ojovivo
oozey mess
One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
šŖ¼
Kaledo Art
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć
@theartofmadeline
wallacepolsom
No title available
No title available
RMH
Three Goblin Art
ā
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Stranger Things
trying on a metaphor
occasionally subtle
ellievsbear
seen from Germany
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Ukraine
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĆ¼rkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@lynyrdxmonroe
Hm?
Esmeralda, and you are?
That's a nice name. I mean, totally stupid to compliment someone's name, given they don't have a say in it, but names say a lot about a person. Esmeralda's a name for observant people. Maybe a bit reclusive, but not unfriendly once they've warmed up to someone. Lynyrd, on the other hand -- which is my name, for the record -- is for people who were born of parents that liked rock music and unconventional names.
His eyebrow rose at the other offering him a cigarette. Part of him wanted to laugh, but instead, he just shrugged and scooted over on the porch so the man could sit down if he wanted. He didnāt know why Nate had called someone and going by the book in his hand, the vampire figured his mental condition would be somewhere nestled in the pages of this psychology book. He almost wanted to laugh. The idea was just so fucking stupid. His hand reached out to grasp the offered box of cigarettes and he thanked him for it. He pushed up the carton lid and reached in to retrieve the cigarette before holding it upside down so he could grab the lighter. āDoes he really think all his answers are going to be in some stupid book?ā He expected the man to know the answer. Part of Calen wanted him to just say no.
Truth be told, Lynyrd didn't know what was going on between this kid and his master. And really, he wasn't going to ask. It wasn't his business, nor did he feel any particular urge to make it his business. So he waited, trying to find the right thing to say. "I think," he began slowly, "that he's just at a loss about whatever's happening as you are." He took a drag of his cigarette, flicked ashes onto the porch. The wind would blow them away. "But I also think that he wouldn't be much of a man if he didn't try to get some answers even though he doesn't know exactly what he's looking for." He took the time to look at the guy. Really look at him. Lynyrd took in his tired eyes and a face that seemed to be made of stone. Nothing was going to get past him. And that was his business. Lynyrd couldn't feel sorry for him. But he did wish that, whatever happened, it brought nothing but things this guy wanted. "It's not really my place to say," he said again, "but I figured you ought to know that he sounded like he was on the edge when he called me. Of what, I don't know. Probably a cliff. I heard about him, and that he doesn't give up without a fight. This is just a battle that he's unaccustomed to, I'm guessing. So he may not find the answers here, but for someone who's used to using their fists, I'd make an educated guess in saying that he's trying harder than he ever has before if he's turning toward reading to find his solutions." He shrugged. "For what it's worth, you know?" Probably nothing.
Iāll keep my eye out for that trouble maker side of you, then. Have you not seen me in my spare time? Iām pretty sure if I wasnāt a werewolf, my lungs would be pretty messed up. So, yes. Iāll definitely take a cigarette.
Small blessings in being a werewolf, you know? [He takes a cigarette for himself, lights it, then passes the pack and lighter to Killian.] I don't make it a habit to get to know people in their spare time unless they express they'd like me to. Something about being intrusive rubs me the wrong way. Privacy's a huge part of my moral code.
Hm?
In ways I suppose it is.
Yeah. Getting sunnier. I hate the cold. -- Now that I got your attention, though. For real -- I asked your name.
a job || lynyrd + gwen
Gwen had only been back in the cells for less than a day when she heard a voice near her. Remembering how little interaction she got from anyone prior to her former master, she ignored it. When no one else replied she looked up at him. Her face was streaked with tears, but her expression was tired and stony.Ā āMy story?ā Her voice was rough, clearly from sobbing for a long while.
She looked the man over, shaking her head. Her heart had slowly started to ācalcify, not wanting to ever let anyone back in. Twice she had been maimed. Ā āYou donāt care about my story.ā Gwen looked away, defiant.Ā āNo one cares.ā He voice was monotone and almost bored. The girl was well kept, clearly someone who hadnāt been living in the cells, but her odd calmness spoke volumes; she wasnāt a new slave. There was only one way a clean, well put together, beautiful girl could be in a cell and be relegated to accepting her position so soon. She was recently unclaimed.Ā
Lynyrd stifled the irritated groan. In the shadows, he couldn't see the emotional turmoil the girl was obviously going through, but he knew it wouldn't help him in the least bit to rent someone who had let their emotions get the best of them. Even Lynyrd had to set his shit aside so that he could handle his own life. "First of all, you sound like you're reading from a thirteen-year-old's diary, so stop that. It's annoying." He may not be a master, but Lynyrd had no tolerance for people wallowing in their own self pity around strangers. It was unattractive. Not in the sense that it made her ugly. He wasn't so rude that he'd say that a woman couldn't cry, and if he did, he wouldn't be interested. She wasn't there for his romance life. But she was unattractive in the sense that you wouldn't buy a broken tea kettle. Defective, almost. "You want to get out of here for a day or two, then I'm offering for that to happen in exchange for work. But I don't need that 'no one cares about me' attitude. And I'm not taking anyone in who has it. But you want to stay in here and be miserable, just let me know and I'll be on my way."
a job || Lynyrd + Ezra
It wasnāt as if heād never felt someoneās gaze linger on him, he just rarely turned now days to see who the eyes belonged to. Too many people waltz by Ezraās cell to gawk at what he was, it was like he was some circus attraction, they may as well have hung a sign over his door that readĀ āMutt!ā and charged for a ticket. Not that he wasnāt profitable enough being rented, those who stopped normally did. Everyone wanted to see how heād react when provoked, one way or another.Ā
So when he catches the question, as simple as it seems, he doesnāt rise from his cot to rush to the bars and answer. He more or less has to stifle a scoff and turns lazily to look the otherās way. Who the hell cared about his story? No one in Covaire cared where you came from, they cared where they could take you. Even if the interest was sincere, he wasnāt like the mutt would tell him his past to begin with. A hunter bitten by a wolf and on the run from people who wanted to cut his life short, like thatād sit well with anyone.
āNothing you havenāt probably heard before,ā he almost dully replies, attempting to deflect the question.
"Consider it my inquisitive nature," Lynyrd replied. "People ask questions, whether the probability of having heard the answer is in their favor or not." He looked the slave over for a moment, trying to determine how strong he was physically. Most people would be able to handle the workload, but Lynyrd couldn't afford to have anyone who would take several days to finish the job. He sighed, leaned his shoulder against the bars, and continued. "I got work that needs to be done," he said. "Job market in Covaire is practically nonexistent from what I've seen. Everyone owns a business or works here or in the Dominion. My only option at this point is to get a slave to do the work, and unfortunately I haven't been here long enough to build up any lasting connections with any masters or mistresses willing to lend me their slaves for the time being. So this is my only option. You can handle dust, right? Long hours of labor?"
āStupid prick of a rock.ā
āNo shame in admitting that even a werewolf with great reflexes and strong body can be clumsy and let a rock get the better of her while sheās training.ā She crossed her arms.Ā āNot even werewolves are perfect.ā
"Training for what? The Olympics?" Consider Lynyrd amused. He didn't know whether this girl was joking around or if she was unintentionally being funny -- but he was definitely having a laugh. Most likely at her expense. "Word to the wise, kid -- when you're 'training,' focus on your surroundings a bit more. Try not to get so lost in your thoughts that you fuck up so often. We may heal fast, but it's still no excuse to be reckless."
You need something more risque for business to boom. You have a bookstore, right? Many people living here have large collections, though I do browse places when I decide to go into town.Ā
Could always do a bookstore with a strip show too. Might attract a bigger crowd, then you can rent.Ā
Tell, you what -- unless I ask for business advice, why don't you not tell me how to run my shop? My life doesn't revolve around sex and money, and it's goddamn insulting to say that's all everyone here cares about
a job || lynyrd + {open unclaimed slave}
Lynyrd felt like a pervert, walking around looking at the slaves here. Did he feel sympathy? No, not by any means. He wasn't an asshole, but hey, coming into Covaire, you had to have a certain mindset. First and foremost, you need to understand that slavery is an essential part of the culture. Secondly? Just be glad you aren't a slave. Any sympathy for them could easily be misinterpreted by onlookers as a need for equality. And those who wanted equality may as well be asking to be put in with the rest of the slaves, just to be on the same level. No. Lynyrd wasn't there for sympathy. Or to be a pervert. Hell, it wasn't like he was all that interested in sex with strangers. Not like he expected to fall in love here, either. Because just like sympathy, love landed you in bad spots in Covaire. So his options were limited, because he didn't want sex unless there was an emotional connection, and emotional connections came with sympathy. Or romance. So why exactly was he here? He'd gotten a large collection of books in recently, and he didn't have the time to sort them himself. It was literally that simple. It wasn't like Covaire had a lot of people desperate for jobs, either, so this was sort of his only option. And as expensive as it was, he had checked his budget and made sure that he could afford it without breaking the bank. He stopped outside a cell, looking at the person inside. Did they seem strong enough to last for hours, constantly organizing and reorganizing books? Could their lungs handle the potential for copious amounts of dust? "What's your story?" he asked.
It had been a few days since he moved from his bed. Themoment Nathaniel brought him home, he had pushed everyone away and just slept. He didnāt know what he felt, but he knew it wasnāt right. Shock, maybe. Uncertainly about his future was probably also another thought going through his head. The whole what if that wrecked his mind. If they found out, he didnāt know what would happen to him. Heād probably be dead ā but at least right now Nate had cleaned that up. The body had been paid for and Calen hadnāt left the house. He was, however, sitting outside because even he needed the fresh air every once in a while. He could feel eyes on him and it made him shift uncomfortable under their gaze. As much as heād like to talk, he just didnāt have the words to say.
Lynyrd walked up the large path that led to the even larger house, parcel in one hand and cigarette in another. Not two hours ago he'd received a phone call from what appeared to be an overly stressed vampire, requesting a book on psychology. Even after Lynyrd had explained that his books were expensive -- collectibles, and not exactly something people bought for light reading -- the man had insisted that he needed the book immediately and didn't have the time to go hunting for a regular book store that had one. So after receiving the address and hunting the book down, there Lynyrd was. Stopped at the front door because this kid -- who seemed as equally stressed as the Nathaniel had sounded -- was blocking his path. Lynyrd looked down at him, exhaling smoke through his nose, desensitized long ago to the burn it left in his nostrils. "You look like you need a cigarette," he said. "Or an exorcism." Holding his cigarette between his lips and puffing expertly on it, he shoved his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of menthols. "Lighter's inside," he said, offering it.
āStupid prick of a rock.ā
āLast time I jog near the edge of the land.ā
"You've got to be the clumsiest werewolf I've ever seen," Lynyrd commented. "Shouldn't your reflexes be good enough to notice a rock, avoid it, and keep going?" At least, his were. And his werewolf gene didn't kick in that long ago. She didn't look like she was old enough to be that far into the game, either. So really, other than clumsiness, how different could they really be?
Hm?
My apologies what did you say? I was busyā¦.thinking about other things.
I said it's a nice day. [No he hadn't. But it sure felt nice to be brushed aside. Except in the ways it didn't.]
Civilians can rent if they have the money.
Yeah, well. Business hasn't exactly been booming. So it's not worth checking out just to look? Only if you're looking to buy?
Slaves. Guards. Masters. Mistresses. Iām equally calling them whiny.
What, they not beat the slaves hard enough, or just not hard enough to break you? 'Cause I'm fairly sure I heard somewhere along the lines that if someone with a mouth like yours went running around saying the shit you are, they'd wish they were never born. Don't get me wrong -- I like it. But I'm just wondering how in the hell you haven't died yet.
Only if you plan on buying.
And donāt mind the scent of blood, semen, and despair.
Pretty sure after puberty, the smell of anything doesn't bother me anymore. -- And I wouldn't be able to buy someone if I tried. I don't have the status or the money.
I havenāt seen you be a pain in the ass, but Iām sure itās possible. I think you said that saying wrong, but I may be wrong.
I donāt wreck places. Iām more behaved than that.
Haven't seen it yet. Don't lose hope. I'm still a trouble maker at heart. So hey, make yourself at home. You want a smoke?
Eyebrows raise briefly, itās more than clear now that this one isnāt a slave of any sort.Ā āGood to know my sweat and blood fuels this city,ā he somewhat replies with a sharp edge to his tone.
"Facts are facts, man," Lynyrd replied. "Like or dislike them. It doesn't matter. That's how shit is."
