#phantasplendent

                 SHE  JUST  ROLLS  HER  EYES  AT  YOU,  MERLE.   she  looks  like  a  disapproving  parent  as  she  glares  down  at  you,  arms  crossed  over  her  chest.    ‘    well,  i  told  you not  to  eat  the  rock.    ‘

poetry starters, ( accepting ): @phantasplendent​

lucretia releases a deep, slow breath through her nostrils, gaze sliding away from lup with only the barest hint of struggle.

when she’d returned, rocketing out from the pieces of the umbra staff a glittering blaze, lucretia couldn’t look at her enough, even in her effervescent lich form. she hadn’t left anyone memories to remember her by, but lucretia had hoarded her own, felt starved because one hundred years of memories couldn’t feed the ache of absence lup’s disappearance had left behind. her loss had been a linchpin, the final straw for her, and gods, she had searched and searched for her with the same fervor she’d pursued the relics, desperate to find her too, except…. her thoughts freeze, dissolve, candy floss in water. none of that really matters now, does it?

had that extraplanar deity—no, not deity, she thinks, that’s too quaint a word—extraplanar entity thanked her? lucretia’s thumb rubs over the calloused pads of her fingers where they rest at her side. in this moment, she can’t recall. she thinks not, and for that she’s grateful.

“i don’t want anyone’s gratitude,” she says, and for an instant she sounds so fucking tired. she is the shelves in her private quarters, overstuffed with books, bowing beneath the weight of them. she will carry this for the rest of the life she has left, and it’s there, heavy on her tongue.

a muscle in her jaw twitches, relaxes. she shuts her eyes; breathe in, then out. she’s good to go. lucretia finally looks to lup again, takes her in (and in and in, whole and real, and the sight of her is so novel, so wonderful, it nearly blows away all the bad of it):

mbmbam sentence starters, ( accepting ): @phantasplendent​

lucretia pauses in the midst of smearing jam all over the underside of taako’s door latch to turn wide eyes on lup.

“he’s your brother,” she whispers back fiercely, like lup doesn’t know, like the prank wasn’t her idea, like she won’t get nailed for this too. it’s nothing a little prestidigitation won’t clear up, but a cantrip isn’t going to miraculously whisk away taako’s irritation over getting jammed. realization hits like a freight train, is accompanied by a betrayed (and drunken, hiccuping) gasp. 

“he won’t kill you. i’m the patsy! lup.” lucretia twists the cap back onto the jar, holds it to her chest with a crinkle in her brow. “et tu?”