#linament

[toprey]

some long, frightful, electric day in the future, this might catch up to her. the roar of the crowd, the clap of the drums— the guitar, near supersonic, wailing out from the speakers, rock 'n roll has always been like this. filled with gold-dust or silver-spoons or powder, sparkling like fish scales beneath the spotlight. live fast, die young, fuck all the in between ... the playbook of junkies, druggies, and celebrities, alike. a bible, gifted from psuedo-pastors, neon-priests. (find your nearest alter. present your baggies, your cash, your exchange. name them jesus. pretend you're god. pray to dead presidents ... start again.) mari's read this scripture enough to recite it. live it. breathe it— snortsniffandsleepit. it follows her out, in the interims.

delta, as tabloids know, is the same. a wayside wanderer, a space-cadet axeman: @linament sparks up, slows down, and swims through his highs on the daily. and away from the crowd, leaned stick-skinny along the bus, he mirrors expectations beautifully. candidly. lazily, the very same way mari's hips dip, swing, and sway.

what an image. delta, still sweat-shined, stardom-heavy. mari, sheathed in smoke, and the sparkle of her grin. a cigarette plucks out from her mouth, and replaces one oral fixation with another. (mouth on mouth, skin on skin, the remnants of the night bursting behind her eyelids—) dilated pupils meet his. arms loop up and around his shoulders. a tongue, slick, swipes across the bottom of her own lip. "mm. you taste l — like sweat." the round of her cheek perks upward, apple-red and flushed to the core. a brow perks. "don't tell me you're always this ripe for the g — girls you kiss." her form pulls away, cigarette back between her teeth. "you need a shower."

[killerdame]

LINAMENT: HERE, I'LL READ YOUR PALM.

IT'S A VERY TENDER THING, ISN'T IT, SHARED HISTORY?

and by that, we mean ⸺ it's one thing to have a mutual past, another to willfully share it. those who have crossed paths in early days can rarely help it, and even less frequently know to pay it any mind while it's occurring; to relay your history to someone is a conscious choice. one that you make with the understanding that you are braiding two separate things together, and that untangling will never again be a motion simple nor effortless.

one day, dove moreno and bonnie dorset will have everything. that is to say: shared history and this moment, this piece of time where dove hands her palm over to @linament, as she is doing now, a motion of surrender. until then, until such a point as we return to, they have only this: the back of her hand laying over the front of hers, a kind of warm capitulation. the space between submission and loss is so fine. thin as a heart-line on a smooth heel of one extended hand.

if dove's future is written on the flat of her palm, she would not be surprised. that is what happens when you touch something too hot or too sharp: it leaves marks on the skin. a scar, a burn. in a specific shape, a brand. that bonnie may be able to read as much would not surprise her either; it doesn't take much to surmise where she's going from where she's been, and the dorset girl is clever.

so, knowing that the past is likely more legible than the future, and accepting that certain girls have the eyes of an augur, the older woman puts her hand in the younger's all the same.

"go on than," dove says, and for all that smoke fills the bar around them her voice is very clear, like a bell, but very fond, like a thing that is not a bell ⸺ unless one left to the elements, sun-warmed, brass peeling. "what do you see?"

[glimoon]

are you fighting, glimmer? are you going to fight with us? ― ( ACCEPTING! ) ↬ @linament . . . from adam .

though she looks a dainty, heavenly thing, queen glimmer was born with an innate gravitation towards brutality. such is life when the land you call home ( the land that loves you as a favorite daughter, ) is plagued by war. to a baby weaned on violence, the idea of stepping back onto a battlefield is almost comforting. glimmer tries not to look, tries not to feel too excited by the prospect. it is strange, though, how all she wanted before this was for their war with the horde to end . . . without ever really asking what comes after. where does the fight go ?

adam extends an olive branch that is ironically sword - shaped. it is a promise of allyship should she throw herself, her prized kingdom and each of its denizens, right back into the fray. are you fighting, glimmer? he asks. and the answer is always

❛   — etheria will join her sister planet in the fight against lord skeletor and his evil warriors on one condition.   ❜ glimmer stands as tall as she can before her throne, the whole room looking to her. her eyes find only adam . . . the resemblance between him and adora striking in so many ways. she will not make the same mistakes with him as she did with his sister. ❛   the heart of etheria will remain depleted of magic. and when this is over, in return for our help, eternia will assist us in destroying it once and for all.   ❜

the burn of magic, supercharged and white - hot in her veins, still exists as a phantom pain. glimmer feels a new wave of regret wash over her each time she explains the dangers of the heart to someone new. this is how bow and adora must have felt trying to crack that thick skull of hers.

carefully, she steps forward, closing a few feet of distance between herself and eternia's son. as much as it mars her view of the first ones, she must admit that he is noble. she can sense it in him the same way she did their she - ra.

❛   and i will fight with you myself. not from the safety of my war room, but there, in front of the dark army.   ❜ it makes her feel powerful, regal . . . the thought of destroying this new threat before it even has time to land on etheria's surface. ❛   — beside you. ❜

[glimoon]

[ back hug ] : a hug where one person comes up to another and wraps their arms around them. ― ( DEFINITELY ACCEPTING! ) ↬ @linament . . . from bonnie.

with one finger extended, glimmer carefully traces a rune in midair. a sorcery book pulled from the dusty shelves of bright moon's severely underutilized library lays open in the grass. she occasionally looks down to steal glances at it, but never for more than a second or two at a time. her concentration is a precious thing . . . and she worries that the slightest movement will cause her spell to fizzle into the breeze.

rune tracing is the toughest part of spellcasting for her so far. everything has to be so precise, so perfect . . . the margin of error so small that the slightest jump in one's knuckle could mean the difference between a truth serum and a lightning strike. ( or even worse, nothing at all. ) fortunately, with bow and adora running around somewhere in the crimson waste, castle bright moon's lush courtyard is plenty quiet enough for her to focus.

glimmer bites the pink of her cheek as she approaches the final connecting line. just as she begins to steadily lift her arm, though, the magic embedded deep in her body spikes in warning. it's a feeling she hasn't felt since she was on the front lines. a feeling she's been craving.

with a sudden cry, the queen lets her rune dissipate just as a pair of nimble arms wind their way around her middle. what happens next is pure reflex on glimmer's part — though she knows it'll do little but bring her attacker with her, she disappears in a flash of pink, teleporting halfway across the lawn and onto one of the grand stairways. she flips in midair upon reappearing to send her attacker careening onto the steps . . . with her landing on top.

and it's then, just as she's preparing for a real fight, that she notices that tell - tale carrottop hair. stars, what the fuck, bonnie ?

❛   — bonnie ! ?   ❜ she hopes she sounds more angry than she does shocked. with another flash, glimmer teleports a few steps away, landing on her feet. ❛    don't DO that ! i thought you were trying to kill me !   ❜ as the panic in her fades, she drags her hands down her face, groaning. ❛    just . . . call my name next time ! unless you want another round of teleportation sickness.  ❜

[wedstrife-a]

lizzie sits beneath a tree. her legs crossed at the ankles. cigarette suspended between two fingers. she ashes it on a silver tray, a gesture so delicate it could only be the product of painstaking rehearsal. playacting at refinement; it's a patina she's never felt she's worn convincingly. comfortably. even in her own yard. if @linament sees it, makes no indication, and for that she's grateful.

I forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

she follows raúl's voice, this tiny concession guised as small talk, out of her own tangle of thoughts and into a new one. it was perhaps the kindest he'd ever had to offer what she'd dubiously claimed as home — this one of the few dissensions in what otherwise bound them together as outsiders. a camaraderie forged in the shared sense of the othered.

lizzie exhales skyward, watching the thin stream of smoke. he's right. but all she sees is a firmament of green — molten light poured across a vaulted canopy. "was that a compliment?" she laughs.

[5urvive]

BOOK QUOTE STARTERS , 🥺 👉👈 @linament ― Robert Kirkman,  TWD Vol. 5

" you think i've been around these fuckers long enough to get comfortable enough to sleep ten feet away from them? not fucking likely. "

[bdazzled-a]

" remember when i said paws off the merchandise? " with that notion, brooke quickly swats their hand away from the unfinished silk gown, " that wasn't like a suggestion. "

@linament liked for a starter

[glimoon]

@linament . . . liked for a starter. ↬ for jamie dorset .

glimmer doesn't know why her urge to throw a teacup at the retreating backs of the princess alliance is so strong today. most of their meetings as of late have been ending this way . . . in total disarray, with the queen and others losing just enough of their cool to make a point. they cap it off with little to no progress made aside from highlighting the new territory gained by the horde, but the real cherry on top of them all leaving with the expectation that she'll just stay put, sitting pretty on her throne while they "handle it."

so . . . she doesn't throw the teacup, but she does engage in a minute - long conversation with herself, muttering at a rapid - fire pace as she pushes in chairs and paces the length of the war room table. who does adora think she is, telling her where she can and can't go ? and bow, for that matter, averting her gaze and drifting closer to the she - ra whenever they disagree. surely they're off to elberon for another party or something . . . happy to be rid of her. well fine ! she doesn't need them anyway, not when —  

❛  —  augh ! how long have you been standing there ! ? ❜ wings fan out to the side like a scared cat's fur would. it's one of those carrottop twins in the doorway . . . jamie, she thinks his name is. oh, good grief. ❛   i know you're new around here, so let me tell you . . . sneaking up on the queen is not a good idea.  ❜