birgittesilverbae reblogged
Bitches be like ‘I’m so tired and sleepy’ and then stay up doing hyperfixtation shit for the next 5 hours
...
Anonymous asked:
how frequently do the dads hook up after the divorce?
I meannnnnnn... more often than they should and not as often as they'd like to.
in the immediate aftermath there are a couple of nights of weakness, of reaching out for the familiar in a landscape that's so quickly turned hostile. stolen kisses, desperate and fleeting and achingly habitual. mary catching them in the garden shed is the final straw, and they shake some sense into themselves, retreat back behind the lines drawn in the sand between them
the first time lilith brings a new partner to mary and shannon's, she breaks up with them the following day. finds herself in a cab with liquor and bea's address fighting for space on her tongue. it's the same old story the morning after. lilith leaves, because she always leaves. beatrice stays, because there's nowhere for her to flee.
they hammer a fence down over those lines in the sand and don't cross it again until the night of the parent-teacher meeting
birgittesilverbae reblogged
ava recharge station
Anonymous asked:
will nature red in tooth and claw be camlilith endgame?
absolutely it will not.
birgittesilverbae reblogged
prompt for warrior nun (u know i’m going to send poetry)
“i ease the spade from her hand: i explain/ we aren’t here to eat, we are being eaten/ come on, pretty girl. let us devour our lives.”
hot damn ur rly on a natalie diaz kick huh
-
butterflies turn to snakes in the span of a step, twisting in her insides when the shop door swings open with barely a touch.
(hello, my name is yasmine amunet, dies on her tongue after a thousand practiced murmurs, useless and without recipient in the empty room.)
this is new, she thinks. grips the leather strap of her bag until it creaks. plenty of dirt and debris, sand and loam and broken clay, but lacking a tell-tale layer of even dust.
too new.
glass cracks underneath her slow steps, heart thudding loud in her chest. there is a metallic tang underneath the earth and must.
the stairs down are laughably easy to find, path scraped clear by the march of boots.
(there is no noise, save for the measly hello? she sends to the yawning dark.)
she swallows the rest, and heads down.
-
[[smth smth insert let there be light. and he saw that it is bad.]]
-
she knows bodies. she knows rigor mortis. she knows that the average human body contains around 1.2 to 1.5 gallons of blood and how nobody that has lost a gallon of it can end outside a grave.
(knows how, had she made it here even an hour earlier, she would be with them on the ground too.)
in the corner, blood smeared in uncoordinated swipes, is a map she had tried to find once, now gone mute.
(hello, hello, hello, she knows it will say if she gives it life.)
her hand reaches for the lever, and pauses before the last inch. hovering. trembling. the only breathing thing beneath the floor.
(if she turns it on, would she find survivors?)
there is reason that both Orders have been hidden from the history of the world.
(if she turns it on, would she only call back the devil?)
and there is reason - there must be - that she is led to stand here at this hour.
(still. her name is yasmine amunet.)
she flips the switch.
Anonymous asked:
Shannon and Mary -> Sparring
"Get the fuck off me!" Mary's face burns hot from the blood rushing to her head, and she claws at the arm looped loosely around her throat.
The stupid fucking nunlet leans down until her mouth is beside Mary's ear, the warmth of her breath making Mary's skin break out in goosebumps. "Yield." Her voice is soft, but the arm around Mary's throat draws tighter.
Mary reaches up and back past her head as spots begin to form in her vision. She scrabbles desperately at anything she can reach, drags nails across fabric and skin until her fingers catch in hair scraped back into a tight bun. She fists her hand in the girl's hair and pulls her head to the side, until she'll have to loosen her grip on Mary's throat or risk losing half her scalp. It's a juvenile trick, dirty, and still makes Mary feel sick to pull it when she remembers vividly just how much pain it causes, but it's for that reason that it's never failed her. Faced up against that pain, a pampered little Catholic school girl will always buckle. Always.
This one doesn't. A clump of hair tears free, sticks bloody to Mary's palm, but the nunlet doesn't flinch, doesn't waver, doesn't let herself be led astray from her goal. She tightens her hold yet again, presses her mouth even closer to Mary's ear. "Yield."
"Fuck you."
Mary's vision fades, and she's almost deafened by the blood pounding in her ears, but she'd swear on her fucking life that the response she receives is a bright laugh paired with – so quiet that it's almost inaudible – "You wish."
birgittesilverbae reblogged
it's gonna be okay some day
Camila + Lilith (platonic or romantic) -> "Do you still take requests?"
The tug is always, always fierce now, tearing at her skin, at her bones, and she lets it pull her into the firestorm. It's her choice. It's her choice. The tug comes hard and angry and she takes a deep breath and she chooses to follow.
Camila sits on the floor of the bell tower, her hips flush to the smooth stone of the wall, tablet sitting in the cradle of her crisscrossed legs. Her head bent, she pokes idly at it, a note here, there.
"Are you just going to lurk?"
Lilith almost startles over the edge of the tower but catches herself, sets herself back upright.
"It prickles when you're nearby," Camila continues without looking up, fingers drawn magnetic to brush at the back of her neck. "Early warning sign, you know? Though you've started bringing a scent with you too, so it's not quite as useful as it once was." Lilith hazards a sniff at the collar of her jumper and Camila laughs, a single sharp note. "I don't think it's you, unless you've taken to arson. And we both know that's not really your style, don't we?"
Lilith doesn't know how to respond to that, so she remains silent, tips her head forward to get a better look at Camila's tablet. She still has the piano application open, even with Lilith hovering over her, and that feels a slight as much as anything Camila has said to her, as any way Camila has acted towards her. She's long since passed the point where she feels the bite of the cut, though, long since passed the point where she still felt as though she deserves anything other than Camila's ire.
"Do you still take requests?" She ventures it carefully as Camila picks at the edge of her screen protector where it's curling up away from the glass. It's an olive branch further removed from their recent history than any other she has attempted to offer. Her intel that Beatrice was in Brussels had been met with an acid I'm aware, her mention of discovering another possible FBC base rebuffed with a clipped I've already investigated it.
"I do," Camila replies, and something frighteningly near to hope wells up in Lilith's chest. She waits with bated breath as Camila raises her head to meet her gaze. Her eyes are hard. "From friends. From you, I request silence."
birgittesilverbae reblogged
say yes to heaven
Anonymous asked:
meatshieldshotgun & 'extinguish'
Shannon doesn't even wet her fingertips before extinguishing the head of the waterproof match with a pinch. The campsite falls into darkness, pitch black slowly fading to grey as Mary's pupils dilate enough to let in the moonlight that casts patches of silver across Shannon's cheeks, the swell of her lips, the frozen blood still smeared down her chin.
"Nice party trick," Mary breathes, catching Shannon's chilled hand with her own, bringing it up to her mouth. The faint scent of smoke clings to them as she kisses the backs of Shannon's knuckles. "That how you get all the girls?"
"That's how I get all the girls' body temperatures back up," Shannon replies, distracted, reclaiming her hand so she can use it to shield the flame amongst the mess of tinder. She exhales gently across it, her breath coming in thick mist, the flame eating hungrily at the oxygen, at the curls of newsprint. Mary wonders at her, lit red from below, silver from above, gold from behind. Gold?
"Shan, the Halo," she warns. "The wraiths–"
Shannon's eyes dart over towards Mary, her mouth going thin as she stares back. "Shut the fuck up." Her voice is flat, without even the barest attempt at levity.
"Language." The word falls from Mary's mouth all in a jumble. The space blanket slung over her shoulders crinkles as she moves closer to Shannon, her braids crackling just as loudly in the stillness of the cold night. She cracks her hip against the sheer cliff in the lee of which they've found shelter, and she can't bite back the hiss that steals from her mouth.
Shannon abandons the fire in an instant in favour of turning fully towards Mary. Her wool sweater squelches at the rapidity of her movement, still heavy with water no matter how many times she's tried to wring it out. Her hands find Mary's brow, her neck, her fingers cold against Mary's skin. "Mary," she whispers, threaded through with desperation. "Please. I need you to hang on for a while longer, okay?"
"M'kay, just fuckin' cold," she murmurs, pressing forward into the warmth of Shannon's throat.
"I know, darling, I'm trying–" Her chest hitches against Mary, but she swallows thickly and her voice stays strong. "I've got this, alright? We're going to be okay."
birgittesilverbae reblogged
manager i cant come to work today i forgot how to mimic the behavior of a human. being
birgittesilverbae reblogged
Me when I plan out a story and want to tell everyone
birgittesilverbae reblogged
'i have to take medication because my immune system decided kinkshaming the trees is more important than breathing' is objectively an insane concept. thumbs down to seasonal allergies.
“I just want my body to stop telling shrubbery it is problematic”
Sex pollen is real and my body is violently rejecting it