudden and all at once when Aaliyah screamed out, clenching around Sage tightly in an effort to ride out the high as long as possible. He didn’t slow in the least, fucking her through it and then after.

“Atta fucking girl!” He praised, grin widening as something warm and wet splashed against his thighs. She withered and squirmed the entire time, light momentarily blinding her vision as stars swam in her head.

Ceres watched the scene with wide eyes before her entire core was shattering and she was curling in on themself, momentarily spasming against Legend, who stilled inside of them. His cock gave a hard twitch before spilling inside of them, dripping past their opening and down their thighs. He gave a staggered little noise as they clenched around him.

Sage huffed in amusement leaning down to press his forehead to Aaliyah’s, one of his hands cradling the back of her head so she was no longer under Ceres. She was making those soft noises she always did when she was too overstimulated to think past surface level feelings, making him chuckle.

“There’s my good girl.” He hummed once more, feeling her clench and cry out before he was rutting up against her as far as possible, painting her insides a pretty white. He gave a low grunt at the action, pressing a searing kiss to her lips and letting her cling to him desperately.

When he pulled away, she hid in his chest, letting her breathing even out as she closed her eyes. Across from them, Ceres looked blissed out and mindless, laying on their arms with a glossy look in their eyes. Then there was Legend, leaning on Ceres’ back and giving a few heavy pants before looking up at Sage.

“Got something to say, dickwad?”

Sage only grinned. “ They did say they hoped you’d get scratched up.”

Legend shot a few choice words at him, but Sage paid it little mind. He briefly wondered what scheme they would try next to exclude him.

Maybe next time he’d bring the old man…Or his wife.

#LU OC #Linked Universe oc #Aaliyah <3 #Ceres <3 #lu sage #lu legend #nsft #linked universe #lu

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palestaticexchange · 4 months

Text

THE QUAINTEST PUB IN NOWHERE

You stand with your hands on your hips in awe of your own prowess. Every pane is smearless, every surface spotless, every wall stainless, and every corner free from dust. The air is tinged with the smell of caustic lemon bleach and faint traces of the morning's burnt coffee.

You pride yourself on generating a pleasant atmosphere within your cafeterias. Little pockets of warmth and calm away from the general hubbub of Revachol... Whilst still being accessible to the average Revacholian wallet, of course. That was important.

When you took on your third cafeteria you were granted a rare opportunity. You *bought* the building - not rented - for a steal using the float from your first two locations. A risky move, but one that paid off.

The RCM had auctioned the little wooden lounge after it's previous owner had been sentenced to Reunion. A one-story wood beam hostel, 25 minutes out from Boogie Street, that carried a *bad* reputation after being outed as the location for a gruesome triple homicide. A tragedy, but not the building's fault.

Two years later it carried the reputation of an 'old man pub'. Not exactly the cozy Ubi Sant-style walkers cottage you had envisioned as you redecorated, but better than what the average Jamie Jamrock had previously referred to as the 'Death House'. Besides, keeping the ale cheap rather than leaning into the creation of a gastrotavern (bolstered by a subsequent hike in pricing for meaty little nibbles) meant you kept a near-daily rotation of regular clientele.

Old, ugly, smelly, alcoholics who - having avoided the barrel of a gun during the Revolution - resigned themselves to drink away the profits and memories of those friends and family members less fortunate. Rude, grizzled men; with fingers stained yellow from decades of smoking; and wet, bloodshot eyes. They *more* than kept the doors open however; so you'd keep your judgements to yourself.

A regular that, for some reason, your bar staff refer to as 'Salt Beef' (you don't care) grunts at you to communicate that you're blocking his path to the bathroom. You sigh and squish against the bar so the man can waddle past.

"You're welcome," you say.

The man grunts again.

Dragged from memory lane by the smell of imminent piss, you head behind the bar and heft a cardboard box on top of it. Your task for the day.

You're not a big believer in the supranatural but this box does carry an element of magic to you. You don't remember buying a *single* item within it, yet every year the amount of tat within seems to have doubled.

Glass stars, snowflakes, and arches. Woven wooden animals, gaudy little dolls in warm-looking clothes, dried lilacs, lavender, and snowdrops. Orbs containing water, glitter, and barren landscapes. Streamers in the silvery blue shade of cold. Potpourri heavy on the orange and shedding a constant dust that makes you sneeze as you unpack everything.

It is time to decorate for the Winter Solstice.

You both love and hate this errand. On the one hand; it's a change of pace, and signals the end of year windfall that accompanies alternative clientele. Portly women looking for somewhere with a wood burning stove to enjoy a seasonal brandy and laugh with friends at an ear-splitting decibel. Middle-class men forced to spend at least one weekend a year with their families in the morning, buying coffees for themselves and lemonades for the kids, then returning in the evening with their mistresses to share a bottle of 'your cheapest wine at the highest percentage please, mate'. The chintzy tat lures these people to your establishment like flies to honey.

On the other hand, you've been doing this job long enough to know that no matter how pleasant the task starts out - placing the globes on the mantelpiece just so, sneezing into the crook of your arm as the coffee table receives a vase of Potpourri - at some point you are going to lose your fucking mind.

It might be the 17th time a gooey stars peel itself from the window, or when you spend 10 minutes struggling with the end of the tape only to lose it immediately upon ripping off one, pitiful, piece. However, you are more than aware that at some point you are going to - calmly - walk into the cellar and proceed to scream for a good minute.

Thankfully neither your clientele, or staff, give you much thought. You recently hired a young man named Pascal; he's polite and does as he's told, however he seems to be powered by marijuana alone: which has a tendency to make him lax. Whatever. This is Jamrock: as long as he does his job (and smokes AWAY from your building) you're inclined to leave him to it.

The regulars you know full well would watch you have a heart attack in silence and step over your corpse to pull themselves another bitter.

You're reminded of this fact as Salt Beef grunts at you again as you attach a streamer to the front of the bar.

"Sir, with all due respect I am *not* in your way."

It's true: there's a wide birth between where you kneel on the floor and the nearest table. Salt Beef remains unmoving, staring at you in silence with arms limp by his sides, like the last apple on a tree long-since out of fruiting season. He has ample space to walk around you but he wants the space *you* occupy.

You sigh again. Working in the hospitality industry often means bending over backwards for the tiniest of requests from the biggest dickheads born this side of 00.

You flatten yourself against the bar, knees reminding you that although you're in your 20s you're on the wrong side of that decade, and thank yourself for cleaning the front of the bar as well as its surface. The smell of *new* piss as opposed to the stale passes behind you, then you're free to resume pinning the streamer in its rightful place.

It's then the brass tinkle of the door bell rings out signifying that somebody has entered your establishment. Your crusty Wednesday regulars are accounted for. All six of them. So you grip the countertop and rise from your position on the slate, ready to greet whichever seasonal bother has decided to grace you with their presence, with a smile of course.

That is one element of Winter Solstice decoration you'd always deemed too cliché: the angel. Swathed in white from heel to hair, eyes kind, and skin so pale that rosy cheeks came as standard. A beautiful, patient, adored symbol of femininity and power; something to be revered whilst still retaining a form that could be sold as *fuckable* to any lonely man for a pittance in the store.

Most modern angels are based off the countenance of one Dolores Dei. It made sense after all. Blonde, pretty, fragile in appearance while still boasting of absolute power. Who better to render onto cheap cards and cookies, post-death?

For you the angel never resembled Her Innocence however.

For you the angel was local and endlessly patient, kind to a fault, eyes open - not as an Innocence - but possessing an observance beyond her years.

For you the angel would pick up a shift when your assistant manager called in sick because he couldn't handle his gin.

Through the door walks your most favoured member of staff: Sylvie Malaìika. Not adorned with woven twigs, nor brandishing the silver cups of year end. She wears a simple warm jumper and carries paper bags full of shopping.

You're on your feet in an instant, already making your way towards her as she blows away hair caught in her face as the door swings shut on her. "Sylvie!" You cry in surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasur- here, let me help with your bags." As you reach her you hook your arm under the paper straps adorning her right side.

She uses the free hand to move remaining strands stuck to her lips, and *you* try not to pay attention to how glossed they are. "Oh! It's *warm* in here, thank God!" With a deft roll of her shoulder she lets the three bags held on her arm slide down it and into your hands, supporting the remaining bag in her right against her body. "Thank you, Garte!" She beams, knocking the wind out of you.

"O- of course!" You reply, splitting three bags between two hands and already leading her towards the best seat in the house; a plush armchair right by the stove.

"Oh it smells *lovely* in here! You're putting the decorations up, then?" As she sinks into the chair you hear the familiar clunk of glass hitting the ground. Her remaining bag must contain bottles of heavy alcohol, explaining the 3-1 split. "I've just been shopping for my family, thought I'd take a little break and get out from that dreadful wind."

The weather had been terrible today, the single-pane windows rattling in their frames as wind howled down the chimney. Days like these were unpredictable; the weather either filled your pub with people looking for a cozy place to escape the cold, or rendered it dead as folks cowered away in their homes. It made it hard to staff appropriately.

As you place her bags to the side of the chair, she routes through them as if to remind herself of their contents. "I've been sent out on a mission," she grumbles. "Grandmother gave me money and a list and expects me to return with everything on it." She sighs. "I didn't know how *hard* that would be when I agreed. For such a large city there's an awful lot of shops selling the same things," she smiles sadly. "And for a much higher price than Gran is used to at her age."

"Looks like you've made good progress at least," you say, nudging the closet bag gently with your shoe.

"Hardly," she sighs again, propping her perfect chin against her hand. "I could get everything she wanted for half the price and she'd still find something to complain about."

You'd heard variations on this tale before. As far as you could gather, Sylvie's grandmother was an esteemed battleaxe. Feared within their local community for her sharp tongue and cunning eye, but also revered for a *sharper* wit and thumb so green she could allegedly grow food from cigarette butts discarded in a gutter. You were both eager and *terrified* to meet her one day... Maybe... If you were *VERY* lucky.

"Ah," you hum. "But you've done your best! She surely can't ask for more than that." You give what you *hope* is a reassuring smile. "Would you like a drink, Sylvie?"

She smirks, "Only if you're offering."

"Of course!" The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. A solid 45% of you screaming in horror about *profits* and *financial goals* and the rest of you giddy with *holiday spirit*. You pound a closed fist against your chest. That might be heartburn actually.

Sylvie's eyes go wide however. "Oh! Lawrence, I was just joking!" She leans forwards and pulls a little blue purse from the bottom of one bag. "I'll get my own drink of course."

"Nonsense!" You wave her off, already smothering whatever arguing needed to take place within you. "Lets call it a... Holiday bonus if you will?" You shimmy forward conspiratorially in the practised technique of somebody trying to make a customer feel *special*... No... Not a customer... A *friend*. "Besides," you whisper lowly. "I can always write it off as wastage." You feel dirty all of a sudden. Very few in this city would shame you for taking the occasional perk from business work, especially when it's to *their* benefit, but all of a sudden you feel cheap. You want to buy this woman a drink from your own pocket...

However, the lowness of your voice doesn't seem to stop your bartender from picking up on the statement. "Solstice bonus, boss?" Pascal says grinning. "Don't mind if I do!"

"Well," Sylvie says, rising from her armchair and tucking her white mittens into one pocket of her coat. "If we're *all* having a drink then it would be rude to refuse." Fine. All *three* of you will have a drink. It's not like you were trying to buy her, specifically, a drink. Why would you be trying to do that?

Pascal lines three glasses on the bar as the two of you approach. Sylvie's attention is drawn as a white star suddenly peels itself from the window and lands on the floor with a sticky slap.

"Doing my head in..." You mutter. "The only consolation is this gives me a reason to finally throw them away at the year's end!"

"Have you washed them?" Sylvie says, cocking her head.

"What do you mean?"

The corners of her mouth flick up in a smile and she peels the star gently from the floor. Then, she walks behind the bar and rinses it under the tap. "It's covered in dust, see?" She holds the star out briefly to you before swilling it under the running water again. "It must be from that potpourri I can smell." Both you and Pascal watch her in silence as she returns to the window and presses the star against it.

The gooey cut-out holds with barely any resistance. When you were attaching them you'd ground your knuckles against the pane and they'd still fallen within the minute.

"It takes a gentle touch sometimes." She says with a smile, as if reading your mind.

Your breath catches in your lungs. She really is an *angel*.

"Cheers to that," Pascal says with a wink. You huff and take the glass from his hand as he raises it in her direction.

"Give me that," you mutter, lining it up with the others and pulling a bottle from under the bar. Firebrand Whiskey. Not the most *upmarket* liquor available but nicer than the swill to generally grace your pallet. As you begin to pour Sylvie crosses her arms on the bar in front of you and Pascal peers over your shoulder.

"Good thing I'm getting the tram back!" Sylvie says heartily.

"I don't think *any* of us drive..." You say, re-corking the bottle and passing a glass to each member of staff.

You raise your glass in a toast and Sylvie and Pascal follow suit, glasses clinking. "Happy Winter Solstice."

"To a bright new year!"

"Thanks for the free booze!"

You swig in turn. It's been a while since you've drank, you realise. The heat of the alcohol warms your tonsils as it slips past them. Then you're setting the short glass on the bar and staring directly at Sylvie's rosy cheeks. That heartburn returns. Probably the whiskey.

"Oh!" She says suddenly. "That reminds me!" She reaches into her bag - handbag, not paper one full of shopping - and brings out a little parcel wrapped with rough string. "For you, Lawrence," she says with a smile.

Man that whiskey really *is* giving you terrible heartburn. No wonder you don't drink that often. Probably *not* heartburn though... Is it?

Gingerly, you take the parcel from her and remove the string. By the time you spot the Spenny Pennies logo you're baffled.

She catches the awestruck expression on your face and raises her hands. "Discounted of course!" She admits.

Spenny Pennies is a six story department store on the promenade of Grand Couron. A verifiable gold mine of everything your little heart could desire. Toys, clothes, sweets, the newest technology shipped in from Seol, rare fruit grown on the other side of the Occident and encased in marzipan. Spenny Pennies products are WELL outside the boundaries of an ordinary Revacholian wallet. Except that sometimes fancy tins of biscuits are *dropped* and their contents broken, and if the contents aren't *perfect* then 'Callie Couron' won't be buying it. As such, these less-than-perfect items are sold for sometimes 80% off.

THAT is the only way these items end up in the hands of 'Jamie Jamrocks' like you lot.

None the less, the gesture is immeasurably kind and you take the box of broken biscuits with an unpractised timidness. "T- Thank you..." You say looking down at them. "There was no need, really-"

"Oh, be quiet," she says smiling. She takes another small swig of her whiskey and looks out of the window.

"Ne'er had one of these!" Pascal says, ruining the moment as he peers down at the brandy snaps.

"Hinting much are we?" You say dryly, already popping the lid of the tin.

"No, Sir, not me!" He raises his hands, eyelids fluttering, and still *very much* hinting how much he'd like a biscuit.

You offer a brandy snap to Sylvie first - of course - then Pascal, then take one for yourself. "Erm... Do we cheers with these?" You say, turning the little tube over between your fingers.

"Why not!" Sylvie laughs. "Happy Winter Solstice!" She says, mimicking the cadence you'd taken as *you* said that last time.

"To a bright new year!" You says in return, eyes sparkling as you toss her greeting right back at her.

"Thanks for the free biscuit!" Pascal chimes in.

And for an hour - in what used to be referred to as the 'old Death House' - three people share companionship, whiskey, and brandy snaps. Their good mood rings so true, that nobody even notices three more gooey stars peel themselves from the window.

#i wanted this out yesterday for actual winter solstice but unfortunately work got in the way *shakes fist* CAPITALISM!!#garte disco elysium #lawrence garte #Sylvie Malaìika #sylvie disco elysium #PALE STATIC LORE

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a-whispering-echo · 10 months

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Sans Nickname Masterpost

A collection of nicknames used for the sanses, for what ever you may need them for. Some of these are ones ive made up, so are once other people have used, im just collecting them.

This is a collective project, if you have one for ANY sans, even ones not already on the list, sent them my way, in the comments, my asks or you could dm me, i dont mind, ill get them on when i can.

Nightmare

Night, Mare, Nightlight, Moonlight, Midnight, Moon, Moonbeam, Nightingale, Moonbeam, moony, Moonflower, Lune, Moonshine, Noot, Nootmare, Octopus, Calamari

Dream

Sunshine, Glowstick, Firefly, Starlight, Starling, Pipe dream, starshine, sunspot, sunflower, Dreamer, Solar Flare, little light, ray of light, Solstice, Sunburst, Sol, Daydream, Bumblebee,

Killer

Killz, tears, oil eyes, stabby, cutlet, killshot, overkill, Killjoy, skillet, roadkill, Buttercup, Rogue, Target

Cross

X, C, criss-cross, applesauce, crossy, crossroads, crossword, zebra crossing, zebra, pup, puppy, crossy road, double stuff, candy floss, cotton candy, candy, cookie, crossbow, your X-cellence, black white and red all over, Jellybean, lionheart,

Horror

Big guy, H, Gummy Bear, Teddy Bear, teddy, bear, Pumpkin, Cookie Monster, chompy, chum, Crackhead

Dust

Murder, dusty, dust bunny, bun, bunny, duster, feather duster, feather, dustbin, dustpan, Little Lamb, lamb, lambchop, powder, cocaine, powdered sugar, sugar, dust cloud, snowdrop, cinnabunny, walking dust mote, stardust, Red Riding Hood,

Blue/Swap

Baby Blue, blueberry, bluebell, bluebird, Bluebonnet, Blueberry Muffin, muffin, Bluejay, mistletoe, Swapper, Cadet, Guard, Berry blues

Ink

Inky, Squid, Squididiot, inkblot, Doodlebug, Snickerdoodle, Inkstain, inkling, Inkdrop, Inkwell, skittles, Stink, Calamari

Error

glitchy, Ru, Ru ru, mistake, Bumblebee,

Fell

Red, spikes, fellanie

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fattybattysblog · 3 months

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Find the Word (2)

Thank you for tagging me @oceangirl24

Find the words you're given somewhere in your works. Then give the people you tag a set of words to find. No worries if you can't find them all.

My words: chowder, clatter, visage, eternal, skeptical, irate, jaggernaut, lime, superhero

Your words: reach, blood, metal, snicker, smirk, cough, hack, slice

Tagging: @tsunderesalty @mrsmungus @danceswithdarkspawn @udaberriwrites@kayedium-writes @bees-and-sunshine @sliebman10 @mikaharuka @axolotlsupremacyowo

These will be double tagged people so don't worry about playing after mine!

This is an open tag for anyone who wants to play.

Clatter in Hawthorne

As if summoned, the door clicked and a person entered the room. They were wearing a cloak and the hood was pulled over their head. Two green lights in the dark of the hood centered on me and I flinched. “Awake already? I was expecting a lot longer.” He muttered. His body clattered as he straightened, the wings on his back coming into view. A reaper. I hadn’t seen one in person. “Am I dead?” I asked. It seemed obvious to me that I am. A reaper wouldn’t show themselves to just anyone. Obviously, I should be dead. After that event, I must be. But the reaper shook his head and pulled down his hood. He gave me a grin. An odd sight from someone without lips. He has a surprisingly expressive skull. “No. You had a lot of fight in you.” He said as he flicked on the light and approached the bed. His? Do reapers sleep?

Eternal in Snowdrop

Ganondorf couldn’t flee his name, but he could fight destiny tooth and nail. He had a pair of swords in his hands, a trident on his back, the power of darkness in his veins crying out for revenge against the entity that doomed him to eternal anger and hatred. He glanced at the two warriors by his side. The sage, the vessel of the goddess, the Princess Zelda. And the hero, the guardian, the wielder of the Master Sword, Link. He used to harbor fire for these two. The echoes of such fires still burned in his gut, but with Ganon’s grip loosened from his soul Ganondorf was no longer blindly enraged with these two. Now they fought side by side as simply warriors for the same cause. To defeat destiny. The trio’s hands were marked with the triforce. A gift from the goddess. It was thought that Ganondorf’s piece was stolen and granted to him only because he was a vessel. But all three had bright, full triforces on their hands. It was never stolen. Ganondorf himself was stolen from the goddess and used as a weapon. This emboldened them to charge ahead. “Are we ready?” Zelda asked them, notching an arrow on her bow. “Today, we escape this cycle,” Ganondorf said, gritting his teeth in fury, “I won’t have my strings pulled any longer. Today, Ganon dies.”

It took a lot of hunting to find these two examples. I could have sworn I used the word "visage" somewhere but I couldn't find it anywhere.

#find the word game #find the word tag #tag game #writing tag game #fanfic #fanfiction #zelda fanfiction #ganondorf #original fiction #Saphira

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jillraggett · 1 year

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Plant of the Day

Sunday 5 March 2023

With wider flowers than the single flowered species Galanthus nivalis f. pleniflorus 'Flore Pleno' (double snowdrop) is creating a display before the trees, shrubs and herbaceous plants produce leaves. This double flowered bulbous perennial forms clumps which can be divided as the flowers and foliage dieback to increase the plants coverage.

Jill Raggett

#galanthus #doublesnowdrop #snowdrop #snowdrops #plants #writtledesign #gardens #garden #horticulture #SouthRonaldsay #orkney #whiteflowers #bulbous

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stepfordgoth · 2 months

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Anyway things are awful and I'm still sad and angry but I did go on a two hour walk in the park so I guess I'm okay.

Also I found a double snowdrop (???) among the flowers I picked at the park and I didn't realize it's a double (or a fasciated, I'm not sure if double snowdrops exist so it might just be a mutation, aka fasciation) until after I got home and put it in water.... I wouldn't have picked it if I'd noticed! But it's here now I guess. Check it out.

Most snowdrops look like this: three petals, one opening bit (I don't know all the proper scientific words, I probably should learn them) in the middle, slim green cap on top. (Not my photo)

This snowdrop though..... FIVE petals, TWO opening bits that look like they've almost fused into one, and a wide/chubby green cap on top.

So, that's neat I guess. Gives me something to research instead of reading about things that are going to make me more emotional.

#snowdrops

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practically-an-x-man · 2 days

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sunflower, daisy, violet, snowdrop, winterberry for Eris, Jasper, and Ophelia :)

Thank you!!

Flowery OC Asks

Sunflower - What name(s) were you originally thinking of calling your OC?

Eris: I know I had an alternate name for them initially, and it was something mythology-related, but I don't remember precisely what it was. I want to say either Anahita or Nemea?

Jasper: I waffled between a few gender-neutral names like Rowan, Campbell, Dakota, etc. before I landed on Jasper.

Ophelia: I didn't really have alternate names for her? I knew from teh beginning that I wanted it to begin with O, and Ophelia just ended up being a perfect fit from the start

Daisy - What inspired you to create your OC?

Eris: As with far too many of my OCs, I was pissed-off at a certain characters death and immediately sought to fix it.

Jasper: I was so incredibly furious at the way Kyle was treated in Coven (given a cool story and seemed like a genuinely nice guy, only to then be infantilized and used as an object for this romantic rivalry between two other characters) and I wanted to give him a partner that was actually based on love, trust, and understanding rather than whatever the fuck the show tried to do.

Ophelia: I just really liked No Way Home and wanted to try my hand at it. Plus, I thought Otto would make a really good dad and wanted to explore that sort of dynamic.

Violet - Do a voice claim for your OC

Eris: I'm not sure... I'm already between faceclaims (May Calamawy or Alia Shawkat), and usually voiceclaims are even harder to decide for me. I guess we'll stick with May Calamawy :D

Jasper: Miles McKenna, same as their faceclaim

Ophelia: Uhhh I'm drawing a blank. Rhea Ripley's Australian so I can't just double up on her faceclaim... idk, Lio Tipton? I'm honestly shit at coming up with voiceclaims.

Snowdrop - What is something your OC loves, and what is something they hate?

Eris: Loves engaging in banter and lighthearted arguments, they find it fun. Hates having to sit still for particularly long, like waiting in line for something.

Jasper: Loves music, particularly punk and alt rock. Hates being in crowded spaces, since it's overwhelming for their empathic sense

Ophelia: Loves solving problems, including useless problems just to keep her mind active. Hates having to face her emotions.

Winterberry - Use one or more photos that encapsulates your OC's clothing style.

(I'm not on Pinterest so sorry for the shitty image-searched pictures lol)

Eris: (minus the heels, they're more likely to be wearing either old-fashioned sandals or some kind of athletic shoe)

Jasper: (punk but not especially flashy, at least while they're in college)

Ophelia: (really just picked this for the coat lol)

#my friends!!!#answered asks #ask game #my ocs #jasper wilson #ophelia octavius #oc eris

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stagkingswife · 1 year

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I've been reading about your Forgotten Ones and it's really inspiring. You talk about holy days that are tied to natural occurrences, such as seeing the first snowdrops. If it's not too personal, would you mind expanding a bit on that? How do you celebrate these days that can sneak up on you?

I'm sure there's much to elaborate on in regards to the timing of my holy days... Most of them are tied to some natural occurrence rather than a date. Some are simple signs, like the first X of the season, some are a little more complicated to calculate - like the height of firefly season, or the first thunderstorm after the Autumnal equinox. But each indicator relates back to the entity(ies) that the holy day focuses on somehow, like the First Robin indicating a holy day for Wren - who is associated with birds, wind, and weather. I have a few days that are more set, like Long Night, which takes place on the Winter solstice, or the day I set aside for my sailing ancestors - which doesn't have a particular name, but it takes place on Talk Like a Pirate Day every year.

I tend to keep my rituals and celebrations pretty simple, and I do basically the same thing for each holy day from year to the other, so when a day turns out to be a holy day I'm never caught too flat footed. Most rituals involve offerings, prayers, and some kind of devotional activity tailored to the entity(ies) the day focuses on. For instance, just yesterday I was completely surprised be the snowfall we got and that fact that it actually stuck, signifying that it was First Fall. This holy day celebrates two entities, my god of the Sun, fire, and inspiration, and my god of stories and songs. The ritual for it was lighting a bunch of candles (since I don't have a fireplace anymore), cooking and offering a meal and a wintry cocktail, and then indulging in stories and songs to distract from the snow and the cold winds. No planning needed, it's the same thing I do every time the first snowfall accumulates enough to stick around.

The bigger issue is when two days with very different celebrations happen at the same time, which is rare. But this year First Robin Day and Lady's Flower happened on the same day because of the early thaw we had. Normally I see a robin before it's warm enough for any flowers, but not this year. So I tried to figure out how to combine one celebration that is supposed exalt the joy of warmer weather coming with childlike glee and a very somber observance sacrifice. They didn't blend well, so I sort of just did a double feature - one right after the other. But again, both were simple enough that I had what I needed on hand, just around the house.

#the returning #the forgotten ones #self made religion #unrecorded entity #unrecorded gods

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l-mop · 7 months

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[End of Pale spoilers]

“As the world gets darker, bloodier, and a worst case scenario sparks on the horizon, it’s education, reaching out, reaching down, the things we build, the things we hold onto, that’s what will see us through.” Fuck me, this was a wonderful finale. Um. Having trouble organizing thoughts so this is gonna be stream of consciousness off the cuff. Wow, jeez okay wow um. The girls are all grown up! Lucy the respected and feared but down-to-earth teacher/student, with a watchful familiar to keep her grounded. Verona the badass travelling savior, who has almost as many titles as Percival but who I'll call sorceress/bookseller. And Avery, my personal favorite POV character, Path Runner, leader of the Kelly family, Goblin Sage's familiar, athlete/ally. Each chapter in this arc has been a soul-smashing look into them getting to grow up free of the constant pressure. Well, free-ish, but you know what I mean. They still have scars, and war cost them, but they can move on and build their better world. I LOVE LOVE LOVE that they did a proper triumvirate ritual. Like turning Snowdrop from a casual boon companion to a full familiar, but... for the bond we've been following since the story started so long ago. A great capstone moment for the series, even if it happens offscreen. Looong ago. Okay, the biggest wordcount sheet I can find is missing the latest 3 chapters, but Pale's at 3,734,822 words (as opposed to Ward's ... 1,944,784 words? Wait what the fuck????????? PALE IS DOUBLE WARD?!) Hey wait... Triumvirate. Who would win between Worm Triumvirate and Pale Triumv- nah we dont need to go there. Those new fae are certainly a tempting new threat. But the girls have allies, they know their enemies, and they can pick their battles. They're well on their way to fixing the world, no matter if the new fae want it or not. Can't wait to see what comes next.

#palepost #pale web serial #paleblr #otherverse

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booksandchainmail · 7 months

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Pale 11.2

“How did you meet these two?” Verona’s mom asked. That put her on the spot. “Group project.” “What kind of project?” Aaaaa.

big mood Avery, I am continually impressed with how many technically-true statements the other two manage

“Fake pork on a bagel?” Avery scrunched up her nose. “With tons of barbecue sauce and stuff, looks like,” Lucy added. “On a bagel? I dunno. Fake meat I’ve tried is maybe half mediocre, squint-and-you-could-interpret-it-as-meat stuff,” Avery said. “And the other half was real sad. My siblings looked at the turkey slice stuff and they went from making fun of the vegetarian stuff to feeling sorry for me. And making fun of me a little, still.”

even leaving aside the fake meat aspect, I am deeply weirded out by the idea of a barbecue pork bagel sandwich. A bagel should have smoked salmon and cream cheese! You can add tomato/red onion/capers if you want, or I guess do something with eggs and/or salad. But not meat! Especially pork, that's just bizarre

“If it’s decent then you could come back and have it again,” Verona’s mom said. “I dunno, I don’t want to ruin a whole meal though.”

this is why I just always order the same thing at a restaurant once I've found something I like

“It’s a generation thing,” Verona said, still talking in a tone like she was laying sage wisdom down from above and having fun at the same time. Verona was being very Verona and it felt a lot like Avery had felt when she was just getting into the flow of these two, after Miss had introduced them.

I think Verona is feeling very off-balance still, but also the sudden release of being away from her dad, and is being very outwardly herself to work through her emotions

“Lox and cream cheese with double helping of black olive and red onion, please, poppyseed.”

aside from the olives this is respectable

“I’m not into art as a career, though,” Verona said. “And like, who even thinks about careers at thirteen?” “Me either, with sports,” Avery interjected.

that's probably good, those are two careers that are very hard to actually make a living off of

“It’s an advantage, if you can tackle a new project without feeling like you’re leaving behind the things you really want to do. I get excited about any new venture, and I think I can sell people on that excitement and make things happen.”

have you considered becoming a startup CEO

“What have you done?” Verona asked them, mock-horrified, even though she looked like she was enjoying herself at the same time. [...] “What have you done?” Verona asked her mom and Lucy’s mom, exaggerated. “Have you no mercy?”

ok, this is very stressful for Avery and coming at a bad time, but I'm also with Verona that it is very funny

(I am an only child)

“Just the one, I think,” Jasmine said. “She works for the whole hospital, and doubles as IT, I think.” “That’s not nearly enough,” Connor said. “One health information specialist?”

pour one out for that poor poor IT/information worker. That's not nearly enough, and you can bet they're being drafted into any project that needs a bit of code or analysis done

also ngl I would read more of the parents talking about healthcare data analysis, I wonder if wildbow has personal experience with it? I have a friend who does basically the job that Connor has, and it's not something people tend to think of when they think either "healthcare work" or "tech work", so it seems oddly specific

Avery focused on that, drew on the connection, and channeled it. Snowdrop raised a paw, ‘thumb’ extended, then went back to sleep. She adopted the omnivore scavenger’s palate.

oh that's a neat benefit. I was going to say probably not useful for anything major, but actually it would be a live-saver in the Hungry Choir ritual, and I bet there are other practices that require eating something gross

“Avery!” Avery flinched like she’d been slapped in the back of her head. Her dad.

... that is a strong reaction. The lingering head injury, or his reaction to her coming out?

“Here,” he said. He reached into his pocket and got his wallet. He pressed a card into her hand. Then he turned to the cashier. “My daughter has my card, Connor Kelly. She has my permission to use it. That okay?”

this feels like guilt

“I really can’t think of much I need,” Avery said. “Some shirts, maybe, shorts…” “Two hundred dollars?” Verona repeated. Avery shook her head, looking around. “While Snowdrop is leveling up in- I don’t even know what to call it. Intensity of fashion? I feel like I should do something similar but I don’t know what.”

to echo a fandom desire from early-mid Ward: shopping trip!

time for a butch makeover montage

“This is what she does,” Verona said. “Hey, while you’re doing that, Ave, buy your basics, I can think of some things to buy for Tashlit. I have some money too.”

aww

“In ten hours, yeah,” Lucy said. “And then I got stressed because I knew not sleeping before a day like today which might really matter…” “Yeah. I get that.” “Made it even harder to sleep because I was stressed.”

that happens to my partner sometimes, it always sucks

“It did suck and it was lonely but I get it. It’s cool.”

on the one hand Avery's right that Lucy was also going through it and this was understandable, but on the other I'm not thrilled how quickly she goes "This was bad for me but it's fine."

“I like the idea of sticking by one another, it’s just tricky sometimes. People are… personality-wise I see us all as jagged, weirdly shaped things, and we try to mesh together as best as we can but sometimes…” “Yeah.” “The mesh isn’t perfect and we bounce off one another or something and that doesn’t at all mean I don’t care or I’m not in your corner.”

hedgehog dilemma

Avery shook her head. “He smacked me in the back of the head near the brain stem and that can give you gnarly headaches that last for a whole month. But when he said I could have the post-concussion thing, he was saying I could have mental difficutlies or problems for the rest of my life. And that’s when, you know… I was spooked.”

fucking christ that's terrifying no wonder you were spooked

“You know that you’re like… cool, right, Ave?” “I don’t, no.”

ouch

“I don’t mean sunglasses and slicked back hair cool, or snowboarder chick cool, or leather jackets type cool, I mean-”

she could be those if she wanted! maybe. actually no, sweet and earnest kind of gets in the way of most of those. but she could still get a leather jacket.

“These are your measurements for cool? Sunglasses and slicked back hair? What?” Avery asked, smiling.

... is Lucy's metric for cool just Zed

“Do we have to move on? Because calling me cool is awkward but defining what you see as cool is fun. Who’s a cool guy, Lucy? One cool guy you know.” “I had a point I was getting to.” “First one off the top of your head. Is it Zed?”

called it!

“What’s the commonality between those guys? Tymon’s a bit laid back, especially when you put him with a bunch of these practitioners from uptight families, and George is sort of above it all. Tymon’s from a big drug-spirit summoning family and George partakes…” “Not really the direction I was thinking.” “Very angular faces. Sharp chins, defined cheekbones…”

lol

“Is this punishment? For leaving you hanging while I moped? Are you channeling Snowdrop’s chaotic spirit?”

what goes around comes around! otherverse runs on karma

“Oh, they both have longer hair. Are you into longer hair? I can understand that.” “The longer hair is a plus.”

fits with liking indie rock/pop I think? I don't know music. Or guys.

Wallace tended to lighten his hair and wear shirts with wild geometric or fractal patterns, prints, and/or colors.

oh that's neat, I love a good geometric pattern. I am now rooting for Wallace, sorry Tymon

At Tashlit’s instruction, such as it was, Lucy sat on the log by the fire and then rolled up her shirt as much as she could without being indecent

this is a very Avery this to notice and way of phrasing

It was gnarly.

no wait I take it back, this is Avery phrasing

3:00pm. “Of course. I’ll help,” John said. Verona, Avery, and Lucy held papers, guaranteeing privacy.

oh, so they're doing the rounds of their allies. Tashlit, John... I wonder who else? Probably Alpeana, Crooked Rock might have put them in contact with the ghouls, maybe they'll talk to Guilherme and Toadswallow. I think this will go fine, my concern is that helping the girls arrest Edith is a good way for a secret conspirator to ward off suspicion

John nodded. He took the little games that Verona had brought and set them aside, bending down briefly to slip them into his bag. There was also a collection of darts Avery had grabbed on impulse. No dartboard, that had been too expensive. Just darts. She figured John could improvise. He seemed to like it.

cute that they're bringing gifts, and I do like it as part of this recruitment process. Too small to be a bribe, but a show of friendliness and respect. Reminds me of how ritualized gift-giving worked between allies and vassals in ye olden times

“Sorry,” John said, settling into a sitting position, moving his bag to be closer to his foot. “If that’s too much. All I mean is- be prepared for this to not go the way you need it to. Even if it comes to you getting hurt, cornered, imprisoned, if you have plans or things set in motion, you don’t want to think ‘I should’ve’ in the moment before you have no options. Be prepared.” “What does-” Lucy paused, swallowing. “What sort of thing would we need to do to be prepared?”

gods this is sad to have to think of. Write letters for your families, for Zed and their other allies at the school? Put together a will for the various powerful items they have? I don't know if Avery would need to make arrangements for Snowdrop

Jessica had sent a picture of herself and her girlfriend in their house. It looked small but it was packed with decorations, to the point that some stuff was sitting on the ground around the base of some of the tables next to a futon. Avery was fond of the stone carvings and she’d asked, and Jessica had sent pictures of some.

good to see they're still in contact :)

“Avery! Sheridan, Kerry, Declan! Dinner!”

it has just now struck me 1) how deeply irish all these kids' names are (except, oddly enough, for Avery) and 2) what a deeply unfortunate name Kerry Kelly is

Kerry K.J. Kelly

oh gods and she has another K-name for a middle name. Poor kid.

Her dad addressed the table. “This is going to be a brief but very important family discussion. And I do mean discussion. We need to talk about something serious.” Avery had already spent the day on high alert, and she didn’t miss the fact that her mom reached over to place a hand over Grumble’s.

well fuck, this is bad timing. With the attention on Grumble, is he moving to a nursing home?

“On the upside, there are ice cream bars for dessert,” her mom said. “So let’s tough this out.”

so I have some bad news about that

“Rook is trusting us with information. Our doppleganger and cancer stick are with the candle spirit,” Lucy told her. “They were out there.”

aw, I was hoping Lis wasn't involved

“I’d do something else, I think. I think of, I dunno. A house without a floor. Ropes and things.” Verona laughed. “That’d be out there.” “Isn’t it? Or a loft with enough open space on the second floor where you could have a big hammock or something stretched across, like they do in tiny houses.” “That’s neat. I can see it. Path-y.” “Yeah, with doors and windows out to Paths. Maybe so you can peek through?”

this seems wildly inconvenient, but a neat visual. Might be hard to move around quickly though, which could get annoying for Avery

“My mom was talking about passions and not having any one particular passion for herself. And that’s cool, but like, how do I decide on a place to call my place of power if I do something like that? How do you define a space and make it cool if your approach to practice or to the world changes all the time?”

I mean I've only seen a few months of Verona's life, but art, magical knowledge, diagrams, things that are weird and gross and fleshy.

“I know this sounds awful, but… countermeasures for John?” Verona asked.

this sucks, and I don't think either John or Tashlit will be issues, but considering how worried I am about the real culprit remaining hidden through this conflict, or even aiding the girls, I'm glad that they have countermeasures prepared for everyone

The blackness behind her deepened. The Sable Prince stepped out of the darkness behind her. Trees rustled and leaves went still, branches creaking and bowing.

oh hello!

Avery could see Edith’s face, and she saw the moment that she recognized that the Sable Prince was there. All fight dropped away. She let Matthew hold her shoulder. Surrender, just like that. Which didn’t mean this was over.

... huh. Easier than I thought! Though of course the real challenge will be getting information from her

#booksandchainmail reads pale #wildbow #pale #otherverse #i am thinking of adding the otherverse tag to my liveblogs as I go #since my pace is now slow enough it doesnt feel like overcrowding

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