#< this is my writing tag I've decided

[questing-wulfstan]

@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...

Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.

The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.

Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.

They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.

Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.

“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”

Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.

“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”

“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”

Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.

“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”

Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.

“May I, then ?”

“You may.”

𝄽

They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.

“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”

Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.

“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”

“No ? Truly ?”

“No.”

Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.

“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.

They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.

“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”

Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.

“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”

“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”

“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”

Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.

Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.

A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.

Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.

The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[featherlouise]

The day I stop being afraid to draw wrinkles it's over for y'all

[onethousxndvoices]

took a break from my main projects to do some visdev practice. have a line up for a layton fic that'll probably never see the light of day

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[ray-ray-writings]

My Cinderella AU with Schlatt

Welp... Who would have thought that Schlatt would be the one out of all of the MCYTs to NOT be outed as an abuser....

Anywho, I watched the Cinderella movie with Camila Cabello and instantly wanted to write an AU of my own of Cinderella but I didn't want to put in the work to create my own new characters and establish them and all of that fun stuff. So I did what I do best, toss already established characters into a storyline. What a weird piece of work to post on my blog after several years...

But here you go, 16.3k words of a Cinderella AU with reader as Cinderella and Schlatt as Prince Charming. If you read, I appreciate you. Consider leaving a like, comment, and/or reblog and tell me whatcha liked about it. No pressure tho <3.

Summary: A Cinderella AU in which reader is a baker and Schlatt is a Prince. the two meet in a market square where the reader in turns insults Schlatt to his face without realizing who they're talking to and the story of the relationship that then ensues.

Pairing: JSchlatt x Gender Neutral!Reader (I tried to keep in gender neutral but I may have slipped here and there, if you notice any parts that happens let me know and I'll fix it!

Mostly fluff with a touch of angst

Content Warnings: all warnings that typically come with cinderella: ie dead parents, shitty step family, reader being told she doesn't deserve good things, the word papi... like twice... you'll see. The use of "Jonathon" being Schlatt's "real" first name, Swearing, second person POV, when the text is in italics it's as if it's following Schlatt in third POV, i hope that makes sense, shitty writing at the end because I still haven't figured out how to end stories uwu.

Please let me know if I missed anything.

Once Upon a Time,

You lived with your stepmother and two stepsisters. Your mother died when you were young. She died after being thrown from a horse, hitting her head off the ground, and never waking up. 

Your father had remarried within a year, but had swore to never love again. He married simply because he knew he was sick and didn’t want to die and leave you alone if he were to die when you were a minor. Sure enough, he passed when you were 15. 

One thing your parents had gifted you before their passing is your love for baking. You could bake like nobody’s business. You had tried to get a job at the bakery when you had come of age but the baker didn’t appreciate your helpful tips on what to improve on and what would make his baked goods taste better. So you just bake and hang out in the square, selling to those that know you and know of your business. 

You did your best to spend most of your time out of your home as your stepfamily was not kind to you. They teased and taunted you and made your life hell. You would have left the moment you were of age, but you had nowhere else to go. This was your family’s home, you didn’t make enough money baking on the side to justify moving out. So you were just waiting to meet someone who would sweep you off your feet and carry you away from here. 

It’s not ideal, but that is the way that life is. 

Across the land, Prince Schlatt was born and raised in the castle. He was waited on hand foot, life served to him on a silver platter. But the boy grew to a man with a kind heart, even if it tended to hide behind sarcasm and taunts. His father, King Philza, had done his best to teach Schlatt how to be a great ruler while his mother, Queen Kristen, had done her best to teach him how to be a loving man. 

Schlatt loves his parents, but sometimes wanted to be his own man without his parent’s hovering over his shoulder telling him who to be. To be who he wanted to be, without the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders.

King Philza has been harping on him for rejecting so many marriage proposals, lecturing him on how important it was for him to find a suitable match before his coronation so that everything was in order before it was time for him to take over the throne. 

Schlatt has always given the same response, “I don’t to marry just anyone. I want to marry for love, father, just like you.” 

Philza would roll his eyes but say nothing more on the subject until the next day. Kristen was always proud of the way her son would respond, but never interrupted the two. The supportive smile she always sent Schlatt as he left was incredibly telling though.

One of the only good things about your stepfamily was that they stayed out of the kitchen. Your stepmother learned quickly about how well you could cook and bake from how you always made meals for your father that she never felt the need to cook herself. Instead, she found it easier to boss you around and force you to cook for her and her daughters. 

You found you didn’t mind it though, the kitchen was your happy place. It was one of the only spaces where you knew that you wouldn’t be bothered, that for a moment while you rolled out dough or poured some batter you could pretend like everything in your life was perfect.

You needed more ingredients. For baking and for dinners. You had left the house with the small amount of money that your stepmother had given you and made your way to the market square. In your basket, a number of sweet treats to sell for your pocket cash to your normal customers after you run your errands. 

The sun feels nice on your face. You’re used to heat pressing into the as you stand over a hot stove or an open oven, so the sunlight shining on you makes you feel slightly at home. Comfortable even. Maybe a bit too comfortable and unaware of your surroundings because it’s not too long while you’re lost in thought before you slam into someone. The basket flies out of your hand and tumbles to the ground, several of the treats falling to the ground. 

You let out a gasp as you fall onto your butt on the ground. The man you have bumped into lets out a quiet “oh shit,” before reaching down and picking up some of the treats that have fallen out. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand for you to take. You carefully take his hand, allowing your eyes to scan the stranger. The first thing that you notice is his eyes. They’re fucking beautiful. The pools of dark chestnut brown bore into yours so deeply it momentarily takes your breath away. You’re able to see the way they fill with concern all the while they flick down and examine you, if you were of more a mind, you would blush. 

The next thing you notice is the mask that covers the lower half of his face. You stop your brows from furrowing at the sight. You continue to observe him. You note the way that his brown hair is pulled back, which is what allowed you to see his eyes so strikingly before. His clothes are a bit on the fancier side of those that come to the market. He’s strong too, you can tell by the way he pulls you up from the ground with no real effort exerted. His hands are on the softer side. He feels familiar but you can’t place where you know him. 

Oh fuck. You’re the prettiest person Schaltt has ever seen. He’s been introduced to countless nobles, never ending royalty, long lines of commoners, but none of them could compare to how absolutely stunning you look right now. And he’s just made a huge ass full of himself by running into you and sending some of your baked goods AND you flying to the ground. At least he was smart enough to wear a mask to hide his face and therefore his identity. He knows his facial hair is incredibly recognizable. Even if he wasn’t presenting as the crowned prince, he better make this right. 

“It’s alright,” you respond once you’ve shaken yourself out of your stupor, reaching for your basket. He quickly hands it back to you. You do a quick inventory and note that about a third of your stock had fallen to the ground. “Great, just great,” you murmur quietly to yourself. 

“Again, I’m so sorry about that… let me replace what you’ve lost. Allow me to walk you to the bakery so you can buy more.” The stranger says, motioning toward the bakery, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The laugh you let out causes the man’s shoulders to deflate, causing you to clear your throat and instantly start explaining. “No, no, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Rather laughing at the thought of me buying anything from that fucking guy.” 

His brows furrow as he looks at the pastries. “You didn’t get them from the baker? Where did you get them from then?” 

“I made them myself.” You answer simply, giving a small shrug. “The baker didn’t want to hire me and so I bake them at my house and sell them on the square to a few people.” 

His brows hit the top of his forehead. “Oh shit, really? I guess I just made you lose income then, huh? Let me pay for them then.”

“Oh, no really it’s okay. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.” 

“No really. I insist. Please. It’s the least I can do.” He states before digging into his pockets and pulling out 5 gold pieces and pressing them into your hand. 

You stare at the gold in shock. “Sir, I can’t accept this. I only charge 2 copper for one cookie. This is far too much, please take it back.” 

Schaltt panics. It’s been forever since he’s had an economics class and he isn’t sure how much money is a lot of money to common folk. He realizes 5 gold is probably a bit too much, especially after you tell him of what you usually charge. It’s too late to back out now. 

“Nah,” he answers. “I guess it just means you have to give me the rest that’s in the basket.” 

Without hesitation, you hold the basket out for him to take. He’s surprised by your quick movement but carefully takes the basket from your hands. He grabs the cloth that covers the basket gently and carefully pulls it back, revealing a plethora of baked goods, the sight makes his mouth water. “Woah, these look professionally made.” 

You let out a huff and puff out your chest a bit more. “Well I am a professional. And they would look better, but someone caused the basket to hit the ground.” 

His laugh may be the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. It makes your heart flutter and you have to will the heat to not flood your cheeks. “I apologized for that already,” He teases. 

“Yeah well, it still happened didn’t it,” you shoot back. 

He laughs again, which surprises you. Most people would have called you rude by now and left you to stand here alone. But not this strange stranger. You don’t mind his presence though. “You’re funny…” He trails off

You realize he’s waiting for your name and you supply it to him. He echos it back, stating it slowly as if to savor every syllable, to test how it feels on his tongue and his teeth before he hums. “I’m charmed to meet your acquaintance,” He states, reaching out grabbing your hand, bending at the waist, and pressing the back of your hand to his masked lips. It takes everything in you to will the blood to NOT rush to your cheeks. 

He drops your hand before straightening up. “Now if you don’t mind, I will be trying one of these delectable looking desserts.” 

He reaches into the basket and pulls out a chocolate chocolate-chip cookie. “Oh fuck yes. These are my fucking favorite.” 

You can’t stop the grin and giggle that escapes you.

The stranger turns from you and for a moment your heart falls and your stomach turns as you think that he’s walking away from you. But you’re able to see his hand move up to the lower half of his face and you realize he’s pulling his mask down in order to eat. You quickly look away to give the man his privacy. You may be curious as to what he looks like, but you value respecting his choices above all else. 

Holy fuck it’s one of the tastiest things he’s ever eaten. His eyes close as he groans at the taste that fills his mouth. He’s glad he had the sense to turn around and his face and expression from you. He couldn’t imagine how embarrassing he looks right now. 

You hear him let out a groan of approval and you can only assume that something has hit his tongue. “This is delicious.” Your assumptions are confirmed as his voice comes out muffled from the food in his mouth. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” you chide, looking at the bustling people of the market stalls.

Schlatt chuckles, pulling the mask back up and turning back to face you. He’s stunned for a moment to not meet your eyes. Realizing why you’re angled and looking the way that you are. His own heart skips a beat before he clears his throat. He takes a moment to chew and swallow before softly letting you know you’re good to look. 

You’re slightly disappointed to find the mask still in its place but you understand the want for privacy perhaps more than most. “So it was good then?” You ask. 

He nods enthusiastically. “It was fucking amazing. I can’t wait to get back to the castle and try the rest of them.” He says, realizing a moment too late his slip. 

Your brows hit the top of your forehead, “The castle? Do you live in the castle?” You can’t stop the question that falls from your lips.

“Yeah, I’m a guard. I live in the castle, and I’m a guard. Today’s my day off.” He explains. His words are rushed, but who are you to question a man you just met.

You give a couple nods, “I see,” you state simply, “That makes sense.” 

Internally Schlatt lets out a loud breath of relief that you bought the lie. The castle has been his home his entire life and he wasn’t thinking when he spoke so he’s glad you easily bought his excuse of being a guard.

“It makes sense considering you just handed me 5 gold like it’s not more than I will make in two months and King Philza makes sure that the guards get paid an excellent salary… not that he makes sure the rest of the citizens get paid the same. But that’s neither here nor there.” You huff. 

The stranger’s brows lift. “What do you mean by that?” 

Your face burns as you catch what you just admitted. “Oh nothing.” You rush. “Sorry you probably are more than happy with the decisions the king makes. Not to imply anything. Sorry.” 

“No, no it’s alright. I want to hear it.” 

And want to hear it, he does. No one has the guts to speak so plainly to him when they’re around him. So he wants to hear it. The good, the bad and the ugly. 

You clear your throat and square your shoulders. “Well if you insist. Often it feels like the king, the whole royal family really, doesn’t care about those that do not live in the castle. I can’t get a job because no one can afford to hire anyone because everyone is just barely scraping by. It’s like he can’t see past his own front lawn. Which sucks because everyone talks about what a great guy he is, but sometimes I don’t think he’s a very good king.”

Schlatt hums in acknowledgement. You bring up some really good points. He also sometimes feels like his father forgets he’s supposed to be ruling for the people and isn’t supposed to be ruling his son’s life… speaking of. “Well I’m sure you can’t wait for his son to take over the throne then? Schlatt?” He is instantly startled by the loud laughter that bubbles from your throat.

“Schlatt? That big, petty,  man-baby? Yeah. Sure. I’m excited to see how that big man-baby decides to rule the kingdom. You know, I heard that he grew those mutton chops to make himself more unattractive to potential suitors. I think he didn’t realize how fucking good he looks with them. At least from what I’ve seen from a distance. I think he makes them work, and I’m definitely not the only one in the kingdom that agrees. I think he just needs to bite the bullet and just… I don’t know. Do it.” 

Schlatt once again thanks his past self profusely for the idea of wearing a mask to hide his face because he can feel the way his cheeks heat up to what he is sure is a bright red. You’re not particularly wrong. That was the original thought. To make himself look unkempt and not put together in an attempt to drive away potential suitors but he grew to like how they looked and grew fond of the hair. 

“I don’t think he should just bite the bullet and marry the first person that asks for his hand” he defends, “I think he wants to marry for love. Not for some political alliance. I think that’s admirable.” 

“Oh I agree. My apologies. That’s not what I meant. I meant he needs to bite the bullet and be fucking honest with the kingdom. The news that we get from the castle is that he’s the one that’s been rejected. That he wants to find the perfect alliance. That he wants what’s best for the kingdom. And while I agree that maybe he does, he needs to be fucking honest with us and tell us the truth. That he’s looking for love. Not what would ‘be best for the kingdom.’ We don’t mind that’s what’s happening, it’s the fact we’re being lied to, ya know?”

“Huh, so that’s the news that is coming out of the castle… I’ll have to talk to someone about that.” 

Your breath catches slightly. “Shit. Sorry. I don’t want to get either of us in trouble. Forget me and my words. I know not of what I speak.” 

“No, sweets. You have valid points. They deserve to be heard. I won’t mention your name if you wish. But I will make them hear me. I’m actually rather close with the prince.” He can’t help but internally snicker to himself. Closer than you know. 

The blood drains from your face. “Of course you are. Of course I complain about the prince to someone that has direct connection with him… fuck. Okay. Cool. Good to know. Well… I have to go. I have to get my ingredients still and I must be home before stepmother gets there. It was a pleasure meeting you.” You state quickly before attempting to rush past him. 

You're stopped by his hand grasping your shoulder gently, causing you to turn around to face him. “Will I ever see you again?” 

The way he asks is so soft and gentle. It causes your heart to pound loudly and the breath to pause in your throat. “Maybe,” you breathe out. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment more before it hits you. “I have a carrier pigeon. I’ll send it with a letter to the castle and we can talk like that. Maybe sometime we can meet again. Maybe on one of your days off.” 

The man’s beautiful brown eyes light up with delight. “That would be amazing. I look forward to hearing from you.” He allows his hand to trail from your shoulder, down your arm, to your hand, and he lifts the hand to his lips before placing a kiss to it. He gives you a soft wink as he drops your hand. You turn away as you blush, willing yourself to calm down. 

“Oh!” You startle, “I forgot to ask your name-“ the words die on your lips to find the spot next to you vacated with the tall stranger nowhere in sight. “Great. Just great… well. I better get going. Those cookies won’t bake themselves.” 

Schlatt has never felt so giddy. He can’t wait to hear from you. He also realizes he never gave you a name, he’ll just have to keep his eye out for a new and unfamiliar carrier pigeon.

 

You debate with yourself when you get home what the proper waiting time is for sending a stranger a letter with the pigeon. Because you wrote one as soon as you got home and it was ready to send within two hours of meeting him. Sending one that quickly may spook him. It could cause him to think you’re weird. 

You decide you’ll wait a couple hours, bake cookies and make dinner and then when your stepmother allows you to retire to your room, that is when you’ll send it. And so that is what you do. You check over the letter a thousand times before you tuck it into the envelope and hand it to your carrier pigeon. “To the castle pigeon, look for a man with brown hair and brown eyes… well that’s specific huh?... I really should have gotten his name. Okay… well… I guess we will half to wing it.” You scribble down something on the envelope and hand it to the pigeon who takes it with its foot and flies off to the castle. 

Schlatt is taking a stroll in the gardens, kicking himself for not asking for a better way to contact you. He hadn’t heard anything from you and at this point he’s worrying he never will. He’s spent most of his time analyzing the conversation over and over again in his head and realized that he probably came off too strong and too weird and he will be lucky to ever see you again. 

He jumps as a pigeon lands on his shoulder,to his head snapping to the side to meet the wide, vacant eye of the bird. It gives a soft coo before shaking and moving its foot, drawing attention to the letter in its grasp. His heart leaps to his throat in hope before he swallows and carefully takes it. 

He grins at the writing on the front of the envelope. “Sir Charmed, lover of chocolate chip cookies.” Instantly all his worries melt away as he plucks the letter from its hiding and he reads the words. Once. Twice. A Hundred times. Schlatt rushes inside to carefully compose his response. 

You don’t go a day without hearing from each other for the next couple of weeks. You exchange letters. You tell him about your life and how you got your love of baking, and your want of leaving the house. He tells you the pressures of his job and how sometimes he just wants to run away from it all and explore the world. You make him promise that if he does, he’ll take you with him. He promises. 

You forget to get his name and at this point you’re too embarrassed to ask him for it, instead electing to call him a bunch of nicknames, mainly being Sir Charming, hoping he never catches on. He never seems to. 

The two of you agree to meet up once more, somewhere a little more quiet than the market square, but still public (because you have to be proper.) You’re sure to wear the cutest outfit you can manage to put together and bake the best batches of cookies you’ve ever baked. 

“Where are you going?” Ted asks with his brow raised, watching Schlatt with his arms crossed as Schlatt sneaks through the castle halls. 

Schlatt freezes and slowly turns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Sureeeee,” Ted draws, not convinced at all. “You’re just creeping through the halls in one of your best outfits going… nowhere.” 

Schlatt sighs, not being able to hide from his best friend. “I’m going to meet them.” 

Ted raises an eyebrow. “Them? The one you’ve been writing all those letters to? Are you sure that’s a good idea” 

“I know that it is. Please. Cover for me?”

Ted sighs but can’t deny Schlatt has been happier in the past couple weeks than he has been for the past couple months. “Okay fine. But you’d better bring me back one of those sugar cookies.” 

Schlatt gives Ted a toothy grin. “We’ll see.” 

You give him a shy smile as he appears. “Hey, you,” you greet standing, wiping your hands on your pants. 

“Hey sweets,” he greets back, his voice muffled through the mask still adorned on his face. You didn’t mind too much. He explained that it made him more comfortable, especially because in his work he has to wear something to cover his face under the helmet, it’s just easier for him to wear it. As much as you want to see his entire face, you were willing to respect his choices. 

“How are you?” 

“Can’t complain, especially now that I get to see your beauty standing before me.” 

You can’t stop the blush that floods your cheeks. “Oh hush. Here. I’ve made you something special.” You tell him, turning and grabbing the special baked good that you made him. “It’s a chocolate chocolate-chip brookie. Or a double chocolate chip cookie baked inside a brownie. I remember you said that you loved brownies and cookies and sometimes can’t choose which to have so I made you both… well two in one.” 

You raise your hand with one of the treats toward him, facing the basket still, still trying to will down the blush on your cheeks.

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” you have to hold in the jump as you feel his soft breath against your hand. You will yourself to stay in place as his lips brush against your outstretched fingers as he gently takes a bite out of the treat in your hand. A loud groan escapes him, similar to the one you heard the day the two of you met. “Okay, I take back everything I’ve said… This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” 

All of your hard work is ruined as the blood rushes back to your cheeks into a blush. “What have I told you about talking with your mouth full?” You deflect 

The treat is removed from your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm. “My apologies, your highness.” His words are even more mumbled, telling you he shoved the brookie all the way into his mouth. 

You scoff. “Careful now, you’ll get me hung for treason with that nickname.”

His laugh garbled out around the baked good. “Surely the king isn’t that cruel.” His hand rests on your shoulder and turns you to face him, the mask sitting on his face once again. 

You laugh back and shrug, “I don’t know. I’ve never met the man.” 

“Well I have. So I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” 

“Is that so?... I guess I’ll just have to trust you then.” 

You stare into his brilliant and beautiful eyes for a while longer before he moves, clearing his throat and gesturing forward, “Shall we then?” 

“I am getting sick of these games you’re playing, Jonathan.” King Philza booms loudly. 

Schlatt rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not playing games with you father, I’ve told you. I want to marry for-”

“For love. I understand. But how can you marry for love when you push away every single option I give you. You haven’t given yourself a chance to fall in love with anyone I have brought before you and I am growing tired of it. If you do not pick someone within the next month, I will be choosing someone for you. End of story. Am I understood?”

Schlatt internally panics. He knew this day was coming. He knew he was pushing his father too far. He had held out for too long. His stomach drops… There’s only one person he could see himself marrying at this point… 

Assuming he had been understood, Philza turns to walk out the door. “Let���s throw a ball,” the words tumble from Schlatt’s lips. 

Phil turns back around with an eyebrow raised. “A ball?”

“You want me to marry quickly. I want to marry for love. So what better way than to throw a ball, invite everyone in the kingdom, emphasizing the invitations for single people, and then I’ll be able to talk and dance with people all night. And I swear to you, if we throw this ball I will find a betrothed by the end of the month.”

Phil is silent for a while. Tossing the words over in his head for a moment before giving a single nod. “So be it.” He then turns and exits the room. 

Schlatt lets out a harsh breath. Well that was easier than expected. Now to convince you to come to a ball. 

It takes less convincing than one might think. 

You get a letter from your Sir Charming, who tells you there will be a ball and that he wants you to come as his guest. He tells you that you’d be able to bring some of your baked goods to give out to nobles to promote your baking, plus you’d be able to see him. You hate to admit how much the latter of the two sold you on the idea. You sent back your acceptance of the invitation. 

The money you’ve gotten from selling your baked goods is supposed to go to a moving out fund, but you can’t help but take out a couple of the gold pieces that he gave you in the first meeting, finding it only fitting that his money buys your outfit for the ball

It’s a really pretty outfit, it fits you well enough, you had to buy it a size larger because they didn’t have your size and you didn’t have enough money to get it tailored. But it didn’t matter that much to you. Your mystery man had seen you in grubbier garment, anything would be a step up from what you met him in. 

The news of the ball gets announced to the entire kingdom, and your stepmother is perhaps more excited than you are. She thinks at least one of her daughters will win the heart of the prince. When you voice your want to go, she forbids you. You tell her that you don’t even want to be in the presence of the prince, you just want to see the snack table, she sneers at you but says nothing further, making you believe that perhaps she will allow you to go. 

You find yourself in your kitchen, finishing up some of the baked goods you were to take to the ball tonight. The loud clacking of your stepmother’s heels echo on the tile, the door swings open, your stepmother enters in a rage. Your heart stops as you look up from your desserts and see your outfit clutched in her hands. 

“What is this?” She hisses, waving the fabric at you as she gets closer. 

“My outfit for the ball,” you answer as calmly as you can, speaking around the lump in your throat. 

“Oh!” She lets out in mock surprise, “Is it now? I thought you said you were not going to be trying to win the attention of the prince.” 

You furrow your brow and remain standing straight with your shoulders squared back, “I am not. I have no intention of wooing the prince, stepmother.” 

“Then why have you chosen to wear such an attention seeking outfit? Surely you were planning on going behind my and my daughter’s back. I should have known you were going to do something like this.”

“Please, stepmother. You must believe me. I have no--” 

“I do not believe you, you little wench. You’ve always have looked for ways out of this house, to one up me and my daughters. I will stand for this no more.” 

You want so badly to lash out, to rip the outfit from her hands, go running from the room, and get dressed. But you can’t move. You can barely breathe. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your stomach turning, and your body locking up. You can only watch as your stepmother glides over to the stove. Her eyes glide over the stove top before smirking. She dunks the outfit into the melted chocolate you were going to use to cover some of the treats. 

To make matters worse, part of the cloth flops over the edge of the pan and lands directly on the open flame that was on to melt the chocolate. Your stepmother lets out a triumphant laugh as the outfit catches fire, turning around and leaving the kitchen.

The sound of the door closing behind her causes you to leap into action finally. You rip the outfit out of the pot and toss it in the sink, dousing it with water, extinguishing the flame. The chocolate clings to the fabric, refusing to let go easily as you put your entire being into scrubbing the outfit. 

Sobs begin falling from your lips as you realize, even if you get all of the chocolate out of this outfit, it will never dry in time for the ball. Plus. you don’t have fabric to sew up the part where the flame ate part of it. Your outfit is ruined. Your plans are ruined. The night is ruined. 

You barely register your stepmother calling for your stepsisters, telling them it was time to go, and the door opening and closing behind them. The world seems to spin around you, sinking you to your knees as you sob loudly, clutching the soaking web fabric to your chest. 

The cool tile welcomes you, the warmth of the oven soothes you, and the wetness of the outfit grounds you. The sobs turn into soft hiccups then to silent sniffles as you stare in front of you. Mentally you begin to write your apology letter to Sir Charming about your abscess from the ball. How you were going to go, you really were, you just didn’t have anything suitable to wear. 

He’ll probably ask you why you didn’t plan better. He’ll probably be angry. He may not want to speak to you again. You’ll just have to deal with it and beg for forgiveness. And if he decides not to forgive you…. You’ll just have to live with it. 

A soft knock echoes from the front door. You’re so in your own head, you’re not sure it’s a real sound, but then it comes again, a little louder this time. You muse it may be one of your steps who forgot something and didn’t think to bring a key. 

In a zombie-like fashion, you let the fabric drop from your hands before standing up slowly. It almost feels as if you’re floating as you move to the front door. Your hand somehow finds the doorknob, unlocking it, before turning it and opening it up. 

You startle slightly at the sight in front of you. A frail looking older man stands before you. He has grey hair, a hunchback, and a shawl that comes up and covers the top of his head and shoulders. “Oh… hello. Can I help you?” You ask softly, looking out past him wondering where he came from. Your house wasn’t necessarily in the middle of nowhere, but you definitely had your privacy from neighbors. You lived on the edge of the kingdom, no one ever really comes out here. 

“Hello there, deary.” His voice is kind and his lips turn upwards slightly. “I am sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I was just on my way home and my stomach let out an awful grumble and I was just wondering if you could spare a bite to eat? I won’t take much, I promise, just something to get me home.”

You don’t know what made you trust this stranger, maybe it was just your deep need to help those around you, maybe you were still in shock from what your stepmother had done minutes… an hour? You’re not sure. But you give him a smile. “Oh yes, of course. Please come in sir. Lucky for you, I was just making something sweet. So you can snack on that while I make you dinner.” 

You move out of the way and let the man enter your house. 

“Oh, please deary, no need to make me a whole meal.” 

“Nonsense,” you answer, guiding him into the kitchen, “I want to make sure you’re well fed for your journey home.” You hand him some of the cookies from the counter. “Here, make yourself at home.”

The man takes the cookie from your hands gently before sitting himself down at the counter. “You are far too kind… I wasn’t even sure anyone would be home. I heard the royal family is throwing a ball, and everyone is invited.” 

You can’t help the laugh that falls from your lips as you begin making dinner for this kind man. “Yes, well, my stepmother believed me unworthy to attend… went as far as to destroy my outfit…” you take a moment to look down at the outfit, still soaking at your feet. You snap yourself out of the stupor, “Sorry. Not to dump.” 

The man hums as he takes a bite of the cookie. “I see…. Oh this is delicious. You should run a bakery.” He exclaims. 

A shy smile plays on your lips as you plate his food. “That’s the goal…One day. Thank you… Anyway, dinner is served!” You place the plate in front of him, your smile growing. 

The man instantly digs in and hums in delight at the taste. The two of you converse as he eats, he talks about his life and you give him more insight into yours. Telling him of how you got your love of baking and your hopes of owning a bakery, but not working for the baker in the village. 

Soon, he’s down to his last bite of dinner. He pops it in his mouth before leaning back into his chair. “Wow, that hit the spot. Thank you again deary, for dinner and the delightful conversation…” 

You give him a smile, “Of course, it’s my pleasure… I just realized I never got your name.” 

“You can call me Quackity…AKA” 

Suddenly golden light surrounds the man in front of you, forcing a gasp out of your lips. “What’s going on?” You exclaim as the light draws closer to the man, glowing brighter. 

Through squinted eyes, you watch the wrinkles fall from the man’s face. It’s as if an ink pot spills from the shawl the rests on his head, his hair turning black. The fabric morphs into a dark grey beanie that remains covering the top part of his hair. His spine straightens, his outfit morphing into a sharp tuxedo with golden wings protruding from his back. His piercing eyes, suddenly getting covered by black sunglasses. 

The golden motes of light fade from existence, the old man no longer in front of you, a young man now sitting before you. 

“Your fairy godmother…father…papi? Ah who knows.” 

You stare wide-eyed, mouth agape at the man that now sits in front of you. “What the fuck?” You whisper. “Who are you?”

The young man tilts his head and gives a playful grin. “I just told you, silly. I’m your fairy god-Papi. You can also call me Quackity. But I’ve watched over you, and I had to make sure you were still a good person. We don’t have time for the full backstory, we have a ball to get you too, dulces.” 

You stare at him, your mouth moving like a fish out of water. “What are you talking about? I can’t go to the ball, my outfit is ruined, I don’t have a way to get there. I can’t… Don’t you have to get home?” 

Quackity laughs causing you to pout to play on your lips. Quackity notices, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, you’re just too sweet. I know you think we just met, but you have to trust me. You’ve already let me in your home, you may as well trust me to do this as well.” 

You puff up your cheeks with air as you toss your thoughts back and forth, debating his words. Maybe you’re asleep. Maybe you crashed and fell asleep on the kitchen floor and this is all just a dream. At this point, that would make the most sense. You pinch the skin on your thigh, flinching but looking around. When nothing around you changes, you’re forced to take this situation as reality. Incredibly weird, fucked up reality. 

You meet Quackity’s bright eyes again, his kind smile never fading. “Okay.” You speak softly, letting your shoulders relax. “I trust you.” 

His grin grows bigger and he claps his hands once in delight, holding them in front of his chest for a brief moment, looking you over excitedly. “I knew I chose you for a reason. Let’s get this done then, shall we?” 

Quackity claps twice and the golden light fills your vision again, this time though, they’re surrounding you. Your clothes shift and change, the fabric changes and gets tighter to your body. Your hair moves around on its own, which feels weird at first, but then you realize that it feels like someone is doing your hair and you think back to your mother and father doing your hair when you were little. You feel the flour and the sugar fall from your face and your fingertips as the light cleans you up. 

Your gaze moves down to your feet and your breath catches at the shoes you now adorn. They’re breathtaking, literally apparently. They’re made of glass, the majority of the shoe being see through, but a gorgeous pattern of color, as if spun sugar swirled throughout. They’re insanely comfortable too. You’d think that shoes made of glass would be uncomfortable, but they’re not. They’re perhaps the most comfortable shoes you’ve ever worn. 

Soon, the light fades and you turn to find Quackity holding a mirror. The outfit is beautiful and truly made for a ball. It’s actually your size and fits you well in all of the right places. Your hair is beautiful as well, pulled back to show your face, but is done up in an intricate way. Your face, as you felt, is clear of the evidence of your baking. 

“I look good,” you whisper, turning slightly, examining yourself from different angles. 

“I know, I did well, didn’t I?” Quackity boasts, the feathers of his wings ruffling at the slight praise. 

You look from the mirror to catch his gaze. “You did. But I still don’t have a way there, I don’t want to walk.” 

Quackity shakes their head. “Oh yee of little faith. Grab those boxes of treats and follow me.” 

You whip around and find all of the baked goods you were working on packed neatly in your boxes. The magic must have moved them while you were getting dolled up. You blinked away the happy tears and scooped up the boxes and scurried out the door after Quackity. 

You stand back and watch as Quackity waves his hands around, the golden magic illuminating the dark night. It swirls around a pumpkin in your garden you were planning on using for a pie when it got ripe, making it grow larger and larger, changing from a thick orange pumpkin skin to a brilliant white carriage with golden details. 

The sheep that wanders your small farm gets surrounded by the light and is transformed into a beautiful woman who bends at the waist in front of you. “My lady,” she speaks. You curtsy back at her, giggling. You can’t believe this is real. 

Two field mice get transformed into a carriage driver and their assistant. Your carrier pigeon you’ve been using gets enlarged into a giant pigeon which the driver and assistant immediately move to get the pigeon hooked up to the carriage. Quackity moves over to stand by you, grinning as the golden light fades away as everything comes to order. “Ta da!” He says, holding his hands out and wiggling his fingers towards to new carriage and humans there to take you to the ball.

You can’t stop yourself from turning to him and throwing your arms around him, pulling him closely to you. He lets out a soft “oof” but wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “Thank you so much… fairy god….papi.” 

Quackity barks out a laugh but squeezes you tighter. “Of course, dulces. Now, this magic doesn’t come without a downside.” He says, pulling away and looking you in the eye. “Nothing too bad, but the magic will fade at midnight. The carriage will go back to a pumpkin, the footman back to mice and your sheep lady to a sheep. Your outfit will fade. It will all end at midnight. So, go, have fun at the ball, eat, drink, make friends, do it all. But when that clock strikes midnight, run like hell little lady.” 

You give him a short nod. “I understand… thank you. Will I ever see you again?” 

Quackity smiles softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “I’ll never be far away from you, dulces.” 

You know that means probably not, buy you decide to ignore it as you give him another hug. 

He hugs you back before  pulling away again. “Enough sap, you have a ball to go to. Go on! Get!” He pushes you toward the open door of the carriage. You giggle, gather the boxes of baked goods you had set down, and move to the carriage. 

Puffy, the lady in waiting, climbs in the carriage after you, closing the door behind her, before hitting the top of the carriage, causing the driver to give a shout and the carriage rocks forward. 

You glance out the window toward the house and find Quackity watching the carriage leave, his hands pressed to his chest. You bring your hand up and give a small wave. Quackity raises his hand and waves after you, until you cannot see him any longer. 

Schlatt was going a little crazy. It was as if the entire kingdom had shown up. Everyone was here. Everyone but you. You had promised that you would come in the letter that you sent a week ago, but maybe you had changed your mind. He hopes you hadn’t though. Afterall, he swore to his father he would be betrothed by the end of this night. 

He had met countless single village people, all trying to bat their eyes hard enough to make him take a second glance, but none of them were you. He found himself slumping down in his throne, brushing off the glare his father threw over his shoulder. Pretending not to hear the, “This is what you wanted. At least act like you want to be here.” He hissed over. Schlatt just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 

It becomes apparent he has met everyone here tonight and still no sign of you. Until there’s a large commotion by the snack table. His gaze shoots over and his heart picks up at the sight. It’s you. You look so different from the other times he’s seen you, but it is you. He’s on his feet in an instant and rushing over. 

You arrive later than everyone else at the ball, but honestly you’re totally okay with that. Less attention to yourself. You give a small bow to your servants for the evening, giving your carrier pigeon a few scritches before ducking into the castle. You hope you’ll be able to find your Sir Charming quickly so you can stick to him for the entire night. You decide you’ll first hit up the snack table to set up your baked goods and sign for the other nobles to taste just like Sir Charming said to do. 

You find the table is already packed with baked goods from the bakery. You take it upon yourself to begin moving some of the treats over to make room for your treats. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar voice booms from behind you. 

You roll your eyes at the voice but turn around and face the baker, Mr. Lou Hamani. “I was invited to display my baked goods at this ball. So I’m simply making room.” You answer before turning back around and putting more desserts out. 

Lou moves to stand beside you at the table and begins to grab at your treats. “I think not you disrespectful child. I am being paid by the king’s advisor himself for these desserts. I will not have you screwing over my chance to impress the nobles that are here today at this ball. You will pack up and leave at once.” 

“I will do no such thing, I was invited to set up shop here by a castle staff member and I intend to do so.” You huff. Lou pays your words no mind and continues to gather up the things you’ve baked in his arms. “Hey, put those down. Give those back.” If he hears you he pretends like he doesn’t and cotiunes what he’s doing. It’s then you begin to try and grab your treats out of his hands. 

The baker snaps at you, “get your hands off of me.” 

“Give me my things back!” 

You’re so invested in what is going on in front of you that you don’t realize that the entire ballroom’s eyes are on you. 

In the middle of your squabble, someone loudly clears their throat. You then realize you’re in public and everyone can see you. You decide to still not care and face it with confidence. The baker looks over his shoulder and seems to pale at the sight. Your brow slightly furrows and you turn around. 

Deep pools of chestnut brown lock with yours and they’re just as fucking beautiful as the day you first met them. They fill you with a sense of calm, but at the same time nerves as butterflies fill your stomach. You think you will never tire of looking him in the eyes. 

You find your eyes drifting down and you feel your stomach lurch and your heart stop. You’re seeing his face uncovered for the first time. He’s so fucking handsome… 

So fucking handsome with those god fucking damn mutton chops. 

“Your highness,” you hear the baker greet shakily from behind you. 

Your thoughts are confirmed. The man you met that day in the market, the one you’ve been sending letters to, the one you met once more, the one you’ve been slowly developing feelings for. Is Prince fucking Schlatt himself. Of fucking course he never told you his name. Of fucking course he never showed his face. It’s been him this whole time. 

Oh fuck. 

You’ve shit talked about him to his fucking face. 

You’re fucked. 

Gods. You look beautiful. He didn’t know anyone could ever look this good. He’s so fucking happy you came. 

His eyes meet yours and he can tell you’re in shock. He was a bit surprised you figured it out, that your Sir Charming was actually the prince. The other part of him feels fuzzy that you can recognize him just from his eyes. He can only hope that you forgive him for lying to you. 

“Mr. Hamani,” He greets easily, his eyes not leaving yours. He’s trying to decipher what it is you’re thinking, but your shocked expression masks any else you may be thinking. “Would you kindly unhand my favorite baked goods from my favorite baker? You’ll have to forgive me sir, while I find your treats delicious, I find theirs simply irresistible. I invited them and told them to set up shop here. I apologize that no one informed you in advance.” 

The baker stutters but gives a quick bow. “Of course, your highness. No need to apologize to me. I was simply surprised at their appearance is all. They have always been rather disruptive and I wanted to ensure it wasn’t something of that sort happening again… I apologize, your highness.” 

Schlatt gives a simple wave of his hand. “Forgiven.” He speaks. 

The baker dumps the treats from his hands back on \to the table and scurries away. Schlatt strides over and snatches up a double chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, moaning at the taste, before turning to face you. He gives a shy smile. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello,” he states softly as if nerves have invaded his entire stomach. As if he has a right to be nervous after the shit he let you get away with. 

“Hello,” You answer tensely. 

The two of you stand there, staring at each other for a moment. You haven’t even noticed that the entire ballroom is still at a standstill, staring. 

You’re the first to move. You charge forward at him, your finger rising in the air, pointing directly at him. “You. I can’t believe that you-” 

Prince Schlatt grabs your hand out of the air, bows, and brings the back of your hand up to his lips. The feeling of his soft lips on your hand sets the flesh there ablaze. You feel your face flush with searing heat along with the heat that floods your entire body. He mutters your name softly, lips still pressed to your hand, sending butterflies soaring in your stomach. 

“Prince Schlatt.” You utter, curtsying slightly. 

He stands back up to his full height and gives you a soft, lopsided grin. “May I have this dance?” 

All of the heated words you wanted to sling his way die on your tongue. You can’t help but wonder if this is all a prank. Like if you accept, he is going to laugh in your face and you’re going to be tossed in the dungeon. 

But then you meet his eyes. 

Those damn fucking eyes. 

They tell you so much, you’re surprised they didn’t tell you who you had been speaking to this entire time. 

They tell you to trust him. That he truly means what he is saying. That he wants nothing more than for you to say yes, because he wants to dance with you. Truly, deeply, wants to dance with you.

Hope. 

His eyes fill with hope. 

And how can you say no to hope. 

“You may.” 

Schlatt is probably the happiest he’s ever been when you accept his offer to dance. His grin widens significantly before he leads you to the middle of the ballroom. He bows to you and you curtsy. The band strikes up a beautiful waltz song and the two of you begin to dance. 

He notices that you’re working hard to follow his moves. It dawns on him that you are indeed a commoner and so you don’t have the dance training drilled into you as he has. He slows his pace down and smiles brightly as your shoulders sag in relief as you catch up with him. 

“Sorry,” you mumble for a third time as you step on his toes once more. 

“Please stop apologizing. I do not mind. Truly…” 

He stares at you beaming, trying to make you see the truth. You seem to only slightly believe him. He clears his throat and pauses for a moment. “Here, step on my feet. I’ll move us around the ballroom.” 

He smiles through you raising your eyebrows as if to ask if he was serious. He nods encouragingly. 

You realize that he’s not going to move again until you comply. So you do. You carefully step both of your feet onto his, praying the glass shoes are as comfortable on top of his feet as they are on yours. If they’re not, he makes no show of it. His smirk grows impossibly wide and begins to move around once more. 

The rest of the room fades away. He can see no others in the ballroom. His gaze is focused on you and you alone. He whispers jokes to you and feels his heart warm when you toss your head back in laughter. 

With you, he’s not the prince. 

He’s just Schlatt. 

He couldn’t be more thankful for you.

You couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed as Prince Schlatt dances you across the room. Your father always told you not paying attention to your mother’s dance lessons would come back to bite you. You never thought you’d see the day that would come to fruition. 

But he moved you around with such ease that it made you feel as if you were floating. It didn’t matter you didn’t know how to dance, he was there. He was helping you through. He was there for you. 

Your mind takes that thought and runs with it. 

You think back to you waiting everyday eagerly for his letters to arrive. The way you blossomed under his praise, both of you and your baking. Ever since the moment you met him, he always was there to catch you. You can’t think of a single moment in the past couple months where your mind wasn’t filled with the thoughts of him. 

He has always been there. 

The music ends and the two of you bow to each other. A round of applause startles the two of you out of your bubble. You look around and find several other couples had joined you on the dance floor, but most people had stayed pressed on the sidelines, watching the dances. Those are the ones that were now applauding. Your face flushes once more and you duck your head down as you step off of Prince Schaltt’s feet and away from him. 

If the prince notices you trying to put distance between the two of you, he doesn’t make it known. He instead grabs your hand once more, pressing another kiss to the back of your hand. 

“Come on, I must introduce you.” He states simply before moving towards the front of the room where his family sat. 

Your heart leaps to your throat, eyes widening as the royal family draws nearer and nearer. Somewhere in your brain had registered that if your Sir Charming was the Prince Schlatt, then his father would then be King Philza. But that didn’t actually click until now. 

Until the King, Queen, and other Prince were rising to meet you. 

“Father, Mother… brother,” Schlatt greets with a wide smile giving them a bow. “It is my honor to introduce you to my guest of honor for the evening.” You can barely believe it’s your name that then falls from his lips. 

Through the fog in your head, you thank yourself for remembering to give a deep bow to the royal family of the land. “Your majesties. Thank you for allowing me… everyone into your home. Everything about this ball is beautiful and perfect.” You give yourself a pat on the back for sliding in that compliment. 

“Everything except the pastries from the local baker it seems.” King Philza’s tone is so deep and regal it’s incredibly hard to register the joking tone. 

You swallow hard. “Forgive me, your highness. Mr. Hamani and I have never gotten along. I should not have brought our feud inside your home.” 

King Philza gives a dismissive wave. 

“It’s quite alright, dear.” Queen Kristen speaks up, her tone soft and gentle. “Sometimes men allow their egos to get in the way.” 

You can’t help but giggle along with her and nod along. 

“Dear!” King Philza lets out in a slight aghast tone. 

“Oh do not tell me I am wrong, my love. You should know this better than anyone.” 

The King does not have a response back for that. He instead turns back around and catches your eye. His gaze is so piercing you cannot help but look down at your feet. “We will not keep you any longer. Please, enjoy the ball.” 

“But I haven’t had a chance to talk with them yet!” Prince Tommy whines, stepping forward to stand with his father. 

The King rests a hand on his back and opens his mouth to speak but Prince Schaltt cuts him off. “Nor will you ever. We are off to enjoy the ball now. Farewell.” 

Before anyone in his family can get a word in, Prince Schlatt pulls you away. He beelines to the snack table, the people around it parting to allow him access to the table. Almost all of your baked goods are gone, stuffed in the hands of the attendees, all wanting to see just what made Prince Schlatt deny the local baker. 

Schlatt snaggs two of the double chocolate chip cookies and one of the brookies from the table and continues on his way, still pulling you away. Instead of stopping somewhere in the grand ballroom, he pulls you completely out of the castle and into the royal gardens. 

He stops in front of a bench in front of a fountain. He takes a seat and pats the bench next to him, silently inviting you to sit down. 

You do not sit down.

Instead, you take a couple paces back and forth in front of him, before you turn on your heel to face him. “I cannot fucking believe you!” You finally let out all of your nerves and frustrations into the sentence. 

Prince Schlatt startles slightly, coughing as a crumb of his cookies go down the wrong pipe. He clears his throat and goes to speak up but you don’t give him the chance. 

“You fucking asshole. You let me talk shit about your father… about you to your face the first time we met. Let me talk about your mutton chops. Never stopping to correct me or let me know who you were. You let me call you Sir Charming, never once stopping to tell me your name. How did I let this go this far? You let me write you letters everyday and you wrote me back! You told me so much about you and your life, but didn’t tell me this? This seems pretty fucking big, your highness. Oh my fucking gods. Oh my gods. I can’t fucking believe you. Holy fucking shit. You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

You can’t stop your hand from coming up and slapping his shoulder, pushing him back, not hard enough to push him off but hard enough to prove a point. 

He says nothing for a few moments, letting you breathe through it and calm down, before a grin splits his face. “Yeah. But it was hot. I liked being put in my place during our first meeting. It was interesting to hear your perspective. Someone talking to a complete stranger, not trying to kiss my ass and make me feel good about myself… though with the way you were talking about my chops, maybe you did just a bit of the latter anyway.” 

You let out a frustrated groan as the heat floods your cheeks. “Fuck you.” 

He reaches out and cups your cheek, bringing you down a bit to press a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, yeah.” 

You take a few more deep breaths before allowing yourself to plop down beside him. You rest your head against his shoulder, forgetting your properness for a moment, taking another deep breath. “I can’t fucking believe you.” You mutter one final time. 

Schlatt turns and presses a kid to the top of your head before resting his head on the top of your head. He lets the silence sit for a while before he clears his throat and speaks again. “I am sorry, by the way.” 

You don’t speak, which he’s partially grateful for, it allows him to process his thoughts further. But on the other hand, he can’t see your face so he can’t tell if the silence is back. 

“I am sorry for not telling you. For lying about who I am… I… You didn’t know me and yet I wanted to know you…but I knew I wouldn’t get that chance if I was honest about who I was. You had a preconceived notion about who I am and I wanted a chance to show you that’s not all of who I am… I didn’t mean for the lie to go on this long. And I do feel back for lying. And I really am sorry.” 

Your silence kills him. His heart hammers in his chest. But then he feels you turn and nervously press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you.” The three words are the sweetest he’s ever fall from the lips of another. “I get it. I appreciate your apology and I forgive you, Prince Schlatt.” 

“Jonathon.” 

The name escapes his lips before he can stop it. 

“Hmm?” You hum, pull your head from his shoulder to look him in the eye, your brows furrowed. 

His eyes meet your and his heart pounds quickly in his chest. His stomach turning over and over again, churning with nerves. “Jonathon. My name is Jonathon. Call me Jonathon.” 

“Jonathon.” You echo. 

Schlatt takes back his previous thoughts. Several people have called him his given name before. But this? Now? When it falls from your lips? It is certainly the sweetest it has ever sounded. 

He gives a small nod with a shy smile. 

“I forgive you, Jonathon.” 

He could pass away right then and there. 

“I’m sorry I had to step on your feet so you could dance me around the ballroom.” 

“I forgive you… would you like me to teach you how to dance?”

“Would you?” 

“I would. I wouldn’t offer if I wouldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to dance in front of everyone.”

“Who said anything about going back to the ballroom. We can dance right here.” 

Schlatt leads you through several steps very slowly, picking up the pace only after he was sure you were comfortable with the steps. 

Soon enough you were dancing like a pro. So much so that you could focus on the conversation between the two of you rather than the steps you were taking. 

The two of you talked and danced privately in the gardens all night. You offered several times to go back to the ballroom, the man throwing the ball should at least be in there for longer than a couple moments. He ignored that and said he would rather spend time with the one he threw it for. You can’t help but blush at that. 

You’re having such a fun time that you almost forget about the magic’s stipulation. Almost. 

 Jonathon spins you around once more, and pulls you in close to his chest. When you look up at him, you see he’s suddenly a lot closer than you realized. “Oh!” you let out softly. “Sorry,” you apologize, going to move away. 

Jonathon’s hold on you tightens, keeping you in place. “No need to be sorry… I like having you close,” he whispers. Your eyes stray down to his lips as he speaks. They look so soft… so plush… so kissable. 

“I like being close to you,” the confession uttered before you can stop it. 

The corners of his lips up turn in a small smile. The two of you stand there, frozen in time for a moment before he begins to lean in. You move to meet him. Your lips are about to meet when the grandfather clock that sits across the garden echoes out a loud chime. 

It causes you to jump and turn to look at it. 

It’s midnight. 

“Oh fuck.” You let out. “Is that clock accurate?” You ask, pulling yourself from Jonathan’s arms. 

He frowns, brows furrowing slightly, following your gaze. “Oh that old thing? Uhhh, just about. It’s 15 minutes fast. Why?” 

You ignore his question and begin to move back toward the inside of the castle. “Fuck. I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll see you later. I have to go.” 

“Wait,” He calls after you, calling your name. “Slow down. Come back. Please. You don’t have to leave.” 

“You don’t understand,” You call back, picking up your pace. “I do.” 

Without paying attention, you burst back into the ballroom. Several eyes falling on you, eyebrows raised. You pay no mind still and run, trying to push your way past everyone in the room, but people keep coming up to you to talk to you. 

A hand on your wrist spins you around and you lock eyes with those beautiful chestnuts you’ve grown so fond of. His eyes scream worry and panic, silently begging you to stop running. 

You yourself must look panicked and frantic in a different way. Like a wild animal that has been caged and is about to start lashing out. 

“Please.” You whisper. “Help me.” 

The grip on your wrist loosens. Schlatt may not understand, but he will always do everything he can in order to be the person you need at any given moment. 

“Everyone!” He calls out loudly, moving towards the refreshment table. “Please come over here and join me in a toast to celebrate this evening.” 

The crowd instantly leaves you, allowing you a path to exit the room and then the castle. You’ve never been happier to see the grass as you are now. 

“Stop! Wait! Halt in the name of the Prince!” You turn slightly and look over your shoulder and find a knight with fluffy brown hair and square glasses chasing after you. In the moment, you recognize him as Charlie, one of Schlatt’s best friends/knights. 

“Oh fuck!” You shout. The magic was starting to fade already, you can tell, because all of the sudden it was hard to run in your glass shoes. You bend down and kick them both into your awaiting hands. You turn for a sharp moment, throwing one of your shoes at the knight. He lets out a loud startled scream, stopping for just long enough for you to run to your carriage. 

“Go! Go! Go!” You shout at your footmen and lady. They waste no time before kicking up and bolting out and away from the palace. You look out the window and find Charlie has stopped chasing you, one hand on his hip, the other holding your glass shoe up to the light in an inspection. 

You slump back in your seat, letting out a deep sigh. 

“That was way too close.” 

After getting all of his guests to make a toast, Schlatt books it out of the ballroom. He races to the front lawn. His head whips back and forth, peering down the road to try and see any sign of a moving carriage. 

Footsteps sound from either side of him. His head turns and he meets the eyes of Ted who gives a pitying look and a shake of his head. Schlatt looks to the other side and meets Charlie’s eyes who also shakes his head. His eyes drift down to Charlie’s hands, and there was the shoe. Your beautiful glass shoe. 

Schlatt slowly reaches out and carefully takes the shoe from his friend’s grasp and clutches it to his chest. He turns his eyes back down the main road, staring off letting out a soft sigh. Hands clasp on both of his shoulders in a silent comfort. 

The magic faded when you were nearly home. You had to herd a sheep, two mice, and your carrier pigeon back home all while carrying your big ass pumpkin in slightly damp clothes barefoot as you had thrown your one shoe and taken off the other. Your shoe though did not fade with the magic, you weren’t sure if that made you happy or sad. By the time you made it back, you were exhausted. You quickly put everything back where it was supposed to go, taking a quick shower, tucking the shoe under your bed, and collapsing in your room. 

You’re not sure how long you were asleep for before the door to your room slammed open. It startles you awake from your deep sleep. You look up and in a silhouette from the hallway light, is your stepmother. Your heart leaps to your throat, trying to take deep breaths in through your nose trying to calm down. 

“Stepmother,” you greet groggily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You insolent child.” She hisses. “I thought I made myself very clear. You were not to go to the ball. And what do you do, but steal the prince away for the whole evening?” 

“I do not know what you’re speaking about, stepmother.” 

She shoots a sharp glare at you. “You know exactly what I speak of… No matter. With the way you went running from the ball I’m sure the prince realized his mistake. Choosing you to dance and spend time with. With the way he let you go, I’m sure it’s that he realized you are not and will never be good enough for him. You? A low life orphan baker? Royalty? Never.” 

Her words sting like the venom they are. But you can’t help but realize she’s right. No matter what you do, you’ll always be an orphan that so happens to be good at baking. You would be an awful royal. 

Maybe that’s why he chose to help you escape rather than continue to chase after you. 

Maybe he realized it too. 

You will the tears to not fall as you stick your chin out a little further. “I do not know what you’re speaking about, stepmother. Now if you don’t mind I’d like to get some more sleep.” 

She is a touch surprised at your instance, certain that her words would break you. She gives you another glare, but grabs the doorknob and slams the door to your bedroom. 

You flop back on your bed and stare up at the ceiling for a long moment. You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears pool in your ear canal. You bring your hands up and wipe them away, rolling onto your side and clutching at one of your pillows. 

You had to end it… whatever it was. 

The clock on his wall warns him it’s 3 am, but Schlatt ignores it in favor of pacing back and forth in front of a table where the shoe was perched. Every so often he paused to look over the shoe before pacing again. 

“Why did you run?” He asks the shoe, staring at it as if it will give a response. “Where did you go… why did you throw this shoe at Charlie’s head?” A small smile breaks on his face as he pictures the scene Charlie described to him three hours ago. “I would have given anything to see it… to be there myself… to stop you myself.” 

He stands still for a moment longer before pacing again. 

“Maybe… maybe you found it all to be too much…” He speaks, slowing down his steps. “It all caught up to you… didn’t it. It all sank in. You realized truly who I was and you had to get out… You… you don’t want me.” 

He stops again, plopping down on the edge of his bed. “I suppose I can’t fault you… But I deeply wish you hadn’t run.” He flops backwards and stares up at the ceiling. 

It was going to end… whatever it was. 

Schlatt didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until he wakes up. He spends a good amount of time staring up at the ceiling. Every knock on the door gets a “go away” as he lays in bed wallowing in his own self pity. The knocks stop for a couple hours. But then they’re back again. 

Schlatt startles out of his thought spiral and this knock on the door, this one louder than all the others. He groans at the sound, rolling over on his side and tugging a pillow over his head, blocking out most of the noise. “Go away,” He calls out, tucking himself into his bed further. 

The silence makes him believe whoever was outside listened to him. That is until the door opens and shuts behind him. He groans from the back of his throat, rolling himself over and sitting up. “I said, go away-- father-” He interrupts himself as his eyes meet his father’s green ones. 

Philza raises an eyebrow and the corners of his lips turn up slightly at his son’s behavior. “Good day to you too, Jonathan.” 

“Good day, dad.” Schlatt mumbles, sitting himself up properly. Schlatt moves his feet up slightly to make room for Philza as he moves and sits down on the end of Schlatt’s bed. 

Philza’s hand smooths over the blankets as he gives a glance around the room. His eyes catch on the shoe, still propped up on the table. “They gave you their shoe?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone. 

Schlatt huffs a laugh. “More like, threw it at Charlie’s head.” 

Philza doesn’t hold back and lets the laugh escape his lips. “Oh I knew I liked them. You picked well son. An excellent love match.” 

Schlatt sighs and turns to lay on his side, back facing his dad. “Apparently not. She ran away. I assume because she couldn’t handle me… who I really am. I don’t blame her after all the time I spent lying to her.” 

Phil furrows his brow and questions what Schlatt means by that. With nothing left to hide, Schlatt divulges the entire relationship. How they met and met again (which Phil was not happy about but decided now was not the time to bring it up) and how they sent letters to each other nearly everyday and how he knew they didn’t know his name but never told them his name or who he really is. How he had thrown the ball hoping they’d come and they did and how it has all been for them but it’s all been for nother. 

Phil nods along, listening carefully. He lets Schlatt take deep breaths after his rant. “I knew something was up.” Schlatt meets his eyes, curious but does not speak. “You’ve been so much happier in these past few weeks than I can remember… And you were so insistent on a love match. Deep down I knew… So my only question is why the hell are you moping around this room when you should be out there looking for them?”

“Didn’t you hear me, dad? They don’t want me. They ran away.” 

“Did they tell you they didn’t want you? Look you in the eyes and say ‘Prince Schlatt I do not want you?’”

“No but--”

“No buts, son. I haven’t seen you this happy in years. I know that you’re in love with them, whether you realize it or not. I know because you look at them the same way I look at your mother. And they wouldn’t have spent the whole night with you if they didn’t love you too. They wouldn’t have given you a clue telling you to come get them if they didn’t.” Philza motions to the shoe. “So again, I ask you. Why the hell are you moping around this room when you should be out there looking for them?”

The words resonate with Schlatt, filling him with hope, that maybe, just maybe you love him like he loves you… damn. Yeah. He loves you. 

“You’re right… I have to go dad, I have to…” Schlatt shoots up out of bed and digs through his closet and throws on a random outfit. “I have to get Ted and Charlie and a whole group and we have to go looking. Door to door. I have to find them. I am going to find them.” He runs a hand through his hair before whipping around to face his father with a grin. He rushes forward and presses a kiss on his father’s cheek. “Thanks, dad.” 

You sat staring at the blank piece of paper in front of you. What to say to the man that makes you feel everything. You twirl your pen in between your fingers a couple times. Letting out a sigh, you lean back for a moment, looking out the window. Your attention gets caught by the pigeon beside you who lets out a coo. You sigh again, reaching out and giving the bird scritches. “Hey there,” you murmur. The bird leans into your fingers, rubbing against you more. “Yeah… I know this letter won’t write itself.” The bird cocks its head and coos. “Yeah, just one more letter… a goodbye. I know you must be excited, you won’t have to carry my messages anymore.” Another coo. “Well, of course I’ll let you fly around outside. I’m not a monster.” It blinks at you. “Well I have to tell him something! I can’t just stop speaking to him. I need him to know… It’s quite literally not him. It’s me. I’ll never deserve him… no matter how much I care… for him.” The bird lets out a sharp and short coo. “Fucking hell. You’re right. I love him. Gods damn it I love him so much. Oh this is going to be a nightmare.” 

Schlatt sighs in frustration as he and his knights trudge to the castle. They’ve knocked on every single door in the kingdom and not a single one did you stand behind it. The sun was setting the knights stomachs were grumbling so Schlatt decided to call it a day and head back to the castle, determined to start again tomorrow. 

He picks at his dinner, tossing and turning it over with his fork, giving half hearted replies to questions that he’s really not paying attention to. He can’t help but replay every interaction he’s had with you over again, followed closely by several notable interactions he had throughout the day. One where the woman had caked her face in flour hoping to prove herself to be the baker. Another that when she answered the door said “I am not interested!” with a smug smile, as if she really did something, and then slammed the door in his face. As if he would be interested in her? He very clearly was looking for someone. 

His head is heavy with everyone he’s seen and spoken to today, he’s just ready to turn in for the night. 

And then he hears it. 

That beautiful coo he’s grown accustomed to listening for every day. The tell tale sign that you have sent him a letter. It’s Bob. Your carrier pigeon. 

And he has a letter attached to his leg. 

Schlatts posture instantly straightens and he holds out his finger, letting out a soft coo of his own. Everyone turned in confusion and watched Schlatt. Ted was about to speak before Bob landed on his fingers and stuck out his leg. Schlatt carefully took the rolled paper and fed the pigeon a couple nuts

Schlatt carefully unrolled the letter and began to read. 

My dearest, Prince Charming, 

I guess now that I know who you truly are it is only correct that I change the sir in your title to Prince. My prince… I had the most magical time last evening with you. Dancing around in your private garden is certainly something I will never forget and will always be grateful for. It was so incredibly sweet of you to give me your undivided attention. 

It unfortunately has come to my own attention that I am not good for you. I do not deserve you my sweet prince. I could never be someone that you deserve. I am a simple orphan that happens to be good at baking. No matter how hard I would try, you would always be way out of my league. 

I hope you find the love match that you seek. I hope you find someone good and kind, with a loving heart that will deserve you and be someone worthy of your love and care. Someone worthy of you throwing an entire ball for them. I don’t know how I ever thought I could be that person. I am so sorry…

I love you, Jonathon. 

But you deserve so much more than me. 

Yours, 

Your name is signed at the bottom of the letter as it always is. He reads the second to last line, once, twice, a thousand times, until he’s convinced himself that it’s real. That you really wrote that you love him. He didn’t care about the other stuff that you wrote. Well he kind of did. But he knew it was bullshit. If anything it’s him who doesn’t deserve you. 

If only he could find you to tell you this….

And then it hits him. 

He springs up from the table and rushes out, startling everyone in the dining room with him. The pigeon flaps its wings and lands on his shoulder, used to being carted around. Schlatt runs to his room where he grabs a pen and paper of his own. He scribbles “I love you,” before snatching the shoe off the table and rushing outside. Ted and Charlie rush out behind him, confused at the rush. 

“Schlatt, what are we doing?” They ask. 

Schlatt elects to ignore them as he hands Bob the messily rolled piece of paper. “Here, Bob. Show me the way to them.” Bob takes the paper, coos softly, and takes off. 

Schlatt instantly begins to race after the bird, Ted and Charlie following close behind. How relieved he was to finally find a way to find you. Bob would certainly lead him to you. He could only hope he could keep up with the bird. 

Schlatt was feeling winded by the time he reached the small house on the edge that borders the kingdom and the forest. He hadn’t thought to make his way all the way out here, thinking you lived closer to the village with the way you walked to the market. Obviously he had been wrong. 

Either way, he could only pray that Bob had led him to the right place. 

He couldn’t tell if the tightness in his chest and the shortness of breath was just from him running all this way or if it was his nerves. He decided to call it ‘a bit of column a and a little of column b’ and call it a night. 

The three approached the door, each taking deep breaths calming themselves from the journey taken to get here. Schlatt looks over his shoulder apprehensively at Ted and Charlie. He had knocked on over a hundred doors today, it didn’t make sense that this was the one he got nervous on. 

His best friends each gave him an easy smile and a kind and encouraging nod, eager for the prince to knock. Schlatt turned back to the door, letting out a breath, shaking his arms out, before reaching up and giving a sturdy knock. 

It’s silent on the other side of the door for a long moment. Schlatt’s heart pounds so hard in his chest he has to swallow hard to get it back down to his chest. The door know turns quickly and the door is pulled open and an older woman stands before him. He tries to not let his disappointment show, especially as surprise and utter delight paints her face. 

The woman drops to a quick curtsy. “Your highness,” she greets. Her voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard and it takes everything Schlatt has to not visibly recoil. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

A small bout of hope flutters down his spine causing Schlatt to stand straighter at the word “we.” “I am not sure if you have heard, but have been searching the entire kingdom for the one I danced with last night. Do you have any children, my lady?” 

The woman brightens up even more and squares her shoulders back. “As a matter of fact I do. I have two.” The woman turns and cups her mouth. “GIRLS,” She hollers, causing the boys to shutter at the loud call. 

Footsteps race across the wooden floor and two younger women appear. Schlatt feels a huge wave of disappointment was over his being as he looks at their faces and realizes they’re not you. He doesn’t hide his distaste as the girls push each other, trying to stand straighter and puff out their chest larger than the other.

“Neither of these young women are who I am looking forward… Does anyone else live here? A servant or a stable hand? Perhaps a cook?” Schlatt asks, taking a single step forward, looking around the room hoping for some kind of sign of you. 

The woman’s face sours at the question before her mask gets put back in it’s place. “No one else, your highness. Although I can assure you, my daughters are perfectly suitable--” 

“What’s that?” Schlatt interrupts as a noise sounds from one of the adjacent rooms. It sounded like metal being set down on a counter. “I thought you said no one else lived here.” 

The woman swallows harshly and moves to stand in front of the door. “That… that is just the cook your highness, they do not live here… or at least soon will not,” she mutters the latter part with venom before turning back to Schlatt, a perfect smile posing on her lips. “No one to concern yourself with, truly.” 

Any sense of trust for the woman is washed away when the scent hits his nose. He would be able to pick that scent out of a million different ones. It’s one of the best things he’s ever smelled. 

He would be able to recognize the scent of your double chocolate chip cookies. 

And he knows you’re in there. 

“By order of the king, I demand you step aside.” He barely recognizes his voice as it escapes his lips. It’s deep and authoritative… damn as each day passes he sounds more and more like his father… he’ll have to correct that. 

The woman opens his lips to protest. 

Deciding he wants to hear no more of his voice, he gently pushes the woman’s shoulder out of the way. His hand finds the door knob and he throws open the door without care. He breath is ripped from his lungs as he sees the person who stands in the kitchen… in front of those unmistakable chocolate chocolate chip cookies.

“It’s you.” 

The door slamming open scares the shit out of you. 

The entire day you had been lost in your own head. You finished the letter and gave it to your pigeon to take to Schlatt. As soon as it had left your sight, you made your way to the kitchen in a daze where you let yourself begin baking whatever your heart was feeling in the moment. 

It was only when you were beginning to clean up the batter dishes did you realize what you had made… and who you had made it for. You let yourself drift back into your head as you watched the cookies bake  through the oven window. You knew you would probably never see him again. Especially not after this letter. 

You took them out of the oven and let the pan clatter to the counter without much of a care. The soft cooing of your pigeon drew your attention away. You turned to greet it when you caught sight of the paper on it’s leg. Confusion fills you as you carefully take the paper. 

I love you.

It can’t be. 

The door bursts open, causing you to jump and whip around. Those damn fucking beautiful eyes. They always seem to follow you. To haunt you. Especially in your own house, those fucking chesnut brown eyes that say everything that you want to hear all without saying a word.

“It’s you.” 

Oh fuck he’s actually here. 

What the fuck? 

What is he doing here???

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he surges forward. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other moving behind your neck, hand moving up to cradle the back of your head. “What are you doing here? Why did you run away?” 

You stare at him in disbelief, mouth opening and closing a few times. “Did you not get my letter? I’m no good for you, Jon--Prince Schlatt, I do not deserve you, your highness. You deserve someone much better than me. Surely you--” 

“Don’t you understand,” he whispers, cutting you off. “There is no one better.” 

“But your highness--” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“What?”

“You know what. Don’t call me that. That’s not my name. Not to you.” 

You let out a sigh and rub your flour coated hands on your apron. “Jonathon.” 

The smile that spreads across his face nearly makes you melt into a puddle. “There it is.” He murmurs, drawing his face closer to yours. “That’s my name.”

“Jonathon,” You repeat, trying to pull your blushing face away from his to no avail. You clear your throat and continue. “As per my letter, you deserve so much better than me. I am sure you can find someone-” 

“Did you mean it?”

You look at him partly confused, partly annoyed at him continuing to interrupt you. “Mean what?” 

“Did you mean it when you signed that you love me?” 

Your heart stops in your chest. You forgot you said that part. You don’t think you would have said it had you known it would have caused him to come bursting into your kitchen. You look at him in disbelief, is he not hearing your words? He surely read the letter. Why is he being so insistent on this? 

You could never lie to him though. 

You clear your throat and move your shoulders back. You meet his eyes head on. “Yes. I did. But-” 

“I love you too.” 

The world stops again. “What?” 

“As per my letter,” he says, a shit eating grin playing on his lips. The shock flowing through your body stops you from rolling your eyes. “I love you.” 

You remember the small piece of paper that was surely on the floor now that you took from the pigeon just moments ago. Obviously that’s who the paper was from. You swallow hard. “Sure you can’t-” 

“But surely I can. I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you called me a big petty man-baby who looked hotter now than I did before.” 

“I… I…’”

“I love you,” He utters, moving impossibly closer to your face. “I always have. You are all I want. You deserve so much better than me… But I’m hoping you’ll lower your standards and settle for me anyway.” 

His eyes shine so brightly. Those damn, fucking, beautiful eyes. They stare at you, hopeful, waiting with bated breath for your answer. They stare so intensely at you… You never want them to look away. 

It’s you that closes the distance and presses your lips to his. He instantly responds, tugging you closer to his chest and kissing you back. The kiss makes your body sing in delight. The spark starts at the base of your spine where his hand connects to your body and shoots out, encasing you completely. From the tippity top of your head to the bippity bottom of your toes. 

He consumes you. Completely. Totally. Entirely. 

You pull away breathless from the kiss, meeting his eyes. “I love you, Jonathon. I want to be yours. Please. I want to be yours, if you’ll have me?” 

Jonathon lets out a breathless laugh and shakes his head once. “Oh sweets, you’ve always been mine. I’ve always been yours. From the moment I met you. I’ve been hooked, sweets. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.” 

He leans forward again and presses his lips to yours. You eagerly respond, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

After you break apart again, Schlatt tells you to pack your things. You don’t have much here anyway so it doesn’t take you long. Your step family could only watch with crossed arms as you moved about, taking your things. You would miss the house you grew up in, but you were more than excited to begin your new journey. 

Schlatt made Ted and Charlie help carry your things. Ted cursed at Schlatt for not thinking to grab a carriage or at least a horse in the pursuit of you. That spun a whole argument between the two, leaving you to converse with Charlie. 

You gave the man a shy smile. “Sorry for throwing my shoe at you… I panicked about someone following me. 

Charlie gives a chuckle and a smile. “It’s no worries. I’m just glad you made it home safely.” 

“Yeah me too! The magic gave out and I was left carrying a huge ass pumpkin home… My back hurt like hell this morning.”

Charlie tilts his head and gives you a curious look. “Not what I meant… but I do want to hear more about this magic.”

“What did you mean then?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, his head simply moves to where Schlatt and Ted were now in a physical altercation, Schlatt attempting to put Ted in a chokehold. 

A fuzzy feeling floods your chest.

He is your home… isn’t he?

Small Epilogue 

The two of you marry quickly. The royal family welcome you with open arms. They help teach you the ways of the royals but never make you feel less than for being a commoner before the marriage. You never stop baking, you think Schlatt would throw a huge fit if you ever did. He constantly blamed you for his “twink death.” And although you’re not entire sure what that means, you’re sure that happened way before he met you. 

You two love each other openly and loudly. It brings smiles to everyone’s faces to see the prince this lovey dovey with someone. There will always be those that disapprove, but Schlatt is there to hold your hand and tell them to fuck off. 

He reminds you he loves you every single minute of every single day… you think maybe he lays it on a little thick in particular when he wants you to bake something in particular. You never mind though. It’s your baked goods that brought you together in the first place. 

Who are you to deny your love the thing that the two of you bonded over first? 

Especially when he loves you with every fiber of his being… 

…and maybe even more so when you make him chocolate chocolate chip cookies…

And they lived happily ever after.  The End

As per usual, I am shit at writing endings. Thank you for reading my 16.3k word self indulgent fic <3

Leave a like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyeddddd

okay byeeeeeeee back to my several year hiatusssss

im still on tumblr even if i don't post my writing so you can always message meeeeeeee <3

byeeeeeeeeee <3

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the recent ask game, i’m really curious about your take on 7 + 8 :P

for the choose violence ask game!

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how the fandom acts about them?

i'll be so honest: Jason Todd. i know there's a lot of argument of "who has the worst fans" and i think that question is flawed and impossible to answer, but i will say Jason fans irked me so deeply. because i read mostly 90s era Batfam, i admittedly didn't have a lot of exposure to Jason for a while, expect for his New-52 runs i'd read years ago. and since i never liked him based on those runs, i could not understand *what* his fans liked about him, or where they got some of their headcanons/ideas from. i've never been more baffled. it ranges from "oh i don't agree but you do you, i guess?" to "what character are you talking about i am BAFFLED". and it soured me on Jason for so long that i actually hate read *most* of his pre-Flashpoint appearances just to understand what on earth people liked about him. and now i can say, i love him dearly, but i can also say, i still don't know what character his fans are talking about sometimes. and i hate the fanon version of Jason who feels almost, Deadpool-ified? with this self-aware slapstick humor but a sad soft interior but also sassy and will kill a man it's just. it feels very hollow to me and it has made me almost tempted to block his character tag more than once over the years bc sometimes certain takes make it difficult to even like him. i just have to tune it out or yell about it for hours.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

i'm going to get particularly saucy with this one: that Dick Grayson has Eldest Daughter Syndrome. or more generally, that he was parentified. not a single ounce of Dick's backstory indicates him as being parentified. to be parentified you have to be a child taking care of other children either emotionally or physically because your parents are not fulfilling that role. and Dick was *never* a child at the time that another child was under Bruce's care. he has been an adult for the entirety he has known every other Batkid. and even then, the *only* one he was something you could akin to being a parent figure to was Damian, and Dick *chose* that. Dick was a grown-ass man in his late 20s who had the facilities and capacity to make the decision to be Damian's primary caretaker. he's never been parental toward any of the other Batkids, nor has Bruce ever forced upon him the role of having to raise them. did Bruce do a sort of questionable job with Dick? yeah. but i would argue Bruce did the best job with Dick of all the Batkids, and even if he was shitty with Dick, he couldn't parentify Dick bc there was no one for Dick to be parenting. and Dick wasn't parenting Bruce either. they just had a normal relationship of loving and caring for each other.

as for Eldest Daughter Syndrome i just.. i Do Not Like calling any male character "female coded" or "female rage coded" or "eldest daughter coded" because they're *not*. especially not in *this* medium. these are male characters, created by men, written by men 90% of the time, and written to be *male power fantasies*. nothing about Dick or Jason or any Batboy is female-coded bc they exist to be badass men. just because they show emotion and have complex relationships with Bruce doesn't make them suddenly women. Dick shows his anger in a very destructive, stereotypically "masculine" way. even if we strip it of gender, Dick doesn't exhibit most traits of Eldest Daughter Syndrome. he easily makes relationships with people his age, he has no issues telling Bruce no, he did not have caretaking responsibilities forced onto him by Bruce, he's not even really hyperindependent. Dick has a support system outside of the Bats, the fandom just ignores it. does Dick force caretaking responsibilities onto himself sometimes? can he be an overachiever? absolutely. but these are internal complexes that just come with making a character a superhero, it's a complex they all have. if i have to hear one more fan call him Eldest Daughter Syndrome-core or say he's a victim of parentification, i think I'll explode a little bit.

[lizardkingeliot]

i finally finished the first draft of my reunion sequel and i managed to keep it just under 20k PLEASE CLAP 💀 there's at least one scene that needs a partial rewrite and a few things i know for sure i'm gonna cut so keep your fingers crossed this doesn't take forever to edit lol

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

RRVerse Fandom, Please Hear Me Out...

Message to the wider Riordanverse fandom:

Please correctly tag your fanfics with the correct fandom tags.

I am getting tired of seeing non-Apollo fics cluttering up the Trials of Apollo tag (such as Percy/Annabeth. like. what. they're barely in ToA. why are they there.). If your fanfic does not deal with Apollo, Meg McCaffrey, or the story of ToA or the consequences of it, please do not tag it as such.

I have seen fics tagged as ToA and not even have the MC, Apollo, tagged as part of the cast. So please. I am begging you. Please stop. You have the Percy Jackson & the Olympians - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, AND The Heroes of Olympus tags.

Solangelo writers, you now have the Sun and the Star tag, as well as the All Media Types one. Unless it happens during or alongside something to do with Apollo & his story, please refrain from tagging it as ToA.

And no. I do not think just being Solangelo should qualify all Solangelo fics to be tagged as ToA. If anything, they should be The Sun and The Star tag or even The Heroes of Olympus tag because that's when it all began! However, if, say, it's during The Hidden Oracle or takes place in the ToA timeframe then sure! ToA tag it!

But if it's just like an AU or something that only focuses on Solangelo? Then please don't. It's not ToA then.

This is what the ToA tag looks like btw:

I know, Nico, Will, and Percy are all popular characters, but COME ON. This is Apollo's tag, please give him this! It's so hard to find fics I want to read because it's so cluttered! Apollo's not even in the top three most-tagged characters in his own fandom tag.😒

And look at the gap between the number of fics Apollo's in compared to Percy! A 354 gap! And there's 1,616 gap between Apollo and Nico! And I can say with certainty that not all of those fics Percy - and even Nico and Will - are in are related to ToA.

Meg McCaffrey, the second MC of the series, is not even on the board. And she's a very close second MC.

And trust me. I know a bunch of these fics have nothing to do with ToA. I have scoured the tag many times and have figured that out.

So please, please, please leave The Trials of Apollo tag be unless you are writing for The Trials of Apollo. We are our own fandom and frankly, it's getting annoying having to shuffle through a bunch of fics that have nothing to do with ToA just to find ones we want to read.

Fic authors, it would be such a big help if you could remove the ToA tag from your fic if it doesn't have anything to do with ToA. I know you want your fic to be seen, and use a bunch of tags to do so, but this really inconveniences the ToA fans who just want to read about our favorite loser god and his gremlin adopted sister. ☹️

Sincerely,

A ToA fan who just wants to read fics about her favorite character but can hardly wade through the fics even with the filtering system.

Thank you. It needed to be said.

[yasmeensh]

Finally got to paint something a little more proper for my project. Paleolithic kids see a dragon come down from the sky 🐉

a few more doodles of my OCs Tam Kujo below >>

drew this one in the span of three days during class time :p. A few lines here and there while I wait for the prof to set up the slides and start the class. Kept going until I felt like not adding anymore.

two more

[ahollowgrave]

11. Blood at the corner of your mouth.

It is not your blood at the edge of your mouth. Not your blood that your tongue swipes from the corner of your lips.  Not your blood whose coppery tastes lingers between your teeth. 

But he fucking deserved it.

Sister Kindness has you tucked under her arm as she, to use her words, books it. Something she must not do often because she huffs and puffs her way through the crowded Shaded Bower. And though some call out ‘Sister’ to her with warm recognition she does not stop ‘booking’ it. (Sister Kindness would have you know that she is perfectly in shape for a woman of her age. She was ‘huffing and puffing’ from the extra weight of carrying you, thank you very much.)

She slows when the westshore pier appears around the corner and then she steps off the main path and sets you down. Kneeling to be something more like eye-level, she pulls a Roegadyn-sized handkerchief from the depths of her habit. Wetting a corner with a flask pulled from a separate, equally confusing pocket she begins to clean the blood from your face.

Sister Kindness’ hand is firm where it grips your chin, holding as little of you as possible. For once the contact does not send you recoiling. Perhaps it is the way your rage has left you as quickly as it had flooded you, leaving you feeling drained of everything else as well. Now that the moment has passed you tremble and, to your horror, you can feel a well of tears rising to fill that empty space.

“Was a helluva bite, darling girl,” Sister Kindness’s voice is quiet as she tilts your head to the light, searching for any blood she may have missed. You focus on her creek colored eyes and swear you feel their waters lapping at your ankles. Her smile is sudden but woozy around the edges; she is just as shaken. "Reckon he'll have a scar, too. Bet he lies about who gave it to him." ‘He’ was an elezen man -- maybe a merchant but likely not, as Sister Kindness did not know him -- with a face as sharp as his ears and a smile that spoke of too much confidence. And you had hated him on sight. His crime was making Sister Kindness uncomfortable and his mistake was not being aware of his surroundings. 

It does not take much pressure to break skin. 

Pleased with her work, Sister Kindness rises and disappears the handkerchief away. Handing you the flask, she instructs you to take a sip, swirl it around your mouth, and spit it out. There is some confusion about what 'swirl' means but, eventually, she is satisfied with this too. “Well, we didn’t get what I came for but we’ll be headed home all the same. Come now, before the ferry leaves without us. We will, ah, not be telling the abbess about this.” You don’t know if she means the bite or the trip to the city. 

You don’t ask.

Thank you for the ask, Anon! ][ Sensory Prompts ][

[writeouswriter]

Reading a fic that's so well written I wish I could close my eyes and just let the descriptions and atmosphere wash over me, but the dilemma with closing my eyes is, well, I then would not be able to continue reading this fic, now would I.

[rubberduckyrye]

You ever see a post that you agree with and you wanna add on your own two cents but your brain is like "Hmmmm.... nah. I wanna watch House MD clips instead."

[gripes-withthesun]

why have you carved me out of flesh?

[ID: It Writes Back - Hritvika Lakhera

Lord above you have carved me/ out of flesh;/ will you return/ to stem the bleeding?/ You have left me rotting,/ repulsive,/ hard to breathe around./ Blood left on the sheets/ is harder to scrub out;/ blood left on the floor/ wafts of rot instead of iron;/ you are my butcher/ casting me into offal.

I am immortality./ I am the shifting darkness,/ the echoing cliff –/ why/ have you made me/ out of bleeding,/ rotting/ flesh?

/end ID]

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

So, Book of Bill, huh?