#lost ashland

[princehendir]

Oh and then Yesterday I dreamed that I was in a movie w/ Jason Alexander but I forgot his name and was trying to hide it but he could clearly tell that I'd forgotten and was really offended and was trying to to like, trick me into admitting id forgotten. Real Seinfeld shit.

[aanthirin]

OC: Vivayth, Warrior-Witch

(art by plague-ridden-rat)

(Refsheet page for artists: Click Me!)

Formerly a Redoran born in Ebonheart, Vivayth is a mystic and a pellar who applies the will of the House of Troubles and follows the most ancient of magical practices as a means to harness chaos and free herself from the shackles of mortality. An incredibly spiritual person at her core, the combining of the divine and the mortal is essential to her day-to-day, and though her methods of learning and expanding upon her repertoire are unorthodox at best and criminally insane at worst, faith drives her to hopefully one day help all of mortalkind into godhood, even if it means one must turn to the Testing Gods of the Dunmer and bargain with all manner of Daedra and spirit.

While she does try to be kind-hearted and endeavor to be good to people as much as possible, the truth behind Vivayth is far darker than some would have you believe. Despite her awkward behavior, absentmindedness and apparent sweet motives, Vivayth is, in truth, a deeply emotional and troubled individual. Wracked by emotional unpredictability, she often finds herself lost in bloodlust and sadism in moments of intensity, only to later drown in regret. Self-inflicted exposure to horrors of all kinds has left her not only numb to carnage and the loss of life, but it has led her to develop a thrill for both seeing it, and causing it. In spite of all this, she's a woman of faith; religion is a tremendously important cornerstone to her entire personality, and not only is her odd, unorthodox, fully heretical faith is paramount to her way of life, but so is her philosophy of struggle that inevitably may lead to ascension beyond one's flesh. The Ancestral Spirits of Morrowind, those being the Daedra, will always be held in high regard in her heart, and they have enough sway over her that she has since rescinded her faith in the Tribunal; a love for the Three she has held for over a hundred years, now dead.

(art by bloodandboneart)

Vivayth was born to the Rathryn family in Ebonheart on the 21st of Midyear, 2E 409. The Rathryn were a prestigious clan of highborn largely made up of Redoran who have earned their high standing in society by working for the powerful Ra'athim nobility and their ebony mining fiefs. While this arrangement has brought tremendous prosperity to the clan over the generations, young Vivayth—who was, at the time, a boy—felt that this lifestyle she was born into was less of a luxury and more of a suffocating, gilded cage.

The stress of living up to her parents' expectations of her and carrying out whatever duties they might have deemed necessary—ranging from attending Great House banquets to rub elbows with the elite of Ebonheart to training in the yard in preparation of one day taking over the entire clan as its patriarch—was impossible to cope with. Throughout her first years, she slowly began sneaking away from the Rathryn Estate to explore the wilderness that spanned the city island Ebonheart was situated in, calling herself a budding explorer and trailblazer. This led to a dangeorus run-in with the wildlife. As a young child, a passing Mabrigash has taken quite a shine to her, and after healing her and sending her back to Ebonheart, the next several years were spent occasionally traveling to the city gates to mingle with other Ashlanders, who travel to Ebonheart to trade with the merchants and peddlers outside the city gates.

One day, many years after transitioning into a woman and learning what she could about Mysticism from the Ashlanders, Vivayth left her home and her gilded cage to carve her own path in life, and become her own woman.

(art by @triflingshadows)

Ever since her youth, Vivayth has always looked to the horizon. Her absentmindedness and forgetfulness show how truly far her mind lies above the clouds, and beyond unto the stars. When leaving her hometown of Ebonheart, she promised to herself that she'd acquaint herself with as much of Tamriel as she can, singing her way through life with her lute at her back to support her previously vagrant lifestyle. Her wanderlust is at fault for her interests in Mysticism, a magical practice where discovery and contradiction are foundational.

This had a partial, somewhat unfortunatae result: the laws of the Tribunal Temple and the opulence of the Great Houses led Vivayth to stray from the path of righteousness and into the darkness of the Daedra. Recent events have brought her to look to the teachings of Veloth, and to a greater degree of heresy, the Hunting Grounds of Hircine.

(art by Geinkotsu)

Vivayth always has been, and always will be, aggressively patriotic. Sure, her ideals and views now align more closely to that of the Ashlanders and she is not the fondest of the Great Houses, but her homeland is her soul, and the soul of her people. Nothing about this will ever change, except that the fact about Morrowind being free of lycanthropy has become somewhat inaccurate. She does not believe herself to be the last werewolf in Morrowind, but she is one of the last, after the Temple hunted them down to extinction within the tribunate.

Though madness is unbecoming of a former Redoran such as Vivayth, it has sunk its claws into her mind. Her pursuit of divinity is partially a result of her curse of lycanthropy, though one may come to find it's merely one layer of an ultimate desire for absolute freedom. Ultimately, she has chosen to interpret that she was chosen to help carry out the fate of the Dunmer people: apotheosis. Freedom from mortality, and the destruction of limitation.

This delusion has poisoned everything about her: every little choice that she makes, every promise, every step that she takes, and every word carefully chosen will, in her mind, lead her to fulfill Lorkhanic grand design and destroy the idea of mortality altogether. She will stop at nothing to convince and persuade those she holds dear into sharing this sentiment, and she thinks that if any want to stop her, they will be met with an early freedom of their spirit from their corpse.

[incorrect-mtg]

Flavor Text Highlights Bonus - The Theriad

The Theriad is an in-universe epic that exists in Theros, an equivalent to the Illiad. Here are the cards and flavor texts for it, over three sets (with a line break because it's 15 cards and a lot of text:

It was in fields of grain, not fields of battle, that the Champion learned to bear the yoke of duty to the gods. She worked the land long before she was called on to defend it.

The girl who would become the Champion of the Sun hacked furiously at the practice dummy. At last she stopped, breathing heavily, and looked up at her instructor. "So much anger," said the centaur. "I will teach you the ways of war, child. But first you must make peace with yourself."

"Poets speak of your unrivaled speed," the Champion said to the assembled centaurs, "but it is plain to see that your true strength lies in your unwavering loyalty to one another."

After the Battle of Pharagax Bridge, the Champion spent many months among the leonin of Oreskos. She found that they were quick to take offense, not because they were thin-skinned, but because they were always eager for a fight.

On the fourth day they passed through a forest of immense stacked stones. Althemone, youngest of the companions, called these pillars the work of a god, but the Champion knew better. She quickened her pace.

Khestes the Adamant, the Champion's closest ally among the centaurs, took one stone to his shoulder and another to his flank. He held his stride and his aim, and let fly the arrow that killed the giant Grinthax.

The Champion armed herself to face the cyclops, heedless of her companions' despair. "How will you defeat it with only one spear?" asked young Althemone. The Champion raised her weapon. "It has but one eye."

The Champion and the philosopher Olexa returned from the opposing camp at dusk. Behind them, the enemy raised sail and departed, breaking the siege. When asked what the two had done, the Champion replied, "We spoke to them."

The Champion and her companions marched through the night, but the battle was over before they arrived. In the middle of the carnage sat a solitary minotaur, lost in what seemed to the Champion to be thought.

With spear held high, the Champion came to meet Thyrogog of the Ashlands, who wore the old king's skin as a cloak and fed on the flesh of innocents. The foul minotaur raised the great axe called Goremaster and charged.

You have led us to triumph over the forces of Mogis!" said Brygus the Brave, clapping the Champion on the back. The Champion wiped the sweat and blood from her brow. "I count eight graves," she said. "Too many to call this a victory."

At sunrise, the Champion and her companions awoke to find their supplies gone and Brygus, their sentry, dead. Carefully arranged piles of ornamental shells gave a clear warning: go no further.

The hulk rose from the sea and loomed over the Champion. Pinned beneath the twisting, rotted planks of wood was the body of Kaliaros, the helmsman of her former crew, and beside him the captain, Photine.

The Champion stood alone between the horde of the Returned and the shrine to Karametra, cutting down scores among hundreds. She would have been overcome if not for the aid of the temple guardians whom Karametra awakened.

The great hart stood like a statue, its hide painted gold by the dawn. The Champion laid down her weapons and stepped forward within an arm's length of the beast. The hart, sacred to Heliod and bathed in the god's own light, bowed to the Champion, marking her as the Chosen of the Sun God.

[fruitgoat]

Mapping/Routing the CTA

I'm still blaming @copperbadge for all of this.

As I am taking this trip in my mind, I have chosen to ignore a lot of the challenges the physical world brings.  Like road construction, neighborhood block parties, day of the week, trains that only stop there once a day in the opposite direction, buses that only run a few hours a day, the actual passage of time, etc.  This trip should not be attempted in the Real World – every route and stop apparently still exists, but you might need to wait hours if not days for the correct bus/train.  For the Extra Bonus Points of LOLs and Nostalgia I have included sections of the Metra (Milwaukee Districts North and West and South Shore Electric), Big Bus Tours, and the Water Taxi.

Again, do NOT try this route in Real Time.  Yet.  My ADHD brain may or may not get back to you in a few days on how long it would actually take just so we can all laugh at the idea of getting lost and being forced to sneak around and spend the night in a mattress store at the Golf Mill Shopping Center or whatever.  (Actually, that’s a hell of a meetcute.  I… I might need to go write something now….)

Starting at Linden.

Ride Purple Line to Howard.  Transfer to Yellow Line.

Ride Yellow Line to Dempster-Skokie. (Resist the muscle memory to catch the bus all the way to Deerfield. I really hated that commute.)

Bus to Morton Grove Metra.

Ride (MN) Metra to Mayfair.

Walk to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to O’Hare.

Stretch legs and bathroom break.  Refill water bottle.  Refuel if needed.

Ride Blue Line back to Harlem. Bus to Fullerton.

Walk around my old neighborhood.  (I think the walk to Caputo’s is worth it, but maybe don’t buy any fresh squid if you’re getting back on the train.)

Ride (MW) Metra from Mont Clare to Grand/Cicero.

Bus to Blue Line (Montrose).  Ride Blue Line to Forest Park.

Bus to Green Line (Harlem/Lake).  Ride Green Line to Cottage Grove.  (I’m stopping along the way to visit family, get something to eat, and maybe nap while charging my electronics.)

Bus to Green Line (Ashland/63rd).  Ride Green Line to Garfield.

Walk to Red Line (Garfield).  Ride Red Line to Dan Ryan.  Hang Around Like An Idiot.  Ride Red Line to Lake.

Transfer to Pink Line.  Ride Pink Line to Cermak/54th, then back to Cicero.

Bus to Midway.  (Unhydrate.  Rehydrate.)  Ride Orange Line to Halsted.  Walk to River.  Or I think there’s a bus that’s just not showing up at the moment.

Water Taxi to West Loop.

Walk to Willis Tower.  (Bonus point for each instance of calling it Sears Tower.) Tour Bus to Museum Campus.

Metra Electric back to Millennium Park Station.

Walk to Washington/Wabash.  Ride Brown Line to Kimball.

Ride Brown Line back to State/Lake.  (Stop at Fullerton if it’s morning.  Walk to Orange and order the pancake flight and watch them fresh squeeze your citrus juice.  Walk to Molly’s if you like cupcakes.  Double Extra Bonus points if you pointedly reminisce about the Meatloaf Bakery when you pass where it was.  Crash a wedding at my old apartment building if you’re really bored. I really miss my neighborhood at the moment.)

Transfer to Red Line.  Ride Red Line to Howard.  (I’m going to stop at Granville for the Memories.  This was my first address in Chicago – even if I technically wasn’t supposed to receive mail because I wasn’t on the lease.)

[ladykailitha]

Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 12

And here we are at the end. Thank you so much for being on this journey with me.

Here we have Steve's POV of the last scene from last week, he talks to Hopper and Steve's uncle further proves he'd be a better parent than Clint Harrington.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11

****

Steve watched Eddie march to the truck and let out a shuddering breath. He thought that they had really connected here. But now as they were going back to Hawkins it appeared that Eddie was just going to leave that here in Ashland.

He got to his car and looked at the sad little cooler and just lost it. He started cursing and hitting the steer wheel.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he hissed. “You never did hear a name, did you, Harrington? Apparently he was in love with someone else all this time and was only being nice because you were having a mental break down.”

He could feel the tears stream down his face. Bitter and angry. “You should have been supporting him not the other way round. That’s probably why he’s soooo pissed at you. Because he was grieving and you made it all about you. Like you always do. Fuck!”

Just then the passenger side door was wrenched open and Eddie slid in.

The tears dried up instantly in his surprise. “Eds?”

And then Eddie proceeded to just knock all his intrusive thoughts out of the fucking ballpark. Just sent them running like a scared dog with its tail between its legs.

Then kissed him about it.

They still needed to have a proper conversation but that could wait until they were back in Hawkins.

Steve could live with that.

*

When they got home they had that talk. Eddie learned about all the different girls who had propositioned him and was pissed on his behalf.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” he said. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Steve shrugged. “You had enough on your plate. Plus, I sicced Uncle Danny after them.”

Eddie blinked. “Oh. I think I would have paid good money to see that.”

“I didn’t have to send anyone after Beth though,” Steve said with a grin, “Lauren did that all on her own.”

“I’m so glad you two got along,” Eddie murmured. “But in the future, you tell me these things. I want to protect you, the way you protect everyone else, okay?”

Steve agreed.

Wayne walked into the new house provided by the government, wiping his hands on an old rag.

“Everything is in the garage for us to sort and place later,” he told Eddie.

“You two going to be wanting help getting everything in?” Steve asked.

Wayne shook his head. “Lauren and her Uncle Hal are coming out next week to help out.”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. “Yeah? I didn’t hear about that.”

Wayne had the presence of mind to blush. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve and Eddie said together.

Wayne cleared his throat. “So I’m going to be seeing you a lot more now that you and Ed are together?”

Steve grinned, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and putting his head on his shoulder. “I’ll be here so often, you’ll think I live here.”

Wayne hummed. “We’ll come back to that in a few months.”

Eddie blushed. “Nice to know you aren’t planning the wedding already, old man.”

Wayne blinked innocently. “Oh I am, but I’m thinking fall of next year or the year after.”

Eddie coughed and sputtered as Steve laughed.

He turned to Steve. “Why aren’t you defending me against this?” He waved at Wayne’s smug expression.

“Because I’m already coming up with arguments for a late spring early summer wedding instead.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “That’s some confidence you got there, darlin’. What makes you think I’ll say yes.”

Steve kissed him, slow and searing.

Eddie blushed. “Yup. Okay. Uh-huh. Point made.”

Wayne just smiled fondly.

*

Steve was really starting to regret setting the party on his Uncles Percy and David.

Robin, El, and Will had kidnapped Percy, while Dustin, Mike, and Nancy had absconded with David somewhere.

Eddie, Lauren, and Jonathan were talking to Hal and Lucas, Max, and Erica were talking to Wayne.

Hopper came up to Steve and put his arm around his shoulders.

Steve relaxed into the embrace.

“You did good, kid,” Hopper said. “I’m proud of you.”

Steve nodded and then rubbed the end of his nose, trying to fight back the tears.

“I had a long talk with Joyce about some of her choices that she made while I was gone,” he continued. “I’m glad I’m out of that hell hole, but she should have made sure everyone was safe first.”

“She had a lot on her plate,” Steve murmured.

Hopped cuffed the back of his head. “Don’t you go forgiving her without her apologizing first. I had to go back to California because apparently some fucked up general decided to shoot up the Byers house in Lenora.”

Steve looked over at Hopper in shock. “They did what now?”

Hopper nodded. “It was a complete shit show. But you have to know, I wouldn’t have just left you behind if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I know, I just...”

“Just wish you didn’t have to handle it?” he asked. Steve nodded. “I getcha. I wish you didn’t have to either. But I trust you to take care of everyone here, because I know they’re in safe hands with you.”

Steve choked back a sob. “Thanks, Hop.”

“Still can’t believe you’re dating that Munson kid,” he teased.

Steve pushed Hop way playfully. “Oh fuck off. He’s a good man.”

Hop looked over at him talking to Jonathan and Hal. “If he gets you to take care yourself or at least does it for you, he gets a pass from me.”

Steve blushed. “He takes care of me. It’s incredible how easy he makes it look.”

“I know your family was shit growing up,” Hop said. “But look at it now.”

Steve looked out at the fifteen-sixteen people out there lounging around the swimming pool with fondness.

“I always wanted a big family,” he said softly. “Who would have thought that all it would take is some extra-dimensional monsters to make it happen.”

Hopper chuckled. “I feel you kid. Before I started all this, I had lost my daughter to cancer and my wife to divorce. Now, not only do I have another daughter to take care of, I have a woman I love and her two boys that are like her sons to me.”

Steve made a grimace. “Does that mean Jonathan is my step-brother, because ew.”

“I heard that Harrington!” Jonathan called out.

Steve and Hopper laughed.

Eddie came bounding up to Steve. “I’m not sure I want the Chief as a father-in-law, babe.”

Steve smiled. “Oh that is going to make for some very awkward family dinners.

Percy came up behind Eddie.

“Hello, I’m Steve’s uncle, Percy,” he said extending his hand to Hopper to shake.

“Yeah,” Hopper said. “I’ve been hearing all about you. I’m sorry Clint Harrington kept you away from Steve for all this time.”

Percy nodded. “Jasper being an idiot didn’t help, unfortunately. But I’m in Steve’s life for good. There’s nothing that his parents could do that would change that.”

Steve gave Percy a hug in gratitude.

“Welcome to Hawkins then,” Hopper said with a smile. “It’s bit of a mess at the moment, but it’s home.”

“Well,” Percy said with a smile, “the welcome so far has been amazing I’m happy Steven has a support system now.” He turned to Steve. “May I pull you away for a moment. There’s something I would like to talk to you about.”

Steve looked at Hopper and Eddie who both shrugged. “Sure, lead the way.”

Percy went inside the kitchen and sat down at the counter. “When you told me that you didn’t get into the colleges and universities you applied for, I called around.”

Steve frowned. “Why? My grades slipped after Christmas my senior year. I ended at 2.76 GPA. I figured that wasn’t good enough to get in.”

“Yes,” Percy said. “If they only looked at your senior year. But they don’t. They look at a cumulative GPA from all your years at high school. You had a cumulative GPA of 3.16. Which is more than enough to get into any college you wanted. Especially with you still winning medals in swimming.”

His frown deepened. “But Dad said that I didn’t get into any of those schools.”

“Yes, which I thought was odd,” Percy further explained. “Which is why I called. Steven, you got accepted into two thirds of the schools you applied for.”

Steve leaned back. “What? That’s not possible.”

“I’m guessing Clint only showed you the one third you didn’t get into and told you the rest was the same.”

“Why?” he breathed. “Why would he do that?”

“Because the schools you got into weren’t the ones he wanted you to go to is my next guess.”

“I can go to college?” Steve asked, his lip quivering. “I don’t have to be stuck here my whole life?”

Percy shook his head. “You are a smart young man, and David and I are very committed to helping you get to where you want to go in life. Your parents mail have failed you, but I promise we won’t.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “Thank you so much.”

Percy got up and hugged him. “Now go back out to your boy, he’ll be worried about you.”

Steve nodded and walked back out.

Percy followed close behind and wrapped his arm around David’s waist.

“You think they’re going to be okay?” David asked as they watch Steve and Eddie cling to each other.

“Oh yes,” Percy said. “It may have taken a tragedy to get them here, but they are smart boys with a great support system. There is nothing those boys can’t do now.”

“I’m happy to have met them,” David said.

“Me too.”

****

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[rustyram035]

Serer again. For my surpsise people noticed him, so i made art with him again ( My Sotha Sil reincornation)

Some things about him:

❄He doesn't consider himself a reincarnation, but rather a huge fan and student.

❄He was born in the Ashlander Camp, but left it at a fairly early age.

❄ He lost his arm when he was a child

[usafphantom2]

Where are the SR 71’s today?

They are all on display in America with one exception. #962 is at Duxford, Great Britain. this SR-71 was the one that was the most frequently stationed in Great Britain It’s a permanent loan from the United States to Great Britain with our thanks.

Arizona

#17951 flew on March 5, 1965, and served as a test bird throughout its career. It is currently displayed at the Pima Air Museum, Tucson, AZ.

California

California is home to more SR-71 aircraft than any other state. It houses six of them, listed below:

•SR-71A #17955 - AFFTC Museum, Edwards AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17960 - Castle Air Museum near Atwater, CA.

•SR-71A #17963 - Beale AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17973 - Blackbird Airpark, Palmdale, CA.

•SR-71A #17975 - March Field Museum, March AFB, CA.

•SR-71A #17980 - NASA's Dryden Flight Research Center as #844.

Florida

In Florida, specifically at the USAF Armament Museum, Eglin AFB, FL, the SR-71A #61-7959, also known as the "Big Tail," is on display. This nickname dates to 1975, when it was chosen as the platform for a new series of sensors placed in an extension towards the rear of the aircraft . The last flight of this aircraft took place on October 29, 1976

Georgia

At the Museum of Aviation, Robins AFB, GA, the Blackbird SR-71A #17958 is on display. According to various records, on July 28, 1976, this example facilitated a human being (pilot captain Eldon W. Joersz and major RSO George T. Morgan Jr.) to reach the highest speed ever aboard an aircraft.

Kansas

SR-71A #17961 accumulated 1601 flight hours until February 2, 1977, the date of its last flight. It is currently on display between a Northrop T-38 Talon advanced trainer and a life-size replica of the Space Shuttle at the Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center, Hutchinson, KS

Louisiana

At the 8th Air Force Museum, Barksdale AFB, LA, the SR-71A #17967 is on display, one of two examples reactivated in 1995 for USAF service before the program was canceled in 1998. Over the years, this aircraft accumulated more than 2700 flight hours.

Texas

At the USAF History and Traditions Museum, Lackland AFB, TX, is SR-71A #17979, which was used as a reconnaissance aircraft during Operation Giant Reach in the Egyptian-Israeli war.

Michigan

Two trainer variants were built, denoted SR-71Bs. One crashed on approach to Beale AFB on January 11, 1968, while the other, SR-71B #17956, is displayed at the Kalamazoo Aviation History Museum in Kalamazoo, MI. This SR-71 has more flight hours than any other Blackbird, nearly 4000, and is believed to have been photographed more times than any other.

Nebraska

At the Strategic Air and Space Museum near Ashland, NE, SR-71A #17964 is on display. Its first flight took place in 1966, and the last in 1990, when it was delivered to Offutt AFB, NE, to be permanently exhibited

Ohio

The first operational ( Jerry O’Malley and Ed Payne) mission of an SR-71 was carried out by SR-71A #17976 before concluding its career with about 3000 flight hours. It is among the first SR-71s to be permanently exhibited and best preserved. It is displayed at the National Museum of the United States Air Force, Wright-Patterson AFB, OH.

Oregon

Below the right wing of Howard Hughes' H-4 Hercules at the Evergreen Aviation Museum in McMinnville, OR, is the most complete and accurate SR-71, SR-71A #17971, which has accumulated over 3500 flight hours.

Utah

As mentioned, after January 11, 1968, when half of the SR-71 trainer fleet was lost due to the crash of #17957, a replacement trainer was built, designated SR-71C #17981. This aircraft is currently on display at the Hill Aerospace Museum, Hill AFB, UT. Irregular maintenance procedures and aftermarket construction caused constant yaw of the aircraft; therefore, the SR-71C was used on a limited basis between 1969-1976.

Virginia

The state of Virginia hosts two SR-71s:

•SR-71A #17968 is displayed at the Science Museum in Richmond, VA. 2. The #972 at Udvar-Hazy

Chantilly,

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House pt. 13

Author's Note: Tw for some blood. Jiub is a troll. For those looking for canon Sotha Sil behavior, boy are YOU gonna be disappointed

This one snuck up on me

---------------------------

One week, then two.

Jiub found his Venmo occasionally pinging with small amounts from Sadara, who sent apology notes in each one. Honestly, he didn't blame her, but he wouldn't say no to to the extra money. He turned her room into another grow spot and it was doing okay, but still not to the level that having her there to contribute to rent had.

She hadn't come back, but there hadn't been much for her to come back for. A dresser, a bed. Those handful of receipts from Suran in the trash can he still hadn't emptied.

The Waffle House was doing a little worse for her absence, at least in his opinion.

The new waitress was an ashlander, and icily polite to those with corprus. Maybe they weren't the best people, but their money spent like anyone else's, and he couldn't figure out why all of a sudden NOW Nibani would want to piss them off by instructing new employees to act like this. It had driven off a few of them, or at least he thought so - it was hard to tell some of the ash ghouls apart from one another.

A few of the ash creatures had asked where Sadara was. The new waitress didn't know; neither did Nibani, whose answer was, "She no longer works here."

Jiub kept silent; he sure as hell wasn't talking. Sadara had sent him a Discord message (she'd outright deleted Morrotwitter) asking him to not tell anyone where she was, and he'd kept to it.

She didn't hadn't added any specifics about what exactly had happened on her little trip to Red Mountain. He'd asked a second time and she replied, 'Nothing we're not used to hearing.'

For a few days after that she sent random pictures of gnarly wounds from fighting cliffracers and other wildlife, and then of the scars once she healed up. There were also a few pics of cliffracers being turned on a spit over a fire, and a little 'wish you were here this thing tasted great' message a couple days in row.

Then there started being images of the inside of some cave along the coast near Tel Fyr.

The Fyrs are paying me 200 gold a week for blood and plasma, apparently I'm RH null blood type. it's special or something. and being immune to corprus makes them want it too, so. Not doing too bad.

Sounds great. What's up with the cave?

Oh, it's near Tel Fyr. Easy access. There's some khajiit and argonians here too, cave's big enough to share, so we do.

How do you share a cave?

We just have bedrolls in different areas. I feel like I got the biggest spot because it used to be a slave pen and they don't want to sleep over here ever again. It's not that bad. We've even got pets.

the fuck kind of pets do you have over there? lost scribs?

couple of fat slaughterfish we feed fish and scraps to. One we call Betty White and the other we call Wilson. They try to bite us but honestly they're big enough it's hard for them to move fast enough for it. So they'll mainly just hiss and make noise until they get food.

"Excuse me, cook? Are you paying any attention to the food at all, or are you destroying my eggs on purpose?"

"Your eggs are fine," Jiub replied, tucking his phone away. The customer in question had come in a few times, and was - well, honestly, such a stick in the mud it was fun to tease him. He was very particular about his food, wanted his waffles turn an even number of times...so Jiub always made sure not to do that.

Sotha Sil himself. Not all that impressive, at least not to Jiub. He said he came there because the sound of the blight winds was relaxing, and when he needed relative silence this was a good place to have it.

And his fried eggs were always just slightly runny.

"Here, I'll redo 'em if you want, I was hungry anyway."

He handed a newly finished plate of waffles to the new waitress, who took them to another ashlander in the corner.

"Do you have no pride at all in your work?"

"I'm cooking eggs and waffles for 10 septims an hour, there is no pride in this work," Jiub replied with a shrug.

"You are an insubordinate imp--no. No, I will waste no more time on your shenanigans. This is not what I am here for. Just cook the food." Sotha Sil huffed, and turned back to the laptop in front of him.

It was a far cry from the nigh-emotionless construct Jiub had heard Sotha Sil described as. Something, it seemed, had set the man on edge...he'd asked a couple people if something had happened to set Sotha Sil off what he was usually like. Most people couldn't see such little things, little signs of being potentially angry, or annoyed, or any number of similar things. But due to long experience, Jiub was a master at seeing it.

He'd reached a point in his life where he was looking to get humbled again. His success with Almalexia had made him feel almost bored - if he could off her so easily (however temporarily it lasted), really, how much farther was there to go? Maybe Sotha Sil would be different. Maybe he'd be tougher, somehow...

How little a thing would it take to push him over and make him screech?

He could already hear Sadara's voice chiding him for it. You little troll, you just want your ass kicked, don't you?

Well. Maybe he did.

The waitress went outside to handle the garbage, and so Jiub was the one to deliver the plated food. He glanced down at the laptop, and saw a familiar sight.

A Pokemon battle.

And more importantly...

"Superiorsil? So it's YOU! I should've guessed," Jiub set the food down and went over to clean the stove.

"What do you mean, you should've guessed?" Sotha Sil's voice had turned accusatory.

Jiub turned back, and gave a deep smirk as he extended his hand. "Jiuberjabber. How ya doin'?"

A pause.

A long, uncomfortable pause.

And then, Sotha Sil - master of the monotone, king of the cutting politeness, suzerain of stony looks - leaped over the counter and wrapped both hands around JIub's neck.

Both mer crashed to the ground and despite the pain and increasing lack of oxygen all Jiub could do was laugh.

"You idiot--pathetic--little WORM!" Sotha Sil was snarling, "You broke my perfect record!"

"It's just a game, man," Jiub struggled, trying to get one hand into his back pocket. Still the laughter persisted, even harder because he saw how much it infuriated the mer above him. Or maybe it was due to the choking. "Don't take it so seriously."

He managed to get his trusty box-cutter out, and took a few stabs in the area of his opponent's ribs. Jiub and Sotha Sil wrestled about in this fashion another few minutes, getting the latter's blood all over the floor.

"What happened to the calm magus, huh?" Jiub, still giddy from the lack of air, went on, finally getting to his feet and backing away, box-cutter at the ready. "Oh, wait, you are what the people need you to be, right? I've read the sermons."

"That wasn't IN the sermons you illiterate cretin," Sotha Sil stood, his pristine white robe now utterly ruined. The stab wounds were healed over quickly, and he looked ready to fight--

--and then suddenly bristled, snatched a to-go box, stuffed the food he'd left uneaten into it.

"Come back soon," Jiub, still in the mood to tease, energized by the fight, blew a capricious kiss at the furious mer before him.

Sotha Sil left, muttering under his breath.

Jiub then looked at the ashlander in the corner.

"You gonna tell the Temple about that?"

"Who the fuck would believe me?"

Grumbling, and thinking he was far too sober for this, Jiub moved off to the bathroom to snort some skooma. Nibani would be in within an hour, and he needed the blood cleaned up by then. The waitress, utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed, didn't look like she was going to be staying long enough to do the job.

[moriche]

WIP-Wheneverday

I got tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and @hircines-hunter! Tagging: @kat-tail, @linwelinwrites, @pirate-of-the-southern-isles, @aethersflames, @anxiouswizardart @ladytanithia @bostoniangirl21 @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @umbracirrus @oblivions-dawn @saltymaplesyrup

and YOU. Yes. YOU. If you wanna be tagged or not-tagged by me, let me know and I'll add you/remove you!

I haven't gotten in many words recently, but I reworked a scene I'd written earlier into something I like much more. Here's Veryn and Caius talking about the Urshilaku and the forgotten prophecies they're looking for.

“She allowed me to write it down, so I made you a copy. A pretty long title: The Seven Visions of the Seven Trials of the Incarnate.” He repeated it in Velothis, switching near automatically. “She tested me against them, and then told me her findings were inconclusive.” “Inconclusive?” Caius let out that bark of his, half laugh, half scoff. “You went up north on your own, all for nothing?” Veryn’s fingers trembled, rustling the parchment he held, frustration and exhaustion driving him near the point of tears. He stared at the grooves in the tabletop, counting them one by one, peering at the gunk they’d collected over the years. Food, candle wax, beer and wine, blood and sweat and skin, moon sugar, skooma - gods might know what else. The longer he stared, the more his sight blurred, aided by the dull ache that pulsed behind his temples. Despite his mask, he’d been out in the ash for too long, the finest of particles that made it through the filters scouring his eyes and throat. “The Wise Woman brought up the Dissident Priests.” Sharn broke the silence that had gone on for too long, pulling him back into the present. “The Ashlanders have lost many of their own prophecies, possibly on purpose. If Veryn wants to prove himself to them, he’ll have to find the priests and the words they’ve hidden.” “It’s a trap. A clever one.” Caius clenched his jaw, breathing out heavily. “She expects the Empire to fake the those records. I would get you some false prophecies, you would bring them to her, and then it turns out these Urshilaku have a way of verifying them. They get to expose you as a fake, they kill you, and all is well for them.”

And as a bonus: a smol bit of drawing I'm working on!

[mako-designated-driver]

To celebrate N7 day, some bits of background ME lore you might not know about:

There was a famous batarian pirate (Essul) that was killed by the Spectres after leading 11 blitz and a huge pirate army in the Terminus. Nowadays, young spacers swear they will be the ones to find his lost legendary stockpiles of eezo and live like kings.

There is a garden planet in the Terminus that is nearly impossible to live in, because of its earthquakes, radiation and storms. However, the latter made it a sanctuary for escaped batarian slaves, since it meant no sensors could find them there.

There is an Alliance planet where slavery was technically legalized (the reasoning behind it was that if they abolished the minimum wage, they could rival batarian economy on that system). This decision led the planet to a brutal civil war that broke both sides, but the minimum wage ended up being restored.

The "Leviathan of Dis" (not actually Leviathan, just a reaper) was already referenced in ME1, and had been with the batarian hegemony for years when the game started. This is confirmed by Balak if you meet him in ME3.

There was, somewhere, a horizontally-oriented race.

There is a huge ancient burial ground on Vecchio, but the closest garden world (Volturno) bears no sapient life, and the remains are too damaged to identify who those people might have been

You probably already know about the Raloi, the race that joined the council shortly before the Reaper war. What you may not know is that during the welcoming ceremony, a well-meaning group of krogan representatives tried to introduce a sport called Kowla. There were a lot of injuries and multiple deaths.

The north american football team New York Giants has a krogan quarterback

Do you remember Aish Ashland, the human heiress you could talk to in the casino infiltration? She donated her DNA to the Hollywood bank of fame. Except for the fact it wasn't her DNA at all, it was her (estranged) twin sister's. She claimed it was her way of "of apologizing for a lifetime of stealing her boyfriends and tormenting her".

Kruban is a planet named after a krogan mythological paradise, where a warrior may feast on the guts of his enemies. Every year a few krogans go to Kruban (a venusian hothouse filled with sulfur) to prove their "kroganhood".

Commander Shepard is in a Tupari ad. If you don't know what Tupari is, there's a few buttons in ME2 you still got to press stubbornly.

[reviiely]

The MayDaisy Universe Collection

I got an idea of compiling short tiny headcanons for my Sunglasses (and other stories) universe from this post so here’s the first part!

• this is kinda already in the fics but whenever Skye has a nightmare, she goes and finds wherever May is whether she’s sleeping or awake— she just finds her and curls up next to her someway, somehow. This starts after they move from LA in the first fic.

• Skye and Coulson first met when she was still a kid and he watched her for Clint, who was her social worker at the time. The story of how they met is linked here.

• Skye and Barton still remember each other, but they’ve been out of contact for a while. When she starts working at the Triskelion, she sees him again, and they catch up. Between TMWIH and Next Big Thing, they become friends and text every now and then. Skye likes to send him bird memes.

�� Skye and May are roughly the same size and swap outfits constantly. In the beginning, May will think that she lost a shirt until she sees it in Skye’s closet, and in retaliation, she took some of Skye’s stuff. They end up mish mashing their styles to create some combo of dress casual and comfy pjs.

• May and Coulson have taken Skye to Disneyland and Universal on a trip back to LA during the years she spent with them. There’s a picture with Skye and Coulson in Hufflepuff robes while May stands next to them, decked out in Slytherin merch.

• Coulson cooks for everyone on the Bus. He teaches Simmons, Skye, and Ward how to cook. Simmons takes to it easily because “it’s basically chemistry”, Skye manages to make an ooblek soup, and Ward, who is supposedly great at making survival food, somehow ungrills a cheese.

• when Skye was in her coma, she kinda had this framework experience where May and Coulson were her bio parents.

• similarly, if I had put her through the Framework, her regret would’ve been that she couldn’t save that girl in Ashlands, and she would’ve quit SHIELD to be a single parent/sister figure to the girl. She would’ve been a waitress by day, hacker by ‘night’, which was supposed to be a parallel to how she began the start of the series.

• while we’re on the subject, the Framework lives I planned out for Coulson and May are different than in canon (bc ofc I had to make things harder for myself, lol) I’ll make a different post tho

• after she kills Jiaying (oops, spoilers for the people who didn’t read voice) Skye and Cal have a long convo about what they want from each other. In the end, Cal agrees to have his memories erased because he trusted Skye, who said that this was the best option for everyone involved.

• when Skye/Daisy runs away from SHIELD after Lincoln’s death (yes, I was still gonna kill him), she constantly seeks refuge in Cal’s vet place, to the point where he becomes a trusted confidant. Eventually, he remeets Coulson and May, and has a sort of angry conversation for how they handled Skye/Daisy’s situation.

• when her powers get out of control in that one episode that I don’t remember, the one with Sif in it, Skye grabs the nearest gun she sees and shoots herself with it. Contrary to canon, while she had more firearm experience in this universe, Skye didn’t actually register what she was holding before she shot herself. In her mind, it didn’t really matter, because she was taught to eliminate the threat. If it was by lethal force, so be it. If it was her, so be it. It was still an ICER though.

• Skye/Daisy and May drift apart during the break between season 3 and 4, understandably. May and Coulson had gotten together the night she left, before they knew that she had left. They were planning on telling her the morning after, but when they went to get her, all that was left in her bunk was a note. May tries to make contact, and is only successful once or twice. Skye/Daisy only calls if she needs something, which May always provides.

• Skye, May, and Coulson ran SHIELD in s2, and Coulson was fully prepared to hand the agency off to Skye when he succumbed to the carvings. Skye was told later, and she was prepared for that eventuality.

• after Coulson actually dies in s5, Skye/Daisy lets Mack handle things while she and May take a trip to get themselves back to working condition. Then Skye/Daisy resumes leadership of SHIELD and leads them through season 6 and 7.

• May and Coulson were planning to adopt Skye after the events of s2, but they held off asking her because they thought that she might not want that after meeting her bio parents.

• Coulson proposed to May in Tahiti, and they flew Skye/Daisy in for their tiny ceremony. They never told anyone else about this, and throughout season 6 and 7, May would wear her wedding band on a necklace under her shirt.

That’s all I can think of at the moment, but enjoy your crumbs, everyone! You can pick any of these and beg me to write them and maybe I’ll say yes if my brain lets me. Also there’s a lot of self promo in this post, lol.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

OC Fridays you say? @the-elder-polls Hello! Naturally that means I'm going to take some time to gush about Josh...because whilst he shares a name, vocation and sarcasm as the NPC found in Dragonborn, he's pretty much his own thing at this point. Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero is a Dunmer- naturally, though he is half Ashlander ( Erabenimsun) on his father's side whilst his mother grew up in Redoran lands though her family did not answer to a Great House until moving to Hlaalu lands in the late forth era. Not long after he was conceived his parents fled to Cyrodiil, where he spent the first four years of his life before his mother returned to Blacklight once his father disappeared on a smuggling job. (Born 3E 370- 57 at the start of Morrowind, 268 by the start of the Dragon Crisis). He was well educated, and speaks four languages- Dunmeris, Cyrodiilic, Aldmeris and modern Altmeris. He picks up Ashland and a secret fifth thing later on. He ends up getting mixed up in the Camonna Tong which is how he ends up in Cyrodiil where he is subsequently arrested (murder, arson, treason, more arson). He spends the next 33 years being moved about various prisons and work camps in the Heartland until he is deported back to Vvardenfell and given a strange package.

Josh does not believe that he's the Nerevarine- not in any meaningful sense. What he does think he is, is an Imperial puppet. Yes he technically fulfils the prophecy but there were tweaks made to his official records so that he could "fit it more". Namely in how he was stricken from his mother's family records upon their ascension to House Hlaalu. Yes he fits but he wonders if the destruction of his homeland was a part of the Emperor's plan. He knows for certain that he is not the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar. What he is, is a descendent of the war lord who ended up being a good host once he slipped on that ring and it didn't give him a big enough aneurysm. Deep down, he thinks anyone could have done the job. He was just convenient. Teldryn drinks- a lot and the habit has gotten worse as he's gotten older. He'll go through stints of sobriety (usually when mourning) and ends them in even longer binges. He developed a taste for skooma when he was on one of those binges and has been trying to avoid the stuff ever since. He ends up getting hooked on Sleeping Tree Sap during the Dragon Crisis and the whole thing gets worse once Sydari (my Dragonborn) gets lost in Sovngarde. He's a pain in the ass. Some Art Some early Josh (3E 427)

Some post Corprus infection Josh (3E 428-29)

And jumping to pre Dragon-Crisis Josh - 4E 199.

[da3drat]

I was looking for something else entirely and found this old snippet from the university au and honestly I liked it so much I had to post it lol. Meri teaches a third era history of Morrowind class (this is not why she was hired, they just make her teach it because she's oddly knowledgeable about the subject).

A hand shot up in Meri's peripheral vision and she grimaced. She knew exactly what was coming, it always did eventually.

"Sadri." She called on the student.

"But what happened to her after that?"

"To whom?"

"The Nerevarine. The primary source said she married Almalexia, is that true?"

"Most historical accounts seem to agree on that, yes."

"But how? Why? I mean she worked with the Ashlanders and the Dissident Priests. She read the alternate histories. Didn't she doubt her safety?"

Meri sighed. These questions had been so much easier to dismiss fifty years ago when she was still teaching exclusively Temple doctrine. In the years since several heretical documents had leaked with the Ashlander's account and been added to the historical conversation around the Tribunal.

"You would have to ask her that. There's no knowing for sure. However we do have some journal entries from her, and they don't seem to imply any kind of fear." She hoped that would end the conversation, but her hopes never seemed to turn out.

"They're SAPPY, too." Another student chimed in.

She should have burned that damn journal.

"Oh my gods, this passage killed me." One student snorted and flipped through his handouts. He placed a hand over his heart and vastly overacted as he read aloud. "Sometimes I get lost in her curls. Like the fires of red mountain they consume me and I can think of nothing else. The heat, the smoke, the sensations are all the same to me now. When I dream of her I feel lava. When I dream of the mountain I see her eyes."

"Is there a question there, Mero?" Her eyebrow quirked with irritation.

"No." Mero laughed. "I agree, she didn't sound scared to me."

"Well, yeah, she was brave." A tiny bosmer girl said.

"Fearless." Meri corrected. "Not quite so admirable as brave."

"Aren't they the same?"

"Bravery is acting in spite of fear." Meri walked slowly between the podium and her blackboard as she spoke. "If you're not feeling any fear, there's no bravery in your action." She pointed at Mero with her chalk. "Take Mero here, he doesn't fear being made a fool and acts without considering the possibility." A chuckle rung through the lecture hall. "If he, say, was anxious about the way he were perceived maybe it could be considered brave to constantly interrupt my lectures. Or me; I'm not afraid of spiders, is it brave to carry them out of my office in my hands? Or does it seem that way to you because you fear spiders? The spider could bite me, it could be poisonous, but I carry it all the same. It's not brave to take unnecessary risk, but it does imply a lack of concern for the consequences. Fearlessness."

"So... she married Almalexia because she didn't fear the consequences?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps it was political, or convenient, or any number of other things. But look through those journal entries again after class today. Try to find one example of fear, or any time she seems concerned about the consequences of action or inaction. I expect to hear your findings tomorrow when we finish discussing her trek beyond the Ghostfence."

[sigmaelxgr]

The Dancer - p.1

" Being a sorcerer, a shaman, is much like being a dancer. It is not this fortunate that we are so good at both. Sorcery is a matter of subjugation and mastery - and each step the dancer takes implies such a power it bends the world around their feet. When asked directly, I say that we are a dancer. Nothing more. And I let them figure it out - the meaning of what I call dancing. The meticulous undertones of all the gestures, the patient taming of this fragile mortal body, too tight for us, that we use to reach our quiet purposes. We are a dancer. We do not sing."

" When I used to perform amongst people (each kind of dance I knew), they gave us many names in return - it was like a need for we said none, we cared more about which word they'll choose than how to reply. At first, many mistook us for a woman - something I never found insulting. Some men would have been harmed by such presomptions, I know it because I have seen it. To me, it is amusing. Lovely, even, and quite charming I'd say. We do not answer. As always, we let them figure it out. We are a dancer. We do not sing. I love how people from the cities build their own myths. It reminds the Child in us about his long-lost ashlands. Legends are always the result of daydreamed fantasies. Each daydreamer we met have their own story to tell. Most of the time, that story tells more about who speaks than anything else. They presume things, create pieces by pieces the image of their own monster - mesmerized and scared at the same time. Fear and subjugation come from the mystery we love to wrap ourself in. A lesson Mephala taught our people, a lesson we learnt as the most important of them all. They want to put a word on us so to understand us. They would baffle in illusions so to finally get the feeling to reach us. Doing so, they expose themselves. But we mean no harm, for we wield no sword. We unsettle them as we speak, it almost never happens. I tend to say: "it is as it is". We do not care anymore. We dance. We do not sing. We are just here, alive, in peace now. The right word to use is the name Sigma-El."

- Undated entry of Xgr's diary (and a little treat for @lokorum)

[igorlevchenko-blog]

—When Tyronius's gang does a job for someone—anyone—they duly expect to get paid. Same courtesy was expected of Goris, but the smugglers say that necromancer betrayed them—for the gold never came. But, can one aver Goris did not, in fact, sent the money? Perhaps it was lost (or dare I say—intercepted) en route through Grazelands, along with its skeletal porter. Or maybe necromancer did think the smugglers no different to his other—cadaverous—servants or otherwise to be his lessers in a way that warrants no reward. Anyways this decision looks idiotic— given the job was performed to wizard's satisfaction; and gold's a trifle to someone rumored to have gotten rich through lifetimes of graverobbing.

The smugglers, on their part, weren't going to let it stand, and had a plan to get their dues by stealth. Short prior to the current conflict, Tyronius had, unbeknownst to Goris, made a duplicate key to Venim Tomb, and thus supplied, the thieves were able to sneak in and steal the wizard's gold—the sum extracted equal to the belated payment.

Obviously, the plan was one of temerity—not shrewdness, for after necromancer discovered his trove thus thinned, he promptly dispatched his undead troops to find and murder his former associates. Eventually he had them exterminated to a man, except for one Luven, who had timely switched sides. It remains a mystery how twas that Goris's undead retainers (whose number at one point was prodigious) were absent from the tomb at the time of its burglary.

In the end, the movement of so great (and ghastly) a force couldn't be concealed and the countryside of Vos became aroused to the reality of undead infestation. Upon collating scout reports with ashlander tribes Zainab and Ahemmusa, Tel Vos was able to easily locate the source of evil ( the tomb's very near to the tower) and subsequently Goris was destroyed.

I understand the details around this event are to be kept mostly secret—all parties wary of catastrophic political implications. After all, one could accuse Tel Vos of failing the stewardship over its environs or lay the blame at noble clan Venim, whose neglect of own ancestral charnel, was what allowed Goris to move in. I myself was able to garner all above information solely through correspondence with my client, who, I suspect, was somehow involved in this case I dubbed "The Maggot King Caper".

Funny how—aptly to his name—Goris tried to rule over maggots (bandits, that is) and twas these maggots that dealt the wizard in, in roundabout kind of way.

[gisellelx]

Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 3

Dec. 3 - Pick one deceased Twilight character to draw or tell us more about. How would the Twilight universe be different if they were still alive?

"Or Does It Sag"

(~2,000 words)

December 3, 2023 Ashland, Wisconsin

Bella had been the one to break this particular dam.

It was a problem they all suffered from, if Edward were honest. The world changed so quickly around them, and it was easy to lose track of new possibilities on offer, especially when they were personal. An advancement in engine mechanics; sure, Rosalie would keep on top of that. A contemporary pianist rising to new fame; Edward would be aware. And with his daughter, these days, it was simple to be aware of other things he would once have not noticed: memes and new phrases, fashion trends too pedestrian for his sister to pick up on, Greta Gerwig and Christopher Nolan opening polar opposite films on the same weekend.

They all would forget, often, that the world changing might mean that certain things they had taken for granted needed reconsideration. That over time, the arc of history bent toward making the impossible possible.

His wife was sitting with their daughter on the the piano bench, Renesmee’s hands aglow from the white Christmas lights his mother had strung on the banister in the foyer. The tree would come later—Christmas Eve, their tradition since that very first serious fire hazard Carlisle had lit in the room of an inn on the shores of the Bay of Fundy, trying to coax, if not joy out of Edward, at least something a bit more like delight—but the house was already filled with other greenery, the air thick with the scents of white pine, ripened pinecone, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Across the room, Alice and Esme discussed the tree’s placement, how big it would need to be, as they hung ten stockings on the mantle in order by their entrance to the family: J, R, B, J, A, E, R, E, E, C. Although Edward knew Carlisle and Esme always hung them all anyway, this would be the first Christmas since the pandemic had begun that all ten of them would be filled. Jasper and Emmett had taken their Christmas cheer outside on Esme’s orders, and Rose had followed them, the living embodiment of the saying that behind every great man was a woman rolling her eyes.

And then there was Carlisle, whose newest schedule thrust him into two weeks of boredom at a time, curled up into one of the wingback chairs in his socks, staring at a page dense with text in the smallest font on his Kindle, but only pretending to read.

It had been earlier this year. Seventeen years of marriage, nearly nineteen of a relationship, and somehow Edward had never mentioned this crucial fact to his wife. They had been at the Toulouse house, discussing their next visit to the States, when Edward had mentioned something about his sire’s past; the knowns and the unknowns, and had let slip a crucial bit of missing information, a basic fact everyone had always taken for granted would forever be irretrievable.

Bella had just blinked at him a few times, and then, in the cutting way she had, offered, “Edward, haven’t any of you ever heard of Ancestry dot com?”

It had taken Bella all of twenty-four hours. A new account. A deep dive into church registers in London, 1600-1650. The parish records of one Saint James Aldgate, kept from 1625-1668 in a cramped handwriting that looked for all the world like Carlisle’s, which, when remarked upon, had only earned him a large eyeroll from his wife. “Edward. I know you think Carlisle sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus”—this time it was his turn to roll his eyes—“but you do realize that at some point someone had to teach him to write?”

And so they had pored over the records of births and marriages, baptisms and deaths, until they found her. Married, just barely twenty-two. Dead, just shy of twenty-four. One child, baptized the day she died. And the name, lost to the centuries until now.

They had presented this information for Father’s Day. Printouts of the pages; the dates, the eerily matching handwriting. Carlisle had swallowed deeply, thanked them, and shortly thereafter, left the room.

He hadn’t spoken of it. Edward hadn’t been sure if it had been an offense.

The composition under his daughter’s nimble fingers was over forty years old now, otherwise sounding like any other contemporary piano piece except that something about it sounded wintery, a musical affectation of the rapid whooshing of the Wisconsin wind against windows Esme had insisted upon keeping single pane. And as Edward listened, he let his mind drift along with his family's. It will need to be shorter. Esme, contemplating the tree. An expensive pair of earrings, no a necklace, no earrings, and…goddamnit, Emmett as Jasper tried valiantly to hide his holiday thoughts from his wife.

Pride, in equal measures, Jacob and Bella, listening to Renesmee at the keyboard.

And then…a little girl. Well, no, Edward realized at once. Not a girl, a child. Blond hair hanging in ringlets down to thin shoulders, a hat in the child’s—his—hand. The hat, falling to the ground from an open fist, as the dress swung around the child’s ankles, the hair flying in the wind as the child—the boy—giggled, racing into a woman’s round, pregnant belly.

“Carlisle,” the woman scolded gently. “You’ll wake your sister. Quiet, child.” A glance across a room, firelight dancing from the hearth, where a cradle sat on the floor, a warm glow across the cheeks of a plump toddler. Then the warm laughter again, a hand caressing the swell that was to be the third child. A boy, Edward knew somehow, through that strange alchemy that was his own mind and the mind he knew almost every bit as intimately. Then the boy, scooped up, held tightly to the ample bosom even as he giggled and squirmed. The imagined scent—roses, fresh air, sweat, soot.

As quickly as it came, the whole scene vaporized, replaced with live piano music, the scent of resin, Esme’s gentle laughter, the glow of LED twinkle lights. Edward looked up, catching eyes from across the room. A muttered excuse, and the sound of denim on upholstery as his sire excused himself, nonchalantly, as though he’d forgotten something.

But when he hadn’t returned ten minutes later, Edward also made soft noises about needing to find something, pressed his lips to the crown of his daughter’s head, and said, “Keep it up, Sweet.” His wife, ever perceptive, looked up from the bench.

Carlisle? she mouthed, and Edward nodded.

The house wasn’t large. The two of them had chosen it for themselves a hundred years ago, only later to share it with the woman Carlisle had, in all his impulsivity and to Edward’s initial dismay, saved from her own attempt at death. Following a scent—especially this most familiar one—was easy, and a moment later, Edward found himself in the study. His father’s chair was turned toward the wall, staring at a bookcase full of all manner of tomes organized in some system which after a century, still remained impenetrable even to Edward.

He didn’t say anything; it wasn’t as though he could sneak up. They both said nothing, the only sound in the stillness of the room their inhalations and exhalations.

“A sister?” Edward said finally. The head turned, and two pairs of golden eyes met.

“And a brother,” Edward added, and Carlisle shrugged.

It was the 1640s. Six would have been common.

“That’s not at all what I was commenting on, and you know it.”

Carlisle gulped. Edward came closer, perching himself on the perpetually messy desk.

“I wasn’t even sure you appreciated the gift,” he said quietly. “You’ve said so little about it.”

The blond head shook furiously. “I’m sorry. I’m grateful. It’s just—”

A flurry of images. The boy, giggling again. Older, hair shorter, wearing breeches this time. The sister, just as towheaded, her long ringlets dancing behind her as her brother pulled her through a small churchyard, scattering the handful of hens which lived there. The woman, a stern and wry look on her face, bouncing a toddler in her arms. Then blankness, again, the cutting off that Edward knew, like the slamming of a steel door, as Carlisle closed off his thinking to protect Edward from things he did not wish Edward to be privy to. Then came the sensations: the twist in the pit of the stomach, the raw, searing grief as fresh as it ever had been.

When this quiet had continued for several minutes, Edward spoke up. “You would’ve died, you know.”

A nod.

“And none of us would be here.”

Rosalie’s face swam suddenly in Carlisle’s mind. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Edward raised his eyebrows. “You’d trade us? Esme?” A pause. "Me?”

His father bit his lip, an uncannily human fidget that had once been put into his repertoire on purpose, but had now become so ingrained it was just part of him. The image shifted again: a series of flashes, rapid, one after another. The boy, school-aged, holding bravely still while the woman bandaged a knee. A teen, lifting a playful toddler out of the sacristy of the church—the sacristy remembered, the toddler imagined. A fourth child, Edward realized. The towheaded boy grown tall, his face the face of the young man Edward was used to. Clutching hands with a woman in white, anxiety and adrenaline and joy as he stood before an altar, the woman beaming at him from the first pew. And finally, the woman, older, her hair graying, as the young man placed a squashed-face infant into her arms.

Edward knew this part now, understood that Carlisle was so deeply content that he lacked the ability to imagine a family other than the one he had. That his dreams had a way of mixing the present with the past with the imagined, as though all of it were true. That if Edward had been able to lift the imaginary bride's veil, he would've seen the woman whose voice he could still hear floating down the hallway. That the infant being handed over in the memory now was the only infant Carlisle had ever imagined having: even though he had met Edward at age 17, he had a firm idea of what he would’ve looked like at six pounds. No hair—redheads were usually born bald—a grip surprisingly firm for a one-day-old infant. He saw the way the imaginary Carlisle beamed as he handed the bundle over to the woman. The way her eyes halfway closed in delight. Edward felt in the memory the way the baby felt in the hands, and recognized the way Carlisle’s mind was mixing this imagined baby and his imagined weight with a concrete memory from September, seventeen years before: Edward’s daughter; Carlisle’s palms.

I wish she could meet you.

Swinging his legs off the desk, Edward let out a bark of a laugh.

"Carlisle, you’re the one who believes in heaven. You really think she hasn’t?”

The image which surfaced this time was so similar, it was hard to tell if it was Edward’s alone or Carlisle’s, or both. The woman, fully gray haired now, her face wrinkled and her hands beginning to show liver spots. Sitting in their living room, laughing and giving tree advice to Esme, listening attentively to Renesmee, joking about Edward and Carlisle with Bella.

“Come on, Carlisle. If she’s anywhere, she’s here.” He hopped off the desk. “And you hiding in your office is probably not what she’d want.”

The nod came slowly. I suppose you’re right. He ran a hand through his hair and attempted a smile. Standing, he placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “I am glad you’re here. All of you. Even though the house is way too crowded.”

He chuckled. “We’ll leave before New Year’s.”

“Is that a promise?”

Edward punched Carlisle in the bicep, but they both laughed. Carlisle gestured to the door.

Come. Let’s see what your mother has figured out about the tree.

Edward nodded, and followed Carlisle’s steps. But at the door, his sire stopped, gazing back toward the desk where Edward still stood. The young boy resurfaced, lying against the woman, the girl, still asleep, the unborn infant a flutter under his brother's rib. Slowly, the boy's eyelids, too, grew heavy.

Carlisle blinked, snapping his mind abruptly back to the study. The boy was replaced by books. Thank you for giving her back to me.

And Edward saw it. Obscured by two pieces of mail, but still on top of the pile, the scent of Carlisle’s fingers still fresh, as though he’d rifled through it as recently as this morning. The envelope that he’d prepared, lettered in Bella’s handwriting, given for Father’s Day. The name, lost to time, resurfaced with technology, and with it, memory, imagination, grief, and somehow, love. As he moved, he brushed aside the bank statements on top, leaving the whole envelope visible as he exited the room.

Sarah

it read.

Closing the study door, Edward turned out the light and headed back toward his family.

Masterpost/Prompts Montage Masterpost