#Soil and Ashes

[ashlynya2-0]

Day 5: Soil

Nothing like a nice nap on warm soil

[snowy10604]

Being bad at math kind of stings when you're obsessed with Fictional Science Genius Men bc it's like, yeah I want to emulate you in every possible way but also I ran out of time on my Chem quiz bc I'm too slow at conversions

[mellomadness]

I just fell down a rabbit hole about (legal) body disposal and part of me is so anxious wishing I could tell the FBI agent monitoring my internet searches that I’m just morbidly curious and I’m not planning on dying anytime soon (or planning anything ELSE, for that matter)

[liana-butterscotch]

the Denial ship

whispurge is basically the opposite of a "hurt/comfort" ship

"No, I'm not hurt, and no, you're not comforting me right now!"

Even though both really are hurting and are comforting eachother.

It's amazing how little words can matter sometimes.

[misanaco]

what made the world cruel, if my mother made me kind?

maybe the first thing i reeked of was trees; and i throw up because i can see blood at a distance. i throw up at my own origin. to be a human you are to resemble violence, but it's unfair how the sky is still blue, and how a birth can also swallow you up. how we bury our dead into the soil that we love, and maybe we would abandon our homes to taste bullets in our mouth.

maybe to be kind, you must first be a martyr, and you have to survive this cruelty or die in it. maybe to be kind you must first go to war with your mother and tell her to be a little less kind, because no matter how many times you dig your dead up, the sky would always, always be blue.

how can we repay our mothers if not by being kind. what is left after the war, they ask?

and your voice can only be heard by a certain number of soldiers. liberation then, is the last one. what is left after the war, they ask? we should have told our mothers the world is a cruel, cruel place.

but kindness is abandoned love. and kindness is the house with no survivors.

maybe i also resent my mother a little because i want to see a kind world. and heaven is not kind either. because kindness stems in violence. or maybe i am wrong. maybe our mothers know the most out of cruelty. maybe we love the life inside of us because it reeks of trees. and we are all just protecting our mothers. and the land.

how many organs do i eat to build a kind world? what does a kind world look like, mother, because you have been through so much ; but the world is cruel.

[primordialruin]

The way Lilith completely rejects the ties she feels towards Adam is going to eat me alive. It's this impossible situation in which like calls to like as she accepts his descendants but not him because they feel like a home by proxy to her. The protectiveness she feels towards them even if a lot of them are objectively horrible people. It's like hugging someone's coat or pillow and basking into their scent because it regulates your nervous system. She's too stubborn to ever give in to her true feelings, labeling the first man as a sort of forbidden fruit she abstains from. Her avoidance is so grand that she wouldn't even recognize these thoughts and feelings as her own!

[badolmen]

Look at me. LOOK at me. Old growth forests are important. Their loss is violence against the land.

BUT that isn’t a reason to point at younger, perfectly healthy closed canopy forests and claim they’re ecologically insignificant or bad. Their sparse understory is a function of closed canopy forests. Even old growth forests will have sparse understories if the canopy is closed. That’s how photosynthetic strata works.

The west coast has vastly different forests and history than the east. The rare volcanic eruption that made the giant stands of Douglas fir in the west possible would be literally impossible here. Our species are adapted for stand replacing fires set by indigenous peoples to drive deer and rejuvenate oak. Oak as a genus is dying here. We can’t set fires. We can’t harvest patches large enough to simulate a fire. Our deer are overpopulated and browse down every sprout that dares to reach for sunlight.

Making a sweeping ban on clear-cut and similarly ‘scary’ harvests would kill them for good. The restrictions on fire have nearly done that to species like Jack and pitch pine that rely heavily on fire to establish. They’ve been relegated to pine barrens and the rare sandy forest clearing. Our fire Cherry, thankfully, can last decades in the soil seedbank. You can only see them the first few decades after a large, complete harvest and then they die.

What’s good for one forest kills another. Not all trees are made ecologically equal - and that’s a very good thing. All trees and forests have their ecological value. Management of one forest is never applicable to other forests; they all have their own unique histories and communities that should be imitated when possible and left alone when not.

[m1d-45]

And you, teddy anon (and midas ofc), never fail to come up with scenarios that my mind is all too happy to jump on. ❤️

Imagine then, after the Creator has finally been rescued and tended to, they finally wake up after sleeping for a very long time, they see that they’re in a painfully familiar, urban place. Upon realising that they’re not in, say, a hilichurl camp or are otherwise in the wilds, they panic and scramble to try and leave (they think that they’re still being hunted). Then in comes one of their characters (or they bump into them in a corridor or sth).

Off the top of my head, I see a few directions that this could go:

1. Creator tries to plead with the character to let them leave, or are otherwise trying to find an opportunity to escape. Due to their panicked state, they interpret their character’s gestures as hostile or are otherwise trying to trick them into lowering their guard. Maybe they were betrayed by someone (or that one in particular) during the hunt (I can see characters like Kaeya and Ayato doing this) and they’ve been very guarded against similar tactics since. Bonus points if they have the ability to teleport like the Traveler does.

2. Creator tries to defend themselves with their budding elemental power that they are just starting to learn to control.

3. Creator outright gives up. They shake their head, thinking themself foolish for ever believing that they could escape forever, that this was their just desserts for even trying to defy fate. They smile at their character and tell them that they win, and to go ahead and end them. More likely if said character had been extremely persistent in hunting them (e.g. Kaeya). Imagine then that they’re bracing themselves for the final blow, but then they feel warmth. They open their eyes in shock and realise that the character is hugging them close, whispering, “I’m sorry”, or “Forgive me” over and over again. Maybe the character even cries a little.

- cryo anon, whose brain can actually come up with fluff occasionally

oh my god cryo anon my dearly beloved

they’re kinda just merged together because i kinda went off so

you maybe waking up in the estate, sitting up on shaking arms. you don’t remember much, mostly just a blur; thoma shouting at you, a white kimono and a sharp, commanding voice. the details are a haze, and the room you’re in is unidentifiable. there’s a potted plant in a white and purple vase, a dark wood closet, the sheets soft- or maybe they’re not, and you’re simply used to dirt and scratchy sacks?

you don’t know. you have a headache. the door opens, and you delay so long in turning that the person has a chance to shout something down the hallway—does wonders for your migraine—before coming in. when you do look, you wish you hadn’t.

ayato is the last person you want to see on inazuma. you’d met him once before, banged up and hiding near inazuma city. he’d seen you, you thought, seen your blood, your dirty bandages and knotted hair, and you thought he’d known that you couldn’t be a threat.

you didn’t hear what he said, but you pull away from his hand when he reaches for you anyway. where are you? why are you here? your hands were wrapped, your aches had ceased, the room is cool and his eyes are warm-

“i mean no harm,” he says quietly, but all you can think of is the past, of the bustling streets behind him when he found you tucked in an alley, bruised and bleeding.

you don’t want to believe him. you don’t anyway.

if it weren’t for the fact that your legs were broken, you would have run away.

[carewyncromwell]

"Got no diamond, got no pearl -- Still I think I'm a lucky girl."

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri // Read about how Jacob and Duncan met

x~x~x~x

Duncan Ashe was an incredibly driven, ambitious person. It was part of the reason why he'd climbed the ladder at court so fast and earned the position of Jack of Spades while still only a university student of 21. That same year, he brought Jacob Cromwell on as an advisor and technology expert, and the following year, he brought his best friend Coby McQuaid into the fold as well. This second addition in particular had prompted a lot of waves, and before long, Coby had actually been named the new King of Spades himself.

All in all, Duncan was very pleased with how his life at court was shaping up. This was why he was perturbed to find his "right-hand man," Jacob, looking so tired and gloomy that autumn. And to make him all the more perturbed, when Duncan asked him about it, Jacob forced a painful-looking smile on and lied through his teeth.

"Gloomy?" he said. "Aw, nah, I'm fine, Ashe, just...just a little tired is all. But don't worry! I just have to finish this up, and then I can get right to the next prototype..."

Duncan's eyebrows furrowed. "Jacob, your shift's ending in an hour. If you're tired, then maybe you should go home and rest -- "

"Rest? When I'm on a roll?" laughed Jacob. "Nah, I've got to start experimenting on those soil samples tomorrow...and hey, this wind turbine isn't gonna fix itself..."

"Jacob," said Duncan, but Jacob cut him off with another forced smile.

"It's okay, Ashe," he said as reassuringly as he could. "I don't mind staying late to finish...and well, the overtime pay here's great! So it all works out."

The sentiment was familiar enough to Duncan that, very reluctantly, he gave in and let Jacob be. The Jack would still watch Jacob from afar, noting the dark circles that were slowly forming under his blue eyes and the way all trace of a smile would disappear the moment he thought no one could see him, and he grew more concerned by the day.

That concern was sidetracked completely, though, by the very nasty surprise Duncan got, when he accidentally overheard some other courtiers talking.

" -- he's got a sweetheart!"

"Cromwell? No way!"

Duncan stopped mid-step down the hall. His head shot around and he stilled, trying hard to listen.

"It's true!" said the first female voice. "He's been receiving boxes of white flowers and chocolate every day for a week now!"

"From who?" asked the other.

"That's what's so mysterious! I saw one of the packages arrive in his office the other day -- it had no note, no return address...not even a name! Just 'Jacob Cromwell' and his office number, printed on the light blue paper."

Duncan's ears perked up at once. Light blue paper? Only one store he knew of wrapped their packages in that stuff...

Sure enough, the other courtier made the same connection.

"Light blue paper? Only Pique's General Store wraps their stuff up that way!"

"Right! I talked to the gent in the mail room, and he said that he's found one of those such packages on his desk for Jacob at 5:15 PM every day for the last week!"

"How quaint! Then maybe Cromwell really has got some kind of secret admirer..."

"A lady, undoubtedly -- I saw the handwriting on the package, and that kind of penmanship is most assuredly a woman's..."

As their voices came around the corner, Duncan quickly peeled himself back from the wall. Not wanting them to think he'd been eavesdropping, he quickly strolled past the two gossiping girls without even looking at them. Even so, Duncan couldn't ignore the stifled gasps they gave at the sight of him.

"You don't think the Jack heard you?" one asked the other, as Duncan walked that little bit faster down the hall, sliding his hand into his vest pocket at he went.

x~x~x~x

Now, at first, Duncan wanted to confront Jacob about the rumors. Very quickly, though, he decided against it. After all, however much Jacob saw him as a friend, Duncan was his employer, and truthfully, it wasn't Duncan's place to stick his nose into Jacob's personal life. He was perfectly within his rights to date, if he wanted, so long as it didn't interfere with his work...

But that was kind of the sticking thing.

Jacob was entitled to date. He was allowed to do anything he wanted romantically, really -- even if that idiot had somehow turned out to be some sort of Casanova with women on every block, that ultimately was his business and his alone. And yet the thought of Jacob having some squeeze on the side...it was disquieting to Duncan, way more than it should've been.

You hired Jacob to serve as one of your courtiers, Duncan had to remind himself. He's your subordinate. People already think you favor him as it is -- if they had any reason to think you were romantically involved...

Duncan wasn't a naive person. He knew full well how such a thing could be spun, in the public sphere. And with people like Patricia Rakepick looking for any kind of opening to "one up" him, Duncan couldn't risk that.

And so that next day, in the late afternoon, Duncan paid a visit to the mail room. Sure enough, when he arrived, the older gentleman working there had a light blue package set aside for Jacob, accompanied by a bouquet of white hydrangeas.

"Saw Pique's new little shopgirl drop them off, as I came in," said the mail clerk cheerfully. "Poor lass...asked her if she wanted a spot of tea before she left, but she looked to be in a dreadful hurry..."

Duncan cocked his eyebrows as he picked up the package. "Really?"

"Yeah, well, old Pique's always been stingy about how many people he hires," said the mail clerk. "And she was a tiny little thing -- no older than my granddaughter, I think, 13, maybe? I reckon Pique's probably running that girl all over town, dropping off stuff..."

Well, there goes the idea of that girl being Jacob's "secret admirer," thought Duncan. Sounds like she's barely old enough to even think about romance. Still...

"What did the girl look like?" Duncan asked.

"Ginger hair, red lips -- and small, of course. Very small. Probably only five feet or so."

Near Veruca's height, Duncan mentally filed away the information.

"Thank you."

With this, Duncan took the light blue package, placing it under his arm as he headed out.

x~x~x~x

When he brought the package around to Jacob's office, his subordinate's face lit up at the sight of it. He unwrapped the package, and sure enough, it was a box of artisan chocolate.

When Jacob noticed Duncan looking over his "gifts" so critically, though, his smile faded.

"It's not what it looks like," he said immediately, sounding incredibly defensive.

"Oh?" said Duncan, raising an eyebrow.

"I've needed to harvest the flowers' seeds for my experiments," said Jacob with a weak smile. "It's all about the pH of the soil, see -- the hydrangea is a very unique plant -- "

"And the chocolate?" asked Duncan.

Jacob brought a hand through his dark curls uncomfortably.

"...That's just...to try to cheer me up, that's all."

"Cheer you up about what?" Duncan pressed him.

Jacob avoided Duncan's eye. Duncan swept around, trying to force Jacob to look at him.

"Jacob," he said sharply, "if there's someone -- "

Someone else...

Duncan forced himself not to go there. He couldn't confront Jacob's romantic life straight-on: if he did, he was afraid he'd say too much...

"...If there's something going on, you can tell me. You know I can help -- "

"I can do it by myself!" Jacob said in an oddly harsh tone.

Duncan flinched. Something almost stricken seemed to run over Jacob's face -- it made him lose a lot of the color in his face.

"It's fine, Ashe," Jacob said very firmly, putting on that strained smile again. "I've got it under control. I do."

Duncan's eyebrows came together tightly. "Jacob -- "

Jacob seized Duncan's shoulder and squeezed.

"I've got it," he insisted as reassuringly as he could.

Despite saying this, his hand on Duncan's shoulder was shaking.

Duncan's dark eyes flitted down to Jacob's hand on his shoulder, before looking up. They ran over Jacob's strained, pale face critically, taking in how tired the wrinkles around his eyes were...and then narrowed.

Jacob was lying. He was lying right to his face. What Duncan didn't know is whether Jacob knew it as well as he did.

"Fine," said Duncan, more coldly than he meant to.

Sliding out of Jacob's grip, the Jack of Spades turned on his heel and left, his long coat sweeping behind him as he went.

x~x~x~x

The following day, in the midst of work, Duncan went on an unscheduled outing into the capitol. He'd taken off his usual purple and white sash, preferring to go a little bit more "incognito" for the moment, and even took the trolley rather than a private streetcar with a driver.

His destination -- Pique's General Store.

Duncan had only ever been to this store once or twice. It was a store that sold a little bit of everything, from food to flowers to household trinkets, but was best known for its wearable pieces. Many women bought dresses, shoes, and jewelry from Pique's -- even Duncan's father had stopped in here to buy himself a new pocketwatch once, when Duncan was young.

When Duncan entered the store, he found it incredibly busy. The line was nearly out the door, and several of the shoppers seemed rather impatient. This may have been, however, because there was only one person at the register -- a girl with a black ribbon in her ginger ponytail and an apron tied over her second-hand gray dress.

Duncan's eyes narrowed. So this was the shopgirl who'd dropped off that package from Jacob's "secret admirer."

The mail clerk was right -- she was small. Her young, make-upped face indicated she was a teenager -- fifteen or sixteen, perhaps, a few years older than Veruca? -- but her petite height definitely made her look younger. Despite this, though, she zipped around behind the counter, fetching various goods and ringing up what the customers brought to the register. At several points she had to dart up the ladder leaning against the back shelf to pick out specialty items for a customer, sweeping back down to the floor with the grace of a chubby little robin landing after a flight. And all the while, even as the whole shop rumbled with the mutters of grumpy customers, she kept on a pretty, lady-like expression: not smiling, exactly, but nonplussed and grounded. This affect didn't shift even when one customer started berating her for making her wait fifteen whole minutes for service: instead, the small girl faced her with astounding patience.

"I apologize for the wait, ma'am," she said.

"I'm sure you do," the older woman sneered sarcastically.

The shopgirl didn't rise to the taunt. Instead she rang up the woman's total.

"That'll be a hundred, altogether."

The woman reacted with anger. "A hundred? The sign on the window said 'sale!'"

"The 'sale' items are marked in that far corner, with blue marks on their tags," the shopgirl explained. "I'm afraid only two out of your ten items have those marks."

"That is not what it said on the sign!" the older woman shot back angrily.

"The 'sale' corner has the exact same sign as the window does," said the shopgirl calmly. "If you'd like, I can put what you don't want back where they belong. Or if you want them all, but can't afford them right now, I can always put some of them on layaway for you."

The older woman looked so affronted, she looked close to literally clutching the pearls around her neck.

"How dare -- this is outrageous! I demand to speak to Mr. Pique this instant!"

"I'm afraid Mr. Pique is on a coffee break," said the shopgirl, "but if you wish to speak to him, then you can come back in twenty minutes. He should be back by then."

"I'm not leaving until I see Mr. Pique!" the older woman shouted.

The shopgirl's pale face hardened.

"All right," she said lowly. "Then stand off to the side, while I help these people behind you."

She immediately turned her attention to the man waiting behind the woman in line.

"Bring your things here, sir," the girl said more gently.

The man, with a faintly stunned look at the woman in front of him, hesitantly approached the counter with the bottle of whiskey and bag of candy he'd purchased. The woman in front of him looked outraged.

"Excuse me!" she shrieked. "I am your customer -- "

"And so are they," the shopgirl cut her off.

The girl's voice was very quiet, but it sounded so authoritative that she suddenly sounded much older and stronger than she looked.

"You complained about waiting fifteen minutes for my assistance," the shopgirl said coldly. "I'm not going to have all these people wait longer, simply because you no longer want that assistance. If you want Mr. Pique to speak to you, then he can speak to you after he has had something to eat, as I'm sure you will, once you've finished your shopping for the day. And hopefully you'll treat him with more respect than you have me."

The older woman started to redden as red as a tomato, her whole face puffing up like an angry fish.

"You -- !" she spluttered furiously. "You -- low-class, uppity little tramp -- !"

"And now you're disrespecting my other customers, by making a scene," the shopgirl said in that very soft, but pointed voice. "Either wait for Mr. Pique outside, or have a lovely day elsewhere."

The older woman spluttered some more nastier swears under her breath. Then, whirling around to look at all of the other stunned customers, she pushed right through the crowd and out the door of the shop, leaving all of her things strewn about the counter.

"That's it!" she raged. "I'm done!" She paused in the doorframe just long enough to add, "You may tell Mr. Pique that he has just lost himself a loyal customer -- !"

"Thank you," the shopgirl cut her off with great finality.

This only seemed to make the woman even madder as she stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

"I have never been treated thusly in my entire life -- !" could just barely be heard through the closed door.

Duncan watched her go, his lips spreading into a broad smirk despite himself.

Not bad, he thought as he glanced back at the shopgirl as she addressed the man who'd been behind the difficult customer in line.

"I'm very sorry about that," she said kindly. "And about the wait..."

"Oh, no, it -- was no trouble," said the man. He cleared his throat, clearly still a bit uncomfortable about what he'd just witnessed. "Ahem...I'm just sorry a little thing like you had to deal with that all by yourself..."

"It's no trouble," said the shopgirl, her red lips forcing a smile. "I've got it."

Duncan stilled. His smirk faded from his face as he stared at the shopgirl with a clarity he hadn't had until just that moment.

That strained smile...that pale face, that modest height...those almond-shaped blue eyes...

Those eyes...were Jacob's eyes.

Duncan felt like his heart had leapt up into his throat.

Carewyn. The shopgirl who'd delivered all those anonymous packages was Carewyn Cromwell -- Jacob's little sister.

Since when did Jacob's little sister have a job? She had to be so young still -- right around Veruca's age, Duncan thought. That would be way too young to be working a job like this... Was Jacob's family really that bad off that Carewyn had had to drop out of school too, to support her family?

Duncan suddenly felt like his heart was being squeezed.

Was this why Jacob had been so depressed? Because his little sister had had to give up on her academic future, the way Jacob had his...?

"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

Duncan was startled by the sound of an older, portly gentleman coming in through the door, putting out a cigar on the door frame as he entered.

"Ah...yes," Duncan said after he'd recovered. "You'd be Mr. Pique, I suppose? I thought you were out for a coffee break."

"Oh, I am," said Pique gruffly. "My thirty minutes isn't up quite yet...but I thought I'd just check in on my new little lady -- wasn't sure how she'd do behind the desk all by herself..."

His rough face broke into a fonder smile when he saw Carewyn quickly ringing up one customer's totals while adding another's by hand on a spare piece of paper, so as to cut the line down faster.

"But it seems I needn't have worried," he said, his smile becoming a bit more crooked. "I knew she'd be good help, the moment I met her."

"She is a bit young to be working here, isn't she?" asked Duncan.

"A bit, yes -- lass isn't going to be fifteen until September," said Pique.

"Then she's fourteen?" recurred Duncan.

She really was right around Veruca's age. The thought of Coby's sister working a full-time customer service job with people yelling at her for nothing made Duncan feel nauseous.

"Yes, I usually don't hire until at least sixteen," Pique said with a shrug. "But she fought hard to get this job, even just part-time. Said she'd need to save up some money, if she was going to be able to attend university..."

Duncan's heart leapt. "University?"

Then Carewyn hadn't dropped out?

"Yeah!" said Pique with a barking laugh. "I gather her family's financial state isn't so great. Her brother works for the Jack of Spades, so I hear, so he earns good money...but I reckon my little lady doesn't want him spending his pay on her future, when he's had to work so hard as it is. And well, I'm sure that boy would want to move into his own place and settle down with someone nice, at some point, not just stay at home with his folks forever..."

Duncan found himself tuning out as Pique rambled on a bit longer, only because his brain and heart were both turning with this new information.

The Cromwells weren't in financial trouble. Carewyn hadn't had to get a job to save her family, like Jacob did. She'd done it to pay for her education, so that Jacob wouldn't have to. She'd decided to work part-time, while still going to school...

...Kind of like Duncan had...working under the previous Jack while he was at university...

Duncan looked back up at Carewyn behind the counter. Her line of customers was almost completely gone now, leaving only a young man with a very dorky bow tie fumbling through his wallet for exact change.

"I can count it out for you, if you'd like," Carewyn offered.

"Th-thank you," the young man said with an uncomfortable smile. "I-I guess I'm just a little frazzled..."

Carewyn very quickly counted out exact change on the counter. Then, after scooping up the rest of the coins and returning it to the man's wallet, she handed a rather pretty light blue-wrapped box with a white ribbon to him.

"Here," Carewyn said with an encouraging smile. "I hope she likes it."

The young man's face burst into a blush, but he nonetheless smiled, encouraged. "Thank you!"

With a little wave, the young man left the shop. Carewyn likewise waved as he left, before sighing heavily, clearly relieved that the long line was gone.

"Well done, Carewyn!" said Pique jovially as he strode up to the counter, clapping her hard enough on the back that the much smaller girl winced. "Quite well done, indeed! I knew I was right to take you on..."

Carewyn put on her best smile. "Thank you..."

Then she immediately frowned as she gathered up the hats and dresses the difficult customer had left strewn on the counter.

"...But sir, your break isn't over until 4:30 -- "

"I'm still on break, I'm just not 'breaking,'" Pique said brusquely.

"Put on the brakes now, or you might break down later," Carewyn warned the man concernedly as she put the hats back on the proper mannequins.

But Pique waved this off. "I'll brew up some coffee and drink a cup before ringing anyone else up. Why don't you go take your lunch break a little early? You've worked hard enough."

Carewyn hesitated. "Are you sure? I can work until your break is over -- "

"Nonsense!" said Pique. "I passed around some fliers advertising the sale during my walk, so we'll undoubtedly have another rush of shoppers this evening, after people get off work. You go on ahead for now and get something to eat -- I'll have plenty of work for you to do when you get back."

Not looking entirely convinced, Carewyn nonetheless did as her employer said, putting the rest of the dresses away before heading back to the counter. She took off her apron, hanging it up on a nail on the side, and then headed to the backroom. Duncan lingered in the store, watching, as a minute later, Carewyn came bustling back out, a light-blue package under her arm.

Duncan's eyes widened in realization. Then the packages weren't being delivered on behalf of some secret admirer -- they'd all been from Carewyn herself!

"I'll be right back!" Carewyn said, as she darted across the store to the door.

"Be back in thirty minutes on the dot!" Pique called after her.

Just as the door would've closed, though, Duncan grabbed it and left the shop after Carewyn.

x~x~x~x

The Jack followed Carewyn out of the general store and then to the trolley stop. He climbed onto it right after her, and upon catching sight of her moving toward the very back left corner of the car, he moved after her, taking a seat right beside her.

Duncan sneaked a covert glance at the girl out the side of his eye.

She really didn't resemble Jacob at all...did Carewyn take more after her mother, while Jacob took after their father, or vice-versa? If it weren't for their identical eyes, Duncan would've been tempted to think they didn't share blood.

"Why did you follow me?"

Duncan blinked. Carewyn hadn't even looked up, when she asked this. Instead she looked out the window on the other side of her.

"I saw you standing at the back of the general store," she said lowly. "You didn't browse through any of the inventory or even get in line. All you did was watch me work and then talk to Mr. Pique when he came in."

Her blue eyes narrowed upon Duncan's reflection.

"...What do you want?"

Her eyes may have been colored and shaped like Jacob's...but in that moment, so sharp and piercing and full of distrust, Duncan was almost reminded more of Patricia Rakepick's.

Duncan's surprise melted away into something more serious.

"I came to talk to you, actually," he said.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows.

"Recently my subordinate has been getting a lot of...mysterious packages, delivered by a shopgirl with ginger hair," said Duncan. His eyes flitted down to the light blue package in Carewyn's lap. "No name, no note -- no return address...but all in Pique's distinct light blue paper."

Carewyn's eyes grew a little bit smaller.

"...And this 'subordinate' of yours...?"

"Jacob Cromwell is his name," said Duncan. His lips curled up in a small smirk. "Your brother, if I'm not mistaken."

Carewyn turned around to look at Duncan properly, her eyes very wide. Then something in the back of them brightened.

"...Ashe," she breathed through a smile. "You're Duncan Ashe!"

Duncan's smirk broadened. "You've heard of me?"

"Of course!" said Carewyn. "Jacob's told Mum and me all about you."

Duncan's heart fluttered. Jacob had told his family about him...?

"...Has he?" he asked softly.

"Well, he talks about you a lot," said Carewyn, and she had to stifle a giggle behind her hand. "If either Mum or I ask after you, he'll ramble on and on until he's completely run out of breath."

Duncan gave a cynical laugh. "Well, give Jacob just about any subject, and I daresay he'll do the same thing..."

Despite saying this, though, Duncan couldn't mask the light, happy flush painting his face, nor could he deny how warm he felt, thinking of Jacob rambling on about him to someone. Did he talk about his intellect, his cleverness -- his ambition -- his looks, how well he dressed? Surely not -- Jacob was an absolute idiot when it came to picking clothes for himself, Duncan had had to pick out something proper for him to wear to court...but maybe Jacob appreciated how Duncan dressed, despite this? Duncan wished his mind wasn't dancing so giddily with such fancies.

Carewyn's eyes softened.

"Really, though," she said more gently, "Jacob is so grateful for everything you've done for him. And I am too."

Duncan avoided Carewyn's eye. "Well, it's...nothing Jacob didn't earn, really. He's got a brilliant mind -- someone else would've seen it, even if I hadn't..."

Rakepick would've snatched Jacob up in a second, if she could've, Duncan thought, a surge of dislike pulsing through him at the thought of the Ace keenly parsing over one of Jacob's blueprints.

Carewyn shook her head. "But that's just it. My brother is brilliant -- he's always been brilliant -- but so many people have never seen it."

Her gaze drifted back out the window.

"...I was too little to remember all of this, but...when Jacob was young, he was bullied, for being interested in things. Even sometimes for not being interested in other things, like sports, or clubs, or parties. He was beaten down and ignored...and whenever he'd lose his temper or try to fight back, he'd get in trouble for it. Soon the only thing anyone ever saw of Jacob was his misbehavior -- our dad, included."

Duncan stared at Carewyn's reflection in the glass. Her face looked almost heartbroken, thinking this -- as if just recounting what her brother went through physically injured her.

"Jacob tried really hard to be better after I came along, and especially after Dad left us," she said softly. "He had to help Mum look after me...so he worked really hard, for a really long time. He dropped out of school, gave up a lot of dreams...all to try to make sure we had a roof over our heads. And eventually...all anyone ever saw of Jacob was that he was useful. That he could do things they could use for their business -- that he could fix things, or cook things, or file things, and do it all perfectly. They weren't looking for him to talk, or explain, or share, or teach, or think -- they just wanted him to do."

Duncan found his own eyes drifting through the window now, barely seeing either Carewyn's or his reflections now. In his mind's eye, he could see Jacob fixing the trolley door through another window, on another trolley -- see the muscles in his arm flexing -- seeing him smile so brightly --

"Your brother likes being useful," Duncan said softly.

"Of course he does," said Carewyn. "He always has. But that doesn't mean that's all he is."

She turned to smile at Duncan. "That's why I'm grateful you brought him to court. I know Jacob feels useful to you, but not just because of what he can do. You value his ideas -- his hopes and dreams. His drive to challenge the status quo...to shake things up and do real good for people. His passion and his aspirations for a better future. His brain and his heart."

Her blue eyes sparkled as her smile softened.

"Jacob's happy there, with you," she murmured. "Happier than he ever was at those other jobs. He wasn't unhappy, exactly -- those bosses did appreciate what he gave them, and those jobs did help him support us...but, well..."

Her eyes fell down to her hands in her lap.

"...They only wanted one small piece of Jacob. You...want all of him."

Duncan felt his face darkening with a redder flush. He quickly looked away, trying to hide it by covering his mouth, cheek, and chin with his whole hand.

"Well...um..."

Duncan felt very flustered, and he really didn't like it. He shot a look at Carewyn -- fortunately she too still had her eyes averted to her hands in her lap.

He swallowed, trying to recollect himself. When he finally did, his voice came out a bit strained.

"...I...I do want Jacob here," he said lowly. "He's...very special."

To me.

Refusing to let those words leak out, Duncan forced himself to get back to business.

"...He...said that you sent those packages to cheer him up."

Carewyn smiled a bit uncomfortably, her eyes drifting back out the window.

"...Yeah...Jacob's been pretty upset that I took a job too, around my schooling. He said he didn't want me to have to work -- that he'd work twice as hard, so I wouldn't have to...but I can't do that to him. Jacob and Mum have provided for me my whole life...it's my turn to help them, now."

Duncan's eyes betrayed concern. "Is it still so difficult for you? I thought with Jacob's higher salary -- "

"We're not struggling," Carewyn said earnestly. "But well, Jacob and I have still had to share a room my entire life. Jacob needs space. We both do. He needs an office -- a place where he can work on projects outside of work. I need a real closet where I can organize my clothes properly, so I don't have Jacob pairing my socks with his by accident."

She actually pursed her lips a bit, giving off something of a haughty expression. It made Duncan bite back a snort of laughter.

"Jacob's good at earning money and doing without on things, but not budgeting."

"And there is a big difference," said Duncan.

Carewyn nodded. "So Mum and I have been looking at the long-term...and what's holding us back from buying a bigger place is saving up enough for me to afford books and tuition. Jacob wants to just stay where we are and pay for me to go to university...but I don't want that for him. I don't want him to have to do without anymore, when I can help him now. And I wish he wouldn't work so much overtime to try to persuade me otherwise!"

This came out a bit frustrated, despite Carewyn's seemingly best efforts. She looked almost guilty, expressing such emotion in front of Duncan.

"...I'm sorry," she said lowly. "I...know you're Jacob's friend, so I thought I should explain."

"You don't need to apologize," Duncan said at once.

Carewyn still looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Please don't tell Jacob I told you all this," she said quietly. "I know Jacob esteems you...he wouldn't want you to see him as unable to do something."

Something stirred in Duncan's memory.

"I can do it by myself!"

"It's fine, Ashe. I've got it under control. I do."

Then that was it. Jacob hadn't just been lying to Duncan -- he'd been too proud to even accept things as they were himself...too proud to acknowledge he couldn't carry the world all by himself...

Duncan's brows and lips both knit together tightly.

"What I see him as is a complete idiot," he said dryly.

The Jack pulled down on the trolley string to make it stop outside the Palace of Spades. As he got up, Duncan extended a hand to Carewyn as if to help her up.

"Now, then -- Jacob's lab is on the far end, so we'll have to walk briskly, if we're going to deliver your care package to him. I'll need to drive you back in my personal car afterward, if you're going to have any decent time to eat before returning to work..."

Carewyn flushed. "That's all right -- I don't need anyth -- "

"Let me guess -- you've been skipping out on meals, just to bring these packages to your brother on your breaks," Duncan cut her off.

Carewyn shot him a glare through her blush. "There's always something to eat quickly at home -- I can more than manage until then..."

Duncan brought a hand up to his face and shook his head.

"Well, now I see sacrificing for your loved ones is something of a family trait, for you Cromwells. Ugh -- come on, then -- we're picking up your brother, dropping off his chocolates in the lab, and then driving somewhere for a proper meal. Shut your mouth right now and don't bother taking out any money, I won't hear any arguments from you or your brother about it."

x~x~x~x

Despite the sourness he'd spoken with, Duncan still kept his eye trained behind him to make sure Carewyn was keeping up with his longer strides, as he strolled quickly down the hall. And when Jacob looked up to find Carewyn in his lab and practically leapt out of his seat, throwing his arms around her and squeezing her tight as he beamed so happily over her shoulder at Duncan, the Jack of Spades couldn't have possibly obscured the soft, contented rosiness of his face as he watched them.

Jacob did in fact try to argue with Duncan about paying for their supper in full -- and Duncan scolded him just as much as he had Carewyn.

"Don't argue with me, I'm your boss. And no more of these little package deliveries, to cheer you up -- the next time Carewyn wants to bring you something, I intend for her to bring it to you when she's off from work and school, on formal visits..."

Jacob's eyes widened.

"Formal visits?" he repeated, disbelieving. "You mean...Wyn can come see me here, at the Palace?"

Carewyn looked just as stunned herself. "Duncan, you -- you don't have to do that -- "

"I know I don't," Duncan said, averting his eyes uncomfortably, "but I'm doing it. I give my permission -- Carewyn can come whenever she wants."

Jacob and Carewyn both stared. It made Duncan's flush creep up his neck all the more.

"Just as long as you don't get distracted, Jacob," Duncan added, his voice becoming a bit more strained in its defensiveness. "After all, you'll still be at work and earning pay -- it's just easier than making Carewyn use up her break times. And Carewyn seems responsible enough that she won't keep you from your work. Plus it'll quiet a lot of the unnecessary gossip around court about you having a sweetheart sending you packages..."

Jacob's mouth fell open. "What? Oh, come on, Ashe, I told you it wasn't like that -- !"

But Carewyn disregarded this completely. Instead she got up and, opening her arms, gave Duncan a hug.

The gesture made Duncan stiffen, taken aback, and she immediately withdrew, looking a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, even though she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "It's just...thank you, Duncan. I've never been inside the Palace before, aside from the mail room, and seeing where Jacob's working..."

Her eyes sparkled like gems.

"... Your invitation...it's very generous," she whispered. "Thank you."

Duncan hadn't thought he could go any redder, but somehow he was. Coby would probably be comparing him to a tomato by now.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat awkwardly as he looked away. "...You're welcome."

He glanced at Carewyn out the side of his eye, to see her smiling sympathetically. Maybe she sensed his discomfort -- or maybe, being far more insightful about people than Jacob, she sensed what really fueled it: that stifled, hidden desire to make her brother happy.

Either way, Duncan found himself smiling a bit too, as he looked back at her.

Maybe Carewyn wasn't Jacob's sweetheart...but she did have a very sweet heart, all the same.

[liaratisoni]

tagged by @knightofhale :)

Rules: Spell your url with song titles and then tag as many people as there are letters.

Listening - The Used

Insomnia - IAMX

Askan är den bästa jorden - Markus Krunegård

Running Scared - Nik Kershaw

Anxious - Carly Rae Jepsen

Thundermonster- Biffy Clyro

I'm a Ruin - MARINA

Selfless - The Strokes

Old Yellow Bricks - Arctic Monkeys

Night Still Comes - Neko Case

Idle Worship - Paramore

tagging: @fire-gift, @kirkwall, @fucklestat, @tiredgaymer, @ellelans, @kinneys, @mosseffect, @fearnecallogay, @mercymaker, @paramordor, @bemyrobin and anyone else who wants to do it :)

[dreampearls]

we're gonna eventually progress to a point where all colleispeak is just code like itll get so abstracted to a point where i can say some shit like "fuuuckkk water makes things wet" and be in genuine emotional anguish over it

[snekdood]

hey pro tip, if you smoke weed, save the ashes so you can put them in the soil for yer native plants. maybe you can't do controlled burns where you are, but you can at least fertilize the soil the same way 🤷

[bitchfitch]

Sorry for the morbid question, but what happens if someone killed one of Whiskey's bodies? Like, how stressful would it be for the remaining body mentally? Second question: How likely are they to just create a third Whiskey in the attempt?

I mean, there's 2 because the first body got it's head ripped off in a freak barn raising accident. The head grew a new body and the body grew a new head.

So, any attempt to kill them that involves significant dismemberment will just result in at least one more Whiskey body. Though Whiskey doesn't know that and it would be Extremely painful and scary for them to lose connection with one of their bodies while it healed/ grew. Assuming the dismemberment would be lethal on its own, if you chop off Whiskey's hand, you will get a third Whiskey after a while. and just like, upset the rest of them because come on man :( that's mean.

But yeah, Whiskey isn't like. organic. They don't really have internal bits or blood to lose so anything short of a beheading will just piss them off. and the beheading only really works because it stops them from being able to move on their own.

[cleocatrablossy]

human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost human compost

[tonysobranie]

grief will have you crying your eyes out over the weirdest shit imaginable

[wittywallflower]

Lol ok so I just read a scene in a story where a character needs to summon a local wizard and is like “let me grab what we need” and then just grabs a dish sponge for the summoning spell, and it made me wonder if magical spells that require various mundane items and ingredients would still work if you just threw the entire contents of your junk drawer into a summoning circle. As long as the few REQUIRED items are among the clutter your spell should theoretically work, right? As long as your intentions are clearly set. could I just do a spell over my overfull trash can after roast chicken night to save the effort of gathering various herbs and the bones of a bird?