#quillet

[thatotherworldoutthere]

[quilletsquay]

Following your passions can be terrifying, it means to rip yourself out

to take apart and thrust yourself into the limelight even if it isn’t really your color

to dance when your bones are shaking or kiss your blood onto a page

to realize the perfect beauty of the world imperfectly time after time

and then to hate it to look at yourself and not have anything you want to give sitting still instead of moving casting glances at your past love across the room like a stray dog outside with the crowds gathering round to watch it bathing it in their frosty stares while you kick it and spit on it

then you pick yourself up in your arms bruised battered beaten by beratement

you sink your teeth into it an inky swill filming your tongue staining your linens and clinging to your throat warming your hollow and broken baptized in you by you never to be who you weren’t again

[monriatitans]

WORD OF THE DAY Saturday, May 28, 2022 OED Word of the Day: quillet, v. To quibble.

SENTENCE EXAMPLE "It is inconvenient for men in hazard for the main, to quillet about the rest." - 1653, H. Holcroft tr. Procopius War with Vandals i. 25 in tr. Procopius Hist. Warres Justinian

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[quilletsquay]

When roses are red Yet starve without nourishment instead, yellow blooms

[quilletsquay]

Night after night they’re toilin sweatin out for their due, bleeding pennies, biting tongues they wipe after they speak: bleating propa on cue. They propagate their positions, cuz rising up means seein how low you’ve climbed. Making poor decisions, cuz the rich got money: they can pay no mind. Switching every codeword Baiting ever forward Making moves toward the start for their peers

[leahazel]

For character questions for your 7kpp mc's, what are their favorite hot beverages/ favorite way to stay warm if it's cold outside?

Jack loves the cold. I think I mentioned that somewhere, sometime. I have lots of weather and climate headcanons for the 7kpp-verse and one of them is that, since Wellin talks so much about their horses and hounds and hunting and stuff, I see it as a kind of northerly, semi-temperate and heavily-forested area. With long snowy winters and lots of game. So Jack is someone who grew up with a lot of snow and frost and she knows how to deal with the cold, and Holt’s estate is probably an old-ass castle with massively thick stone walls and an enormous fireplace in the main hall that you can roast a wild boar in, whole. Tapestries with old-fashioned hunting scenes covering every wall, for insulation. And everybody’s constantly drinking beer or ale instead of water, “to keep warm”. 

Christabel is from Hise and you might think that she does not know the meaning of cold, but she spent years sailing on her mother’s crew and most of a year captaining her own. And if there’s one thing I know about the open sea (and there is, literally, only one thing) it’s that the wind on open water can be fucking brutal. So again with the heavy woolen gear and the sheepskin boots and the pretending like alcohol warms you up when you’re cold, which it’s empirically proven not to, but never mind that. But Hise itself is practically tropical, and Bel is marrying Emmett, so she’s going to have to get used to a wildly different style of living, even if different weather is probably not the most obvious component of that. 

Allegra is from Revaire, and Revaire is huge and has a huge variety of climates and weathers. Arrowfield, where she grew up, is pretty temperate and comfortable. Rainy winters. Dry, warm summers. The famous snow that she tells Clarmont about in week 1? Not the first time in her life she’d seen snow (that would be in the convent, with her aunt), but the first time she’d seen it on her own turf. Then she got married and went to live in her husband’s estate in Namaire, Dawnview. It’s a pretty name but a miserable place, gray and drizzly and dreary, and the whole thing is like the setting of a moody Gothic romance. Big stone castle perched on a steep cliff overlooking a slate-gray sea. But by then she had more than enough money, and there was no more being barefoot in the winter or anything remotely like that. So she had good clothes and a roof that never leaked, and since Quentin was away more often than not, she also had no shortage of people offering to keep her warm in a more personal sense. Ahem. 

Felicity is probably least likely to deal well with the cold. As part of the aforementioned overly detailed climate headcanons, I took a long and sad look at the 7KPP map and determined that Arland and Wellin might be similar in culture in some ways, but Arland was obviously significantly more temperate. The bread-basket of the continent, with long stretches of lowlands, often rainy but rarely bitterly cold. So by virtue of her homeland, and her limited experience, Felicity is kind of a wuss about the cold. Then again, she is also an Arland princess, which involves a lot of shutting up and doing what you’re told, and even more not complaining when you’re uncomfortable. If she can dance for hours and hours in painfully fashionable shoes without a word of complaint, she can probably be equally stoic about wearing an off-the-shoulder evening gown with deep cleavage on a crisp winter night. Then again, I think about her fashion sense and: just imagine Felicity in a big puffy pastel gown trimmed with white fur, with one of those little fur capes that goes just over the neck and shoulders, and her hands bundled into one of those big round fluffy things that I’m too lazy to look up the name of on Wikipedia at the moment. 

Periwinkle is, oddly, a more physically-oriented person than her cerebral scholarly background might indicate. Far from being able to ignore her body’s needs for hours on end, the way someone like Lyon might, she’s rather very conscious of her physical presence and environment. And quite particular about it, too. She will not wear an itchy gown or shoes that pinch. She will not bear impractical clothes during cold weather, although societal norms have conditioned her into accepting some pretty heavy summer gear, for the sake of modesty and propriety. Fashion, however, holds no sway on her. When the winters get particularly cold, she spends a lot of time indoors with her books and letters. More than usual, I mean. Normally she would take a break and walk outside in the gardens, at the very least, once a day or more. For her health, among other reasons, and because she’s a creature of habit. But on the bitterest cold days, she stays inside and consumes oceans of tea. Sometimes she’ll sacrifice her dignity to the point of wrapping herself in a blanket over her clothes. 

Marguerite is from Corval, and here’s where you want me to say that Corval is a desert and therefor warm, which means that she wouldn’t be used to any kind of really cold weather. But you’d be wrong. Corval is a desert! Which means the days are very hot, and the nights are potentially very cold. But Marguerite is a wuss anyway, because she’s a spoiled little binch and the whole world revolves around her, which means she should always be comfortable. She has an assortment of really very expensive silk shawls to guard against the evening cold. Especially because she is very popular and fashionable, which means that she’s out at parties and social events almost every night, until late at night, and sleeps away most of the morning. I mean, Darling, what’s the point of being rich and beautiful if you can’t live like there’s no tomorrow? 

[quilletsquay]

It calls to me each morning a cacophony as I wipe the sleep from my eyes blurred upon the edges and unclean as I smear my glasses trying to find them and wonder why everything is so unclear Abrasive as it is grinding against me to file away the happenings of night inviting the light to stay in it just for a little while and allow me to breath in the earth And I cup it in my hands like a beating heart keeping time for me while I recoil against it turning tides of slumber back upon themselves to fold in the swirls and ebbs within this beautiful gift that I have given myself this morning and every morning; control me substance, just for a while

[quilletsquay]

What’s the difference between another true love and self-destruction