[lavorrire]

[  #LAVORRIRE  ]   ────────   very private && low activity JESTER LAVORRE from the show && campaign the mighty nein. this portrayal is fandom independent && heavily headcanon based [ . . . ] crossovers are preferred [ . . . ] loved by ouija , est 2026 , 21+ , she/her.

carrd┆🍭.𖥔 ݁ ˖.°. ┆ meta┆🍭.𖥔 ݁ ˖.°. ┆aesthetic sideblog ┆🍭.𖥔 ݁ ˖.°. ┆memes

[veritamas]

there are some things , after all , that sally owens knows for certain :: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. keep rosemary by your garden gate. add pepper to your mashed potatoes. plant roses and lavender , for luck. fall in love whenever you can.

[ #VERITAMAS ]   ────────   very private && low activity dual-muse for SALLY & GILLIAN OWENS from the movies & books in the practical magic franchise by alice hoffman. these portrayals are fandom independent && heavily headcanon based , with a focus on death motifs, religious themes, and engaging in horror imagery, taking inspiration from authors including but not limited to plath , woolf , dostoevsky , brontë , and shakespeare , as well as musical artists such as hozier , florence & the machine , sleep token , and ethel cain [ . . . ] crossovers are preferred [ . . . ] loved by ouija , est 2025 , 21+ , she/her. rules/credit beneath the cut.

✩₊˚.⋆ ♱ ⋆⁺₊✧ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴘʀᴇᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇꜱ .... feminine esoterism & mysticism , god loves you but not enough to save you , love is devouring , the religious intersect of the sacred and the profane , social exclusion while searching for meaning , female sexuality repression , a woman as an omen of death

[veritamas]

there are some things , after all , that sally owens knows for certain :: always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. keep rosemary by your garden gate. add pepper to your mashed potatoes. plant roses and lavender , for luck. fall in love whenever you can.

[ #VERITAMAS ]   ────────   very private && low activity dual-muse for SALLY & GILLIAN OWENS from the movies & books in the practical magic franchise by alice hoffman. these portrayals are fandom independent && heavily headcanon based , with a focus on death motifs, religious themes, and engaging in horror imagery, taking inspiration from authors including but not limited to plath , woolf , dostoevsky , brontë , and shakespeare , as well as musical artists such as hozier , florence & the machine , sleep token , and ethel cain [ . . . ] crossovers are preferred [ . . . ] loved by ouija , est 2025 , 21+ , she/her. rules/credit beneath the cut.

✩₊˚.⋆ ♱ ⋆⁺₊✧ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴘʀᴇᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇꜱ .... feminine esoterism & mysticism , god loves you but not enough to save you , love is devouring , the religious intersect of the sacred and the profane , social exclusion while searching for meaning , female sexuality repression , a woman as an omen of death

[lavorrire]

i dare you to comment your favorite bands so i can explore more music!!!

[beginagainmovie]

“Please, don’t see just a girl caught up in dreams and fantasies. Please see me reaching out for someone I can’t see.”

— Begin Again, Lost Stars

[lavorrire]

if jester was a bard you'd be damned her song would be lost stars from begin again

[rpclefairy]

growing closer.

prompts for characters getting to know each other.

“i don't think you realize how much people notice you.”

“you don't seem particularly trusting. then again, maybe neither am i.”

“you have a habit of appearing at interesting moments.”

“you strike me as someone who trusts their gut. am i wrong?”

“i've noticed you always leave before everyone else.”

“i think you enjoy keeping people guessing.”

“you seem restless.”

“it's strange how you can be surrounded by people and still feel alone.”

“have i ever told you that you're difficult to read?”

“you look like you haven't slept.”

“you know this place well enough that i'm starting to wonder if you've always lived here.”

“do you ever worry about the kind of person you're becoming?”

“i've known a lot of people. none of them were quite like you.”

“i can't decide whether people truly change, or if they just become better at hiding parts of themselves.”

“i had the strangest dream last night. do you remember yours when you wake up?”

“the more i get to know you, the more i keep noticing little similarities between the two of us.”

“i didn't realize you'd remember that.”

“most people seem uncomfortable with silence. i never minded it much.”

“you seem to know more than you're saying.”

“you seem comfortable on your own. i wonder if that's the same thing as never feeling lonely.”

“do you always look this serious?”

“you're easier to talk to than i expected.”

“i've always thought trust is harder to earn than people pretend.”

“you always seem to be watching.”

“i think you've been avoiding me.”

“you're not at all what i thought you would be.”

“whenever i ignore my instincts, i end up regretting it. what about you?”

“i wasn't expecting to run into you again.”

“i can't tell if you're someone who enjoys solitude or just tolerates it.”

“i know it sounds childish, but i can't help believing some people are meant to find one another.”

“you make a terrible liar.”

“you don't strike me as the sort of person people forget.”

“i think people underestimate you.”

“i can't decide whether you're charming or frustrating.”

“i don't think i've seen you smile before.”

“i wasn't sure you'd come.”

“it's a little strange. i think i've started looking forward to seeing you.”

“sometimes i wonder if we ever really know anyone.”

“you're surprisingly good company.”

“i think most people would like to believe they're good. i'm not sure it's always that simple.”

“i think being truly understood is a far rarer thing than people realize.”

“i don't usually tell people this...”

“you make that look easy.”

[dailyflicks]

PEARL (2022) dir. Ti West

[funeralfaerie]

[heliosphage]

✦ An independent Ryland Grace from Andy Weir's Project Hail Mary. Please read rules and about before following. Promo PSD Credit & Art Credit.

My seat finally gives out. I hear the pops as the anchor points shear off. I fall forward, into the screen, still strapped to the metal seat, which crushes me from behind. The chair probably doesn’t weigh much in normal gravity. Maybe 20 kilograms. But with this much centripetal force, it’s like having a cement block on my back. I can’t breathe. This is it. The weight of the chair is so much I can’t inflate my lungs. I get dizzy. Mechanical suffocation, it’s called. It’s how boa constrictors kill their prey. What an odd thing to think as my last thought. Sorry, Earth, I think. There. Much better last thought.

[keenminded]

It is more a snort than a proper chuckle, his response to her offered deal. Truth be told, it appeals more to him than her previous offer; divine magic does not interest him, despite the wondrous things he has seen his friends do. It is not the same. Magic is something to be understood, down to the very fibers that comprise it — to be woven by skilled hands and shaped into whatever they want to make it, not to obey the whims of a god who may or may not listen. Magic — pure, real magic — was the most wondrous thing in the world. Caleb could not fault anyone for being interested, no matter how simplistic that desire.

It is what convinces him, ultimately. Despite his reluctance, he does enjoy sharing this with those closest to his heart and Jester... well. He hesitates to admit she has a place there, even to himself, but this will be no great effort. And whatever she is... he does prefer to see her joyous. "Ja, I sure need one of those books. We have a deal, then. Though you will have to tell me which are the spiciest ones before I choose."

It is her enthusiasm, however, that truly cements this choice as correct, instead of a waste of precious time. He misses it; having someone to share spells with, to learn alongside, to teach when he gets it faster. Someone to show it to, at least, when he learns a new spell, someone who will share the joy it brings him to learn. Nott does, a little, and he has delighted in teaching her what he can, excited to see her quick progress. Caleb does not think Jester will commit to this in any serious manner, not truly, and sharing with them is not the same as it had been to share this with others dedicated to the same pursuit. But there is a glint to her eye, an eagerness to her words — it's not the same, but it might be as close as he can get to something of the sort.

"Ah, this one I learned studying," at the Academy, though that remains unsaid. When he continues, however, it is with a liveliness he is not prone to; not unless it is about magic, these days. "With most spells, you can copy them from a reliable source — a book, another wizard's spellbook if they choose to share, a scroll, there are many sources. When a wizard creates a new spell, they will often use their names to indicate it, but some are so widespread and old that we no longer know how they were created. Coming up with something new is harder than learning from what already exists; you must have a greater understanding of how a school of magic works, how to weave a spell from it, which somatic gestures to use to bring it to life — but, ah, we are not here for that. Let me get to the point."

His own spellbook is a sorry thing; makeshift pages with an improvised cover, crafted by hand with whatever he had been able to steal in his years on the run. Caleb holds it with the reverence a cleric would a holy item; there is tenderness even in the way the book is set on the table before them, and he thumbs the pages in search of the right spell. "Here," A light tap to the page, stepping to the side to allow her room to study the book more closely. "This is the one. First you need to transcribe it."

[lavorrire]

her entire body shivers with excitement. " oh my traveler , of course !! if i get this right we should totally look at my collection next. deal ?? " there's no hesitation in the offer either. no embarrassment. only eagerness. because to her , sharing books felt strangely intimate in the best sort of way. not just in the act of lending pages , but more importantly lending the feelings attached to them. all those dog-eared corners and favorite scenes reread into softness. she wants him to see the things that made her laugh , swoon , gasp dramatically into her pillow at two in the morning. maybe then she'd get to watch that rare little twitch at the corner of caleb's mouth when something genuinely amused him.

it's easy to get caught up in the wizard's emphatic explanations. to watch the way he speaks when he cares about something. how the light shifts behind his eyes , turning him almost feverishly alive beneath all that careful restraint. " no , no you explained it really well caleb. you don't have to stop. i bet knowing the history and context is what drove you in the first place huh ?? " from what she's managed to gather through their occasional late-night talks ( or the moments she’s quietly listened while he explained something to the others ) he doesn't seem capable of learning things halfway. everything with caleb tangles together. language. history. intention. consequence. magic becomes less a tool and more of a living thing beneath his hands. something breathing. " i don't know it would be kinda nice to know some of the origins of the spells i use. "

the moment he gestures toward the page of his book , she leans in without thinking , close enough that their shoulders nearly brush. unafraid of crowding him. unafraid of the intimacy in shared focus. jester has always approached curiosity the way vines approach sunlight :: instinctively , eagerly , wanting to wind herself around whatever catches her attention.

her fingers hover near the parchment before lightly tracing alongside one of the lines he'd drawn , careful not to smudge the ink. studying the shape of each stroke with intense concentration. as though if she followed the path exactly enough she might glimpse the way his thoughts moved too. through his shadow. through the architecture of him. " like this ?? " she glances up at him immediately , searching his face for approval before the line's even finished. " wait [ . . . ] no , hold on. " she erases part of it with the side of her thumb , leaving a charcoal smudge against her sapphire skin. " that curve bends inward more , right ?? " there’s something quietly sincere beneath all the excitement. something hungry not merely to learn the spell in a way that she likely wouldn't stick to ( despite how earnestly she's trying in this moment ) but to understand caleb through it. to know what lights him up from the inside and hold it carefully in her own hands for a little while.

[lavorrire]

[  hair  brush  ]  sender  carefully  brushes  receiver’s  hair  back,  slow  and  soothing

taking care of you ┆🍭.𖥔 ݁ ˖.°. ┆ still accepting

rain patters soft against the canvas overhead , steady enough to become part of the world around them. not loud enough to be an interruption , just gentle enough to be a quiet rhythm as steady as a heartbeat. the little lamp near the bedroll glows honey-gold through the tent , catching against scattered pillows and woven rugs until everything feels dipped in warmth despite the chill damp creeping through the woods outside.

curled close against nettie , jester balances the sketchbook carefully atop one knee , tongue peeking between her teeth in concentration. the night orchid rests nearby in its tiny glass vial , pale petals still dewy beneath the lanternlight , and she's trying ( really , really trying !! ) to capture every delicate curl and shadow. paying attention. that was what @absentpublic had said to do , wasn't it ?? to look long enough that something stopped being merely pretty and started becoming understood. it's harder than her usual doodles. those had always come easy. bright little caricatures with crooked smiles and exaggerated horns and cartoon hearts exploding from chests. maybe there was a world where she could marry the two styles together in a colorful page of flowers and greenery for the traveler.

" have you ever braided someone's hair before ?? " she asks softly , charcoal smudging carefully against the page as she deepens the shadow beneath one of the orchid's stigmata.

[lavorrire]

jester edits

[petaltexturedskies]

Mary Elizabeth Braddon, The Doctor's Wife

[lavorrire]

[  blanket  ]  sender  layers  blankets  over  receiver,  adjusting  them  until  they’re  just  right. yasha!

taking care of you ┆🍭.𖥔 ݁ ˖.°. ┆ still accepting

" i'm just a little tart baking in the oven , " she murmurs from somewhere beneath the mountain of blankets , voice already gone syrupy with sleepiness and warmth alike. one blanket had turned to two , then three , each heavier than the last until jester had all but vanished beneath the pile save for the blue of her nose and the gold-tipped curve of one horn able to peek free. the weight pressed her pleasantly into the mattress , all soft heat and muffled laughter while the tavern below droned faintly with tankards and music.

@tenderthreats weight dips the mattress and jester lets out a delighted squeak from inside her cocoon. " oh !! there you are. " immediately she wriggles , making room in the heap with frantic little motions despite already occupying most of the bed by blanket volume alone. " careful , careful , if you put another one on me i think i'll disappear forever. " a beat. " actually wait , no , that sounds AMAZING. "

looking into yasha's face , jester's eyes glitter bright in the candlelight. which means one thing. ideas. dangerous things. " maybe we should steal more blankets from fjord and beau's room. " conspiring already. she leans closer beneath the covers , lowering her voice despite the fact no one was even remotely nearby enough to overhear. " oo !! and maybe one from nott and caleb too so we can make a giant blanket fort. " the tiefling's hands spread outward as if she were able to already envision it right in front of her. " no , wait , even better [ . . . ] a nest. " serious now. completely serious. " a huge one. with pillows and snacks and maybe those little cinnamon cookies if the kitchen still has some left. "

[sluaghter]

He sees the pinpoint moment when her face shines with Christmas tinsel. There are others within the diocese who would have mail slotted their eyes at her. Horned and tailed, they say she is the end result of communing with devils, and fiends, and born from seances. A priest long ago baptized a tiefling.

He was found a week later swissed like Caesar on the floor of the altar.

“Because you want everyone to think I’m a monster, and not what they see.” He smiles. “Maybe you want them to think I will take them, and never let go. I will steal their hearts and their souls.”

She’s already begun pulling back her plate, handing out a cookie. Nicholas takes it just as the bendy straw of her tail wriggles with mischief. Imbued with pixie dust, evident by the Sugar Plum ube of her starry eyes, Nicholas imagines her in a bigger-on-the-inside tent yanking out cotton rabbits from a hat. She snaps her fingers and transforms boys into toads. More powerful, charged by Zenith and the laughter of wicked children, she’ll crack the sun like an egg.

They’re setting up a carnival tent, a sign that reads ‘CINNERUS: THE TIME-TRAVELLING MERMAID’.

“Will you show me your magic first,” Nicholas says, because he’s heartbreaking. “Until I’m happy.”

[lavorrire]

it hadn't been until she'd left the chalet that jester had understood the reality of how others look at her and ( most importantly ) her kind. inside momma's establishment , the world had felt softer somehow [ . . . ] warmer. the workers drifting between the upper and lower floors had been kind in the way wounded things often are to one another. tieflings. half-elves. people with sharpened teeth or strange eyes or stories they didn’t like telling aloud. they'd formed a sort of  PATCHWORK  family around her without ever making it feel forced. lifting her up while the world outside seemed intent on teaching her to shrink. taught her how nice it was to do that for others.

so many strangers looked at tieflings like omens. trouble waiting to happen.

not nicholas , though. that was what made him feel so easy to be around. he never HESITATED to walk beside her in public. never carried that subtle flinch people sometimes got before they masked it over with politeness. his teasing lacked cruelty entirely [ . . . ] all warmth at the edges in those creases near his eyes , all fond exasperation and soft amusement that never once made her feel small for being strange. " i wouldn't ever want to do that to you , nicholas , " she hums with a grin that twinkles. no mischief or trickery for the cleric this time.

somewhere farther down the carnival path , a bell clangs loudly as someone rings the high striker. laughter bursts after it. the scent of fresh popcorn hangs thick in the air alongside spun sugar and smoke. " very well. " of course she's happy to show off. from her palm a little hamster with a unicorn's horn shakes it's raspberry ethereal form. it leaps to nicholas , scrambles up his arm and nestles close to his neck. " she likes you. " a beat. " which is important because she's VERY judgmental. "

[vahdas]

@lavorrire   …   song   :   all  the  time   \   artist   :   zara  larsson   —   lyrical  starter   !

                                ‘   everyone's  been  wearin'  your  perfume,  and  everything  is  remindin'  me  of  you.   ’   

[lavorrire]

" oh my god , " is chortled between them as they lay together in the sprawl of rugs floored in jester's room. eyebrows wriggle before the tiefling offers a SWEET over to her friend from the bowl between them. " are you flirting with me ?? "