#Gable gift boxes

[comically-callous]

Hey! Can I request a Willy Wonka x reader? I don’t know if you’ve ever read the Anne of green gables series but there’s a dialogue where Anne tells Gilbert “I don't want sunbursts or marble halls, I just want you.” and if you can, can you put that in with fem reader saying this to Wonka when he’s worried he won’t be able to make it big from just starting out and providing for them with all his setbacks and of course it’s all fluff and soft?

"Yes anon." The fanfic writers all say in unison.

Willy Wonka x gn!Reader (Wonka 2023)

A/n: Since Valentine's day is coming up, I sort of made this post themed around that. My requests are open 🤠

Willy had been very self conscious lately. Which was not something he was very used to feeling.

It all started one day when he'd overheard a couple men having a conversation on the street. They were talking about the lavish gifts they planned to give their wives for Valentine's day. Diamond rings, expensive dinners, personalized portraits, on and on.

Before then, he'd had no problem with his plan of giving you flowers, chocolate, and a card. But, now? That felt like nothing compared to what other guys were doing for their significant others.

His insecurity grew from there. His chocolate business had only just started out, but he felt like he wasn't making enough money. That's why he couldn't get you a fancy gift. And if he couldn't get you a fancy gift then how would he ever be able to even support you? You'd never want to marry him if he couldn't support you.

His insecurities snowballed until he was absolutely dreading February 14.

The day arrived and saying Willy was nervous to see you was an understatement.

The two of you had agreed to meet at your house. He knocked on the door, his heart racing and his hands feeling a bit sweaty. When you opened the door he swallowed nervously.

You smiled at him sweetly. "Hi, Willy!" You wrapped your arms around him in a hug and he relaxed a bit. "Happy Valentine's day!"

"Yeah, happy Valentine's day."

You pulled back from the hug and led him inside. "Can I give you your gift first?" You asked excitedly.

"Uh- Sure. Yeah." He sat at your kitchen table and watched as you left the room, seemingly to retrieve the gift.

"Close your eyes." You instructed. He did as you asked. After a moment he felt your presence behind him as you put your arms over his shoulders to hold something in front of him.

"Now open."

He opened his eyes.

In front of him was a framed picture. It was his favorite picture of the two of you. When it had been taken, Willy insisted that you kept it.

"I made the frame myself." You said with a proud smile. "Turn it around." He flipped the frame to see a heartfelt love poem on the back.

"This is amazing." He gushed, smiling as you sat next to him at the table. "Thank you." He pecked your cheek and you giggled.

The sweet moment was soured a bit when he realized he had to give you your gift now.

He handed you the bag your gift was in mumbling a quick "It's not much." as you eagerly looked inside.

First, you pulled out the chocolates. They were in a heart shaped box with a card attached.

You read the card before opening the box of chocolate.

"About half of them are your favorites, and the other half are ones I think you'd really enjoy." He says as you popped one into your mouth and let out a satisfied hum.

"I'm sure I'll love them all." You said as you reached into the bag and pulled out the bouquet he'd gotten you.

"I grew those for you."

"You grew these for me?" You repeated, astonished he'd put in that much work for you. "Willy, I love them!"

"You don't have to say that." He shakes his head.

You tilt your head, confused. You gently put the flowers on the table with your chocolates. "What do you mean?"

"You don't have to pretend you love the gift." He shrugged. "I know you've probably gotten flowers and chocolate dozens of times before, and I know it's not extravagant or-"

"Willy." You say his name softly. He gives his attention to you. "Why would I not love this gift? You made me my favorite chocolate! You grew me flowers! That's so romantic!"

"But..." He trailed off, looking away nervously.

"But, what?" You asked.

He paused. "It's not expensive, or fancy, or... Any of that stuff."

"Why would I care about that?"

"Because-" He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. "Because if I can't even give you a nice gift how am I supposed to buy you a wedding ring, or a house, or pay rent? How am I supposed to take care of you?"

You blinked. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You'd never heard him be this distressed over anything.

After a moment, you gently cup his cheek with your hand. He gazes at you with his big, brown eyes that are wet with tears and it breaks your heart a bit. "Willy... I don't want sunbursts," you say. "I don't want marble halls," you continue. "I don't want diamonds, or pearls, or any of that!" You pause. "I just want you."

Willy's speechless. He stares at you for a moment and then his lips crash into yours.

The two of you share a sweet kiss for a long moment until you break away. "I love you, okay?" You assure him softly.

He nods, a small smile on his lips. "Okay." He says. "I love you too."

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Chapter 7)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer? Big thank you to @snowbellewells for making the cover pic set!

Word Count: 2194

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (Epilogue)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 7

Killian opened the box he’d found waiting for him at his front door when he arrived home from the office one night in the late fall.  Inside, he found a dozen copies of “The Lifebook of Captain Nemo”, fresh off the presses.

Professionally, things had been looking up for Killian–more than they had for years.  His manuscript had not only been accepted for publication, his editor had raved about it.  Already, scarcely a week after its release, his first novel was a roaring success.

A year ago, if this had happened, he’d have been overjoyed.  Finally, his life’s ambition had been fulfilled.  He was an author, a real author, not merely the writer of pointless newspaper stories, but the author of a best-selling novel.

But a year ago he hadn’t met Emma Gold.  A year ago his heart hadn’t shattered into a million tiny shards.

Now his professional success simply felt empty.  What good were accolades when you’d lost the love of your life?

It had been two months now since Killian had returned to Montreal.  He’d hoped that time would dull the pain of loss, but it appeared the saying was true.  Absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder.

He missed her so much, missed what they’d had together during the summer he’d boarded with her.  Of course he’d wished they could have had more–wished she was free, wished he could declare his love to her, wished she could declare hers in reply, but what good were wishes?

Killian collapsed into the chair behind the desk in his home office, putting his head in his hands for a moment before straightening.  His eyes caught on a letter on the edge of his desk.  It was addressed to him from Granny Lucas.

The letter had arrived two weeks ago, but he’d yet to open it.  He’d been receiving regular letters from Four Winds Harbor over the past months since his return–most coming from Mary Margaret, telling him the news of the harbor and making a point of telling him about Emma.

At first, he’d craved these letters, read them as soon as they arrived, and then reread them until he’d nearly memorized the news of his love.

But even just hearing about her brought him pain.  Rather than balm, it was salt in his already painful wounds.

And so, when Granny’s letter had arrived two weeks ago, it had all simply been too much.  He couldn’t open it; he simply couldn’t.  Any more news of Emma would be torture.  He’d considered simply trashing the letter, but something inside of him couldn’t do that.

He reached for the letter, picking it up, turning it over in his hands.  It was gathering dust.  He needed to either read it or throw it away.

Suddenly overcome with a need to hear about her, even if it hurt, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single folded sheet.

He read quickly, and then jumped from his seat, rushing to his bedroom to pack a bag, his heart racing, relief and joy overwhelming him.

It was time to head back to Four Winds Harbor.  

It was time to head back to Emma.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma's house no longer felt like home.  Maybe it never had, but now…without another soul in it but her, the loneliness threatened to swallow her whole.  She was surprised to find she actually missed Neal…or, well, Gideon.  He’d been a staple in her life, as difficult as it had all been and as much as she’d despised the man she’d thought he was.  The house now felt too big.  Too empty.

Or rather, it felt too full of ghosts and painful memories, and there was no longer anyone there to distract her from them.

And so it was, when Johanna left for an undetermined amount of time to care for her sister who had broken her leg, Emma had jumped at the opportunity and offered to stay with the Nolans in the interim to help with the baby and the housework.

Mary Margaret had been delighted at the suggestion, and so it was that two weeks after returning to Four Winds, Emma found herself seated on the floor of the Nolans’ sitting room smiling and cooing over baby Leo.  He looked up in her general direction with wide, solemn eyes as his tiny arms and legs flailed around.  She knew he was far too young yet to smile at her, but the way he tracked her voice when she spoke to him made her think he’d like to smile, had he the ability.

“Oh, Mary Margaret,” Emma said, “he is just the sweetest thing!  Look at these tiny fingers with their tiny perfect nails!  That soft, downy baby hair!”

The new mother beamed.  “I know!  Sometimes I can barely stop myself from just watching him sleep.  He is our little miracle.”

Impulsively, Emma leaned over and gave her friend a quick hug.  She was a little surprised to find that, while the ache of longing for a child of her own was still there, that poisonous, corrosive envy was gone.  She was genuinely happy for her friend and her newfound joy.

“So how are you?” Mary Margaret asked after a moment.  “We haven’t really gotten a chance to properly talk since you got back.”

Emma shrugged.  “Still a bit in shock, I suppose,” she said.  “To think my entire life for the past twelve years has been a lie, is…a lot to take in, not to mention the fact that I feel rather at loose ends now that Neal…well, Gideon…is gone.”

“Granny told us you meant to go to the city to train to be a nurse,” Mary Margaret said slowly.  “Is that true?”

Emma shrugged again.  “It’s a definite possibility,” she answered. “Truth be told, I don’t know quite what I plan to do.  I…I know I can’t stay in that gray house anymore, though.  It holds far too many memories.”

Mary Margaret put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  “I can understand that, but please, take some time.  Don’t make any big plans in haste.”

“I can promise you that,” Emma answered before smiling.  “After all, I committed to helping you in Johanna’s place until her return.”

“And I’ll hold you to that!” Mary Margaret said in mock severity, “and given the state her sister is in, that will no doubt be quite some time!”

There was a knock at the door, and Mary Margaret excused herself to answer it, and Emma went back to adoring the baby, paying little attention to the sounds of Mary Margaret speaking to her guest.

But then she felt it, a sudden awareness, a sudden knowledge, as footsteps returned to the sitting room.  She looked up as he walked in, and suddenly her heart stopped before pounding, her eyes going wide, her breath coming quickly.

He was here.  He was here!

“Killian?” she said in little more than a whisper.

“Aye,” he said with a gentle smile.  “I stopped at your house first, but when I didn’t find you, I took the chance that you might be here.”

“That was smart,” Emma said rather stupidly, getting slowly to her feet as Mary Margaret came in and swooped baby Leo from her. 

“I was hoping to we might have a moment to talk,” he said.

“O–okay,” Emma said, barely even knowing what she spoke.  He was here!  She’d thought to never see him again, but he was here, in the flesh, standing before her and looking at her like she was the most precious person in the world to him!

“It’s a rather pleasant afternoon, even if it is late autumn,” Mary Margaret piped up from behind them.  “Perhaps you’d like to walk in the garden?”

Killian shot her a grateful smile.  “That sounds lovely.  Shall we, Emma?” he asked, extending an arm to her.  She took it with a smile, let him lead her out the back gate.

“I heard what happened,” Killian said when they were finally alone.  “How are you, Emma?  How are you really?”

“I scarcely know,” she answered.  “Would you think me a dreadful person to learn that I feel relieved that Neal is dead?”

Killian shook his head vehemently. “I knew you had been unhappy in your marriage, but I didn’t know the full story until the letter Granny sent me a few weeks ago.  Had I known what manner of man Neal had been, what he’d done to you, how he’d forced you to wed him…well, I’d have been tempted to strangle him myself.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Emma said, “given the fact that it was Gideon I was living with rather than Neal.  Gideon is as kind and thoughtful as Neal was….the opposite.  I’m glad he found his happy ending with Violet.”

Killian merely grunted in response.

“So what brings you here?” Emma asked.  “I heard your book is out.  Did you come to bring Captain Nemo a copy?”

“No,” Killian said, stopping their walk and turning to face her.  “Or rather, yes, but that was secondary to my main purpose in returning to the island.”

“And what was that?” Emma asked, looking up at him, her breath catching at the way he was looking down at her.

“Emma, I’ve finally found my happy ending,” he said softly but with unmistakable intensity, “and I’ll be hanged before I let it slip through my fingers without fighting for it.”

Her heart fluttered again, believing she knew his meaning, but needing to hear it just the same.  “You found your happy ending?  What is it?”

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he nearly whispered, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek, “it’s you.”

For a long moment she simply looked up into his eyes, eyes that radiated a depth of love she’d never thought to experience.  This felt like a dream, a lovely, perfect dream from which she hoped to never wake.

A single, solitary tear tracked down her cheek as she raised on tiptoes and kissed him, tentatively at first, but then when he responded enthusiastically, with all the pent up love and longing in her heart.  Her arms came around his neck, and his circled her waist as they clung to each other, their lips moving and parting and drinking each other in, like parched travelers who’d finally found water in a desert.

When they finally pulled apart, Emma rested her forehead against his and whispered “I love you.”

He caressed her cheek, then let his fingers run through her hair as he responded in kind.  “And I you.  Writer though I am, I could never find enough words to express just how much.”

She kissed him again, couldn’t stop herself, and she felt his smile against her lips before he pulled away once again, reaching into his pocket for a small black box and then dropping to one knee.  She gasped.  Could he be about to….?

“Emma,” he said, “I can’t promise our lives will be free from  pain or difficulties  I can’t promise hard times won't come to us, but I can promise you this:  I will always, always be by your side.  I love you, and I don’t want to spend one more day away from you. Emma, will you marry me?”

She got to her knees in front of him and took his face in her palms, her eyes shining through the tears she couldn’t stop now.  “Yes,” she said, “of course yes!”

Inside the house, David found his wife looking out the back window with her eyes alight and filled with tears.  He turned to look at the object of her emotions, and drew in a quick, surprised gasp.

“Emma and Killian?” he asked, watching them kneel together and then lean forward and kiss.  “I never would have guessed!  Who could have seen that coming?”

“Just like a man!” Mary Margaret said teasingingly, in a perfect imitation of Granny, “of course I knew!  It was plain as the nose on your face that the two of them were head over heels for each other.”

David snaked an arm around her waist and drew her to him.  “Huh!” he said simply.  “Well good for them.  I hope they’re happy together.”

“Oh they will be,” Mary Margaret said, the happy tears evident in her voice.  “I’ve no doubt about that.  They’ll be as blissfully happy as we are.”

“Impossible,” David said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.  “I kind of feel like I need to give him the big-brother ‘If you hurt her, I’ll make your life miserable’ speech, though.”

“Don’t you dare, David Nolan,” Mary Margaret said with a grin.  “You know full well he’d never hurt her. She’s had enough stress in her life. Now that they’ve finally found each other, they deserve nothing but an absolute happily ever after.”

Notes:

–Well, there you have it!  Everyone gets their happy ending (well, except Neal, who died in agony, but then is there anyone who is sad about that?)!

–Up next: a nice fluffy epilogue in which everything gets tied up with a bow (and a small but joyful wedding).

NEXT CHAPTER->

[armyangxls]

Cozy Night In

Deena Johnson x Plus Size Reader

Warning(s): Mention of eating?

Word Count: 795

Summary: Deena and reader have a cozy Valentine night in

You knocked on Deena's door, your uncovered face getting hit by the bitterly cold wind, your teeth practically chattering from the cold.

The door swung open revealing Deena, her face beaming seeing you.

"Y/n!" Deena said, smiling.

You set your valentine's gift for Deena on the inside of the house and threw your arms around her, attaching yourself to her to steal her warmth and excitement to see her.

"You're freezing!" She said, reaching her hand behind you and closing the door, and wrapping her arm around you.

"Y-yea-ah-h I don't want to go out again. Too cold. Can we stay in and watch some romance and horror movies instead?"

"Of course, my love!" She said, pulling back from you to put her hands on your cheeks and kiss your forehead then lips bringing even more warmth to you.

You both pulled apart smiling.

"Here come and sit on the couch and warm up while I get the stuff ready!" She said, pulling away from the hug, and bringing you to the couch, you sat on it, and Deena threw a fluffy blanket on you for extra warmth. Deena walked to the kitchen to get the stuff.

~

Soon Deena came back to the living room with her hands full, two mugs of hot chocolate, and a mini carry-out box with cheeseburgers and fries.

"I kinda had a feeling you would wanna stay in tonight, so I picked us some burgers on the way from school." She said setting the stuff on the coffee table.

"Ahh, you're an amazing girlfriend!"

"I am, aren't I?" She said jokingly, smirking.

"But seriously you are too!" She said, smiling.

"And I also got this!" Grabbing a heart-shaped box of chocolate, and a box with memories written on it from the side table beside the couch.

"Aww! Wait, let me get your gift!" You said, jumping up from the couch.

Running to the side of the front door where your gift for her was, you grabbed it and rushed back to your seat.

"Here you go!" You said, handing her the gift bag she opened it seeing a mixtape, a puzzle of Scooby and the mystery gang.

"Aww I love it, you're the best girlfriend! Thank you so much!" She said, setting her gift bag on the table and hugged you.

"You're welcome, love!" You said smiling, hugging her back.

"Here's your gift!" She said, as you both pulled apart from the hug, and grabbed your gift handing you the gift.

"You got me chocolate? I love you forever!" You said smiling, then opened the box in it was a mixtape, photo booth photos of you both on one of your guys' first dates, vhs of the first movie they watched together Anne Of Green Gables.

You gasped in endearment, setting the gifts on the table, and threw your arms around Deena squeezing her tight.

"You're SOO amazing! I LOVE it! Thank you SOO much!" You said, smiling so big your mouth hurt.

"You're welcome, lovely!" She said, smiling, hugging you back.

"I love you, Deena!" You said, kissing her, your lips met hers, they were soft as rose petals.

"I love you, Y/N!" She said as you both pulled apart from the kiss.

"So what movie do you wanna watch?" Deena asked.

"The Crow!" You said, in excitement.

"Ah yes, a tragic romance!" She said, smiling.

"And gorgeous men!" You said, smiling.

"Yeah, I agree even as a lesbian!" She said, pecking you on the lips then got up from the couch and put the VHS in.

~

An hour had passed, and you both finished eating dinner, now in the middle of the movie.

You both were snuggled up, Deena's arm around your shoulder, your head resting on her with your arm wrapped around her waist, watching the movie.

You reached your arm to the table, grabbing the chocolates, opened them, and looked at all of the flavors.

"Why do they insist on putting so many strange flavors and not enough chocolate truffles, they all should all be chocolate truffles!" You said, frustration.

"Literally why! I do not know!" Deena said.

~

The movie had ended, and now you guys were listening to the mixtapes you both made for each other.

Deena stared at you in lovingness, you were like a painting of an angel painted in gold, she smiled, fully and utterly in love with you. You met her gaze, smiling back.

"What?" You asked, smiling.

"I love you SOO much gorgeous!" She said.

"I love you SOO MUCH too beautiful!" You said, smiling, feeling like soft gentle little butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.

"Happy Valentine's day, my beautiful love!" Deena said, smiling.

"Happy Valentine's day, my beautiful love!" You said, smiling.

An amazing night inside.

Note(s) Happy Valentine's day you lovely people!♥️💗💜♥️💗💜 I hope you guys like this fanfic!!

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: August 21

Now that the busytimes are over, I just desperately wanted to get back to the fic world. And I may have binged a little. No punishments plz. I have a lot of catching up to do.

Also dang, there's a lot of Jack this time around. There must be whiskey in the water...

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation fic

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JOEL MILLER

Kindred Spirits by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 It's Anne of Green Gables, but with Ellie and Joel. Really, y'all, this one caught me in my chest and had me tearing up more than once watching Joel come back to life for the love of a new daughter. My heart!!!!!

Surrender Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 by @ezrasbirdie So now we've gotten to the end of Kin and I'm still tense about Joel and Ellie even if I understand that their story will lead them back to Jackson. But now I'm just worried about Daisy. She's so vulnerable, so convinced that love is an accident or will always be so fragile and fleeting, I'm so afraid she'll run from it before she has a chance for it to really sink in. I just want to smoosh her and never let her go.

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EZRA

Taking Root by @the-blind-assassin-12 This short story takes place in an existing Ezra storyline, but you don't need to know that series to appreciate this fluffy bit of lovely, heartwarming give and take between Ezra and Cee as they make a gift for someone they love and care for.

E is for Exhibition by @butchmandalorian 🪐 Pro dom!Ezra is back, my beloved, and this time it's sex in a movie theater. He is such a menace and loves his work so much. I really wish the man was real. I am not a BDSM girl, but there's just something about butchmandalorian's Ez that gets me in all the right places.

Kinktober in June: Focus by @leslie-lyman Holy balls, y'all. This is mesmerizing in every single sense of the word: a little hypno-kink will do ya. Even without his arm and his humanity, Ezra still has many skills. The ability to manipulate and get what he wants. A silken voice. Patience. And apparently, that's all you need too.

E. - "Are you sure you're ready for this?" by @missredherring A drabbled writing exercise wherein Miss Red takes the prompt out of the smut box and into a softer place. Which is totally my jam.

Miles and Time by @never--doubt 🪐 Have I said yet how much I love Ezra? Or soulmates? I've never seen this mechanic before--the one where you have numbers on your wrist counting down the distance between soulmates. I love it. There's a lifetime of angst, but man, Ezra's worth the wait.

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JACK DANIELS

Draft Release: Dial Up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey by @artemiseamoon 🪐 You know, I had the same reaction to Jack that OFC Bria does here. Initially, I thought he was ridiculous and full of ego, not worth losing my heart to. But she gets to see the Jack that's deep down inside that Whiskey persona and...well...never say never.

untitled by @brandyllyn Hi would you like to be punched in the heart with just 600 words? Why don't you read what happens when Jack comes back from taking another bullet to the skull? I feel like this could be the prologue to a story that could end up so so sweet...but damn, that last sentence is a doozy.

Saying I Love You With Flowers by @songsformonkeys 🪐 I'm not really a flower person myself, but if I was getting them from y crush constantly, I could be converted real fast. Is there anything as lovely as when Jack's both a scamp and a gentleman all at once? He's the master at it and I am a puddle at his feet.

How Wrong You Are by @haylzcyon A short and sweet piece wherein Jack professes his care in the aftermath of a sketchy getaway. Haylz is never over-saccharine, but hits all the notes just right, just like a damn fine Whiskey indeed.

Bangathon: Position: Kneeling Reach Around (with Marcus Pike) and Position: 69 by @prolix-yuy My goodness, LJ is great at the smut and I love how she writes Jack. He's a confident lover, putting the object of his affection exactly where he needs them...and where they will soon understand they need to be. He may go after what he wants, but he never pushes too hard and always makes sure it's what they really want. I would 100% want to be in this man's mustachio'ed embrace. Yee-effin-haw.

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

Music Box: Prologue by @beecastle Aw yeah, we're getting Little Mermaid AU! This is a quick prologue setting us up for wanting more--both in terms of story AND in terms of the reader character wanting to learn more about humans. I'm hoping there's a certain sweet human in her eyeline soon....

To Your Rescue by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 Oh to be in the employ of Javi Gutierrez. To have his attention, his yearning looks, his protection. Really, my favorite thing would be to fall asleep watching movies with him...and you'll get that here too.

Litha by @grogusmum 🪐 Javi and his beekeeper girl are sweet as honey and I'm not gonna shy away from saying so. I love that he appreciates her taking an interest in his hobbies and family celebrations and shows that he cares for her interests by helping her celebrate a sweet Midsummers!

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MARCUS MORENO

Taste by @@radiowallet I generally don't read Marcus but I will always ALWAYS make an enthusiastic exception for Cat's Marcus. He is a true hero, both sweet and confident, pulled so ardently by his needs but really getting off on saving the day for you. And, of course, there's Cat's style of writing which is song in itself. If anyone can make me fall in love with period sex, it's her, it's Marcus, it's this sweetly smutty fic in all its soft, yearning glory.

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TIM ROCKFORD

First Mistake by @hopeamarsu 🪐 I am really delighted by this little character study. Hopes took what we see in the trailer and turned it inward, focusing on Tim's physical sensations and trains of thought. The way he registers the take-out he's eating, how he craves the whiskey in his desk drawer, his frustration as he looks at the clue board trying to make that crucial connection. It's a beautiful little piece, simple and yet full of so much.

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PERO TOVAR

untitled by @writeforfandoms I am such a sucker for Jen's modern-not-modern Pero. He is learning, but still such a menace and a hedonist that I can't help but giggle at him and adore him in equal measure. I love when his puppydog nature rears its head like it does here as he tries to keep his reader all to himself on a nice picnicy day...

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JAVIER PEÑA

The Third Date by @lowlights What Laura has done here is pretty much described my perfect third date with Javier. I mean, it's Javi being soft, giving his attentions, doing soft naughty things in public. But even more than that, it's tacos, y'all. Sign me up.

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DIN DJARIN

Year of Small Joys: Stargazing by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 I love that Lyr is focusing on small joys. It's totally my jam to see my favorite characters just having a moment of peace or happiness, just to see their reaction to something I find lovely or to hear their thoughts about something I'd never stopped to notice. This time it's Din and stars, which really should be old hat for him. But he still finds a beauty in stargazing...

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OBERYN MARTELL

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #8: Oberyn Martell - Apology Kiss / Jealous Kissing by @something-tofightfor I might be living for this modern AU playboy Oberyn and his proclivity to be vulnerable in my presence, to open up and be real when hurt feelings are on the line. He did wrong, but I think he'll make up for it, and boy howdy do I want to be on the receiving end of that.

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

OBI-WAN KENOBI

A Chance Taken by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 I know that Obi-Wan has his duty, but wouldn't it be nice if he always harbored feelings and had plans to settle after the war? This one is living that dream....I wants it.

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BOROMIR

The Advice of Hobbits by @ironmandeficiency I mean, nobody should take advice from Merry and Pippin. And so it goes without saying that nobody should take love advice from Merry and Pippin. Ever. Poor Boromir. But I'm not gonna lie. The results are pretty cute.

[sugarpopss]

November 30th, 1942

This is very much inspired by that post thats like 'remember how Bucky said he enlisted so Steve wouldn't worry about him'. I just couldn't stop thinking about Bucky getting his draft letter and being so worried about people worrying about him. This draws heavily from the lore developed in the chat with @bucknastysbabe , inculding but not limited to: Rebeccas food thing, George Barnes the WWI vet who died from a medical problem caused by his time in the amry, Steve and Rebecca being close, Ma Barnes being one of the kindest people in the world and a midwestern girlie...etc etc. Sources for the bits of research I did for this fic are here and here.

November 30th, 1942

In 1942, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, Bucky got a letter. He saw it when he got home from the docks, slightly crumpled between Rebecca’s algebra and geography books on the kitchen counter. It had gotten a little damp in the mailing process and was stuck to the front of a letter to his mother, from her own mother back in Iowa. He didn’t think too much of it-he was too exhausted to think much of anything. Unloading crates from ships was far from the worst work in the world, but it sure did zap his energy and fill his sinuses with dust and dirt and smoke. Some of the old timers-guys who claimed to remember striking for a 5 cent raise-liked to joke that pretty soon ‘pretty boy Barnes’ would get to know the sort of back pain that went hand-in-hand with a lifetime of hauling cargo, and that would trump exhaustion every time. 

Bucky always laughed it off. They were just joking around, and he’d take any ache in the world if it meant being able to take care of his family, anyway. Even if his Ma kept bringing up trade schools that weren’t too far or too expensive, and Steve was champing at the bit to join the military, Bucky was fine right where he was. He was just fine in the apartment he grew up in, working hard, flirting with the girls running telegrams in the harbormaster's office, walking Rebecca home from school when he got off in time. He got fantasy novels from the library with Clark Gable knights and Lana Turner princesses on the covers; He boxed on the weekends and was always a good sport; He caught Rebecca in the short hallway connecting their bedrooms every morning and gave her a noogie; He went to the cinema with Steve when they both had a little change in their pockets and flicked popcorn kernels at each other like they were kids. 

All that to say-Bucky was doing perfectly fine. He wasn’t raring to make a name for himself or see some great bloody glory. He definitely wasn’t interested in signing up for the war. The picture of his father on the mantel, clean shaven in an army uniform from twenty years ago, kicked the sense back into him whenever he thought about it. If the photograph of the man Bucky could barely remember didn’t work, the urn next to it surely did. 

And all of these things were reasons why, when he unstuck the damp mail from his sisters schoolbooks, the bottom just about dropped out of his stomach. The ink was a little smeared from getting wet, but still perfectly legible: for him, with the selective service system logo stamped right on the front. 

It was like the entire apartment tilted, rocked like a seesaw and threw him completely off balance. Without even thinking, Bucky stuffed the letter into his pocket. He didn’t want to look at it, think about it, deal with it. Whatever it said-as if there was any question as to its contents-he would worry about later. Preferably not standing in the middle of the kitchen in his grimy work clothes, whale eyed and frightfully pale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The letter remained stuffed deep in Buckys pocket until after supper. Bathed, comfortably full and bone deep tired, he was usually out like a light after working a full day. But instead of passing out underneath the quilt-a gift from the elderly widow two floors up, after he’d spent the summer of ‘35 bringing up her mail and groceries and painting over the water damage on her kitchen ceiling-he fished the letter out from the pants strewn on the floor and just…held it. Looked at it. Turned it over, looked at where his address had been smudged a little by the damp. It was definitely for him; no mistake there. His full name was right there on the address line, middle initial and everything. 

Maybe it was completely mundane! Every guy had to sign up for selective service-tons of them probably got letters about misspelled words or unchecked boxes. Maybe he’d written something down incorrectly back when he had filled out the forms. 18-year-olds were stupid, after all, and he probably hadn’t been paying that much attention to the information he was putting down. That was most likely it; He’d put his birthday down as October 3rd instead of March 10th by accident, or initialed something that was supposed to be a signature or vice versa. So what if it’d been four years since he filled out that paperwork? Tiny errors like that were probably pretty low priority for the selective service, especially after America joined the war. 

He was just going to open the letter and see what they needed him to fix or resign. 

He opened the letter. He read it once, then twice, then three times. 

There was no problem with the paperwork he’d filled out at 18. 

He didn’t need to resign any forms or recheck any boxes.  

He did need to report to the local selective service board the following Tuesday. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. 

Buckys first thought wasn’t ‘I don’t want to join the military’. It wasn’t even ‘I’m scared’. Buckys very first thought was for his family. He couldn’t be in the military! He was an important part of the household! The Barnes had only recently edged back into a relatively comfortable financial situation because of the combined incomes Bucky and his Ma brought in, and someone had to be around to look after Rebecca-as much as she’d protest and whine that she was 16, she didn’t need to be looked after-when their Ma couldn’t. Someone needed to haul Steve out of fights and into dance halls, because yes, Steve was as good as family, would’ve been even if Rebecca hadn’t declared he had ‘adopted brother rights’ years ago. 

Buckys second thought was ‘I don’t want to join the military’, because he didn’t. He’d never wanted to, never even seriously entertained the idea. There had already been a Barnes man in a war and it had destroyed him; robbed a good man of his peace and his health, robbed Buckys mother of a husband and himself and Rebecca of a father. Hell, Rebecca had never even met their father-he had died two months before she was born. A couple of old photographs, a ceramic urn, and a watch and wedding band with no hand to wear them were all she knew of the man. 

It made Buckys stomach turn to think about leaving his family for the thing that had put his father in the grave before 40. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he started to think. He couldn’t tell his Ma he’d been drafted-he certainly couldn’t tell Rebecca or Steve. They’d all worry too much for him. The downside to having loved ones was that as much as you loved them, they also loved you. And loving someone meant worrying for them when they were about to get scooped out of their life with less than a months notice. 

It’d be less worrying if he'd just enlisted, if he had made a choice, even a rash, ill-advised one. At least that would imply he had some sort of excitement or confidence in joining the military. At least that would imply that he was ready, that nobody needed to worry about him because Bucky himself wasn’t worried or scared or hesitant. 

That was the thought that he chewed on all day. Chewed on it so much, in fact, that he barely chewed anything else, including his supper. And that was strange behavior for Bucky. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Rebecca had asked him. It sounded incredibly blunt, but to be entirely fair, she had first made a frantic gesture towards the peas on her plate with her head-because Rebecca was not eating peas that week, and if she could switch their plates without their Ma noticing she could avoid a stern look and a ‘clean plates club’ lecture-and then kicked him under the table when her head tossing got no response. 

Their Ma was looking at him, too. If there was one thing the Barnes siblings were, it was chatty, and although Rebecca had been blathering on about how a girl in her geography class had gotten in trouble for wearing lipstick, Bucky had been almost entirely silent. And he’d barely touched his food even though he wasn’t on the same legume strike as his sister. 

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, casual and calm. He took a bite of his food-the peas were fine even if they came from a can, because their Ma was an excellent cook. Rebecca was just weird about food sometimes-to give himself time to think. 

He settled on “I can’t walk you home next week.” 

Rebecca sighed in that ‘God, you’re all so uptight and dramatic’ way that teenagers do. “I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m not a kid, I know how to get home from school.” 

Their Ma gave him another curious look, though. “Did you make plans?” she asked. “With Steve? With a girl?”

She didn’t sound upset, just…curious. It was odd, after all, for Bucky to not want to walk Rebecca home. He tried very hard to align his hours at the docks with her school schedule. It was important to him, to make sure she was safe and that nobody bothered her. 

“Sort of.” He replied. 

He knew that wasn’t a very good answer, and his Mas face reflected it. He’d never in one million years chose some dame over his sister, and Steve was as good as Rebeccas second brother. He was more likely to just join in on the walk than make plans over it. Hell, half of the time they did things as a trio-things like pooling Christmas and birthday money to go to Coney Island, an outing upon which the then teen boys had ridden the Cyclone, Steve had vomited into a public trash can, and Rebecca had proven that she was somehow remarkable at darts despite never having played before in her life. 

His Ma raised her eyebrow. God, he was bad at lying, bad at keeping secrets, bad at misleading people. 

“I-” He met his Mas eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, steeled himself. “It’ll be a few days next week, actually. I enlisted and I’m reporting to induction on Tuesday.” 

The world didn’t end once he said it. A small part of him-the part that reminded Bucky he hadn’t lied to his Ma since he was 17 and she asked if he had cigarettes in his bedroom, and even then he’d come clean about two hours later-had expected something huge and dramatic to happen. Maybe both his mother and sister would drop their forks and snap their heads up, maybe a police siren or fire alarm would go off somewhere nearby, maybe lightning would strike the building. 

But none of that happened. Rebecca continued pushing her food around her plate. “No you didn’t.” She scoffed.

Their Ma didn’t dismiss his statement as a joke, but her expression was difficult to read. “You did?” She asked, her voice stern and level. 

Bucky kept going. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was just thinking about it and it seemed like a good idea. I stopped at the recruiting center last week. I…” 

He trailed off. This wasn’t a perfectly thought through lie, but it felt like a necessary one. 

“Yeah.”

Rebeccas fork actually did clatter to her plate once he finished talking. She looked up at her brother, agape with bright pink spots at the high points of her cheeks. 

“You’re fucking joking! You can’t just leave!” 

“Rebecca Grace!” Their Ma snapped, though it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. 

Rebecca shot up from the table, her eyes-bright blue like Buckys, like their late fathers-welling up with tears. “No! You can’t leave, that’s not fair!” 

With that she stormed off, the slam of her bedroom door in the small apartment sounding like a gunshot. 

Bucky swallowed and looked down at his food. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“James.” 

He looked up at his Ma. Guilt immediately began to eat at him. Guilt for the lie, guilt for having to leave them, guilt for everything his Ma had been through and would go through in the future. 

“What branch?” 

He swallowed again. The guilt was crawling up his throat like vomit. He wanted to admit it was a lie, to say he was scared and didn’t want to go and didn’t know what to do. But there was nothing to be done. All he could do was help the people who loved him to not worry so much. 

“Army. Like dad.” 

She raised her eyebrows. They barely ever spoke about George Barnes military career. Not to say that they never spoke about Bucky and Rebeccas father at all-he’d been the love of their Mas life, she had plenty of stories about him. But they didn’t talk about his time in Europe. Bucky had always gotten the impression that his father hadn’t spoken much about his time in Europe when he was still alive, anyway. 

“Your father was drafted. He didn’t choose the army.” 

He shrugged. 

She sighed and put her fork down, picked it back up, put it down again. 

“I don’t-” She sighed again. “I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a grown man and you get to make your own choices.” 

Bucky didn’t feel like a grown man at that moment. He felt like a little boy trying to convince his mother that he wasn’t afraid of the dark. 

“Do you genuinely want to join the military?”  

The earnest concern in the question was what broke him. He took a very deep breath and met his Mas eyes, blue on brown. She had asked like there was any changing it. Even if he had voluntarily enlisted, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it after the fact. 

“No. I-I…the letter came yesterday and I have to go on Tuesday and I-.” Bucky cut himself off, feeling something far too much like tears in his eyes, something far too much like a sob beginning to choke up his throat. 

“Jamie, sweetheart…” She stood from the table and opened her arms to him, a hug that he gladly accepted. Three inches taller than his mother or not, 22 years old or not, there was nothing more comforting than his Mas embrace. 

“It’ll be alright, Jamie.” 

By god, he hoped so. 

[monsterkong]

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[the-fidgety-fiddler]

So supremely happy w my gifts. Acquired an Anne of Green Gables 8 book boxed set, beautiful Van Gogh themed stationery, and Luigi's Mansion 3, among other things.

[peterlorrefanpage]

What Peter Lorre Gave to Louella Parsons

"Completed in early 1938, the home was decorated with simple woolen rugs and plain wooden furniture, and in one room Louella had installed her childhood furniture from Dixon. Throughout were housewarming gifts from Hollywood friends: a crystal candy box from Peter Lorre, a set of china figurines from Sid Grauman, a poker table from Carole Lombard and Clark Gable, and antique ceramic pitchers from Bebe Daniels and Ben Lyon." - The First Lady of Hollywood: A Biography of Louella Parsons, by Samantha Barbas

I want to see that candy box, just because. 😁

[baladric]

for the flash fic, keeping in line with last night's question, thara celehar in the pirate au, like just whatever he's up to, also no pressure to do this if you would need to consult with someone else to do so

okay LISTEN i hope you jive with the idea of thara fleeing the ethuveraz to neighboring celvaz as a result of the wild fucking xenophobia/bigotry that's risen in the ethuveraz after the war that broke out over maia's disappearance, bc i was desperately possessed of the need to play with him accidentally getting tangled up with faeries. also this is long so i'm read more'ing

*

"The trouble is the house," said Colum Walsh. He was a rustic painting of a man, somewhat squat and hardy looking with the odd, rounded ears and brilliantly red hair of the Cel. He was of the age when one's skin begins to yield to life as the earth yields to the long-trod destiny path, and though I found his doddery ebullience and the volume of his voice to be tiring, I still found in myself a certain regret for the incontrovertible evidence of a life of sorrow and stress in this man's newly lined face. He was kind in a way that asked only for listening ears, and had I any power over the ways of the wider world, I would have wished for him a gentler life than it seemed he had lived.

"So you've said," I replied, prompting him as I watched my feet on the uneven path we took through a thin copse of trees. I would have preferred the main thoroughfare, but Mr. Walsh was the concept of hurry made manifest, and so I had permitted him the use of his chosen shortcut from pub to our destination—which was, I saw at a glance through a break in the trees, a cottage of the Celvadeise style, bare stone with a gabled, wood-shingled roof and windows of a thick, untempered glass. From here, I could see that the garden though clearly once carefully cultivated, had sprung its bonds and sprawled into a mess of overgrown mint and rosemary and the odd native creeper.

"You know about brownies, of course," Mr. Walsh said, stepping over a jutting tree root with the unthinking ease of long habit, and crossing thence beyond the edge of the little wood.

"Hearth spirits of a sort," I said, taking a bit more care with the root myself. "Transactional, but loyal."

"Aye," he said. "Though I wouldn't call them spirits, really, if you'll forgive me saying so, mer. Language is tricksy with the Fair Folk, you know—they're so quick to offense, makes you want to be specific, you ken?"

I knew the sort, though I did not say so. Cels, I had learned, were wary of discussion of elves, and the more time I spent beyond the borders of my native Ethuveraz, the deeper my understanding went. It was a cold, tricksome, conditional land when juxtaposed with the heathery moors and rolling green of Celvaz, and its fiery and forthright people.

"Hearth fey, then," I said. "You believe your brownies have turned?"

We had reached the little gate at the edge of the property, and here, Mr. Walsh paused.

"It's the oddest thing," he said, his voice turning thoughtful. "Not unheard of, really, but it takes a foolhardy few months of neglect for one as old as this to go off, and I've not missed a full moon's offering or a solstice gift in... Stones below, it's got to be something like decades."

That was curious, I thought, and drew up beside him to study the house.

Only an hour ago, ensconsced in the warm, dimly lit pub at the center of Bisby Town, he had told me that his house had begun falling apart a little over a month ago. In light of the time frame, I had expected the scruffy garden, of course, perhaps a certain ricketiness of window boxes, a fallen shingle or two.

Colum Walsh's house, however, was on its knees in the creeper. The window sashes sagged apocalyptically, the broad paving stones of the little path rocked and cracked with marauding weeds. Far from the anticipated shedding of shingles were the signs of wood rot in the roof. From just this quick assessment, I guessed with a great deal of concern that the rot had extended into the crossbeams supporting the roof from the inside, and that the structure itself was likely in danger of collapsing in on itself. One window had clearly been covered from the inside with a sheet, for the panes had shattered entirely, and the one on the far side of the peeling sun-yellow door looked to not be far behind it.

Which was to say that it was the sort of disrepair that took years, not a single month.

I did not realize I was being studied in turn until Mr. Walsh spoke, a wry sort of amusement in his voice.

"That bad, huh?"

I cleared my throat, and took a moment to refit my tongue to the rounded burr of Celvadeise; though I had been in the country for nearly three years, I was still not what I would call fluent. It did not help matters that I could feel my Ethuverazhin slipping away under the constancy of this new language—a turn that bothered me far more than I liked—and so I had been taking some care to at least think in my mother tongue. And if I occasionally spoke Ethuverazhin to the cats that tended to find me wherever I was, well, that was nobody's business but my own.

"I can see what has you so worried," I said simply. With a gesture at the gate upon which Mr. Walsh had rested his hand, I continued. "May I see it closer?"

Mr. Walsh lept to action, swinging the gate wide and ushering me through with an excited trickle of words. We walked the perimeter together, him pointing out the myriad damages to structure and property alike while I, maintaining my silence, began ever so gently to expand my senses to the particular frequency of the Fair Folk.

To say it had been a surprise the first time a fairy spoke to me would be understating the matter significantly. For while I am nothing if not accustomed to the communion of spirits outside myself, it had never extended beyond the realm of the dead—and the recently dead, at that. I was not a maza, nor was I anything like the folkloric clairvoyants one used to hear about from the Barizheise sometimes, in the days before the Three Years' War.

I had been in Celvaz only a month, the first time, having talked my way (pantomimed, really, for I had only known a few interrogatives in the native tongue at that point, and, embarrassingly, the word for weasel) into a barter with a moderately forgiving farmer—maintenance work on his dairy barn in exchange for two meals a day and a spot to sleep in the hay loft. It was hard, dreary work, but I had begun to adjust to it and find new patterns to tread through my days.

One of these rituals had been long, rambling walks past the borders of the farmer's land. The rolling hills went gold and purple with the sunset, and though I had never been one for the pastoral, I found in those spare, glowing minutes a kind of peace that had been absent from my life for as long as I could remember.

It was one of those evenings, the sun having just dipped below the horizon, though it still lit the sky with rich godfingers of colors for which I lacked proper names, when I tripped over a hummock of raised earth and toppled right into a faerie's burrow.

What followed was a dizzying flurry of curses I could not even hope to follow in a strange language, the startling prickle of something like static lightning washing over me, and finally, the extraction of a promise—an eventuality against which, I realized later, I had been thoroughly warned already.

You can see me, can hear me, can tread in the shadows I walk—and so you will help me and raise not a fight against me or my kin when we come in the night—or the day, for the Fey don't go away like they say is the way of the ones who burn up in the rays of the great glowing dawn. Oh, don't make that face, you try rhyming all the time, Mer Elf.

And so, to my great humiliation, I found himself to be a cautionary tale: Unwary foreigner pacted in service to the Fey.

And so, here I stood, doing my duty in the laying of my hand against the unreasonably cold stone of the decaying house.

Mr. Walsh prattled in the background, having not yet noticed my stillness, and I pressed all thought of him to the back of my mind as I sank into the immaterial essence of the place that spoke to the long presence of a faerie.

The brownie did not notice me at first, which proved itself a boon, as it gave me time to brace for the cacophony that crashed into me the instant I entered its awareness.

There were no words here, not at first—simply anger and a great deal more of that prickling which I had come to recognize as the particular maz of the Fair Folk. I took care to remain quiescent and let the storm of emotion wash over me, for it was not so different an experience from the communion with a person who had died in rage. And, in time, it passed, and the brownie drew back enough to observe.

I opened my eyes, and there she stood: golden brown skin, dark hair made lush with curls and tufty braids looped with beads and ribbons and tattered bits of lace. As with most Fey I had seen, her eyes were unnervingly large, a startling purple in her heart-shaped face. She grimaced at me in the way of a snarl, a neat rack of jagged teeth, sharp as vinegar.

"Who?" she asked, her voice a crackling thing, full of eons of cookfires stoked high.

Having learned my lesson, I bowed nearly as deeply as I would to the Emperor himself, and said, "I am called Celehar."

Those great eyes narrowed.

"The Witness," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I am here on behalf of the man whose home you share. He would like to know how he can regain your favor, madam."

*

It was not quite like awakening when I came back to myself, but I had no other word for it.

Time had passed in my absence, night settling fully around my ears and a chill creeping through the sturdy wool of my coat. I blinked, and found Mr. Walsh fidgeting from the seat he had taken on the crumbling garden wall. He jolted to his feet when I cleared my throat, his eyes wide, face a pale moon in the darkness.

"Mer Celehar!" he said, hurrying to me with outstretched hands. I allowed him to touch my arm before easing away.

"She doesn't like the milkweed," I said, sounding exactly as thirsty as I was; the single ale I had allowed myself at the pub had been hours ago.

"The... milkweed?" Bafflement was an unflattering look on Mr. Walsh, his eyes bugging out and mouth gaping to show a few missing teeth and the gold of what must have been an extremely costly filling.

"It brought butterflies last year," I said. "Monarchs. Her family has had a feud with their kind for..." I closed my eyes. "Oh, some long stretch of eons. She does not want them to come back."

Mr. Walsh blinked.

"Butterflies," he said.

"Butterflies," I echoed, and after a long pause, we were both helpless to do anything but laugh.

[jon-withnoh]

100, 121, 129!

100. Your favourite Gothic novel:

It’s impossible to choose just one so I‘ll give you several. I spent a lot of time with Jane Eyre during my English degree and it‘s still one of my favourites. There‘s just so much there! (I‘d also recommend Wild Sargasso Sea and Jane Steele as interesting takes on the Jane Eyre story.) Secondly, people are sleeping on The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë. I actually prefer her prose to Charlotte‘s and she opens up extremely interesting subject matter (a woman fleeing her abusive husband with her son and earning her own living as an artist, to give the briefest of summaries). Thirdly, I do of course have to recommend Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It‘s an extremely rich text that rewards multiple readings (I am currently on my third reread, armed with book tabs and a pencil). Definitely try to get a copy that has Sally Beauman‘s introduction (or find it on my blog under the rebecca das musical tag, hehe). It gives a lot of context and provides a jumping off point for further research.

121. A book that makes you nostalgic:

Anne of Green Gables (specifically the German translation I read as a child). I „borrowed“ (read: stole) the copy from my cousin, fully intending to give it back but never actually doing it. I‘m pretty sure she never noticed. It had the first two books of the series and I reread it countless times, especially over the summer. It‘s the perfect mixture of a heroine I could really identify with and an atmosphere that fits really well with that endless, sunny feeling of childhood summer holidays (at least in my memory).

Another book that makes me very nostalgic now is Alanna, the First Adventure by Tamora Pierce. I had the first two books of the series in German translation and read them many, many times. (I actually didn‘t end up finishing the series until I was in my early twenties).

129. A book with beautiful prose:

I have to recommend another book connected to Rebecca here (mainly because I just moved and all my books are in boxes, depriving me of visual reminders of the books I have actually read): Mrs de Winter by Susan Hill has very smooth, atmospheric prose that I enjoyed a lot.

I haven‘t read a lot of fiction in the last couple of years because I focused on poetry in my MA, so I also want to recommend a couple of poetry collections:

Flèche by Mary Jean Chan — this collection changed me. I want to memorise it and have it with me everywhere. I‘m stealing this description from the back of the book since words really are failing me: „As complex themes of multilingualism, queerness, psychoanalysis and cultural history emerge, so too does a richly imagined personal, maternal and national biography. The result is a series of poems that feel urgent and true, dazzling and devastating by turns“.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith — you might have read the title poem of the collection, „Good Bones“ that went viral a few years ago. This whole collection is a delight though, with images that appear and reappear in different places in the collection, thoughts on maturing, motherhood, and the feeling of being anchored to — or escaping — the place where you grow up.

No Map Could Show Them by Helen Mort — I recommend this book to everyone who asks me about poetry. I am not lying when I say that this is the book that made me a poet. I solidly thought of myself as a prose writer before I read it. It‘s a collection focusing on present day and historical women mountaineers (with detours into other subjects). What always draws me in about Mort‘s poetry is her incredible gift of getting the imagery and form of her poems work together to really make them sing. I could give a twenty minute lecture on her use of white space alone. I love this book.

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[poshfind]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Shelia's Handmade 1997 Green Gables Inn California Vintage Shelf Sitter Plaque.

[a-chuffed-floating-panda]

A love in the eye of the hurricane ch19 (unedited)

(Originally posted 5 September 2022. Slightly better edited chapter)

Location: Congsan, Earth kingdom village.

Age: Seven winters.

Jamyang jumped and hid behind the nearest bush, giving her a clear sight of the village square below.

Uma was too big for her little quest and she would’ve been caught way earlier when flew her way over here, so she had to make do with her trusty staff.

Anzan and Tora, who tagged along because he could and it was a learning experience as well, helped her get her staff modified with the blacksmith that ama got her senbon from. Her name was Tamagushiku, the Okin way of saying Tamaki or Tamashiro, but because of the foreign vowels, Jamyang settled for calling her Tama-san.

She could now turn her staff into a spear, fold it together and hide it easier; it fit in her bag and actually fit in her pocket. Yes. She could place her staff in her pocket now; Jaya gaped at her when she saw her fold it together and put it into her pocket. And had promptly demanded her to tell who did that and could they do that with hers, too?

Tama-san also put extra compartments in the staff so that she could hide an extra box of senbon, three kunai, food rations, a whetstone and a map. Jamyang never thought that she, a nun in training, would ever need a whetstone. But ama gifted her old jian, and she got ninjaken, completely free, from Tama-san so it was something she needed to take care of them.

Tashi and Choda turned the corner by a food stand and Jamyang jumped on one of the massive tree branches that reached over the square to follow them.

Being out of her usual robes, she blended in with the area while she jumped the tree branches and landed on a blue-ish roof, taking cover behind the gable part of the xieshan styled earth kingdom roof.

“What are you doing?” An innocent voice said beside her and Jamyang fought off every instinct in her body to not push the individual off the roof with one of her air punches; she’s worked on those and people noticed and complimented.

An involuntary sigh left her as she glared at two familiar ice-blue eyes. “What are you doing here? I was about to punch you off the roof.” She noted to herself that she should pay more attention to her surroundings next time.

Palden peaked over the gable. “Are you spying on them?”

“No.” She hastily denied. “I’m checking up on them. That’s two completely different things.” No one caught her at the temple, nor had they caught her while she was outside. “I do other things while I’m here, too.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Study the surroundings, buy extra clothes.” She only missed a set of water tribe clothes now. “Sketched in my sketchbook, drank a cup of tea.” Technically she’d stolen it, but she left change and a hefty tip with the cup when she returned it back to the teahouse. Jamyang felt bad for the waitress that had to deal with the upset customer afterwards and seeing her delighted expression was worth it.

“- I drew a map of the village with all the safe and secret entrances and weak spots should a future chieftain take over the village.” Palden raised an impressed brow when she showed her the map. “Hm, you got all the important spots and more.” She leaned in closer for a look, glancing up at her with an unknown look. 

“Have you been studying?” Jamyang huffed at her and rolled her scroll up. Of course she’s been studying. That’s like 28% of a regular day for her now.

“Of course I have.” She folded her staff up so that she could put the map back in its secret compartment. “That, and I’ve been training.”

“What have you focused on?” Jamyang turned to her with a pinch in her brow. Did she not get it? “You know.” She said and nodded toward Tashi and Choda. “That type of training.”

It took a second, but Palden was polite to muffle her laughter so they wouldn’t be caught.

Location: Western air temple mountain side.

Age: nine winters.

It was difficult not using her bending.

It was tempting, incredibly tempting, but she didn’t and followed the instructions Palden sent her. She pulled the long steel nail out of the creek in the mountainside, stabbing it into another one, adjusted her grip and dragged herself up; her foot resting on a small ledge. A temporary break. She needed one.

Her arms were burning.

The chalk on her hands had prevented any tearing so far, which was good. It made her life easier and gave her one less thing to explain for.

“Huff, huff.” Her chest heaved as she leaned her head against the rock. It was difficult to get her breathing in order. Apa made it sound so easy. To know the right time to take a breath, not waste movement, be aware of your body, close the senses and breathe. Hadn’t she been doing that?

“… re…. so..?” Jamyang looked up with squinted eyes. Someone’s out on the pagodas. Who? It was nighttime, past her curfew, and she’d snuck out when the coast was clear; a plan devised over three days, observation, examination and execution. 

Was someone expecting visitors? Who??

“… Je.. tsun…. thi….” Sister Jetsun and Amanthi? “I’m not….. fa….. Pema…” Could it be ‘I’m not going to fall again Pema?’ The next was Sister Pema laughing, and Jamyang took that as a chance to continue climbing. Stabbing the nails into the creeks made some sound. She hoped it functioned as a good cover.

Just reach the small cliff. It was close and she could squeeze through a passageway she found when looking for exit routes in case something like this happened.

“You always fall, Jetsun.” And… a nudge? It sounded like some robes rustled, so maybe. “The last time I didn’t come with you, you ended up tripping and getting a nosebleed.” Jamyang paused for a moment, composing herself so that the scenario wouldn’t get to her. Hilarious. 

Laugh later. This was potential blackmail material, wasn’t it? Not that she was planning on blackmailing Sister Jetsun, but this had to count as blackmail, right? For research purposes and visual examples only, of course.

Jamyang scaled the wall when they continued talking, getting closer and closer to the small cliff she set as a goal. Small cliffs and hiding spots like that one littered the whole mountainside, a perfect way to train and hide should she be in a situation she currently was in.

“It was one time!” The risky thing was that it was close to the pagodas, exhausted Jamyang with burning arms would be noticed by two- threeexperienced masters should Amanthi arrive anytime soon.

“That one time has happened plenty of other times too!” Sister Pema teased and Jamyang pulled herself up over the edge, laying down and trying to keep her breathing quiet. A tough task when it felt like she was on the verge of passing out. It hurt to move her hands. They were so numb.

“You are the biggest squishy I know of.” Rolling over on her side, Jamyang put the steel nails back into her pocket and tried willing herself to move.

“I can’t help it!” Sister Jetsun exclaimed, and she could imagine how red her face was. “She’s just so pretty.” Jamyang agreed wholeheartedly, nodding along to her follow up admiring words. Amanthi was pretty. Beautiful even. With her long red hair, lilting voice, calm hazel eyes and quiet presence.

She read books too and recommended some to her when she’d visit. Did she forget to say that Amanthi was pretty? She admired Amanthi greatly.

Jamyang glanced up at the shift in air currents. A white shaggy coated bison flew over her and landed on the plaza with no sound. Cool, maybe she could teach Uma how to do that too. It would be helpful for her to know that in compromising situations.

She moved when she heard them say the customary greetings, staggering on her feet when she got up and hurried to the secret passageway, squeezed in between two rocks and was successfully out of sight.

Maybe she could change some of these passages? The entrances were way too small for an adult to get through, but now that she knew of them, it would be smart to change them so that she could still use them as an adult.

She would think of that later.

Juro, Emi and Jigme jumped off of Oshiro way before he landed. Lobsang was quick to scold Jigme for his recklessness.

Jigme answered with a laugh and “But it’s Ani, apa! So it has to be okay!”

Lobsang couldn’t counter with anything, maybe thinking of the times where he did the same thing and worried his teachers to bits every time he did it? With his exasperated smile and tiny shake of his head, it certainly looked like it.

Amanthi looked away when she saw the steel grip Pema had on the back of Jetsun’s robes. Juro and Emi stood a little closer to her than they normally did.

Land first, get off and then tease her.

Pema winked over her shoulder when she dragged her brother and the children away, leaving the two of them alone.

“Um, hi.” Jetsun was as red as her hair. 

“Hello.” Amanthi relished the fact that she could make her like this every time they met. “It’s nice to see you.” She poked her cheek and Jetsun responded by ducking her head.

“I missed you.” She pulled her into a hug.

“I missed you too.” Jetsun wrapped her arms over her shoulders, cupping her face. “How long are you staying?”

“Four weeks.” The reaction was slow, but a grin slowly formed on her lips and she pulled her into a kiss. “I’m glad.” She said, after pulling away and resting their foreheads against each other. 

It was then she sensed it. A flicker so brief that she thought she imagined it.

It came from beneath them. How did someone get under there? Had she missed something? Were the tunnels there? She looked around.

“What is it?” 

“Hm… there wouldn’t happen to be a network of tunnels underneath here, would there?”

“No, some of the grottoes are connected, but there isn’t an outright network.”

Glancing over the edge, she saw a small cliff, a perfect spot for someone to hide should they have spied on them.

Jetsun shouted when she jumped, immediately going after her.

“Careful!” Her knee injury had mostly healed, leaving her with minor pain and a stubborn limp, but Jetsun persisted. “What is it? Tell me.”

“There was… someone.” The dusty white spots at the edge got her attention. She crouched down and swiped her finger at it and rubbed it between her fingers. Hand chalk. 

Peeking over the edge, she saw the occasional white spot colouring the mountainside.

“Someone was climbing.” She said, answering Jetsun’s inquiring look. “And…” Her eyes followed the spotty trail of dust, leading her to a wedge between two stones. Only a child could get through that. Amanthi smirked when she looked in between the two rocks, a passageway.

At the entrance, coated in hand chalk, laid a lone steel nail. They must’ve been in a hurry. 

“They left this.” She picked it up. “It’s used when you’re climbing in difficult terrains, where finding a good grip is difficult.” She explained at Jetsun’s confused expression.

“You’re telling me-.” Her finger moved frantically between the nail and the edge. “Climbed up? Climbed up?!” She looked at the wedged entrance. “And snuck through here?”

“Yup.” She twirled the nail with her fingers, smiling when she recognised the design. A typical steel nail from Wat tham suea. 

“So reckless. An adult can’t fit through here.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean?” Jetsun looked upset by her calmness. “Like it was a child who climbed?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, still smiling and twirling the nail with her fingers.

Amanthi knew exactly who it was. Only one child could sneak by her. 

Amanthi found Jamyang passed out on her bedroom floor, hands still white with chalk.

The déjà vu was strong; she’d found Emi and Juro in the exact way too many times to count.

Chuckling under her breath, she picked her up and moved her to her bed, taking out the nail in her pocket and covering her with a light blanket. She didn’t want her to overheat. It was still summer.

Pushing back her baby hairs, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night.”

Location: Tamshing, Eastern temple in the north.

Age: Sixteen winters.

Someone chuckled behind her. Jamyang turned, arms full and still extremely perplexed about what happened.

“She talked you into being her komuso standby?” Abbot Dorji stood a way behind her with mirthful eyes. His arrow spotted with age, looking his actual age for the first time she’d seen him.

“Abbot Dorji!” Jamyang hurried to bow, clinging to the stuff in her arms, not wanting to drop anything. 

“None of that.” He waved dismissively at her. “She talked you into being a komuso for her mission?”

Komuso? “I, uh, yeah. She did.” The robes were black. She hadn’t worn that colour before. She hadn’t seen a straw basket used as a mask before, either. The shakuhachi was the one thing she was familiar with.

“You have no idea what she talked you into, do you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of the term.” Jamyang trusted Gawa, but this was… scary. She knew how to fight and she knew how to use weapons and some poisons, courtesy of Eastern Sister Nyima.

Jamyang did not expect that from her. Sister Nyima was a nomad, so the eastern sangha wouldn’t be looming over the shoulder and she’d met some nomads who’d bent the rules a little to fit their situation, but still. Sister Nyima dabbled in some pretty dangerous poisons.

Fighting wasn’t the problem, she could fight and win. She adapted well to situations and knew so from the physical test she could partake in. But an actual mission, where everything you said and did had consequences, made her nerves buzz; she was well aware of some things the other temples did to get money to take care of their temples, mercenary work being one of them.

Jamyang had never joined an actual mission. She had healed people after a mission, but that was it.

“Good thing I’m here then.” Abbot Dorji grinned. “I was a komuso in my youth.” There were times Jamyang felt bad for experiencing the surprise that he’d been young once. Abbot Dorji was old every time she’d seen him. It was weird to think that he had hair once. (He did have hair, light brown to be specific. Aden had shown her paintings of him as a teenager with a short ponytail and the rest of his head shaved. It was shocking and difficult to associate the two.)

“You’re familiar with zen teachings, so I think you’ll take to it quickly.” Jamyang was quiet, listening to him speak as he led her down the hallway.

It was like walking meditation.

Jamyang was familiar with that from studying with Palden, and a curious row of children joined her half of the time she did it at home.

But since she was supposed to play the shakuhachi while walking, the exercise was called suizen. She compared it to circle meditation; where they walked in circles and kept control of a whirlwind.

Two things at once. She could do that. Walk and play a honkyoku, Abbot Dorji gave her some of his old notes.

“And listen and gather information, that’s what a komuso standby does.”… three things to do then. She could still do that. 

“You’re a cover, so to say, there to scout the area and warn the other person if something happens. Those roles are mostly combat free, but sometimes you have to fight.” He said. “But I know some details of this mission, and the chance of you having to fight is very low.”

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to reassure herself. “Good, good to know.” Her nerves were still buzzing anxiously. A real mission, an actual mission where people could die if she messed up.

Anzan ‘dying’ when they snuck in to collect intellect on the older students at Kinkaku-ji didn’t count. The branch under him broke, he fell into a pond and ‘drowned.’ They were children. Monk Fang found it amusing, but Anzan still got into trouble and had to clean the prayer rooms as punishment. 

“There’s a fuke-sect here that walks to the villages every Monday. Maybe you can join them as a test?”

Three days to practice? She could do that.

Location: Base of Mt. Seoraksan, 2,5 km from Tamshing.

Destination: Jinhae, a nearby village. 1,7 km from Tamshing.

Meditation, this is meditation. You can do this. Jamyang didn’t frantically practise the honkyoku in fear that she would mess up. Definitely did not look like a nyönpa while doing walking meditation and focused so hard on getting the notes right she didn’t realise she had conjured up an aggressive whirlwind. Nope, not at all. Nothing like that happened. It had been an uneventful three days.

(It had stayed put after she’d stopped walking, much to her surprise. People saw it whirl above the temple courtyard and came to see what was up, only to find Jamyang frantically walking in circles and playing the shakuhachi. 

They complimented her control. It was supposed to be a difficult exercise, but she’d done it without being aware of it.)

This was practice. She could mess up at practice, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Venturing into territory she knew little of made her uncomfortable.

The robe was big on her, a distant but familiar feeling. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a toddler and disliked how the training robes made her float for too long after jumping to get a book from a shelf.

Jamyang tripled checked everything before going to meet those in the group. The orange kesa was draped over her shoulders. Her jian and ninjaken were strapped to her waist on her left, while she strapped her extra shakuhachi to her right. To wear her weapons in the open felt weird, and out of place. She looked around in fear that the elders would find out, but then remembered that they didn’t travel often.

She redid her leg wrappings three times when she was getting dressed because it didn’t look right when she put the straw sandals and foot guards on.

Three threngwa’s because Abbot Dorji said it was normal to wear three, and the string of the wooden donation box for donations sat comfortably around her shoulders. Her tengai, the straw basket, sat comfortably on top of her head. It was difficult to set through it, probably because she wasn’t used to it, so she relied on her hearing and senses more.

“I wasn’t aware that someone from Taktsang was joining.” A baritone voice said, and Jamyang startled so much that her heart jumped into her throat; Abbot Dorji said that people associated black robes with Taktsang zen which was a minority at the temple. Grey, white, blue and purple were used at the other temples.

“Someone recommended to see if it fit me.” She answered, clapping herself on the shoulder that her voice didn’t quiver or betray how nervous she was.

“Who recommended you?” Another voice said. It sounded female.

“Abbot Dorji.” Everyone in the group went ‘ahh’ and she didn’t understand why.

“You’re lucky to know someone as well known as him.” Jamyang didn’t know he was that popular. She stared, confused, at the individual who sounded female. “He’s legendary in the fuke-school. Many aspire to be great like him.” There were murmurs of agreements around them.

“The soundless wind. Perfect assassinations on every mission he’s ever been on. No one hears when he strikes and no one hears when he leaves.” Her stomach knotted, and she swallowed. She didn’t know that. Jamyang had assumptions, of course, when she first learnt that some dabbled in mercenary work, but to have it out right confirmed made her hands sweat.

It explained why she couldn’t hear his footsteps, his breathing, or when he drew his sword.

They continued talking and Jamyang felt more and more out of place when they did.

“I heard his biggest achievement was retaking a dzong during a minor war when he was young, like early twenties or something. Invaders had captured it and he’d snuck in through a space in the walls, killed almost everyone, taken the general and his right-hand man hostage, freed the civilians and ....”

Jamyang struggled. She wasn’t supposed to be here at all. 

It was calming. She might start doing it back home when she got back.

Felt a lot like mantra chanting or the type of meditation Aden did where he’d sit for 30 minutes to an hour and stare at a candle light.

So far, she’d gathered that merchants struggled to sell some of their wares in the villages. A nobleman had cheated on his wife, and there was a big stir about it. That a ‘Miyagi Uehara’ had failed his test so badly that the school didn’t know what to do with him. Someone’s mother-in-law didn’t like the person their child married and intended to break them up. And some other things that weren’t that relevant, just a glimpse into some civilian lives.

The journey went well and someone did mess up, but it wasn’t her. It was the leading monk. He messed up on a note, but covered it well.

Jamyang joined them the three Mondays she had left before the mission. She learned a lot. She was unsure if she ever needed to know- the baritone explained how to sneak up on someone and assassinate them- but was grateful for the experience.

Location: Somewhere in the air.

Destination:??? Gawa didn’t say anything.

It was time. Jamyang sat nervous in Asahi’s saddle. She was confident in her skill to do her role perfectly, having practiced so much that she got bored with the flute, but she was nervous. Messing up had consequences now, and they could be horrible. Like death.

Ugh, stop thinking! She shifted her legs and resolved to meditate. 

Namo amituofo, namo amituofo, namo amituofo….

Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum….

“We’re here.” Jamyang opened her eyes to see the outskirts of a village, the nightlife casting a warm glow at the surroundings. She clipped her belt with pouches- she preferred a bag- on and twirled off of Asahi.

Gawa had to use clip on bangs to hide her arrow, Jamyang thought she suited them well. She didn’t reach out and ruffle them like she wanted to.

“What now?” The only information she’d gotten was her route with the village komuso group, where to scout and send messages if something happened.

She learned something she would use from the fuke group, and that was sending messages through high frequency whistles, the same sort of whistle used to herd the bison, but for humans. The normal individual wouldn’t be able to hear them unless they had extremely good hearing, which was few.

“This is a retrieval mission. A lord has kidnapped the child of his opponent and is using him as bait.” She held up a map of… a siheyuan? “He’s held here.” Gawa tapped an area she’d circled. It looked to be the centre of the house. “I will sneak in here-.” She pointed at what looked like a guard tower. “And make my way over to the main house-.” Her fingers slid over a guard wall that led to the house. “Over this wall and through a window. Sneak up to the third floor where he’s held and sneak back out.”

“The lord follows the words of the Buddha and regularly invites groups of komuso to play for his family and is generous in his alms.” If he follows the words of the Buddha, why resort to kidnapping a child? “You’ll be inside his residence with a clear view of everything and-.”

“Send you messages if something changes or happens. Got it.”

Gawa nodded. “Exactly.” Her finger slid over to the back of the house. “The komuso plays for about 30-45 minutes and after that, you’ll meet me at the bottom of the back wall with Asahi, here.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “Got it.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Gawa said, rolling the map up. “If something comes up, you can leave it to me. You don’t have to worry about anything, just focus on getting out.” Jamyang frowned at her words. What was she getting at? 

Leaving her behind? With a child too?? In a dangerous situation like that??? Absolutely not!

She pressed a tanto into her hand. “I know you don’t need it, but a third doesn’t hurt. You’ll do great, okay? Just fine.” Her hands gripped her forearms and squeezed lightly. Jamyang was unimpressed. She wouldn’t settle for something half-assed like that, and wrung one arm out of her grip and pulled her into a hug.

Gawa tensed at the contact, but hugged her back.

“You’ll do great, don’t worry.” Jamyang pulled away, looking at her and seeing her solemn expression. She reached up and ruffled her bangs. It got a smile and a small laugh out of Gawa. Good.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, you will.”

She’d never been inside a siheyuan before. On the roof tops yes, she’d gotten a good look at them, but she’d never been inside one.

The group didn’t speak to her when they met, and that was fine. They gave her a spot in their little group and she kept her distance, just like everyone else did. The head of their group decided which honkyoku to play and the others followed after the first note.

Jamyang focused on her surroundings. Everything until the gate was okay. But that one guard that opened the gate for them seemed a little off, though.

She couldn’t describe what she felt, but something about him was off.

Hey, she whistled, a guard is suspicious. He has a scar on his shoulder and a yari.

It didn’t take long for a response.

Acknowledged, a pause, yeah I see him. He is soooo off.

Jamyang took the chance to look up at the guard tower where Gawa stood with her mask covering her face and stared at the suspicious guard with the most hilarious expression that was so not professional for this mission.

Gawa saw her, waved and sped off.

The lord smelled so strongly of alcohol and smoke that Jamyang struggled not to gag while he gave them their alms.

A slimy and corrupted presence that down right disgusted her. 

He insisted they recite another sutra so it’ll bless his family more and she was happy she wore the tengai. Jamyang rolled her eyes so hard.

It didn’t work like that. You had to cultivate merit too, but that didn’t matter to him.

She had to give it to him, though. He did at least try.

Jamyang glanced around, a little panicked when she didn’t see the suspicious guard.

The guard isn’t here. She whistled. Where could he have gone off to? Did he know of the retrieval? Were they in danger?

I know, Gawa responded after ten seconds. She counted them. I killed him on the second floor.

She tensed. Someone knows.

Jamyang paced back and forth behind the back wall. Gawa wasn’t there. She was supposed to meet her there after she and the komuso finished playing.

It’s been five minutes. Asahi nudged at her with his snout and she nudged back at him.

Staring up at the wall where there was no Gawa, and no rescued child, she made her mind up. She was happy that she bought one of her wood carved masks on this mission. Her tengai and alms were secured in Asahi’s saddle.

“I’ll be back soon, with both of them.” She hugged him and put the mask on. Asahi gave her a lick of encouragement.

I might have to kill. She spotted the bloodied motionless body laying in the guard tower entrance. The chance made her nauseous.

A guard climbed up the ladder to the tower and-scratch her previous words. I have to kill; it had to be luck on her part that the guard’s back was facing her and with the gifted tanto in hand; she snuck up on them, paused, swallowed feeling the bead of sweat at her temple and stabbed it into their neck just when they were about to yell.

The blood oozed, coating her hand, the upper part of her robe and a part of her sleeve. They fought and squirmed, but she kept the tanto embedded and held them until they stopped moving.

She sniffed, panting, and removed the bloodied tanto. The body didn’t move. She had to move it with shaky hands and set them up against the wall.

Eyeing the bow and arrow on the other dead guard, she picked the equipment up and set him up against the wall as well.

Every dead body must be treated with respect, even if the reason they’re dead is because of your own choice, apa told them when he started teaching them. Jamyang got down on her knees and bowed, touching her forehead against the red splattered floor.

“I-I’m sorry.” Her voice shook with emotion. “I’m sorry we met like this.” Sitting back up, she drew a simple mask on their faces, hoping it would function as a substitute instead of the wooden ones she was supposed to use. She only brought one, and she was currently wearing it.

Taking advantage of her position as soon as she got up, she scouted the area. Where’s Gawa and the child? 

She panicked when guards headed to the other guard towers, and without really thinking, raised the bow and shot them. Ignoring their surprised shouts, she raised her bow and fired at them again. 

Jamyang was more familiar with the gak kung, but she could make do with a hankyu.

Strapping it to her back, she sped over to the other guard tower, snuck up on another unfortunate guard, and struck with her tanto again when he was about to turn. “I’m sorry.” He gurgled at her. It sounded like an insult and fought hard against her grip, but Jamyang only pressed harder until he stopped fighting.

She set him against the wall, drew another mask on him, and bowed. “I’m sorry.” Catching movement out of her eye, Jamyang unsheathed her jian in time to parry the strike of a dao, shifted her weight on her right side, ducked and slashed at his stomach. Regretting it immediately as blood spilled out. That’s a deep cut. 

He stumbled and leaned on the guard wall for support. He raised his dao at her when she walked up to him and Jamyang hit it out of his hand with a hard strike. Her hands evaded his as she rummaged through his pockets for fire crackers or smoke bombs, something that could cause a distraction. It satisfied her with the two packets of firecrackers and two smoke bombs.

“Whazz…” He tried and coughed up blood. Jamyang contemplated on killing him. She wouldn’t heal him and he would bleed out. He would die anyway. She struck his temple with her sheathed jian, catching him when he fell and setting him up against the wall. Did her little ritual and sped off to the other tower to see if there was any movement inside the residence.

Where were they? Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted a figure hiding on top of the roof of one of the smaller houses. Was that?- guards littered around the area, she was stuck. Jamyang could fix that easily.

Opening a packet of firecrackers, she threw them and a couple of the guards ran towards the sound. 

What are you doing here?!

Helping you obviously! She whistled back, running towards another part of the wall, readying an arrow and aiming it at barrels, filled with what she hoped was gunpowder.

BOOM!!!

Yup, gunpowder. Gawa rolled off of the roof and stumbled on her feet. Jamyang narrowed her eyes at how unstable she was on her feet. Whathappened? 

She opened her other pack of firecrackers, grabbed the two smoke bombs, jumped down from the guard walls, and followed her trail.

Biting her breath each time she was careless and almost got caught. She eventually barged into a similar situation Gawa was in. Stuck, she was stuck. Guards were on each side of the wall she was hiding behind. Spirits damn it! 

Where are they? Jamyang looked for them and spotted a limping figure by a small house close to the back wall during her second scan of the area. How do I get over there? Guards, so many guards. Reinforcement had been called as well, running through the front gate.

Looking at the items in her palm, she looked back at the clutter of guards- it’s so risky and such a stupid idea, but she went for it. Swallowed her fears and swallowed them again when they came back up, threw the firecrackers and smoke bombs at the guards, prayed to Chenrezig and ran.

It went well, in Jamyang’s opinion. Major success.

“You- you can let go of me now.” Gawa squirmed in her grip. Jamyang didn’t. She just ran for her life, sped by a group of guards, grabbed the two of them, and vaulted over the wall. She’s not letting go anytime soon, at least until her heart rate slows down. Minimum.

Instead, she made herself comfortable, adjusted her hands a little, rested her chin on top of her head and listened if the coast was clear.

Commotion was still happening inside the residence. She heard coughs and shouts and she ran towards Asahi, who waited in the same spot Jamyang had left him in.

“Yip yip, yip yip!” Landing in his saddle, Asahi took off, and she hid him in a layer of mist.

“What happened?” Gawa’s head lolled and her breathing laboured. “Ishsaa….” She slurred. The boy in her arms, who couldn’t be older than a toddler, sniffed. “Um,” he wiped his eyes. “She go’ shot with an ar’ow.”

“An arrow?” She removed him from her slackened grip.

“Yeah.” He nodded, latching onto her side. “An’ she star’ed stumbling an’ she start speaking funnily.” Poison. Slow working poison. 

“Okay.” She nodded and laid Gawa down in front of her. “Where did she get shot? Can you tell me the answer?” He touched his shoulder. “He’a”

“Shoulder, okay.” That wasn’t difficult. She could do that. Ama taught her this. Jamyang knew how to extract poison.  

“You’e gonna make her okay, wight?” He asked.

“Yeah,” her lip quivered. “I’ll make her okay. You can go to sleep. It’s late. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He didn’t want to, but fell asleep twenty minutes after that.

Her hands shook so badly it elongated the extraction process. Ama could do this in five minutes and Jamyang could do it in eight, but it’s now been twenty-five, and she still wasn’t done.

“Come on, come on…” she muttered, trying not to wake the boy. So close, almost finished.

“I… I dra’ yuh sometimes.” Gawa slurred, and Jamyang’s mind went from running a hundred miles a minute to complete silence. What?

“Yeah?” How does she respond to that? Gawa wasn’t completely present either, going by her glazed and half-lidded, unfocused eyes.

“Mmh.” Her nod was slow. “Whes-when I haf art block, I dra’ yuh.” 

She finished the extraction and sat there, looking down at Gawa as she tried to speak; she wasn’t supposed to, but Gawa would no matter how much she tried to stop her.

“Why?”

“I thi’- think ab’ut yuh, so I dre-draw yu-you.” She tried correcting her speech. Her eyes seemed a bit more focused than they previously were. Jamyang’s face warmed. What? 

“Has-has-have I said hows pretty I think yu-you are?”

“… no, you haven’t.” A ‘that looks good on you!’ Or ‘you look good in that!’ was exchanged between them. Calling someone pretty was more Jaya’s thing.

“Oh…” Gawa’s brows furrowed, as if she was confused why she hadn’t said it. “Whe-well I think yu-you are very pretty. Is distracting…”

Her heart beat a little faster, a warmth spreading over her skin.

Gawa nuzzled into her leg, murmuring some words she couldn’t understand, and fell asleep. The boy still slept silently at her side, and Jamyang wrapped an arm around him.

With her companions sleeping, they left Jamyang alone with her thoughts, a pleasantly warm face and a heart that occasionally skipped a beat.

Notes:

I did the exact same thing Jamyang did while playing Ghost of Tsushima, threw down a smoke bomb and ran by the mongol soldiers- like, right in front of them and didn't get caught!!! The most stressful thing I've ever experienced this month! And a perfect event to draw inspiration from too! Ah!! Hello by the way, it's currently three in the morning. Jamyang was so scared of messing up during the mission and the consequences it would bring, but instead she fixed it with firecrackers, gunpowder and poison extraction. Her first kills also happen here, I'd also imagined it to be a little more brutal, like a room of guards, but the I remembered that Jamyang is more of a distance fighter than a close range fighter. She can do both, but preferred one over the other. So I settled for three close range kills and more distance kills. She'll deal with that in the next chapter.  Words: Komuso: A type of Japanese monk who're known for wearing the straw baskets shakuhachi: Japanese flute suizen: Literal 'blowing zen', a practice to attain self-realization honkyoku: 'original pieces', pieces of shakuhachi music nyönpa: tibetan for a mad/crazy person, used mostly for yogi's with 'unconventional' teaching methods ninjaken: a sword used by the ninja in feudal Japan threngwa: mala siheyuan: a traditional Chinese residence, the one here has a guard wall around it, because paranoid Lord yari: spear tengai: the straw hat that komuso wear gak kung: A korean bow, the yuyan bow is likely based on that bow hankyu: is a small Japanese bow Dzong: fortress

[priyanshisingh]

Gable Box Market Outlook: Global Trends and Forecast Analysis (2023-2032)

The Gable Box Market is projected to grow from USD 10,087.22 million in 2024 to USD 14,411.06 million by 2032, reflecting a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 4.56%.

A gable box is a type of packaging that is easily recognizable by its unique shape, featuring a handle at the top and a boxy body that tapers into a gable-like roof. This design combines both functionality and aesthetic appeal, making it popular for various uses, including food packaging, gift boxes, and promotional items. Gable boxes are typically made from sturdy materials like cardboard or corrugated paper, offering durability and protection for the contents inside. The built-in handle makes them convenient to carry, while their customizable surface allows for branding and creative designs, making them a favored choice in retail and marketing.

Here are the key findings of the Gable Box Market study presented in points:

Steady Market Growth: The Gable Box Market is experiencing steady growth, driven by increasing demand from the food and beverage industry, particularly for bakery items, takeout food, and confectionery products.

Rising Popularity: Gable boxes are gaining popularity due to their versatility and convenience, featuring built-in handles and customizable designs that appeal to various sectors, including retail and gifting.

Shift Towards Sustainability: There is a growing preference for eco-friendly and sustainable packaging solutions, with manufacturers increasingly producing gable boxes using recyclable and biodegradable materials.

Regional Growth Trends: The Asia Pacific region is expected to witness significant market growth due to the booming retail sector and increasing consumer spending, while North America and Europe continue to be key markets with strong demand for premium packaging solutions.

Highly Competitive Market: The market is characterized by intense competition, with numerous small and medium-sized players. Innovation in design and material, along with strategic partnerships and mergers, are common strategies used by key players to gain a competitive edge.

Expanding Applications: Gable boxes are being increasingly used across various industries, contributing to their robust market growth and expanding applications beyond traditional uses.

The Gable Box Market is witnessing several innovative trends that are shaping its growth and evolution:

Eco-Friendly Materials: One of the most significant trends is the shift towards eco-friendly and sustainable materials. Manufacturers are increasingly using recyclable, biodegradable, and compostable materials for gable boxes to meet growing consumer demand for environmentally responsible packaging. This includes the use of kraft paper and other renewable resources.

Smart Packaging Solutions: With the rise of technology, smart packaging solutions are being integrated into gable boxes. This includes QR codes and NFC tags that provide customers with additional information, such as product origin, ingredients, and promotional offers, directly on their smartphones, enhancing the overall consumer experience.

Customizable and Personalized Designs: The demand for unique and personalized packaging is driving innovation in design. Gable boxes are now available with customizable options, including various shapes, sizes, colors, and finishes. Brands are leveraging these customizations to create visually appealing packaging that stands out on shelves and resonates with their target audience.

Multi-Functional Packaging: Gable boxes are evolving to serve multiple functions beyond just packaging. Some designs now incorporate features such as resealable closures, compartments for different products, or even built-in trays that can be used for serving. This multifunctionality adds value for consumers and differentiates brands in a competitive market.

Enhanced Printing Techniques: Advances in printing technology have enabled high-quality, vibrant, and detailed graphics on gable boxes. Techniques like digital printing, embossing, and foiling are being used to create visually striking designs that enhance brand recognition and appeal to consumers' aesthetic preferences.

Augmented Reality (AR) Integration: Some companies are experimenting with augmented reality (AR) features in their gable box designs. By scanning the box with a smartphone, consumers can access interactive content, such as 3D product views, tutorials, or even games, creating an engaging and immersive brand experience.

These innovative trends are not only enhancing the functionality and appeal of gable boxes but also helping brands to connect with their customers in new and exciting ways.

Key Player Analysis

Cascades Inc.

Graphic Packaging International, LLC

Orora Limited

Sealed Air Corporation

Smurfit Kappa Group

Klabin S.A.

Tetra Pak

Amcor plc

International Paper Company

Mondi Group

Sonoco Products Company

Huhtamaki Group

Packaging Corporation of America

Novolex Holdings, Inc.

Pratt Industries, Inc.

KapStone Paper and Packaging Corporation

Rengo Co., Ltd.

More About Report- https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/gable-box-market

The Gable Box Market faces several challenges that could impact its growth and development:

Rising Raw Material Costs: The increasing cost of raw materials, particularly sustainable and eco-friendly materials, poses a challenge for manufacturers. Fluctuations in the prices of paper, cardboard, and other packaging materials can lead to higher production costs, which may be passed on to consumers or absorbed by manufacturers, affecting profitability.

Environmental Regulations: Stringent environmental regulations regarding packaging waste and sustainability are becoming more prevalent worldwide. While these regulations drive the adoption of eco-friendly materials, they also increase compliance costs for manufacturers. Adapting to these regulations requires investment in new materials and processes, which can be challenging, especially for smaller players in the market.

Competition from Alternative Packaging Solutions: Gable boxes face competition from other packaging solutions, such as flexible packaging, rigid boxes, and plastic containers. These alternatives offer different advantages, such as lighter weight or greater durability, which can appeal to certain segments of the market. This competition requires gable box manufacturers to continuously innovate to maintain market share.

Supply Chain Disruptions: The global supply chain is vulnerable to disruptions caused by events such as natural disasters, pandemics, or geopolitical conflicts. Such disruptions can lead to delays in the supply of raw materials, increased transportation costs, and challenges in meeting customer demand, all of which can negatively impact the gable box market.

Consumer Preferences and Trends: Shifts in consumer preferences, such as the move towards minimalistic packaging or digital alternatives, can pose challenges for the gable box market. Staying attuned to these changing preferences and adapting product offerings accordingly is essential for maintaining relevance and competitiveness.

Sustainability Pressure: While sustainability is a driver for innovation, it also presents challenges in terms of cost, material sourcing, and production processes. Achieving a balance between sustainability goals and cost-effectiveness is a significant challenge for gable box manufacturers, especially in a market where consumers expect both affordability and eco-friendliness.

These challenges require gable box manufacturers to be agile and proactive in addressing market dynamics, regulatory requirements, and consumer demands to ensure sustained growth and competitiveness.

Segments:

Based on Type:

Double-Sided

Single-Face

Triple-Face

Four-Face

Other

Based on Material:

Paper

Corrugated Cardboard

Plastic

Biodegradable Materials

Based on Account of Shape:

Rectangular

Square

Tapered

Round Corner

Browse the full report –  https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/gable-box-market

Browse Our Blog: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/gable-box-market-insights-comprehensive-global-forecast-uxnkf

Contact Us:

Phone: +91 6232 49 3207

Email: sales@credenceresearch.com

Website: https://www.credenceresearch.com

[sofiaalice]

Best Cookie Packaging Ideas for Your Bakery in Canada

When it comes to running a successful bakery, presentation is just as important as taste. For Canadian bakeries, standout cookie packaging in Canada can elevate your brand and attract more customers. With the right packaging, you not only ensure the freshness of your cookies but also create a memorable impression. If you’re looking for innovative cookie packaging ideas, here are some top options to consider for your bakery.

1. Eco-Friendly Packaging Solutions

Sustainability is a growing concern for consumers, and opting for eco-friendly packaging can set your bakery apart. Consider using compostable bags, recyclable paper boxes, or biodegradable containers. Materials such as kraft paper and bamboo can give your cookies a rustic, artisanal look while appealing to eco-conscious customers. Additionally, integrating a green message on your packaging can strengthen your brand’s commitment to sustainability.

2. Custom-Branded Cookie Boxes

Custom-branded cookie boxes are a great way to enhance your bakery's identity. Opt for high-quality, branded boxes that feature your logo, colors, and a unique design that reflects the essence of your bakery. You can choose from various styles, including tuck-top boxes, sleeve boxes, or gable boxes. Custom packaging not only protects your cookies but also acts as a marketing tool, increasing brand visibility with every purchase.

3. Clear Plastic Containers

For those who want customers to see their delicious cookies right away, clear plastic containers are an excellent choice. These containers come in various shapes and sizes, from simple round tubs to elegant clear boxes. They’re perfect for showcasing your cookies’ vibrant colors and intricate designs. Additionally, you can easily label these containers with stickers or tags for a personal touch.

4. Personalized Cookie Bags

Personalized cookie bags are ideal for individual cookie sales or small batches. You can choose from paper or plastic bags and add custom prints or stickers with your bakery’s logo. Personalized bags not only make your cookies more appealing but also serve as a convenient option for customers on the go. Consider offering themed bags for holidays or special occasions to enhance their appeal.

5. Gift-Wrapped Cookie Sets

Gift-wrapped cookie sets are perfect for special occasions, holidays, or corporate gifts. Use decorative wrapping paper, ribbons, and tags to create a premium presentation. You can also offer themed sets, such as holiday cookie assortments or seasonal flavors, to attract gift-givers. This type of packaging adds a personal touch and makes your cookies stand out as thoughtful gifts.

6. Innovative Cookie Tins

Cookie tins are a classic choice that adds a touch of elegance and nostalgia. Available in various shapes and sizes, tins are perfect for preserving freshness and can be reused by customers. You can opt for custom-designed tins featuring your bakery’s branding or seasonal designs. Tins also make an excellent option for bulk sales or holiday packaging.

7. Rustic Kraft Paper Wraps

For a more down-to-earth, handcrafted look, consider using rustic kraft paper wraps. This style of packaging works well for artisanal bakeries and can be complemented with twine or ribbon for an added touch. Kraft paper wraps are versatile and can be customized with stamps or stickers for branding. This packaging option is both eco-friendly and stylish, appealing to customers who appreciate a homemade feel.

8. Innovative Box Shapes

Think outside the box with innovative packaging shapes. Consider hexagonal boxes, pyramid containers, or heart-shaped packaging for special occasions. Unique box shapes can make your cookies more memorable and stand out on store shelves. Creative packaging can also create a fun unboxing experience for customers, adding to the overall appeal of your product.

9. Sealed Pouches for Freshness

Sealed pouches are an excellent choice for maintaining the freshness of your cookies while offering a modern look. These pouches come in various sizes and can be customized with your bakery’s branding. They’re perfect for single-serving cookies or small batches and are also convenient for customers who want a quick snack.

Conclusion

Effective cookie packaging not only protects your products but also enhances your brand image and attracts more customers in shipping baked goods. By choosing the right packaging solutions, such as eco-friendly materials, custom-branded boxes, or innovative designs, you can make a lasting impression and stand out in the competitive bakery market in Canada. Invest in quality packaging that reflects your bakery’s values and delights your customers with every purchase.

[morningsunstudio]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: The Puffin In Bloom Collection boxed set of classic books.