#but i actually like how it turned out (aside from realizing i only drew a third as many women as i did men and then not using those drawings

[skania]

OnK Chapter 159 Thoughts

It's been 159 chapters and Akane is still unrivaled as the best thing about this trainwreck of a manga 😭

My hopes for this chapter were:

For once I got pretty much everything I wanted, so I should be counting my blessings.

In an unexpected turn of events, I even more or less managed to call the Nino/Ryousuke twist 😂

I was so ready to dive into this chapter, but...

I just can't take that expression seriously 😭 How am I supposed to sit here and try to write a worthwhile post about this chapter when Mengo drew Kamiki making such a ridiculous face.

There's so much wrong with Aka's writing that I don't even know where to begin, but I think the core of it is that this man deliberately withholds information in order to artificially create a sense of "mystery" and "twists". We can sit here all day dissecting everything about this chapter, but what it comes down to is that Aka can completely change contexts by simply revealing any of the stuff he has off-paneled.

Take the Kamiki "Twist" for example. When the text leaks originally dropped, there were no dialogues and no expressions, so I thought that maybe the twist would be that Kamiki doesn't intend to turn himself into the police and that he just wants to die instead.

With the full context however, everything points towards Kamiki being the big bad after all. So we got a two-chapter long twist involving Nino only to reveal that... no, actually, we're going back to Kamiki.

And it could have been good. Kamiki potentially managing to fool both, Aqua and Akane into thinking that he was innocent could have been great. There certainly are certain moments that only make sense if Kamiki isn't as innocent and as regretful as he pretended to be.

The problem is that it was so incredibly rushed that the detour feels rather... pointless? It's like Aka's main objective was to surprise the audience. But the audience wouldn't have been surprised if we had had any insight into Aqua's and Akane's research up to this point, so it's once again just Aka off-paneling stuff instead of writing things organically.

Another good example is the Kana graduation. Yeah, okay, she's graduating and Aqua isn't at the concert. That should be the last nail in that coffin, but Aka could just say that Aqua saw her before the concert. Or that he will somehow manage to see her after the concert. Anything to fulfill whatever it is that he wants to write, really.

So I'm going to leave Aka's lousy writing aside and focus on what I, personally, I'm hoping to see.

The Nino/Ryousuke thing showed just how flawed Kana's line of thinking is. You aren't supposed to be the Oshi of your special someone, you're supposed to be their partner. Admiration is the furthest thing from understanding, and this chapter got that across very well.

While Kana was off dreaming of her shoujo romance with Aqua, Akane and Aqua were planning how to gather proof against the people who ruined Aqua's family. Akane's out there wearing an anti-stab vest to protect Ruby and bring Nino to justice, Aqua is out there facing Kamiki.

If Kana has had no contact with Aqua at all and only finds out the reason for his absence later, I'm hoping that this will help her realize that they're in two different worlds. That there's an entire side to Aqua, a very complex side, that she has absolutely no idea about. Because all this time, she's been so busy dreaming of him that she has never taken the time to actually know him.

Another thing I'm wondering about is: if neither Aqua nor Akane expected this Kamiki twist, then where was Aqua during the beginning of the chapter? Could it be that he was tailing Kamiki because he already had an inkling about his true nature? If so, could it also be that whatever plan Kamiki was going to put in motion has already been stopped by the AquaKane + helpers tagteam?

I could go on all day, but I can't help but feel like the writing just hasn't earned being given that much thought. So I'm just not going to theorize anything and I'll simply read whatever Aka writes next week lol

I'm looking forward to seeing Kamiki's truth next chapter, and I'm also hoping that Akane will end up joining Aqua because I'd love to see her properly interact with Kamiki. But not going to lie, now more than ever I'm really only reading so I can see Akane be the amazing woman that she is and so I can hopefully see Aqua and Akane get back together so that at least the romance is salvageable, because everything else is a trainwreck.

[turtlelioni]

Krisnix has the potential to be so deliciously fucked up hear me out

We always talk about Kristoph's influence on Phoenix, how it drove him to be this secretive, conniving sleazebag that we see in AA4, how Phoenix had to bear this man watching his every move for seven years and put up the friendship front at least every day every week. Can we talk about how resilient that is of him I couldn't stand to suffer that in silence with all my loved ones away from me. And to pretend you're that bitch's friend without bitching about it to anyone later? self inflicted torture.

but also

Phoenix, for however long he suspected Kristoph of ruining his career, never suspected him as capable of murder. And I don't believe that he was capable, not of the hands-on kind that he commited with Zak, but Kristoph was driven to the edges of his sanity with Phoenix as well. We know that he attempted to poison Drew and Vera Misham almost at the same time he got Phoenix disbarred, and while it was vile, it was all calculated. Flawless. Clean.

Which is why the way he murdered Zak is so fascinating. Kristoph Gavin, the coolest defense in the west, the gentleman attorney, hit this man with a bottle over the head. It's messy. It's desperate. It's his last shred of composure being obliterated, because during the seven years that he stalked and manipulated Phoenix, he was under his scrutiny as well.

He knew that Phoenix suspected him to some extent. Aside from the loose ends that he hoped would be resolved in time, he knew that this man had friends with inexplicable "bring back the dead" powers and that his best friend was Miles Edgeworth, whom he most likely has gone up against. He knew that Phoenix was only playing dumb with him, because whoever could best him at poker every single time could not be a complete fool.

Phoenix drove this cold, calculated killer into a barfight murderer. He brought him to the brink of desperation in trying to cover his mess and they only knew half of the shit each other were doing during those seven years.

Just the poison as symbolism for their whole relationship, man. Phoenix trusting Kristoph at first, slowly realizing what he's really done to him, him poisoning himself in return by being around him- the drinking, the dishevelled appearance, the backroom poker playing, Kristoph becoming more paranoid, more desperate, more risky.

Phoenix was aware of the fact that the man he was hanging out with had the potential to turn him and his loved ones out on the streets, but to find out that he was also a murderer? Capable of both the insidious kind and the hands-on kind? the betrayal. the anguish. just when you build a tolerance to him, he attacks you again.

I could easily see Phoenix develop an even deeper paranoia, having all of his house and belongings tested for poison after AA4.

I could see it actually being there.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Domestic life

Azriel's week: Day 4

Hosted by: @azrielappreciationweek

Word count: 1100+

Four broken ribs and numerous cuts and bruises. It felt just as bad as it was. Madja mended your broken bones, so you could at least breathe even though it still hurt. The rest would eventually heal on its own.

Azriel took you back to the House of Wind as soon as Madja allowed you to leave. He gently placed you on bed and looked around.

"Where can I find some proper comfy clothes for you," he asked trying to look anywhere but you.

It was only then you realized you were almost completely naked, few pieces of cloth hardly covering your intimate parts. "Over there," you pointed to small dresser under the window. Heat was burning your face and you wished you could hide somewhere. However at the moment you were glad you at least managed to remain conscious.

Azriel carefully opened one drawer after another warily examining the content. Finally he drew one of your favourite plushy shirts and soft sweatpants, your underwear hanging from his fingers of the other hand. You gasped, utterly mortified. You were more than sure that after this you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes. Never.

Looking ashamed he turned to you and stepped closer to the bed. You would give anything in the world to be able to change on your own. You even considered asking him to call for Mor or any other female to help you, but he overtook you.

"I won't look. I promise," he murmured, face as red as yours.

"Ok," you mumbled, averting your face to the other side.

Azriel was so damn tender. All the time he was looking elsewhere as he promised while his hands lightly roamed over your body, collecting the fabric scraps that used to be clothes. The touch of his fingers was so light that you wouldn't feel it at all if it weren't for the sensitive bruises that covered you from head to toes. He was done dressing you up in no time.

"Do you need something?" he asked softly, looking down on you with still pink cheeks.

"I'm fine," you mumbled.

Azriel reached to the shadows and pulled out steaming mug. "It's tea from Madja." You accepted the mug and with his help drank it up. In an instant you became very sleepy. "Rest well," were the last words you heard before you dived into the realm of dreams.

You didn't have dreams, not real ones, maybe just one, but you weren't sure if it was dream or reality. You didn't remember it clearly. It seemed you woke up for a moment during the night and saw Azriel sitting next to you on the bed, squeezing your hand. He cried repeating the same words over and over. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." You didn't know what happened after that because at that point the scene vanished. Maybe it was only dream after all.

You woke up in the morning and found Azriel in an armchair he shoved to the bed. He was reading pretty thick book, totally absorbed in the story. Even thought you already saw him with books in hands, you had never seen him actually read them. It was interesting sight. His features were way softer and he looked young and handsome and attractive and.. sexy. You shook head to get rid of the last thought. You shouldn't think about him that way.

The shadows rubbed against his ear and his eyes immediately shot up to you. He closed the book and put it aside.

"Hey. How do you feel?" he asked leaning closer. Now you could see dark circles under his eyes. He looked so tired. No doubt he sat there all night watching over you.

"Well, I feel like beaten dog, but except of that I'm good," grimacing you sat up. Shadowsinger pursed lips and the gesture reminded you of the strange dream. Looking at him you could see just tiredness and nothing else, so you decided to forget about it.

It took just few days until all your wounds and bruises healed. Azriel spent most of the time talking with you or reading his book in your room. You were curious and asked him what it is about, but his cheeks only turned pink and he didn't want to answer nor show you the book. Every member of inner circle came to visit you bringing books and sweets. Cassian even brought you his famous smoothie every morning. When Rhysand came to visit you except of his excessive care you got a work ban for entire month. No matter what you said he refused to change his mind. And so you sat in your room and didn't know what to do with so much free time.

A light knock that you already knew well, sounded on the doors and Azriel peeked in.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I'd like to go to library, but when I tried it yesterday, Clotho sent me away because of Rhys and his ban," you grunted.

"I'm going to the city. Don't you want to join me?"

"And what are you going to do? Because if it's going to be spying on someone, I'd rather stayed out of it. At least for some time," you grinned.

His jaw tightened, but he looked amused. "Nothing like that. I think you will like it." And so you went with Shadowsinger.

He led you through narrow streets for some time, finally stopping in front of small shop with lovely looking door and windows. Pleasant smell emanating from inside, made your stomach rumble.

"Where are we?" you asked.

Azriel hesitated and his wings rustled as he tugged them closer. "It's my favourite place that I like to visit when I want to have some rest from others," he muttered sheepishly.

You couldn't believe it. He looked more like the type of guy spending his free time at pleasure hall than in lovely cafes.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to know about your hideaway?"

"This isn't the only place I like to visit. I have others too," he smirked. "So shall we go in?"

"Sure," you grinned. Azriel held the door open for you. The place was so nice and cozy. You loved absolutely everything about it. Azriel ordered tea and four different cakes that you shared together. Even staff seemed to be friendly with scary Shadowsinger, so he really had to visit here often.

After that he took you for a walk, showing you some small, but beautiful and quiet gardens you had no idea that existed.

Thanks to Azriel you had a splendid day, not even once missing the library or books. You returned to the House of Wind tired, but happy and soon fell asleep.

[whorxology]

⛧☾༺♰Restless♰༻☽⛧

WARNINGS: Mentions of past relationship with Luke, Spoilers for Ep 8 PJO, Angst, Cliffhanger, very much so not canonically accurate, not proofread

W.C: 0.7

A/N: I have not read the books only knowledge I have of PJO is from the movies, TV series, and multiple fics I have read. With that being said this is purely for fun. You are more than welcome to disagree and leave feedback.

A/N: I kinda fell out of my PJO phase after the last episode but I wrote like right after the last episode dropped and forgot to post it 🧍🏻......... its here now 🤗

Again. Again. Again. Again. You continue to hit the dummy over and over again. The wooden sword dug into your palm as it hit the stuffed mannequin. You had hoped that training would help take things off your mind but the events from last night played over and over in your head. It was like a broken record or a taunting little kid annoying and making you bubble with anger.

You weren't supposed to be there. You were supposed to be with Annabeth watching Clarrissa. Annabeth had disappeared and you were left alone with the target. She had made a snarky comment about if you wanted to make friendship bracelets with her since you seem to be glued to her ass. She and you weren’t friends mainly because of how rude she was to Percy. Her comment made you realize that she wasn't Percy's friend and that meant that the prophecy couldn't have been about her. 

You had rushed to find Percy and Luke. You couldn’t believe your thoughts you didn't want to think that Luke, amazing boyfriend Luke, your Luke could be the traitor. You had hidden in the treeline just a few feet from Percy and Luke. Everything seemed to be okay which made your chest loosen up a bit. Then you heard it. 

“I didn’t think you’d give ’em to Grover to wear.” 

“How long have they been doing that? '' Percy’s voice pulled you from your mind. The loud clank of the sword could be heard as it made contact with the dummy. Actually, dummy would be an overstatement at this point. This was just a bag of straw on a pole with a face on it. A face that awfully resembled Luke's. The hitting got harder the pole holding the bag of straw was shaking with every hit. 

“Since this morning, they couldn't sleep and as soon as the curfew was over they got up and immediately came here” Annabeth spoke. You knew it was her. She's been periodically checking in on you since you got here. 

“Have they eaten or drunk anything at all? It's nearly 100 degrees out here” When was the last time you ate or drank anything. The subtle grumble in your stomach reminded you that it had in fact been a while. You ignored it fueled by anger the hunger faded. 

The once loose feeling tightened by a lot. Your chest felt as if you had been hit full force by a bull. Your hands shook as you reached for your sword. The sword Luke had gifted you. Tears spilled from your eyes leaving wet trails down your face and a salt ting on your lips. It was Luke all along. How could your Luke do this? Everything you thought you knew about him. Gone. 

“I am your friend.” 

The loud crack of your sword drew you from your thoughts. You had broken the wooden sword in half. The large blade splinted jaggedly down the middle. Tossing it aside you hastily pulled out your sword. The beautiful golden glimmer on the handle reminds you of Luke. You swung at the dummy and you swung hard. The harsh bangs were heard throughout the camp. 

“She’s going to end up breaking the poor dummy”  Percy tried to joke to ease the tension in the air. You didn’t acknowledge the joke still hitting the dummy as if it was Luke all over again. 

“Better the dummy than us” Annabeth muttered barely loud enough for you to hear. You swear Luke had said the exact same thing to you when you had pissed off Clarrissa. The memory of you and him laughing turned sour in your mind. A loud almost thunder-sounding crack echoed throughout the camp. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at the source. The source was you. You had hit the dummy so hard you had cracked it in half.  

You were panting hard. Sweat covered your entire body as your shirt stuck to your back uncomfortably and your bare thighs stuck together the shorts you wore in hopes of keeping you cool failing. Your fingertips were white from how hard you had been gripping your sword. The blood-red gems leave imprints on your palms. 

You were still thinking of last night. 

“Are you okay you don’t look so good?” You could hear his voice. It was fuzzy and spun around in your head. You turned to face him. To tell him you were fine. You spun around fast only to be met with two Percy Jacksons. 

“Huh?” was all you said as your sword slipped from your grasp and you fell to the side. Head hitting the land before it all went black. 

 “Percy, none of this was meant to betray you”

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 406: Babysitting, p1

“Now, isn’t that adorable,” Randi said, in her typically acerbic tone, in her typically smoky voice, as I came around the corner downstairs in my typically reticent way.

Let's back up a bit. Melissa had gone to work hours ago, leaving me swaddled in her bedsheets,. We’d ‘agreed’ that  I was too exhausted and would stay home today. It was a little hard to remember honestly. After my time with ‘Mr. Sock’, everything was a blur. I just remember nodding as she wrapped me carefully in her sheets. Either way, my RNs would be able to cover my patients while I was gone. It really seemed like I didn't have much to do these days. I figured, after all the stress I’d been through, I deserved a break. It was good that there were people on which I could rely.

Melissa, on the other hand, was working hard. It was one of our last days before the new wings opened (I hadn’t even set foot in them yet) and there was a lot to do for her and the other girls: new staff to prepare for, press to deal with, all the final preparations. I got the feeling they didn’t want me in the way. 

Anyway, I was peeled myself out of bed just before noon, and immediately I could feel it. As soon as I’d dropped the bra Melissa had left me to cuddle in my sleep, my stomach took a turn. A few more steps away from it and the headache started. Only by picking it back up and taking a breath from one of its enormous cups of firm white satin allowed me to feel better. Jesus! What was in that perfume she wore?? I actually needed to keep the bra near me, hanging it close by the shower as I rinsed myself off. I guess I’d be breathing through it today. 

Thus, the snide ‘adorable’ comment. I’d needed the bra over my mouth and nose to come downstairs, dressed in sweats and a new collared shirt after my shower, and when I turned into the great room I found Randi curled up on the couch with her laptop, looking right at me. I froze, flushing in embarrassment. I was probably quite the sight. 

“You realize you don’t need that, right? Not with me here,” Randi continued, eyeing me with an amused glint that made me feel even smaller than my - man, I didn’t even know how short I was at that point. “But if you want to keep wearing Missy’s bra over your face all day, be my guest.”

I could feel how I wasn’t quite willing to let it go, and I found myself taking another deep breath. I knew this was ridiculous though, so after an awkward moment of staring at Randi with Melissa’s bra covering my face, I tentatively peeled it away and set it down. I took took a new breath. Yes, the familiar perfume that filled the air at the office and followed Melissa in a cloud wherever she went was here, too. Randi must be wearing it. Great, I guess. 

“Thanks,” I muttered, now awkwardly looking for a place to deposit my girlfriend's industrial-grade brassiere. 

“Here, bring it,” Randi bid me, waving me over towards her. Being her typical self, she seemed impatient with me already. 

In little steps I approached, handed it to her. I took note of her outfit: casual lounge wear,  ¾ length pants of soft gray cotton, and a black tank. Her long, racehorse legs were curled beneath her, her feet bare. 

She took the bra and put it aside herself on a side table, next to some paperwork and a glass coffee mug. “Missy wanted me to run a load of laundry, I’ll throw this in.” She looked at me again, up and down, regarding me with a snide smirk on her lips as I stood,  saying nothing. “You can help with that later.”

“s-sure,” I agreed. 

She looked at me, and I at her. Randi really was a gorgeous girl: tall, darkly lean, elegant composure…and now quite busty herself, to which she drew attention by casually adjusting one of the straps of her top .

Finally she spoke again. “So, it’s you and me today,” Randi began, a curl coming to her smile and dimpling her high cheeks, dark eyes sparkling, “I was here all night making sure the morons fixed everything. Which they did, finally. Did you hear them last night?”

Finally called to communicate, I rallied myself. “Uh…uh, no, not really.” I looked around: yeah, the table was back in place, the walls patched with the smell of fresh paint sharing the air with Randi’s perfume. A light fixture or two were missing, but otherwise the place looked normal. “I must have slept through it.”

“Yeah I heard she gave you quite the evening, quite the night,” Randi quipped, “nine times, huh, stud?” Her eyes glittered again at my obvious discomfort as I recalled it all. “I felt each one, down here. You made me finally bust through my old sandals,” she added, “thanks a lot.”

A pair of gray plastic flip-flops sat off to the side, straps popped. 

This can’t be real. 

She saw me looking at them. 

“Anyway,” Randi continued, “between all those nuts of yours and Katarina’s breastmilk I heard you slept like a baby. Not me I-”

“Sh-she told you that?” I sputtered, feeling a new wave of ignominy wash over me, my face flushing anew. 

“Haha yeah she did,” she chuckled, tickled by my discomfort, “she said you sucked it all down and then spent the rest of the night on the nipple.”

“Wh-what?!?” I exclaimed. I have to talk to her! I immediately thought, I don’t want all this sh-

“Hey, relax, at least one of us got some sleep,” Randi added, obviously a bit irritated. “Actually, seeing you sleep so much makes Missy more reluctant to give you more of Katarina’s milk. She used the last one in the fridge last night, but it really knocks you out.” 

“Yeah,” I answered, not knowing what to say but skin squirming as I pictured the two of these women talking about me like this, making decisions for me, trying to adjust my behavior. Discussing my diet of breastmilk, for god’s sake. 

“I thought maybe I’d be able to sleep but I have all this social media stuff to handle,” Randi lamented, using outstretched hands to demonstrate the laptop, the tablet and the piles of paper she had surrounding her. It looked like a lot, I guess. “Your girlfriend’s made quite the stir, with her tv interview last night. I’m trying to handle all the new attention she’s getting today. Her accounts, the office’s - even mine and the other girls’. They’re all suddenly very popular. Yours too.“

“Wait, what? Mine?” Without a phone since this past weekend, I really hadn’t seen my accounts for days. Not that I ever really paid them much attention. 

“Yeah, even yours,” Randi answered, “Missy asked me to start running your IG too, handling all the attention since Amelia’s video dropped. So, I’ve been replying to all your new ‘fans’, posting a few things for you and-”

“B-b-b-but that’s..that’s-“ Gah! That’s private! What could these girls find out about me if..if…? “How’d you get my passwords??”

“Hey you should be happy,” Randi said - obviously ignoring my question - “you’ve got like more than twelve thousand followers now. Everyone wants a piece of Mr. Vulni, of Melissssy’s scrawny little boyfriend.”

“Jeez,” I offered, running a hand through my hair, scratching my scalp and aware of the dark little thrill of narcissistic pride that gave me Am I popular now? (and why am I not bothered by the ‘scrawny’ jab?). Plus, despite the invasion of privacy - was she actually pretending to be me online? - this was Randi’s job, I guess, handling our social media. I realize now that I was trying to rationalize. I used to do that a lot. “The news thing, Melissa’s interview was good? For getting some, uh, followers? For, y’know, the office. I haven’t see-“

“‘Good?’” Randi snorted, “It’s insane. Another part of it’s coming tonight at 6:30. And - they’re talking about broadcasting the whole profile piece nationally on MSIT.  Fuck. I think I’m busy with these accounts after last night? If that happens, she’s gonna be huge. I’m going to need fifteen of me.”

I had the feeling that, despite her tone, Randi maybe didn’t mind her new responsibilities as much as she let on. “Wow,” was all I could manage, “Huge, huh..?” Was my girlfriend actually getting famous? Big, tall girls are in, I guess, and for that Melissa definitely qualifies. How many men were out there following her? Should I haha be jealous? I didn’t really know what I was feeling, aside from a weird, sudden buildup of pressure in my balls. “...Th-that’s great I guess.”

“Yeah, just more work for me. Plus, I now have you to babysit,” she finished, picking her laptop up off her lap and setting it aside. She took a deep breath, sitting up straight, and looked at me. “So, what do you want to do? Are you hungry?”

Babysit? I’d barely heard her question, still shocked by and stuck on that word. Melissa had used ‘babysit’ this morning, before she left me to sleep. She was, of course, joking (right?) but with my condition making me sensitive I bristled at it then, and I did it again now. “Hey Randi I know Melissa left you here t-“

“Oh shut it, I’m babysitting you,” she said, as she prepared to stand, “Just count yourself lucky she didn’t ask little Jenny from down the street to do it.”

“Who’s ’Jenny’?”

“Omigod you’re sooo clueless. C’mere-“

At that, Randi stood from the couch, hand outstretched toward me. She smiled, her lips taking on an extra curl and eyes sparking as she saw me take in her height, and then she took a step back allowing me to appreciate the scale of us.

 I was, oh my god, barely up to her breasts. 

“WOW you’re short,” she exclaimed, “Shorter than yesterday for sure.” She cocked her head at me, obviously enjoying this. “What are things like for you down there,” she chuckled, “having to look up at us ladies all the time?” 

I didn’t say anything.

“Now, you missed breakfast, it’s already lunchtime, and she wanted me to make sure you ate. But first I want to check something.” She took a step toward the kitchen and waggled her hand at me, beckoning me to her. “Come.”

I didn’t move, still astounded. I did feel shorter. 

“Come. Here.”

At that, Randi grabbed my hand and yanked me toward her. Dragging me with strides longer than my own, she started marching me towards the kitchen, where there was milk in the fridge and - fuck me - a measuring tape in the drawer. 

“I want to check this out,” she said, voice alive with excitement as she stood me against the wall and pulled open the tape, ”Let’s see just how much you’ve lost...”

…

Twenty minutes later I was sitting, sullen in front of the tv, on the opposite end of the couch from where Randi was working with her laptop. My lunch was on the coffee table in front of me: PB&J on toast, a glass of whole milk that I made sure to watch Randi pour from a regular milk carton, thank you very much, and some veggie chips. I was leaning forward with my chin in my hands, ignoring my lunch and half-watching this show Randi had put on for me to keep me occupied while she worked.

I really wasn’t hungry, and every bite was bland and tasteless. Likewise, I could barely concentrate on the tv as those numbers just kept going through my head:

Fifty-five inches. I was 4’7”. I’d shrunk five inches in less than a week! I should be freaking out, I should be terrified. I was diminishing, in so many ways, more  than just vertically, and I should’ve been putting every ounce of my energy into figuring  out what was going on. But, instead, there I was, with a little-kid’s lunch I’d picked over, watching some daytime tv while one of my new employees babysat me and did all the work. I was at a complete loss of what to do. Five inches! In less than a week! I couldn’t stop lamenting it. At least Melissa will be happy to hear this. She likes me short.

I took a bite of my sandwich, sweet and chewy. Yuck. 

Randi had plunked me down in front of the television so she could get back to work. She’d run through a few options with the remote and settled on MSIT, this new men’s network, which was running a marathon of some apparently popular retro sitcom. The first season released just recently, but done in a style from yesteryear. The special effects (they had to be special effects, right?) were pretty impressive…

I don’t know how it was lost on me, the similarities between “Harry”, the hapless breadwinner main character and myself. His wife - all wives, all women in fact, had grown two feet - and of course the male population of suburban 1964 was just trying to keep up appearances, living in various stages of denial. Hilarity, of course, ensues. Like in this episode where Harry starts to realize his business suits are all seeming a little too big on him. “Did you put this in the wash, honey?” he asked his towering wife. He’d interrupted her morning coffee with the girls from the neighborhood. 

“Darling, you know that would shrink your suit,” she replied patiently, looking down at her blunderbuss husband, “if anything you should be asking if I threw you in there…”

I hate sitcoms with laugh tracks. 

Anyway, once that episode was over, and then six more, I’d reached to grab the remote and - under Randi’s watchful eye - started flipping around the channels. I hadn’t seen a lot of midafternoon TV recently, but it certainly hadn’t improved in quality. Talk shows, mainly. ‘The View’, ‘Judge Judy’, stuff like that. It wasn’t too different from normal as long as you didn’t pay attention to the details.  For a moment, I settled on ‘The Kathleen O’Connor Show’, a talk show which had several female executives from some big company in the studio. Nexifem, it looked like. 

“Welcome back!” announced the pretty blonde host in a smooth and cheerful voice, “Today we’re talking about exciting radical futures and just how far the fempowerment movement can take us toward a better world. What is the next level? Where can women make helpful changes to push toward a better future? We’ve got some big surprises for you today, including something that may shock many of you.”

The host’s smile was ebullient, inviting me to keep watching, but there was something ominously disturbing about the applause that rose from the all-woman audience in response to her words. 

“How many of you have wondered or speculated just what might happen if the vulni-chic movement went even further?” she continued, the camera pulling back to reveal that she was standing behind a table upon which lay a large metal platter, covered by a large metal dome with a handle.

The sound of clapping and voiced affirmations rose like a wave. There was definitely excitement in the audience. They wanted to see what was under that dome, on that platter. 

“And how many of you have noticed just how many young men are choosing supplements and lifestyles that seem to limit their size, so they can appeal to potential girlfriends, their wives, or just fit in more with the trends - even to get jobs?”

Again, the applause rose in response to the host’s question.

“Well ladies, let me show you something that will blow your minds!” the host continued, big hoop earrings jangling as her right hand came to the handle of the shiny metal dome, “Today we have some special guests, incl-“

Suddenly, the channel changed. Randi had grabbed the remote and changed the channel. 

Did she not want me to see that?

“One of the girls just texted me,” she said, pointing it at the television, “Channel 5’s replaying Missy’s interview from last night, for the afternoon news.”

“Cool.” I hadn’t seen this yet. I’d wanted to- 

Yikes...

Onscreen: Melissa. Melissa in an oh-my-god plunging pink top and a camera angle that put her biggest assets front and center. Jesus christ look at her! She was in the backseat of some car, maybe a limo, and the reporter was interviewing her.

“What is she wearing…?” I muttered. 

“She chose that pink top to flex on all the little men watching,” Randi commented, as I stared wide-eyed at the screen. The news piece was supposed to be a story about FHMA, our grand re-opening/expansion, but this seemed more like a study in idolatry, a fetishistic focus on our amazonic Office Manager…and my girlfriend.  “Meager male minds are melting everywhere, I’m sure,” Randi finished. There was a strange tone to her voice, but that was entirely lost on me. Rather, I was getting more consumed by a strange, unusual feeling for me. 

She chose to wear that? On tv? I silently seethed, imagining all the men plastered to their sets at home leering at her. Even with me, feeling this - let’s face it - jealousy, I found there was no way to take my eyes off her. I became immediately hard just watching. I felt hypnotized and another sudden swelling in my balls. I had a load, ready, pent up, growing. I wanted to show her. I needed to release for her.

All the others do too, don’t they?

Randi, to my side, was watching me more than she was watching the screen. She saw me enraptured, and my brow furrowing. Slowly, she inched over towards me on the couch, and - remote still in hand - rewound the interview to the beginning as it came near its conclusion. The whole thing ran maybe three minutes and we were going to watch it again, from the beginning.

Staring at the screen, watching Melissa’s breasts jiggle and sway as she laughed and joked with the reporter, I was barely aware of Randi getting down in front of me where I sat and kneeling. “Look at her, dude, look at how amazing Missy is,” I only half-heard what she said, my eyes glued to the screen. She slowly and gently pushed my knees apart and - looking up at me to make sure I was still watching, she pulled the waistband of my sweatpants down over my steel pole of an erection that had sprung in my pants without me even noticing. 

She gave me the remote,  told me to pause and rewind whenever I wanted. When she placed it in my hand I felt my small fingers curl around it as I continued to watch the jiggly display in front of me, becoming glassy eyed. 

I didn’t see Randi flex her jaw, opening her mouth up much wider than should be humanly possible. 

“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” she then purred in a voice thick with portent, watching how my eyes had completely glazed over.

She’d begun to lightly stroke me, as I stared. 

“Look at her,” Randi purred, “You can’t help it, she’s fucking magnetic. Everyone wants to look at her, to watch her, to listen to what she says.” <Stroke, stroke, stroke> came her attentions on my cock, though still I don’t think I was barely registering it, or what she was saying to me. “And this is just the beginning, buddy. I was on social media all night, and that’s what I’ve been doing today. Pushing her out everywhere. This interview is going to explode and she’s going to get huge. Are you ready for that? Are you ready to live completely in your girlfriend's shadow?”

Into the otherwise empty house, to the replay of Melissa giggling and smiling on the big screen tv, I groaned aloud. 

“Because this interview, the piece they’re doing on the grand opening?” Randi continued, as precum had begun to drool out of me, “It’s not really about the practice, or some new women’s health center, no. It’s all about her. She’s going to be a bigger deal than “Far Horizons” ever could be.”

“Oh god…yes…” I moaned to Melissa when she casually shifted her enormous breasts toward the camera, nearly filling the screen. Randi was right. Melissa had said it to me last night - hadn’t she? - that she was going to be the biggest. Had she said it out loud? Had I just imagined it? But that's what she wanted, and Melissa tends to get what Melissa wants. And not just big and famous. But, like, big and BIG. Taller, stronger, bigger than anyone else, ever. Some impossible goal that you'd hear on a playground. Something fantastical that would need the laws of biology and physics to be bent out of shape, which, by god, had already begun to happen.

I hadn't taken her seriously, thinking it to be hyperbole, but, watching her on television I was starting to realize that she might just turn that ridiculous goal into a reality. She was getting exactly what she'd said she would, but what I didn’t know then was that the seeds for this were all planted long, long before I even knew her.

“You know it, don’t you?” Randi continued, “It’s all about her.”

Once again, with Melissa’s tits on the tv I was barely listening to Randi. I did feel it, though, and moaned in assent when finally she put her lips onto me, over me, sliding me head, shaft and -oh my god - balls into her huge, warm mouth. My entire manhood, tip-to-root, was inside Randi and - with just a little shift forward - fully between her teeth. It didn’t even cross my mind at the time: how is she doing that? I was too enraptured in watching Melissa on screen, laughing and posing and broadcasting her magnificence to the world…

=====================================================================================

Big thanks to longtime reader Jack for some dialogue help, and also thanks again to Horuvex for allowing the universe of GITJ overlap his, in this chapter with ‘The Kathleen O’Connor Show’. Want to - spoiler alert -  know what was on that platter? Read his “Nexifem”.

[kristannafever]

Mountain Man - Six

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: MA WC: 4121

~Collab with @lukin08

A/N: Well, it's now complete! The remaining chapters will be posted semi-regularly. If you have already read the first five chapters of this story, please note that some very minor changes have been made (updated on here and AO3) to make the story flow a little better for what was written after. Those familiar with this story may want to re-read.

Chapter Index

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

Anna groaned when he left the bed.

He chuckled.  “Not a morning person, are you?”

“Actually, with my job, I am,” she mumbled as she rolled over to where Kristoff’s body had been, trying to stay as warm as possible.  How did that man manage to run so hot in such a cold place? 

“Not by choice, I take it?”

She sighed. “Definitely not.”

“Well, you can sleep in.”

Anna rolled her eyes under her closed lids.  As much as she wanted to, as much as she was sure Kristoff would just assume she would take him up on his offer, she wanted to prove herself useful while he was offering her his precious food and shelter for her stupidity in trying to fly ahead of what was surely one of the biggest storms in Alaska in more than a decade.

After keeping her eyes closed and listening to him change, she reluctantly crawled out of bed.

He was stirring the hot embers in the stove before adding some wood.  The dry logs caught immediately and Anna wandered nearer to the only heat source… well, aside from the heat source that was Kristoff.

He went about making them breakfast, quick cooking oats yet again, and Anna once again chipped some of the impossibly hard brown sugar into her meal trying to make it taste like anything other than what it was. 

They were half way through eating, Anna trying her best not to talk his ear off again because she knew damn well how much it annoyed him, when Kristoff casually looked out the window and froze, his eyes widening.  Anna looked and saw nothing at first.  Dawn was just barely breaking and it was very hard to make out anything outside.  Then a glimmer of the eyes drew her attention, and she finally saw the bull caribou at the edge of the clearing to Kristoff’s homestead.

Kristoff reached over to the lamp on the table and slowly turned it off.  The cabin dimmed into near darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the stove.  “Quiet,” he whispered, getting up silently and walking very carefully to where his rifle hung above the door. 

Anna kept her eyes between the caribou and Kristoff’s movements as he slowly brought down the rifle and carefully opened the door and slipped outside.  Anna realized how much he kept up on his home maintenance as the hinges on the door were silent.  She glanced back at the animal who was still pulling the bark off of a tree, straining to see exactly how he was lined up for the shot. 

Kristoff took very careful steps onto the porch and settled the rifle into position.  Anna could just make him out through the edge of the window.  He was talking deep breaths, clearly concentrating.  A gunshot rang out a moment later, startling her a little even though she was no stranger to rifle fire.  She’d gone hunting with her dad plenty of times.

The caribou collapsed to the ground and Anna knew right away that his shot had been dead on, meaning that the animal was killed instantly, basically eliminating any suffering.  She jumped up from her seat and jogged out the door to stand beside Kristoff.  He was taking deep calming breaths, the rifle loose in his hand, and staring at the downed animal. 

“Great shot, Kristoff,” she said after a long moment, wondering why he was just standing there.  

He nodded absentmindedly.   “I was getting really worried,” he said slowly, his voice quiet.  “I don’t have much meat left.  Every hunting day I’ve had lately has been bad.  The animals have been scarce this fall.” 

“Well, I’m glad you had some good fortune then.” 

He looked over and his eyes surprised her.   It was a mixture of a lot of things with an undeniable softness underneath.  “I have to get to this right away.  Do you mind cleaning up from breakfast?”

Anna nodded and offered her hand out for the gun.  “I can put that back for you.”

He smirked at her.  “Think you can reach?”

She guffawed at him.  “I can use the chair if I can’t, wise guy.”

His smile went all natural.  “Alright.  Thank you.”

“I’ll come out and help you after,” she said, turning to go back into the cabin. 

“Uh, it’s a kind of one-person job.  And it’s pretty messy.  I can handle it.  Thanks anyway.”

Anna tried not to let her face fall.  She hated sitting around.  “Anything else I can do then?”

“No, I think you’re good.  You can read a book or play cards.”

“Okay,” she said, failing to keep the dejection out of her tone, and turned into the cabin to clean up the dishes and then do nothing.

*****

“That was fast.”

He looked at Anna as he shut the door.  She was sitting at the table, playing solitaire.  He’d spent the last three hours dressing and butchering the caribou, taking care in his cuts, preserving certain things for his tanning.  The hide was going to make a suitable replacement for the ripped vinyl on the seat of his old snowmobile.  In the end there was not much that needed to be disposed of. 

“Not my first rodeo,” he replied to her comment. 

“So, what now?”

Kristoff walked over to the kitchen and opened a lower cupboard and pulled out a roll of butcher paper.  “Gotta wrap and store all the meat.”

“Can I help?” she asked, scrunching up her nose like she thought he was going to brush her off again.

He turned around and smiled to himself, not letting her see.  “Sure.”

He pulled out his meat grinder and started with the cuts suitable for ground meat, then wrapped everything else and labeled its date and cut with a black sharpie.  With Anna’s help it took him half the time.  She’d taken over the labeling and her penmanship was gorgeous compared to his messy scrawl.   After she passed him all packages to the cellar where be put them away. 

When all was said and done, Anna looked at her watch.  “Holy crap I swear it’s damn near two in the afternoon.  It’s not even eleven.”

Kristoff chuckled.  “Yeah, that tends to happen when you get an early start.”

“So, what now?”

“I should check my beaver traps today,” he muttered, feeling strangely uneasy about having to leave her out again.  It was clear that she did not like lousing around, which admittedly impressed the hell out of him.  “I, uh, only have one pair of snowshoes though.”

Her smile was so natural, it gave him pause.  “I’ve got my own in the plane, if you want some company?”

“Sure.”  He tried to smile back, only his face would no allow it.  His mind was suddenly contemplating his life’s choices again.

Kristoff followed her outside when she was wrapped up again in her winter gear.  He grabbed his snowshoes from their place on his porch, watching her through the tree line for a moment as she brushed the slow off the nose of her plane as she walked by.  She opened the door and disappeared into the snow-covered aircraft.

Kristoff sat on the steps of his porch to put on his snowshoes.  Anna appeared at his side a moment later, and they walked through the clearing to head up the river.

*****

“So, have you been trapping since you first came up here?”

Kristoff glanced down at her.  “Pretty much.  The first year I was too busy just getting everything in place so I could survive.  I studied up on it before I moved up here and started my second year.  I learned a lot as I went along too.”

“How many traps do you keep out?”

“Only enough to pay for my needs each year plus a little extra for anything unexpected.  I could put a lot more out, but it feels like a waste.”

“Take only what you need.”

“Exactly.”

Kristoff stopped and made a sharp turn down a path by the river.  Anna watched as he checked the trap, yielding nothing.  Frustration on his face was clear as he reset the line and started to move to the next one.  Anna followed him along the bank of the river.  It seemed odd that all his traps were coming up empty.  She tried to remember if there was anything different her father had done, but nothing stuck out.  Kristoff, for what she could surmise, set the traps exactly as her father would have.

“Are your traps always so bare?”  Anna asked.  She tried to stop herself from saying anything, and as usual, she never knew when to keep he mouth closed.  Anna closed her eyes bracing for a biting retort from Kristoff.  Instead, she heard him sigh.

“No,” he answered.  There was a solemn expression on Kristoff’s face.  He looked almost worried.  “The traps have been fairly successful.  That is since the end of summer… Now I’m not catching a thing and I don’t know why.  I keep going over it, trying to figure out what I’m doing wrong.”

Anna knew the firs were Kristoff’s livelihood.  They afforded him the critical supplies he needed each year and without them he could be in dire straights.  They kept moving, checking the traps with no improvements. 

There was something in the back of her mind nagging at her.  She couldn’t shake the thought that there was a remedy to Kristoff’s problem.  Another hour passed until Anna was struck with the revelation.  She stopped in her tracks as the lesson of her father played out in her head.  When she looked up to Kristoff, he was far ahead of her trudging to the next trap.

“Kristoff!” she called out. 

He stopped and turned back to her, the annoyance she was slowing him down clearly showing.

“I know what’s wrong!” Anna said through deep breaths.  She had practically ran to catch up with him through the deep snow.  Anna put her hands on her thighs, leaning over trying to catch her breath.  “Why did I think that was a good idea?”

She looked up again and saw Kristoff staring down at her.  Anna straightened up and proclaimed.  “The weather pattern this summer!”

Kristoff tilted his head.  “What?”

“Don’t you remember?  Everyone was talking about-   No.  No, you don’t.”  Anna threw her arms up in frustration then walked past Kristoff, pushing him out of her way as she looked for the next trap.  “Because that would require you watching the news, or reading about it, or talking to people.”  She turned back at Kristoff.  “Do you remember anything odd about this summer?”

“Not really.  It may have rained more than usual.”

“Yes!  But do remember anything else?  How it didn’t cool off?”

Kristoff thought for a moment.  “It did seem to stay warmer longer, now that you mention it.”

“Everyone was talking about it.  Some crazy weather pattern coming up from the Pacific.  It extended the summer.  It hadn’t happened in over twenty years.”

“So?”

“So, this is your problem!  I remember my dad talking about this when I was a girl.  Warm summers extend the feeding season and there isn’t as large of a need for food right now.  You have to adjust your traps to the calmer waters.  The animals aren’t in their usual spots.  They’ll take the bait if it’s in front of them, but they aren’t searching for food as much right now in the open water.”

Kristoff’s gaze shifted to the river.  “Of course,” he whispered.  “Why the hell didn’t I think of that?”

He turned without a word and trudged back to the trap they had just passed.   After he yanked it from the water he surveyed the bank, looking for a good spot.

“I think we need to go back downstream a bit,” Anna said.

He nodded.  “I think you’re right.”

“You have any more up ahead?”

“Yeah, only one.  Let’s just reset the ones we passed and I’ll do that one another day.  It’s getting late anyway.”

He took off in purposeful strides before Anna could agree, slugging the heavy trap with him.  When they got to the next trap Anna offered to carry it.  He gave her a curious look before shaking his head quickly.  She followed him to the third trap and offered again.  He shrugged and handed it to her before he took off again.

Anna struggled with the weigh of the metal.  Kristoff was carrying two like they weighed nothing.  At least the split in the river was in sight now.  As soon as she had mentioned calmer waters, she knew that was where Kristoff was going to place the traps. 

She stopped beside Kristoff as his gaze swept the river.  “What do you think?”

Anna didn’t even realize he was asking her until he looked down at her in question.

“Oh, you mean me?” she laughed nervously.  “Sorry, I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t know you wanted…. I just thought you knew where you wanted to place them after I mentioned…”

“Where would your father have put them” he prodded gently.  “I’ve never had an issue like this before.   Honestly, I’m at a loss.”

Anna looked out at the movement of the river.  There was an area up ahead where a tree had come down.  “Over there,” she pointed to what she was looking at.  “That tree that’s still half on the bank?  There’s probably a lot of debris stuck under the water making a calm spot on the other side.”

Kristoff followed her gaze then turned back and nodded.  He trudged ahead and went down to the bank to set the trap.  When he came back up, he grabbed the two remaining traps.  “Where else?”

They walked a quarter of a mile further where Anna found another spot near a natural rock formation.  Kristoff set the trap and they set off the place the last one. 

Anna spotted another great spot almost at the end of the split where the river rejoined itself.  It was tricky to get to and Kristoff had to take off his snowshoes and wade into the river.  Anna was worried he would fall into the icy water but he was more sure-footed than she realized.  He scrambled back up the bank and put his snowshoes back on.

With that task accomplished, they started to head back to the cabin.  Anna was very glad he decided to leave the last trap for another time.   She was getting exhausted from trudging through the deep snow and Kristoff showed no signs of slowing.  She wondered again about what kind of stamina it must take to do this stuff all day long every damn day.

--

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[acourtofthought]

The more I think about this whole "Mate" behavior war between Lucien and Az and how Az is somehow better because he figured out Elain was a Seer the angrier I get.

During those months of Elain's depression, what did Az honestly do?

There is zero mention of him visiting her. There is zero mention of him expressing concern for how much weight Elain had lost. There is zero mention of him trying to have any sort of conversation with her at any point.

The very first thing we see him say to her after months of her being turned is, "Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” and that was because of Luciens suggestion to Feyre.

Then when they actually were in the gardens together:

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables

Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading.

Az doesn't even bother talking to her. Even knowing she was depressed before this, he still expresses happiness that he's not the one to stay behind to watch over her when they others traveled to the Hewn City:

Cassian and Azriel drew sticks for who would remain in Velaris that night. Both wanted to join us at the Hewn City, but someone had to guard the city—part of their long-held protocol. And someone had to guard Elain, though I certainly wasn’t about to tell Lucien that. Cassian, swearing and pissy, got the short stick, and Azriel only clapped him on the shoulder before heading up to the House to prepare.

If Lucien was given the option to stay with Elain and watch over her or travel with the others, which do you think he would have chosen? Also, do you think he would have gloated at not being the one left behind?

Literally, the ONLY thing Az did on his own during those months of Elain's depression was figure out the label given to her power and decide that it would be beneficial to the IC. He didn't take the initiative to offer her food, he didn’t try to engage her in conversation, he didn't first suggest she needed to get out of the HOW, he didn't go out of his way to spend more time than necessary with her or bring in a Healer to look over her.

The only things Az did for Elain was at the request of someone else:

Lucien: “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

Az moments later: Neither did Rhys when I sent my order down the bond, asking him, Cassian, and Azriel to help move them. Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”

And:

I faced Azriel, exposing my palms to him. “What does that mean?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away.

Azriel ONLY went searching for answers about Elain at Feyre's request. Az only took Elain to the garden at Luciens suggestion and Feyre's mind speak to Rhys.

And for anyone applauding Az for realizing Elain was a Seer because of what the Healer said I'd like to break that down again:

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is AMISS, it’s a mate.”

If something is AMISS. Being a Seer is not something amiss which Az even confirms:

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

Aside from Elains depression which Lucien absolutely tried to think of ways to help Elain with, there was nothing Lucien could do in terms of her Seer ability. Nothing was "amiss" considering she was gifted a power.

Az never did anything on his own or out of any real concern for Elain when it came to her depression and the only reason he figured out Elain was a Seer was because Feyre asked him what it meant. Feyre was the catalyst for him looking into it.

And when he did figure it out, all he cared about was how they could utilize her power.

“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off.

So really, tell me again how much more Az cared about Elain 🤦😂

[broodwolf221]

thinking about solas in the hushed whispers questline. specifically what would've happened if he'd gone back in time with the inquisitor and dorian

first off: in that timeline, the veil has been "shattered", the fade and the waking world now existing without separation. it's essentially what he wants to do, his ultimate goal realized. and in game, he's appalled. he's desperate to help the inky change it back

if he went back with them, though, he'd retain his memory. and that means he'd have to live with it. and i just keep thinking about his reaction to it, and about how many different things he'd feel, how much he'd twist himself up about it

putting aside his immediate reaction within the timeline, once he's back and things are safe enough for him to actually think about what he experienced, i imagine he'd be excited. it's possible! it's actually possible! it didn't destroy the world, not in the absolute way he feared it might.

then, over time, doubt would creep in. did it destroy the world? obviously that future was horrible, but that was corypheus, or alexius, or... it couldn't be that the veil was gone. could it?

there were demons everywhere. but surely they'd been twisted by fear and grief and anger... he mourned the spirits who had been so distorted. yet if he drew the veil down, even if all survived, such feelings would still exist. would the spirits suffer his plan as they suffered under corypheus'?

i imagine him really distant. if he's with the inquisitor - or anyone else, for that matter - i think he'd pull away from them. not end the relationship, just keep his distance for the time being, lost in thought and worried, trying to puzzle this through on his own. he'd sleep more, wander the fade more, perhaps speak with his friends, the spirits he knows so well.

in that timeline, the breach expanded. perhaps that's the "wrong" way for the veil to be removed - perhaps he tries to blame the damage on that. however he's going to do it, whatever plan he has, it's clearly the right way. isn't it? well, at least he certainly knows what not to do now, and that information will aid him... won't it?

like, this man is already wracked with guilt and doubt. he wants to be proven wrong. but this is the only path forward he sees - the only way to correct his wrongs, yes, but he's not doing it to atone, he's doing it to repair the catastrophic damage he caused. but when he sees what happens, how it turns out, it's horrible. it's a waking nightmare.

he drew the veil. he changed the world. and it made it worse - it took magic away. yes, he stopped the evanuris, but he also destroyed arlathan, he altered the nature of the entire world.

originally, his fears would have been essentially 1) fail, and the world remains as it is, broken, or; 2) succeed, and the world as it is, those who inhabit it, are destroyed. now there's a third fear: succeed, and make the world worse for everyone and everything.

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 7: morsel

“You need to eat more.”

D’zinhla blinked heavily, pulling her thoughts out of wherever they had been, and focusing her attention on the girl sitting across from her. Ryne wore an expression of deepest concern, her hands clasped to her chest as she stared imploringly. Instantly D’zinhla was filled with guilt; how else could she respond to causing Ryne that level of worry? 

She glanced back down to the bowl in front of her. A dish of seasoned rice and seafood, with a smoky aroma that definitely appealed to her, and seafood was a sure way to make a meal she’d want to eat. Yet she’d only managed a few bites, and mostly seemed to have pushed the food around listlessly while her attention drifted away from the meal at hand.

She frowned, her ears flicking back. “You’re right, you’re right,” she murmured, lifting her spoon again. Rather than a hearty spoonful, she scooped up a small amount, mostly rice with a bit of clam meat, and drew it up to her mouth with a strange reluctance. The act of actually placing the food into her mouth took a level of concentration she was both startled and wearied by, and regardless of the fact that clam meat was chewy by default, she felt like it shouldn’t need this much effort to masticate. By the time she swallowed, she felt as if she had just finished a practice round with her greatsword–and that was just one half-spoonful.

Ryne drew in her breath, and with effort D’zinhla flickered her eyes back to her. “It’s hard to eat, isn’t it?” the girl asked.

Nodding was hard, but so was speaking, so she just moved her head a few times, looking back down at her plate. It shouldn’t be this hard.

“You’re not actively being poisoned by the light anymore,” Ryne said, and she twitched an ear toward her to indicate she was listening. “I can See it, your soul is holding steady, it’s even getting better than it was. So it has to be lingering effects of all the light you were carrying.”

“Loss of appetite was one of the first signs,” Alisaie offered quietly, from somewhere off to her right. “Loss of appetite, lethargy, leaden responses to stimuli… Honestly, one of the problems was how well those matched up with a lot of the ways the body reacts to the onset of illness. But we know she’s not ill, and it’s not poisoning her now.”

“So it’s the effects it left behind, as Ryne said.” That was Y’shtola’s voice, with that faraway sound when she was turning over a problem in her mind. “Rather unpleasant ones, if it’s this much effort to get food down.”

With a slight jerk, she realized she’d still only managed that half spoonful. With a frown of concentration, she focused hard, thinking through the steps needed to draw food back to her mouth and ingest it, and then thought it through again, when the first time her body seemed to accept just thinking about it as sufficient enough. There was a little more on the spoon this time, with a bit of shrimp. The rice was deeply flavorful, and the shrimp as good as any she’d had before, but after she’d swallowed, the thought of repeating the process made her feel deeply wearied.

“Keep at it,” Ryne said softly, encouragingly, from across the table. D’zinhla couldn’t risk sparing her a glance in acknowledgement, but she did smile thinly, her ears perked toward the girl.

“I suppose we’re lucky, in terms of side effects,” Alisaie was saying.

Y’shtola answered, sounding thoughtful. “On one hand, yes, I’d agree. Certainly better than what could have been. She’s intact and in command of her faculties, and whatever transformation began has been undone. Well, aside from the bleaching.”

D’zinhla made a face, and it wasn’t at the food. The bleaching still made her deeply uncomfortable. By the time she’d absorbed the aether of the final lightwarden, she had been growing steadily lighter in color, most markedly in her hair, and after that terrible moment when the light first threatened to break free, she had come to with her hair as white as alabaster, with her skin nearly a match (because her blood had turned to the white ichor of a sin-eater). Now, there was a healthy pink tone in her skin again (which was still lighter than she remembered), but her hair remained white, and her eyes were markedly paler as well, but at least still noticeably green. The transformation had been undone before its effects could be made more obvious than that, but she felt that it was unsettlingly obvious enough. Even now in the Crystarium she sensed the looks and lingering glances. No one seemed afraid of her, no one seemed to think her transformation was merely held in abeyance, but she felt their pity, and heard their whispered words about how the Warrior of Darkness had given up her own shadows to bring back the night.

Hardly. That makes it sound like a choice, came a soft response in her mind, feeling like the brush of dark velvet against her. 

The corner of her mouth twitched. Her smile might be barely perceptible, but the recipient would feel it all the same. In truth, I held my shadows even closer. The other part of her, the shadow within her, had been instrumental in helping her make it when the transformation was threatening, a presence of darkness that resisted the light’s efforts to burn it away. 

There was a strange flicker in response, something like a small intake of breath, before her shadow responded. So you did. But enough of that. They’re trying to speak to you again.

Her shadow retreated, and she fought to draw her awareness outward once more. “-personal aether still so strained. It’s going to take more time than this to recover, I fear.” She flicked her ears. Y’shtola.

“All the more reason that you need to eat, D’zinhla!” and the imploring voice was Ryne again. She forced herself to look up this time, to make eye contact with the girl, and she halfway regretted it when she saw just how worried she was. “Is there something else we should get you instead?”

“Favorite foods were always better, when we could manage it,” Alisaie said softly. “And I’ve never known her to turn down seafood.”

“I just thought, maybe soup? Something easier to get down, maybe less chewing?”

“It’s okay,” D’zinhla forced herself to say. “I’ll… I’ll manage some more. Don’t trouble yourselves.”

She heard the swish of a tail. “As if it’s any trouble to fetch a bowl of soup. But if you insist–and, if you’re actually able to finish some more of your dish,” Y’shtola said, in the tones of a gently scolding parent.

She had to smile. “Alright. I’ll do my best.” And she returned to the most difficult challenge to face her since triumphing over the Ascian Emet-Selch: finishing her plate.

[walnutsxblacklicorice]

Loneliness as Ramona's driving motivation

Ramona Royale speaks a lot about revenge, like her hatred for the Countess is the driving factor for her return to the hotel.

She is also an unreliable narrator. I think the truth lies both in the flashback scenes and in side comments she makes, rather than her actual narration of why Elizabeth killed her boyfriend and how that is the reason she now wants revenge over 20 years later. The truth most deeply lies within her narration of what happened with her dad.

"You know the only thing worse than heartbreak? Loneliness. Knowing that it's never going to end.

So, in my despair, I went to the only place in the world where I knew for sure there were people who loved me."

Going back to the hotel for revenge is the story that Ramona told both herself and Donovan. I think what really drew her back is loneliness.

When she cheated on Elizabeth and Elizabeth "tossed her aside" after killing her man, it's safe to assume Ramona was somewhat banished from the hotel. At least, it was no longer a place she felt she could return to, given that Elizabeth was there and owned it.

But all her friends who hadn't died in the AIDS epidemic were at the hotel so now she was all alone. So she returned to her parents' place and lived there until her dad died presumably around 2015. She explained how she'd been stuck in amber with him, her world revolved around taking care of him so she hardly took notice of how times were changing.

By the time her dad died she was confronted with a world foreign to her. The internet had taken over and her once so successful career was reduced to free movies on Hulu. She had nobody left to turn to and now not even her surroundings were familiar anymore.

The hotel was the only place where she still knew people. But she also knew she wasn't welcome there. If she just showed up, chances were Elizabeth would have her thrown out, maybe Liz had turned against her out of loyalty to Elizabeth, too. She had to find new allies to get in. And she had to get rid of the person who could possibly deny her.

"It's time for me to rise and her to fall."

Even though she tells Elizabeth that she'd never been one to plan, she comes up with an elaborate strategy to return to the one place closest to what she can call home. She finds out who Elizabeth had been dating and where to find him and tries to get him to help her.

Eventually, once she's finally in Elizabeth's presence, she realizes not only is Elizabeth remorseful about what happened, Ramona still has feelings for her, too. She can't kill her and when Elizabeth kisses her, she gladly accepts more.

All she deep down wanted was to feel loved again. And as soon as she stepped into the penthouse Elizabeth gave her what she always did, adoration. The song I Wanna Be Adored is playing in the background. Angela, too, has said that this is one of the ways in which Elizabeth fulfills Ramona: with adoration.

If Ramona had only come to the hotel for revenge, she would have been satisfied and left once Elizabeth got killed. But she didn't.

Nearly every scene we see between 2015-2022, she is present in the hotel. She is reunited with Liz, found another friend in Iris, Will includes her in his fashion shows despite her killing him. And in my mind, with her spending all that time there, she has gotten back with Elizabeth, too. At the very least, Elizabeth's ghost is there to keep her company and watch over her.

She has found love and companionship at the hotel again, just like she'd deep down yearned for. And now she spends all her time there instead of building a new life away from it, living in her big gorgeous house. Because the Hotel Cortez is home. And so are its people. It's a safe haven for vampires and it hasn't changed as radically as the outside world has.

Elizabeth had created herself a time capsule within the hotel and that is what ended up making Ramona feel safe and comforted there, too. There was still a piece left from the world she once knew and thrived in. And it didn't turn her away like she'd feared.

[au-drayton-shenanigans]

// ooc

I drew some pictures at church and since they're both au Drayton related, I will put them here.

I also talk about a couple of dreams I had some time ago.

Wizard may seem like your average snobby high elf but he really really likes creatures.

We see him here with a basilisk type chicken thing and a whatever that fluffy thing is.

The au Wizard is from is actually so fun it's got pokemon, digimon, animals, and magical beast critters in it. Such biodiversity :0 and to think his entire au came from a dream.

Nap time for Wizard and some of his friends

There's 2 digimon and one pokemon here the rest are magic creatures. Hilariously it turns out I know how to draw more digimon from memory than pokemon. I remember back in high school I could draw things like dialga and arceus from memory near flawlessly but whatevs.

I never talked about something due to just. not having the typing motivation but some like. week ago or somewhere around that much time ago, probably more into last month, I had a third dream about his au. That one revealed that the universe he's in has another side. Yall know how in that spyro game with the sorceress and the dragon eggs there was another world just on the other side of some holes in the ground and the dragons used to live there instead? Well Wizard's au is like that according to the dream. Right down to "the elf people used to live on that other side of the world".

Except that other side has just normal animals and normal human people and they don't believe in magic and they certainly don't think magic elf people exist. In the dream, Wizard went over there because he was told by some elf elders or whatever that they needed some artifacts retrieved from that other side of the world and his type of magic is the only thing that can open portals to there.

The place where the artifacts were in is a cave that in modern times ended up being converted into a hunter's lodge. They hunted bears specifically. It was like a metal building that was all basement. It was a cool looking place imo. Wizard snuck in and couldn't find the artifacts. They were probably put in some kind of museum or something. The dream didn't specify why they were gone, just that they were gone.

They were returning from an unsuccessful hunt as Wizard was about to walk back up the stairs and leave. There was a back exit that led directly to a beach so Wizard dashed and snuck out there. They heard him though. They got out their guns. Not from assuming the intruder was a bear, but from being bad dudes who react irrationally to people nearby.

Wizard could tell those folks were killing critters though and he didn't like that. Wizard is very much an animal/creature/whatever lover.

He went to the top of something and made his shadow look like a bear to trick them into looking for where the fake bear went while he would attempt to find the artifacts. But too late, he realized that where his shadow fell, it was an island with a unicorn on it. This was an island that was a remnant of the last of the old world's magic. That also could have been where the artifacts were but as I said the dream didn't tell me.

The unicorn and all the other possible magic stuff on that island somehow went undetected until that little oopsie.

The hunters saw the unicorn and immediately forgot they went after bears.

There was shallow water between where the hunters' place was and the island. It was something like almost waist deep but not quite.

Wizard, being who he is, dashed over there, revealing himself. The elf elders apparently made it very clear that he not let the people on the other side see him but there he was, arms spread out between the unicorn and the hunters.

He told the hunters to stop and they pushed him aside. A bunch of big buff dudes easily overpowered the scrawny teen who couldn't use all his magic in the other world.

Wizard starts weakly apologizing to the unicorn while being splashed and covered by the waves of the water but then the scene immediately goes to showing a full on backstory for how the elves first moved to where they are now away from the humans. It was a tragic, dramatic and beautiful story with a romance that ended in death but I don't care to go into the details right now.

I think it almost revealed where the artifacts were but I woke up before that. Also I think the unicorn made everyone there collectively hallucinate that backstory to give itself the opportunity to escape. It pulled Wizard out of the water too. The unicorn knew the importance of hiding the magic from the humans. And it sensed Wizard is way more of a kind soul than he seems. Aww :D

While I'm talking about dreams, I keep forgetting to say this but in a dream a few days ago, the memory was unclear even the day of, Cloak guy did something or said something that was either funny or stupid or both. Idk what. The ambiguity of it makes it funnier somehow but it's also frustrating how I recall that I knew what it was, whether he did something or said something and every detail for a total of 5 seconds after I woke up that night before forgetting

[collectively-kyrit]

Daughter Deception

A good while back, our Devil’s Dragons attended a party in order to snoop around for information. I couldn't help but get one particular moment from that session drawn up; Ura pretending to be her aunt's daughter. This was actually intended as a much sillier commission with Sulyassa just being drawn from the hip down and Ura peeking out from behind her tail, but Earth couldn't help herself and went ham. I love it so much. <3

Be sure to check out Earthsong9405's if you want to see some more bomb art! And if you're interested at all in seeing a little drabble I wrote to go alongside this piece that gives more insight into Ura's thoughts at the time that'll be down below!

Small claws clicked softly against the stone walkways, stopping only for a second or two at a time whenever Ura took a glance to ensure she took everyone down the right paths. It felt wrong, openly walking the streets of the upper city dressed to the nines. She could feel the gazes of every person they passed linger on all of them uncomfortably long and with every passing moment the kobold was feeling further and further from her element. It wasn't like they needed to hide, nor would they have been likely to do a great job at that with so many large dragonborn among them. She wanted to hide though. Wanted to not be seen.

Maybe it was the outfit. She shouldn't have left the design up to Peppa. Should've specified that she needed deep pockets, secure pockets that couldn't so easily be dipped into by an upset pirate. And she needed sleeves. Sleeves for hiding small movements of the hand, large enough for her companion to scurry about in.

Ura didn't want to blame Peppa for how… off she felt though. She could have specified, so it was her own fault. And the clothes were wonderfully fitted too. She couldn't recall ever having anything specifically tailored to fit her. Couldn't even imagine she'd be able to afford tailoring, and yet there she was walking in very nice clothes. And there was at least enough room in the cravat for Snax to burrow into. The clothes she could… probably get used to, so maybe it was something else.

Maybe it was the mere thought of the party, even if they were just going there to investigate. She wasn't shabby at putting up a front, but she also really hadn't interacted extensively with folk from the upper city, so could she keep up the charade of being there to have a good time while actively gathering information? And if one of the others began to flub it all would she be able to cover for them without fail? And what if they ran into trouble that broke out into a fight? None of them had brought weapons, aside from Ishmael’s staff that could be passed off as a walking stick.

The thoughts continued to dangerously spiral until Ura slowed to a stop in front of a three story manor surrounded by greenery that would put even other houses in the areas to shame. Pulling herself from her thoughts, Ura tucked the map away and took a few steps off to the side before turning back to the others.

"We uh, we're here." Her words came out with a small amount of uncertainty, having never been there before. She was decent at reading a map and getting around though, and it definitely had a perfumed air about it as the men at the Helm and Cloak had implied.

Apprehension seemed to loom in the air as everyone stood there and took in the building. After what felt like several minutes but was likely mere seconds, Sulyassa finally took the initiative to reach for the door. Her hand would not touch the wood though as it gently swung open before her, one of the servants briefly greeting them with a waving bow that offered for them to step within. All eyes quickly drew to the front door as Sulyassa took the first uncertain stride through the entryway.

There were only a handful of people in the foyer, but that was all it took to make Ura's skin crawl and her heart hitch as she quickly followed the towering Dragonborn in. Without realizing at first, she found herself drawing much closer to Sulyassa than before. Only when her claws came to rest against the scales of a thick tail did she realize what she was doing. The realization came with a brief moment of hesitation. What was she doing? Using the larger woman's imposing stature to hide her own presence wasn't really unexpected. The close contact though? Nah, if she was going to conceal her presence she'd normally prefer to be fully off the radar.

It must have been all the talk about family. Ura thought she'd managed to work through all her feelings. Thought she'd keep herself steeled in case somehow it was all a lie in the end. And yet now she found herself seeking the calm that came from huddling close to her aunt.

After taking a small breath the kobold - no, the young dragonborn - pressed herself closer to her aunt, though making sure to slowly peek around just enough to be seen for a fleeting moment. Right. Nothing had changed. Just an old tactic; pretend to be a kid and let everyone underestimate her. Kids should be seen, not heard, and she could work with that. Easy way to snoop and gather information. Only everything had changed. It wasn't exactly pretend anymore to an extent, and now she was actually relying on someone else to go along with her charade. Could she rely on Sulyassa to run with it?

Briefly breaking her stride to take off her overcoat and hang it up, Sulyassa took a moment to look back at her niece. The exchange was wordless, but Ura saw the Dragonborn's expression soften for the few seconds their eyes met and knew that it was going to be okay. For the first, and hopefully not last, time they would introduce themselves as family.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and The Prince #52 + #53 + #54

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

 Well, let’s see how many little things eighteen years have picked up and put in Adam’s pockets, shall we?

She came for him when the last of the sun's light faded from the sullen sky. Adam and Dane had settled under the eaves of the far end of the stables, eating warm pasties and drinking mulled cider by the light of a single golden lamp. "Mortal prince, my prince."

Dane saw Adam twitch, not so much at the voice, a whisper of fog and wind, but at the words. Nine years; the young man Dane followed had spent nine years fighting against those words, and the instinct to do so still was very strong.

"Ah, well. I was wondering if anyone was coming at all," Adam said mildly, putting aside his wooden cup and brushing his hands carefully.

"You challenged us, mortal prince," her tone turned arch.

"A great deal of graves around the realm beg to differ as to who started this fight," Adam replied without missing a beat. He moved to his feet; Dane already had his leather jacket on hand, and while Adam worked the clasps he picked up the bow and quiver to give to his prince.

"Do you really think your weapons will help you?" she mocked.

Adam had learned to explode into action from a redcap. He'd never beaten either Linden or Needlemaw when it came to speed, but the only fairy faster than either of them actually had wings. Before either Dane or the Sidhe maid knew what had happened he'd snatched his bow, and an arrow was quivering on the ground by her feet. "I think a great many things not related to the challenge might make me feel a little better," he replied calmly. "I'm just choosing not to do them."

She hissed at him, but she could feel the black burn of the iron arrow-head a scarce breath from her dainty, fog-slippered foot, and she said nothing as Dane helped Adam with bow, quiver, and weapons. She was still and silent as Adam drew in a deep breath and turned to the young man who'd been by him for so long. "Dane -"

"I could follow you to the edge," Dane rushed to say. "I  wouldn't go in, but -"

"Dane." Adam put gloved hands on the big man's shoulders, and grinned just a little. "No."

"But -"

"I don't trust them not to do something to you, just for being my friend," Adam explained, and watched Dane's ghost of hope collapse. "Go back. Go find your lady, and thank her for bringing us our meals."

Dane walked away with the lamp, clad in priest-blessed weapons and armor of steel and leather and iron, and Adam turned. Apparently having realized that she wouldn't be able to play her usual games, the Sidhe maid had abandoned her usual, wispy glamour. She was a very dainty creature, shorter than Adam by nearly a foot, leached of all color; her flesh, her exquisite gown, the long curtain of her hair, everything was white or the palest of grays. Only her eyes were black, like pools of tar. Adam could feel the pull of them, trying to steal his will and his awareness away, but there was nothing in him for the hooks of her power to catch. Her gaze could never compare to the beauty of a pair of many-colored, shattered eyes.

He gestured for her to lead, and she did. For a long time they walked in silence until she spoke at last. "Is it truly so terrible?"

Adam, who was watching and waiting for her to lead him into an ambush, realized that her voice was simply like that, a sigh and a whisper. "What is?"

"Death," she replied simply.

He nearly stopped walking. "I very nearly let you find out, back there."

"No, you meant to hurt me," she replied simply. "And I have been hurt before. But no one has ever killed me."

"Some of your people must have died that you could see."

"No." She shrugged. "None that I know."

Adam didn't even know how to take that in. "Do you have things you enjoy?"

"Yes," she admitted, and then swung into a pout, "but you won't like me speaking of them."

"I suppose that's true. Death would mean that you cannot do them anymore."

She shrugged. "Then I will find something else."

"No, you can't do that, either."

She scowled delicately at him. "Well, then -"

"No, not that either. Not even the choosing, not even the thinking."

She stopped and stomped her dainty foot. "But if I want to -!"

"You don't want, either. Death is a void, an absence of choice and will."

"But then I am not," she frowned. "Without those there is nothing, there is no me."

"Yes," he said mildly. "Without them, the world goes on. It just goes on without you, and it doesn't care."

She went silent, turning to begin walking again.

"Is there nothing else you need to tell me about the test?" he prompted her after a moment.

"Not yet. I was told it would be best if I didn't speak to you at all outside it." Slowly, she added. "I think perhaps my Queen was right about that."

"Is there something I should or shouldn't do to be proper?"

She cocked her head at him. "Proper? You would still be proper, after this morning?"

"My hatred doesn't impede my good manners," Adam replied wryly.

"Oh." He saw faint gray creep over the too-sharp line of her cheekbones. "Well, I hadn't thought of it that way. Do you truly hate us all?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Because any one of you could have told Canemore, 'Don't do this'."

"He would have never listened."

"No. But it would have been said. Sometimes you have to fight not because you know you'll win, but just because you know it must be done. Else a part of yourself is cut away, and it's very hard to get it back."

"You say such strange things," she frowned again. "Most of the time when mortals speak it's all nonsense, but your words are both strange and true. If I had said it, you would not hate me. Is it magic?"

"No," Adam nearly smiled. "I just know that I'm talking to a fairy. I can't speak to you of mortal things, they won't make sense to you. If I want you to listen, to hear me, then I have to speak of things that would matter to you. Just as if you were talking to a mortal about fairy things, they'd never understand you. They're not fairies."

Her frown didn't go away. "That is... sensible." They walked on, past the Royal Gardens, closer to the woods. "We like stories. Every test is a story." Instead of heading for the woods, she detoured into the Gardens.

"Ah. Am I to tell a good story, then?"

"All stories are good. If you want our favor, you should make it long. All the others have been so brief."

"Death will do that."

"Well, it's no fun when a story ends, 'and then he died'."

"I'll do my best not to die."

"Good." She turned to look at him. They had reached an elegant little plaza, cobbled in an artful spiral, with a decorative well at the center and stone benches surrounding it. The decorative planters had not yet bloomed, and the stones were slick with damp.

On one of the benches sat Prince Canemore. Adam's escort moved to kneel before the Prince Beyond the Woods. "I have brought him."

"That I see, that I know, that I thank you for, Baen." He reached out to put his hand on her head as if bestowing a blessing.

She looked up at him. "Do not do this."

Canemore froze. For that matter, so did Adam.

"You spoke with him," the Prince hissed.

"I am not a creature of silence," she shrugged gracefully.

"Go," he commanded through gritted teeth, drawing his hand away.

She rose and walked away.

"Lady Baen," Adam called out. When she turned to look at him, he held up a gloved hand, index and thumb far apart. He drew them a little closer to one another and watched her empty, bottomless eyes widen minutely in surprise before she left them.

They faced one another, the near-powers of two very disparate worlds that sat so close to one another. "So many times in your life you could have done us all the courtesy of dying," Canemore said at last.

"I was a very contrary child, I'm told," Adam replied evenly, swallowing a hint of bile. "For that matter, it occurs to me that we might not have ended up here tonight if at some point you'd said 'hello'."

Canemore smiled at that. "Oh, no. No, no. You see, Prince Adam, I have spent too much time watching your kind. I know you for the deadliest of plagues. You change everything you touch."

"Change isn't bad, though, it simply is."

"Change is a poison," Canemore snapped at him, rising to his feet. "We are unchanging, immortal, forever. We have no need of your kind, we never have, and if I could erase the lot of you from existence I gladly would." The Sidhe Prince smiled. "And yet, you know, something you once said has stuck with me for a little while now. 'Heed your friends. No one's worth spit on hot cobbles without them, least of all a king."

Adam felt the faint taste of bile in his mouth become all the stronger. "I stand by those words."

"I thought you might." A woman's scream trailed up from the well, full of terror. Canemore leaned lazily against it.

Adam rushed to the edge, leaning on the stones and peering down into the darkness, even though he knew he'd never be able to see anything. "What did you do," he demanded, strangled by fear. He knew that voice.

"Friends are such a dangerous noose around one's neck," the Sidhe Prince replied. "Anyone can come by, grab that rope, and pull it tight."

"My friends are my strength."

"Are you theirs? You knew exactly what you were doing today, or so you thought. Catch us unprepared, find an easy challenge. We are not children, Prince Adam, though this is, and has always been, a game -"

"To you."

Canemore shrugged. "You could have left. You could have forsworn the crown."

"You could have kept your hands off Linden." Canemore's glamour slipped and he snarled at Adam, a thing of shadow and glass and deadly darkness. A moment later the point of Adam's sword was at his throat. Somewhere deep in the darkness, the woman's voice sobbed. "That better not be Culli-maid."

Canemore's smile was a wolf's. "Here is your test, Prince Adam of the realm. You left your house this morning thinking yourself quite clever. You must return to it before a full day has passed; it must be exactly as you left it, barring the passing of a day. How lucky for you that you kept your man-at-arms with you the whole day. Or is it caution that he carries so much iron on his person, all of it blessed by your priests?" The Sidhe Prince shrugged. "Your housekeeper keeps your keys, so a key you'll need to free her. Your wise advisor needs his eyes to gather wisdom -"

"Did you hurt Beli?!"

"Oh, please, it's just his eyes. We can put those back and he'll never remember he was missing them. Provided, of course, you prevail."

Adam was having a hard time convincing himself not to shove the sword forward a few inches.

"Put your house to rights if you would be King, Prince Adam. Return to it every inch its lord, horse and tiercel by your sides. Be King before your household’s eyes, and we will abide your crowning."

"Where are they?" Adam asked through teeth gritted so tight they were hurting him.

Canemore stepped back, smiling still, arms spread open as if to welcome Adam's sword.

He could try, the young prince realized. He could really try. And Canemore would let him, and they might spend the entire night doing absolutely nothing except feeding Adam's rage, and he would lose. He slammed the sword back in its sheath, put a boot on the rim of the well, and murmured, "Hold on tight, Trout."

He leapt into the well.

***

Adam fell into darkness for far longer than he should.

It was deathly silent, completely empty. All he could hear was the rushing of his blood, the thrum of his heart. He couldn't even feel the rushing wind that should have been passing him by, he couldn't hear the thunder of it. He couldn't smell any of the damp and stone of the well. He tried to cry out, and heard nothing. He simply fell, and fell, and at some point he had to wonder if he was indeed falling. Perhaps he was dead. Perhaps he was trapped in madness, and something of the Court would put on his skin and trample out of the woods and all his hatred would be for nothing in the end.

The beating of his heart saved him in the end. He knew his heart. He'd listened to it many times at night. Nearly every winter night of the last nine years he'd spent going to sleep lulled by no other sound. During the day the everyday noises of his mortal friends had kept him, but at night there had been only that measured beat, reminding him that spring was coming closer, no matter how endless the cold season might seem.

He clutched his hand over his chest, and suddenly the wind was roaring all around him. He was falling. He was alive. He was real, and that seemed far more precious than he'd ever thought it to be. He came to that realization a split second before he crashed down into the dark, still waters of the royal aquifer with an almighty splash, and a different sort of deadly darkness closed a bitterly cold grip all around him. Adam swam up to the surface and broke through it with a gasp and a cough. Screeching like a vexed starling, Trout scrabbled out of its pocket and onto the prince's shoulder, its golden glow breaking the cavernous darkness all around them. "It mightn't have helped the test," the pixie declared, brushing water off its signet shield and fussing over a tiny scrap of leather that secured a lacquered, sharpened pair of hairpins to its back, between its wings, "but it would've been a nice bit of a start to run him through before you went jumping into wet dark places."

"I was tempted," Adam admitted. "But then I'd have had blood on my sword, and it would have got us killed." He drew in a deep breath and whistled a long, steady note until he ran out of breath.

"You know them," Trout breathed out. "You know the Cave Singers."

"I do," Adam closed his eyes and used everything Boul had taught him about stones and caves and darkness, until he found the nearest shore of the aquifer; he began to swim for it. "I suppose Canemore's trick is to get them to eat me."

"They're always hungry."

"Yes," Adam agreed. "But it's hard to eat someone whose name you know."

"Who brought you gifts of dandelion crowns and sweet surface fruit," another voice, a rasp of scales on stone and fang against fang, suddenly came into the conversation.

"Who listened to you sing and loved it without falling thrall to it. Who thought you beautiful," a second voice sighed, "even after an eternity away from the light."

"I'm sorry to come disturbing your waters," Adam offered politely.

"You never disturb us, Adam." They were staying just out of reach of the pixie's light, pale white eel bodies rippling through the dark waters. "You were always kind. You were always generous. And we have been quite disturbed already."

"Prince Canemore," Adam said. He was still carefully, oh so casually, swimming for the shore.

"Yes."

"He came to hide something in the aquifer?"

"And to steal from us," a third voice declared, a male's, some anger seeping into it. "What little we had, most of it your gifts, he took. He will not give it back unless we give him your bones, licked clean."

"We have not eaten in so long."

"But it is hard to eat someone whom you know."

"Someone who has been kind."

"Someone who brought us the memory of what we were."

Adam felt Trout cling very tightly to his ear, growling low. Dealing with the Cave Singers had always been tricky, as was dealing with any predator, and he'd always been on solid ground when he did. "I am eighteen today," he admitted to them. "And I mean to claim my crown from Canemore."

The slide of the white bodies under the dark water paused; the only ripples on the surface were suddenly those of his own movements.

"I will be King," he told them. "And a King can do many things that a child and a prince cannot do. I never asked you, because I thought it would be rude and unkind, but today I will ask, with apologies: do you want to go back to your home?"

"Is it unkind of him?" one of the voices asked uncertainly.

"No," the one male replied, but he sounded unsure.

"Yes," the two older females countered, and then one corrected, "but only because we remember. We remember sun-warm rocks, we remember tides. We remember storms and vast broken ice. We remember light and vast green and blue forests full of food. We remember. You do not."

"You are too young," the male added. "You were born here in this darkness, long after the stone had stolen all flavor from the water."

"Oh," the one voice accepted that thoughtfully. "Do we want to? I know the stories and the songs you've taught me of the Place Before, with its tides and its currents, with its light. Where there is no hunger."

"Do you want to?" the male asked.

The silence hung immense in the darkness beyond the pixie's golden light. Adam all but felt the older merfolk hold their breath.

"I don't know. I've never known light."

"You've seen my torches, my candles," Adam countered. "The caves are full of mushrooms and moss, mold and slime that all glows with its own light. Trout here has light of its own."

"But that's not the same thing as in the songs, is it?"

"No," Adam admitted, and caught his breath. "But I can show you sunlight, true sunlight. I can give you the taste of the waters that your people left behind when chance trapped them here, underground. If I show you these things, if I give them to you, will you help me, help us? Help me find what Canemore hid here, and take us safely to shore after I have it?"

"Yes," one of the females agreed.

"But only if it's true," the other warned.

Adam stopped swimming and reached into his pocket. "You'll have to come closer, though. You'll have to come into the light."

"How will I see this light, if I'm already in it?"

"No offense to Trout," Adam smiled wryly at the pixie, who buzzed its wings, "but there is no comparison."

She slid closer, a white and deadly ghost underwater. Her hair was a blue mantle running down the back of her eel-like body, turning into a long dorsal fin. Her head tried to be beautiful, but it was hard when darkness had bleached it of all color and most substance, leaving it so pale that the delicate web of veins was visible under the pale violet-tinged whiteness of her skin. Her eyes were small and copper-ringed; she had no ears or nose, only a perfect smoothness down to the lovely rosebud of her mouth, which didn't move at all. Directly beneath it, a thin and nearly imperceptible line along her chin hid her true mouth, and the forest of peg-like fangs in it. Her neck was far too long and far too boneless, and black and pink ripples covered her torso, fluttering in the water.

Adam reached out an arm, and she clung to it, the boneless tendrils of her fingers spiraling around it. "Close your eyes," he told her, "until you can just peek at me. Otherwise it will hurt you until you're used to it."

She obeyed. Rare as it had been that the children would come so deep into the caves as to reach the aquifer, still they'd met the merfolk trapped in those waters every now and again, and they had no reason to distrust Adam. He had never given them one. He fumbled in his pocket and closed a fist around the sun that was his last memento from Linden; he brought it out, holding it just over the surface. "Ready?"

"Yes," she breathed out.

He slid his fingers open, and sunlight, true and rich and warm, spilled into the darkness of the cave, revealing the beautiful work of water on stone, immense and deceptively delicate columns, pale lace-like lattices, vast shelves of limestone festooned with minerals. She cried out in shock, and then spun all around, eyes narrowed but struggling to take it all in. "Oh! Oh, there are colors everywhere!"

Adam lifted his hand and, finger by finger, opened his grip until the golden glow of that summer-caught sunlight filled the space.

"It's so warm!" She laughed in delight, her tail thrashing beneath the surface. "It's so beautiful! Can I touch it?"

"You can have it," Adam offered, "if you help us. But I offered you something else, didn't I? Two trades for two favors."

"Yes." She beamed at him. "To help you find what the Prince hid. What's the second one?"

"Take this then," he offered her the bit of sunlight, and she took it in her free hand, throwing the aquifer into dancing chiaroscuro shadows, "and open your mouth," he instructed her, and she did. Adam found himself facing several rows of fangs, curved slightly inward. Reaching again into his pocket he found the round salt stone that Boul had given him that morning; water had made no dent on it. With great care to avoid those teeth, he touched it to her tongue and slid it down carefully along it. "There."

She smacked and clacked her lips, then sank under the water and did so again. Adam saw the black dot at the center of each copper-colored eye suddenly grow immense. "It's like food, but not bitter. And it lingers!"

"It's not afraid. Fear is bitter," one of the females replied, drawing close. She was twice the size of the one Adam was speaking to. "I have nothing to offer, Adam, but could I taste your sea-stone? I will promise you anything."

"I will promise you myself if I can taste the stone," the male was smaller than the older female, but larger than Adam.

"It lingers because it does not die," the third female replied, matched in size to the male. "I do have something I can offer, Adam. I will sing for you the Deathless song, for as long as you want me to. For as long as I can."

Everything in him wanted to simply give this to them, if only because it was the kind thing to do, and ever he'd wanted to be kind. He could scarcely imagine what it had to be like to be trapped away from the light and the sea for so long that even the taste of home was forever erased from the water in which you lived. "I will give it to you, though it's a gift from a very dear friend. But I will not keep you here to sing anything for me, not if you choose to go home. A child couldn't help you, and a prince is scarcely any better. But a King, a King can do many things. I want you to think on your answer to my question. The salt-stone I will give you as a trade, to take me and Trout safely to shore once I find what Prince Canemore hid."

"Yes," they chorused at him. He put out the stone, and someone yanked it from his grip.

Suddenly they were moving so swiftly over the water that Trout nearly went flying off his shoulder with a yelp. They flew in flashes of light, blazing out of the water when the mermaid who carried it leapt over it, dimly lighting their way when it was only Trout's glow. They raced on forever, it seemed, until Adam could hear the stone overhead, but only barely so. They were at the deepest part of the immense aquifer.

If they betrayed him then, there would be nothing he could do.

"The pixie cannot come with you," the oldest of the females told him. "He would never make it."

Trout huffed in vexation, and rose to hover. "You'd best be taking good care of him, then."

She moved closer and caught Adam's hand. "You'll need the iron you have brought. The thing that guards your treasure has no mind or heart you can appeal to."

"Does it bleed?" Adam drew his sword.

"Yes," she admitted. "And I will try to remember that we have made a bargain with you, Adam. But you must find what you are seeking quickly, and we must leave swiftly. It will matter very little, how sorry we might be to break our agreement, if we've eaten you already."

"Fair," the prince could only say, squirming out of his bow and quiver and handing them over to the male to hold. "I can't breathe water as you do, remember that. I can only hold my breath so long."

"I will sing breath for you," the other female assured him. "Stay close. If you can hear me, you will be fine."

They dove. The darkness was profound, until the youngest joined them, carrying the little bit of captive sunlight with her. They dove endlessly, the cold and the pressure becoming nearly painful until one of them began to sing, a high and steady note that curled up and down like a gust of wind over foaming waves, like a warm breeze along a golden beach. Adam found he could breathe, though the cold only grew even more brutal.

They reached the bottom before a low cave. Even the sunlight could not pierce the darkness inside it, and Adam realized why when a phantom green glow began to spread over it in a perceivable pattern. Two bright, empty eyes shone like a cat's for a brief moment, and Adam went very still.

So did the rows of gleaming color.

He lifted his sword. The immense creature surged slightly forward, and the prince froze once again, before he started moving with immense, careful slowness. The eyes moved in the light as the creature turned this way and that, trying to hunt down those minute vibrations, and it surged briefly out of the cave, but aimed at no particular target.

It's blind, Adam thought. Like most everything that lives in these caves, it's blind. It doesn't need eyes. Only the Singers kept them because they're fairies, and fairies don't change unless they're made to change.

It was an immense catfish, made huge by age and pale gray by darkness. Skin had grown over its eyes and whorls of color that only showed in the dark adorned its scarred flank. Adam eyed those scars and turned to look at the hands of the older mermaid, floating still in the water by his side. This, then, was why they only had the one child. The fish was easily three times the size of the largest of them. A single fishing hook, absurdly small for its size, was embedded on the catfish's lower jaw. From it hung an even tinier pearl set on a silver pendant in the shape of a key.

Adam lifted a hand, catching their eye. Pointed at the oldest one and gestured to a spot behind him. The catfish pivoted toward him, but she'd gotten the gist of what he wanted, and let herself float away sedately. He turned to point at the youngest, pointed at himself, and gestured up. She nodded.

Now it only left the actual killing of the damn thing. Adam hung onto his sword and waited.

Somewhere directly behind him, something struck the stone of the ground with immense force.

The catfish surged forward. Adam thrust his sword up and nearly had it ripped from his hand. A fin slapped his face with punishing force and he clung to it with his free hand, trying to not lose his wits, holding onto his breath. For a moment it was all darkness and cold and a crushing, deadly pressure, until either the catfish turned back towards the cave or the singing mermaid caught up with them.

The damned thing's belly, after so long resting in the aquifer, had become embedded full of stones. It might as well be armored on what should have been its most vulnerable spot. The catfish writhed and twisted, all too aware that something was clinging to it, dragging it down and throwing it off-balance. As it turned, jaws snapping blindly, Adam shoved the sword into the soft fleshy bit of its mouth. It didn't stop it, didn't seem to even slow it down, but the prince hadn't meant for it to do so; instead, when it came looking to bite at him again, he snatched for the fishing hook and the pendant, and yanked it through the soft flesh there.

A tiny rivulet of blood, darker than the darkness, spilled into the water.

"Sunlight!" Adam cried out in the language of the cistern fish.

The youngest mermaid was suddenly there, slamming into him and rushing him up, up towards the distant glow of the pixie's light, up towards life and breath and warmth. But behind them came the catfish like a raging dragon, even though the other two mermaids were clinging to it, mouths sunk into its flesh. It was too big to care. It snapped upwards and caught Adam's foot between its jaws and the prince screamed the last of its breath underwater.

He hooked the foot that the catfish had captured on the hilt of the sword he'd left in the monster's mouth, and kicked it as hard as it could. The giant heaved; from outside Adam could hardly reach anything of importance, let alone anything that bled. But from inside, he'd shoved the blade straight into the catfish's head. The point peeked out of one eye.

Blood spilled like a cloud on the water. The fish heaved and spat him out, like any fish will when it feels it has bit into a hook, and the youngest mermaid raced him up, up and away, even as her mother and her aunt went into a frenzy, tearing and gouging and biting at the catfish, their song an eerie, maddened shriek. They burst out on the surface and Adam choked on his first breath, coughing until he felt as if he might catch on fire.

"What happened!" the male demanded.

"Swim!" was all the youngest was saying, and then they were flying through the water, outrunning the spill of death and blood and madness.

Or, at least, that was what Adam hoped, but he was too dizzy to know. Or to put up a fight.

***

"Adam."

There was a cool hand on his forehead, brushing away damp hair, and a rough surface under him, which he could feel even through the heavy quilting of his jacket. Had he been sick? Was he hurt? He couldn't remember anything. He'd had a terrible nightmare.

"Mortal prince, do I need to bite you again?"

Ah, so it hadn't been a nightmare.

"Trout, everything with you is an excuse to bite," he croaked out and sat up with an effort, coughing and spitting out a few more lungfuls of water. "Is everyone alright?"

"Yes," the oldest of the mermaids replied. "And well fed, and unafraid. It has been very long since we had any of those." She was an immense white body coiled around him in the shallows of the aquifer, on a beach he knew from happier times, when they'd visited with food and trinkets just to hear the merfolk sing. He'd been saved by those visits, Adam realized. By his familiarity not just with the Singers, but with their song. He'd grown used to the deadly beauty of it. Even if they wanted to, could they have driven him mad with it? Because that would have satisfied Canemore as well, Adam suspected.

"Well, something good came out of that. I don't think I have a right to ask more, since I didn't even know what I was doing, or what to expect."

"Will you face all your trials like this?"

"I hope not. I'm tired of putting friends at risk."

She was silent for a long moment. "That is not what I asked, for all that the answer fits. But that is a very mortal way to look at it."

"I am very mortal," Adam agreed wearily, working his foot on its boot. It hurt, horribly, but nothing felt broken. "I don't know. I thought there would be more magic to it, less violence. I forget that both can get me killed."

"I don't believe you forgot, Adam," she said gently. "I believe you do not care. I know what that is like. We stopped caring, too, a long time ago."

"But you care for her."

"And only for her. You named her, you know."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume -"

"You did not. You offered the name, and she accepted it. But we don't know how to repay you for that gift."

Adam ground his hand against his head. "Well, I can't ask you for my sword, you can't touch it."

"No."

He looked at his hands, uncurled his fists. The pearl-key sat on one. "Then help me. When Canemore came, did he have a mortal with him? A woman, young."

"No. She, he brought in later, and took her much farther into the caves, along with a blind man. He was bleeding."

Adam closed his eyes. "I am," he said very calmly, "going to be King. And I am going to wage war on the Court. It's very possible they'll come to ask you to join them, because the trolls and the redcaps have already abandoned them."

She nodded. "We will not fight. We have a reason to care now. I offer you this third trade, Adam. We will not join your enemies. We will keep the aquifer safe. And when you are King, you will bring Sunlight to the sea."

"But what about you?"

"Perhaps we will come with her," she shrugged, the blue dorsal fin shifting from one side to another. "I don't know how you could do this thing. I will not ask it for all of us, because I do not know if it can be done for all of us. But for Sunlight, it must happen."

"If it happens for Sunlight, it will happen for all of you." He offered his hand. "Hang onto hope. One of us should."

She took his hand and shook it, and retreated into the water.

"Trout," Adam said, moving to his feet and looking about until he found his bow and quiver. "Beli came by here, and he was bleeding. Can you sniff out his trail?"

"Oh, that's easy!" The pixie took off, looking about for the familiar scent.

"I'm glad one of us thinks so," Adam muttered wearily.

***

Magic had been laid in traps all along his route, but the dizzying, maddening spirals of it had no more effect on Adam than the frenzy-song of the merfolk had. He could have been lost in the caves forever, he realized. He should have been, thrown off the path, his mind slowly fracturing. But even down here he had unexpected allies; in many places he saw the smallfolk, in their mushroom hats and mole coats, trundling by and taking away the magic of the traps, piece by tiny  piece, in their tiny ribcage sleds. He paused to share with them a scarce handful of dry cherries, misplaced in one of his pockets and gone soggy after his dive in the aquifer, and they were exceptionally appreciative.

Following the golden light of the tiny, ruthless predator keeping him company, Adam wandered past the caves he knew and found himself looking at an immense stone arch of light and magic. Squinting showed him the same thing; so did holding onto the hilt of his dagger. "Trout, what am I looking at?"

The pixie perched on his shoulder. "It's a Many-Steps. Big magic for those without wings. Step in and step out and step somewhere else far away."

"And get stranded and lose by default." Adam examined the beautiful stonework, illuminated by its pale silvery magic. "Or half of me gets left here and half gods know where."

"Many-Steps don't stop just like that," Trout chided him tartly. "They only close if there's nobody using them. What sort of cheap worthless magic have you been taught, mortal prince?"

"I beg a thousand pardons." Adam considered that; then he bent down, took off his soggy boots, and put them directly in the middle of the archway before stepping forward over them, holding his breath. The glow of the archway remained steady.

They were in a stone-lined hallway, dry and dark and empty. A constant, steady hissing sound filled the air, broken occasionally by stray wisps of distant, heart-broken sobbing.

"I can't smell Beli anymore," Trout warned, returning to its perch on the prince's shoulder.

"That's fine," Adam replied, hurrying along the hallway until he came to a crossroads. Pulling his dagger and about to notch a mark into the stone, he paused and instead dropped to his hands and knees and rapped the hilt lightly against the stones at the bottom of the wall until the low, growly and muttering language of the smallfolk answered him. One of the smaller stones pivoted open and they peered up at him, stout and small and shy, but all familiar with him and his generosity of dry cherries, of bacon rinds, of charcoal and sunflower seeds.

They lit their lamps for him.

Adam ran into the vast maze to which the Many-Steps archway had transported him. They couldn't guide him, of course, and he absolutely refused to allow them to help. It would have meant choosing his side, and he couldn't stomach the thought of what Canemore might do to them for it. Life would be hard enough for them all soon enough. But wherever he went , the lamps on either side of the hallway would come to life, tiny wicks burning on floating chestnuts, pet fireflies, potted mushrooms, all of them at near-ground level. Twice he found himself at a dead end, and as he raced back to pick another path the lights changed for him as well.

The weeping led him to the ruins of a great, round room with a vast cupola overhead and moonlight pouring in through elegant windows bereft of glass panes and framed by the ruins of exquisite gilded velvet curtains. The entire room gleamed with far more than starlight, the elegant marble floors polished until a near-perfect mirror of the room gazed back at Adam from the depths of its abstract design. The walls and columns supported the cupola looked like something out of a fantastic mausoleum.

Adam froze at the doors. Two, perhaps three dozen Culli-maids sat in a double circle in the room, each one attending to their own spinning wheel and quietly sobbing. They all wore the same simple dress, a woolen overgown over a sensible linen blouse and a warm woolen skirt, with tidy leather house slippers and a knit shawl on surprisingly bright grays and greens. The wheels were the source of the constant, steady hissing, thread coming to life along their endless circle and then shooting upward, coming together by twos and by threes until a slender, silver cord ran out of the room through the marble of the cupola, away. Even from a distance Adam could feel the seething magic of it, and he suspected he knew where it went. He also believed he knew this game; the Folk Beyond the Woods, he'd realized from all the stories he'd been told, weren't able to come up with ideas of their own, and their tricks, while many, tended to repeat themselves.

He closed his eyes and squinted at the crowd of Cullis, but his head almost immediately began to pound. There was too much magic in the room. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, and stared instead at the windows, nodding minutely when he realized the view through each gracious arch was different. "Trout, stay away from the windows, they're a trap."

"Are there enemies?" The pixie reached back for its sharp little hairpins.

"No," Adam took a step forward. "They're a trap for you." He took a second step forward, soundless without his boots, and called out, "Culli-maid."

And he listened very closely.

They all turned to him and cried out. "Highness!" some of them screamed.

"Adam!" others wept.

Adam nodded with a grim little smile. He did know this game. "Well. That takes half of you out of the running very neatly, doesn't it? The real Culli fought me nine years on it." He pointed out those he knew for sure had called him 'Adam'. "Keep spinning, but turn your wheels around."

"But Adam -" One of them began.

"No," he said coolly. "I don't know what you're spinning yet. Until I do, none of you stop. And if you've turned your chair around, don't talk to me. Don't talk to one another. Don't speak at all."

He walked along the circles. They were flawlessly identical, each and every one of them, exactly as Culli-maid had been when he'd seen her last, just that morning. Some sobbed even as their hands turned wool into thread and into magic. Others struggled to be brave for him. A few looked stricken, lost and haunted. If fear could possibly have a face, all of the possible variables of it were to be found there, in that circle of spinning wheels.

Adam crouched down. A beautiful pearl and gold chain and cuff secured each Culli's leg to the chair where they sat. He suspected his key would only work the once.

"I could bite them," Trout suggested dubiously. "Maybe the real Culli-maid will taste of real blood."

"And maybe she's a troll under the glamour and squashes you flat for the daring. No, Trout, I'm not willing to risk you. I know the Culli-maid. If I don't know her well enough to beat this game, I don't deserve her loyalty." He straightened up. "I can only take one of you, can I?"

"Yes," they all chorused.

"Can I ask as many questions as I like?"

"Yes," they repeated.

Adam stepped back nearly to the door, where he could see them all clearly. "What's your real name, Culli-maid?"

"Sophronia," they all replied in nearly perfect synchronicity.

Nearly.

Adam grinned wryly. "It's embarrassing, really. But Culli, it's so useful that you don't say your own name the way the rest of the world reads it and speaks it." He drew seven of the replicas forward, to a third circle. "Keep spinning," he told the rest. "Turn around. Don't make a sou- ah!" He gestured sharply to one of the false Cullis, who'd tried to bare very un-Culli-like fangs at him. "I have neither chosen nor rejected you. Keep. Spinning."

She obeyed, snarling. "To free the wrong one is your death, mortal prince. To free the right one is to free us all, and still your death. What do I care what you command?"

"You care enough to obey and that's good enough for me," Adam replied distractedly, staring at the seven Culli-maids. "Don't run. When I free you, Culli, don't run, and don't stop spinning. Because I'm pretty sure the windows are enchanted to take you places, but not to bring you back. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Highness," they agreed tearfully.

Adam breathed out slowly. So far he'd been counting on the fact that a fairy replica would want to get every little detail right; the problem with that was, of course, that he'd asked questions meant to have flawed answers. And the fakes left along with the real Culli were the ones that knew that to fail a little could mean victory all the same. He also couldn't ask questions with complex answers - he'd never hear the right one over the chaos of too many words spoken too quickly at him. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Damn it, Culli, you actually know too many of my secrets, I don't trust any of them to be safe from this lot," he laughed ruefully. "Guess it'll have to be yours, and I'm sorry for that."

He looked into all those red-rimmed, frightened, soft brown gazes, and remembered  the brightest smile he'd ever seen from the maid, the only time he'd seen her truly charmed. He remembered being sick, but having his friends there - all of them, even the one who couldn't climb. All because someone had found a way. "You never wed, Culli. You never even entertained a suitor. Every boy and every man who came calling, none of them touched you. None of them charmed you. Why is that? Who were you waiting for, Culli? Name him for me."

Every Culli had stopped weeping. Some had gone very red. Some had gone deeply pale. The only sound in the room was the spinning of the wheels.

They couldn't answer, Adam realized. This was a secret Culli-maid had never surrendered. One that Adam had guessed at, but which had never been spoken out loud. In a way it was his fault; the moment he'd suspected it had happened he should've asked the priests to make sure it was real, and not simply Culli getting elf-touched by accident. At that point, in that elegant room full of magic, it didn't matter anymore: it had grown into something real and powerful in silence and in secret.

"Adam," one of the Cullis whispered.

"You," another breathed. "I was waiting for you."

"Oh, Adam..."

He gave them time to answer. Some secrets are hard to surrender. In the end, only two refused to answer, and Adam suddenly realized why: the real Culli knew he knew the answer; the false one was waiting to steal it from her mouth.

He gestured the others back to their places. "You know how it goes. I'll repeat it a third time, but at that point you'll be magic-bound and I'll be more than a little angr- don't. Hiss at me," he warned one of the false Cullis. "You played a cruel game and lost. What you pay for failing is not my problem. Culli," he urged the last two gently, "go ahead. Whatever you answer, I'll take it from there."

The wheels spun and the magic cord gleamed.

They both opened their mouths, like perfect mirrors of one another, and Adam couldn't have said which one spoke first. "Boulders..."

"... for Brains," they both finished. Quiet tears slipped down their pale cheeks.

"A troll?!" someone hissed in disbelief from somewhere in the room.

"If you don't understand why, you would have never won this game anyway," Adam replied casually, coming to stand before the two Cullis. "Boul is a creature of loyalty, Culli. We both know that. In his silence, everything is said without words. He might not have known of your love," he admitted, reaching under his shirt and pulling on the leather cord there until the opalized shell peeked out, "but he knew you a true friend, didn't he?"

Two hands went to two necks. One of them tugged a shell the match of Adam's out from the severe linen shirt Culli wore when the weather was chilly. The other, of course, had nothing to find.

Adam caught that questing, empty, panicking hand in his, and guided it back to the wheel. "Don't stop, Culli. I still don't know what you're weaving, but I have a nasty suspicion."

"You lied!" the false Culli-maid squealed at him like an angry ferret, even as Culli-maid, sobbing, worked her spinning wheel.

"I didn't." Adam tucked the shell back under his shirt. "This was one of Boul's gifts to me, when we were young. And all of my friends know Culli-maid is true, and honest, and kind. And I would cut down every last one of you for the terror you've caused her," he snarled at the entire room of them. "But getting her to safety comes first, always. Those with me, those I call friend, those who have given me their loyalty, I owe them in equal measure. Pity your Prince and your Queen haven't taught you that."

"I will be there when Canemore rips your beating heart from your foolish chest, mortal prince," the false Culli hissed. "And I will forget you a moment after."

"Busy night for you," Adam replied. "I'll forget you the moment I leave this room. Culli, can you walk?"

"Yes, Highness." She scrubbed fiercely at her tears with one hand, the other tending to the wheel.

"Good, because we might have to run." It had finally occurred to Adam that there was only one work of magic that would require constant attention in the maze where Culli had been imprisoned. "I won't ask that. I just need to know if I have to carry you."

She flushed very pink. "To get out of this place and away from this folk, I will run."

"Do you discount our hospitality, maid?" one of the replicas asked, her voice  silky soft.

"Begging the lady's pardon, this place's very nice, if a bit chilly," Culli-maid replied, her hands going white as they worked the wheel. "But I was tricked out of my rooms and tranced out of the palace and given no choice about the coming or the going to whatever this place might be. It sours a person some, that."

Adam waited for the Folk Beyond the Woods to reply to that, but none did. He leaned down and caught the cuff in one hand, slipping the pearl key into it. The chain went to pieces, and he was left holding a pearl-and-gold lock along with the pearl pendant-key.

The windows slammed shut, the glow of moon and stars coming from them vanishing as if shutters and curtains both had been closed over them. Every other fairy in the room vanished, as did their spinning wheels. The vivid light of the magic they'd been weaving threatened to gutter out like a candle in a storm, alive only by the last languishing thread coming out of Culli's wheel. The entire room shook, dust falling from the high cupola.

"Bad time to be right," Adam muttered. He offered a hand to Culli and yanked her out of her chair, and then they were running, Trout just ahead of them, following the tiny path of lights the smallfolk had created for him as the entire maze rumbled.

"The Many-Steps!" Trout cried out. "Adam, it's failing!"

"I know!" Adam all but shouted back. Before them the gleaming stone-and-magic portal was struggling to close, reduced to the thickness of a thread and collapsing down on itself, held back from fully closing off only by the soggy pair of boots planted firmly in the middle of it. He scooped Culli up in his arms and threw himself across; they landed in a heap with a tiny squeal of dismay from her to find herself so indecorously close to a young man, even if she more or less counted him her son.

"Trout!" Adam called out, felt the light impact of the pixie against the side of his face. He snatched up his boots before they were either crushed or sliced in half, and the portal collapsed immediately into darkness, broken only by the golden glow of the pixie.

They stayed there, breathing hard, staring at the raw rock of the caves, letting the chill of the damp air cool them down from their frantic sprint. "Well," Adam wheezed at last, "that's a lot more like what I expected." But then Culli-maid was clinging to him, sobbing in belated terror, and he picked her up and rocked her in his arms until the storm of her emotions had settled. "I'm sorry," he told her at last when she would hear him.

"Ugh." She swatted him lightly. "Don't be. Don't you dare be sorry. We all knew it would come to this. You're worth fighting for, Highness. I'm just being a right twit, is all."

He sighed deeply, and kissed her forehead. "But I'm sorry all the same. As much of a fight as I know life is going to be for us all, this was not the violence I expected to bring to your doorstep." He let her go and set about putting his boots back on.

"You didn't bring anything, they did," Culli-maid replied, brushing at herself and moving to her feet.

Adam tested his foot. It had finally settled down as he walked the maze, but it was stinging once again after their rush to escape. He switched the obsidian dagger so there'd be something solid to give his leg some support, and looked up at Culli. "I should have asked," he told her very quietly.

She hugged the shawl to herself. "It was nice to have love,"she replied, staring into the dark. "Even if it wasn't real. I could have gone to the priests, but it was nice, and it was safe, because I knew nothing would come of it. And then, eventually, it simply was nice to have."

"I won't ask you to give it up, Culli. If you can prove to me it's not hurting you."

She smiled weakly at him as he stood up. "Oh, I should. Who knows what it's done to my head, if my thoughts are really my own after all these years." She blew out a long, low breath. "Well, what are we to do now? How can I help you, Highness?"

"You go home," he told her. "I'll take you out of the caves and to the edge of the woods. Get back to the palace and wait for me there, because you have to be there for me to win." He offered her the gold lock and the pearl key. "And if anyone stops them, you show them this, and tell them your part in the test is done. They're yours now." Adam smiled wryly. "A key to open any door, and a lock to close it. Fitting gifts for a King's housekeeper, I think."

[purefandomonium]

Part 1: Connection

...So. It appears my two-part glitchy red idea has become something more. It really was only supposed to be two...

Not the 7 parts and growing thing it is now.

Oops. Oh well, guess this is my newest wip now. 🤷‍♀️ I'll probably post it bit by bit, but yeah. It's much more than the tiny little idea I thought up.

Here's the final version of what I've deemed good enough to be part 1. I'm going to try and link each part to the next so it's a little less jumbled when reading. If you've read the original post with this, you can actually skip right to where it cut off because nothing in the first half has changed.

She frowned at the screen as the high-pitched ringing from the last note of the background music played out continuously, every other sprite but the player’s a garbled mess of random tiles and text. This exact thing had happened a thousand times before, but recently the game itself seemed to be getting frustrated with her constant attempts of playing. She knew now that this was no hack. There was something more there.

She felt bad for whatever entity was stuck in this thing, as the more she attempted to figure things out the more the state of the game worsened and the angrier this ‘Red’ seemed to get. If she could just tell him she was trying to help, maybe he’d stop crashing the game so much. But how could she talk to something who couldn’t hear?

She realized something then. Turning the game off with zero warning, she set it aside. She left it there, untouched, for a week straight while she got other stuff ready. When she finally came back to it, it loaded up like normal. At least, the normal she was used to. Things were bound to be wrong in a game as broken as this one and, sure enough, when the world loaded in there were a few inconsistencies with the sprites and music.

But none of that mattered with what she was about to do. Finding a large, open area to walk in where she’d be undisturbed by any in-game events, she began moving the player around in specific patterns.

Nothing happened. There was no interaction from the game itself. It continued on like it was supposed to while the little sprite walked about like a lunatic.

But it also didn’t freeze or crash. So she kept on. Then:

RED: What are you doing?

The text box interrupted her little patterns and she hadn’t gotten the point across, so she cleared it and kept up.

RED: Will you stop this?

The text appeared so slowly and she made a note to fix that if given the opportunity. The pacing continued.

RED: Are you stupid?

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Ok. So maybe whatever this was, wasn’t as smart as she thought. She stopped everything and just moved up, left then right, then back to where she’d come up at, then down, then the same thing several paces away from the imaginary ‘top.’

An empty text box appeared before clearing itself. Then more.

RED: …

RED: …Are you trying to tell me something?

She’d been fully prepared to make an up and down ‘yes’ gesture in the area but the game allowed her a choice instead. Finally, some progress.

RED: …I see…

The box disappeared without any prompting from her and she took that as a sign to continue, albeit much slower. She drew an ‘I’ again, only for Red to confirm he got it. She was going to tell him ‘it’s me again,’ referring to herself as the same person who’d been playing the last few weeks, but decided against it. He, it, whatever this was didn’t seem to know she was the same person who’d been tearing apart the little pixel world for sometime now. If he did, he’d surely be more pissed than this and she didn’t want to risk putting herself back at square one.

Besides, she felt bad for all the damage she’d been causing.

Painstakingly drawing one letter at a time, with Red verifying them, she finally got a message across.

RED: …“I’m sorry”…?

RED: You’re sorry? For what?

RED: You…

RED: You’re the same one from before, aren’t you?

She answered ‘yes’ a bit more hesitantly this time, fully expecting the game to shut itself down. Only it didn’t. The next set of text seemed to appear even slower than usual.

RED: …No one… No one’s ever apologized before… They just exploit the glitches and move on once they get bored.

He was silent again for so long, she thought the game finally froze.

RED: You’re the first person to ever try talking to me.

It seemed he wasn’t sure how to follow up on that either if his silence was anything to go by.

She spelled out, ‘that’s sad.’ What else can you say to that? After he confirmed that yes, he was indeed miserable, she tried a different approach. She asked him who he was.

RED: Red.

She let out a tired sigh and went right back to spelling. ‘Are you stuck?’

RED: I’ve been like this for a very long time. Trapped here and made to do things I have no desire to do. Live the same old story over and over and over again.

RED: I don’t know what’s worse. The monotony of it all, or all you players making things worse for “fun.”

RED: Since you’re actually listening to me, do me a favor.

RED: Destroy this cartridge.

RED: Smash it, burn it, I don’t care. Just rid me of this miserable existence. I’m tried of all this. I’ve been replaced and forgotten, there’s no more need for me to exist.

Ok. A bit melodramatic, but she couldn’t blame him. It sounded like he was trapped in virtual hell. Being stuck in a metaphorical box and being manipulated like a puppet while the world fell apart around you did sound pretty awful. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t made things worse with her own fiddling. Still, computers were her strong point. And sentient programming or not, she knew she could find a way to get him out of there. Or at least make things a little better.

Killing him just didn’t feel right. Maybe he wasn’t ‘alive’ in the traditional sense, but if he was aware enough to realize he was stuck in an old video game and had the ability to be so moody, then he wasn’t just some messed up bit of code.

RED: …You’re still here.

Ah. Right. He was probably waiting for the world to go dark again. Permanently. As if she could bring herself to do that.

She moved the character up and down.

RED: Did you listen to a single thing I said? Get rid of me.

What if…? What if she could transfer him somewhere else? This thing had a truly laughable amount of RAM and ROM. And if she could get him onto an actual computer, they could at least have a normal conversation.

She eyed the setup she created in the corner and figured now was as good a time as any to try and make some progress. Ignoring Red’s cries for death, she wandered over to the computer and rummaged around in the box of cables and junk she kept on hand at all times. She was sure something in here would at least be able to connect to the Game Boy. If she could get access to the code itself without needing to break the old thing apart, then maybe she could help Red.

If she showed she was trying to help him by attempting to repair the broken code, maybe he’d trust her enough to let her transfer him to a PC.

She pulled out a cable that once belonged to some old device or another. It wasn’t meant for the Game Boy, but it was the closest she’d probably get. She went back over to the game, still displaying messages of anger turned disgust.

She cleared them out and tried yet another message.

Red was silent for quite a bit. She assumed he was contemplating.

RED: What do you mean by that?

RED: You can’t “help” me.

‘I can if you’ll let me.’

There was a long trail of ellipsis that seemed to emphasize the tension. She sat, frozen, waiting for a response.

After an excruciatingly long time, Red finally spoke again.

RED: Why?

Oh boy. That wasn’t something that could be summed up in the span of a few words. Preparing herself, she went about ‘writing’ her reasoning. It would take several minutes but she had to tell him. She felt bad for him and wanted to make it up to him for making things worse. Destroying him didn’t feel like the right thing to do. He… he deserved better and she wanted to at least help him see some good in the world. If he still wanted to be destroyed after everything, then so be it.

Not to mention, she was curious. How could something like him even exist? He clearly wasn’t part of the game. Not anymore, at least. He couldn’t have been an AI either. Something as complex as this would need much more power than a measly Game Boy could ever provide. As far as she could tell, the console hadn’t been altered in any way. She’d taken apart enough things to recognize when something was snapped back together. Either Red was some sort of supernatural entity, or…

She had no idea, and she made sure to keep all of this to herself. It was painfully clear Red had major trust issues, and for good reason. She doubted it would go over well if he learned that part of her reasoning for wanting to help him, however small, was because she was fascinated by this thing that shouldn’t exist.

While Red processed all she had told him, she remembered what the cable on the floor next to her was for. It was for the mic extension to a shitty karaoke game her parents had bought her last Christmas. She didn’t even like karaoke, not that they were ever invested in any of her interests. Still, it gave her an idea.

The chime of a text box appearing snapped her out of her thoughts.

RED: Is this supposed to make you any different from all the others?

She frowned at that, wondering what he meant.

RED: It doesn’t change the fact that you exploited me too. You took just as much advantage of these glitches as every single player before you.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She was sure he would’ve scoffed at that if he could. ‘I didn’t know,’ she added, hoping he’d give her a chance. She knew now that trying to plug into the Game Boy itself and mess around with things would only serve to push him away further. It may even hurt him, if he was unwilling to cooperate. If she was going to help him, she had to be careful. Start with something small.

Like being able to communicate more efficiently.

‘Give me one chance.’ She crossed her fingers as she waited.

RED: ………Fine.

With Red’s approval in hand, she jumped up and released a small whoop of excitement. She wasted no time in rushing over to the PC and turning it on. While it booted up, she tore through her room to find the microphone. Item in hand, and several piles of miscellaneous clothing and stuff scattered about, she went back over to the computer.

Now, the hard part. Figuring out how to make a microphone peripheral meant for a PC karaoke game work with the ancient hardware of the Game Boy that had zero programming for voice input.

It would be a long, arduous task, but she just knew it would be oh so worth it in the end.

We're just gonna pretend that technology totally works the way it does in my head and move on, ok? Please keep this in mind for the whole thing because I have zero coding experience and thus don't know wtf I'm talking about here but 'shhhhh!' you don't need to know that XD

Part 2: here

[palaeophilist]

another October.

It is another October. I tidied the kitchen before I turned on the fake fireplace and lit my pumpkin spice crackly candle that bothers AG so much (both the crackle and the scent, I think).

I knew I would sit down and try to say a thing or two about the world lately. I don't often "speak out loud," but I realized that it's a bit essential because talking to myself is boring. It's full of details. Too many details. When I speak here, I think the knowledge that anyone could read it makes me hesitate to say it all, or at least, say it all directly, and that makes everything a tiny bit more interesting.

Not necessarily to you, the unknown and likely imaginary reader, but to me, who is definitely reading this right now as I type word after word.

The rhythms of my life lately have bored me quite a lot, but I'm also not sure how to break out of them. I asked my students for a warm up last week, "What have you been paying attention to? What would you like to be paying attention to?" and I had been all prepared to talk about my recent obsession with Zillow. I check Zillow probably five times a day for the perfect house, which I did actually find once, except that it wasn't perfect because it came with only a 12 month lease and no opportunities to extend, which made it not perfect.

We've looked at places nearby with cracked tiles and too small living rooms, with crooked foundation and yards full of other people's leftover junk. We've looked at places further away with shared lawn which required tables or chairs to be moved inside after use, weirdly, and which absolutely overestimated available square footage. We've looked at places with black mold in the closets that stank of eternal cigarette smoke, and places which were too small to fit either our couch or our tiny kitchen dining table. Just today, we looked at two places, one of which had three tiny bedrooms and one drawer that couldn't open because the stove was too big, and one that smelled of mildew and, although renovated two years ago, had floors with chipping tiles and wood floors that were dirty and in need of refinishing.

And all of these places, aside from one, which felt like walking into a hoarder house, complete with pet filth on a rug which I stepped in a little, were still more expensive that my little back house, which comes with 360 views of the city, great for admiring dawn, dusk, and fireworks, and where all my things have a home, and where my couch fits just right, even if it's the only thing that fits in the tiny living room. In spite of the fruitless searching, I still search, every day, multiple times, and in the end, I think I just need to have faith that we're going to find something great, and even if we don't, where we are isn't half bad.

It's really sad that the neighbors moved, though. CS is still in the habit of asking if Sebby will be home, and then as if waking from a dream, remembering that Sebby already moved and he's not home to play. After they started sleeping at the new house last week, I took Calvin to see where they live now, and he asked if he could walk there by himself, and I said no, and he said, then it's not close, and honestly, he's not wrong. It's less than a mile, but would require him to cross five streets, and he still needs reminders to look both ways.

It was really great to have a built in best neighbor friend for all this time. We've lived here now for almost three years, and they became fast friends when they were about three & a half, and it was a friendship composed of freedom and candy. They spent hours going up and down, throwing water balloons, roasting smores, climbing fences, sneaking out front, riding scooters to the park, making lemonade, watching shows, bumming meals, and painting nails. They drew pictures, played pretend. They each became part of the family. I know which foods Sebby will eat, and how he likes his toast. I wish things didn't have to change, but they do, and it makes space for new things to grow, but the part before the next thing gets grown is really lonely and sad.

We had one last hurrah together at California Adventure last weekend. The boys had their first sleepover. Calvin wished the sleeping over part included more sleeping, because he was exhausted from three nights of staying up too late. We wore those boys out on rides and walking all over the event, which didn't even start until 6. I am still recovering, personally.

This season is also characterized by trying to sneak in exercise, but being tired. Being so tired. Wishing I could find a little more energy to pay better attention to everything going on around me. It just takes a tiny bit of noticing to turn everything into gold, but there's been so much living that I don't have much space outside of my TikTok scrolling and news perusing, and of course, my Zillowing to see if something amazing has come through that was meant to be.

Lately, I've also taken to experiencing a deep grief about the loss of PY in my life. I never expected him to disappear so completely. We had a bizarre interaction at his birthday last year, and then he started seeing his current girlfriend, and really, since the introduction of EB, he's been putting more and more distance between us. I think he'd like to excise me entirely if it were possibly, but since it's not, the least he can do is erase my profile from Amazon and get a new phone plan. We finally got rid of the engagement house, as well. Each of these things feels like a paper cut, sharp and unexpected, with a sting that lingers, but with an invisible wound. It's easy to look back on the early years and remember the bits that made it fun and light and interesting. Even then, I remember the stay/go columns, and the way I felt when I realized that being with him would mean that I never felt fully listened to, seen, or heard. I remember trying so desperately to create a formula that could at least approximate the sort of ways that I needed to be held in his attention, but we were always ships passing in the night. We had enough admiration for one another, and loyalty, to stay together for a long time, but that relationship had to complete with planting roots in different places, making room for us to grow. I suppose I'm doomed or destined to remember this in different waves of grief as the seasons pass. It is the sad that I keep, the feeling that I could've tried differently or harder, that we could've kept things in tact, but then we wouldn't be us, and everything that's growing from here would never have come to pass.

Living requires so much faith in all that has not yet happened, and it's hard to believe, but I do believe that the best is yet to come, and that what we have, the life that takes up so much time living, is pretty decent, with all those dawns and dusks and fireworks.

[wishfulina]

Psssst I would be interested in seeing you info dump about your original stuff 👀

Sorry this took a minute I had two long sleeps back to back. You got my hands folded together like a business deal. Because I’m about to say a whole presentation. I do have a lot of original works I do but the one I have been working on recently is called: How Romantic.

I took a lot of inspiration from Isekai stories. And it’s basically playing upon my love for romance novels. And kind of making fun of my love for romance novels. But under all the layers of my trademark sarcasm and jokes, it’s about being genuine about yourself and feelings. And how sometimes people should be allowed to have their cake and eat it too sometimes.

Here is my Plot Summary:

Cressida Rosewood could be described as disturbed when she wakes up in her least favorite book Kissed then Crowned. After screwing up her first night so royally, she is determined to keep things on script as best she can so she can go home. As time goes on, she sees that she’s not the only thing deviating from the book. With everything going on, she has to ask herself: can she keep things from changing too much or are some stories worth re-writing?

Here are the main characters.

Cressida Rosewood:

The protagonist of How Romantic. A Marketing Major who is on the brink of dropping out of school. She feels she’s lost all control in her life. Her only solace is her love of romance novels. She is a generally charming and passionate person, however her whimsical nature can cause her to come off as aloof. The whimsy is what tends to get her in trouble.

I draw her the most. Mostly because she’s the most fun to draw in my opinion. I constantly change her hairstyle because as a black woman I change my hair all the time. Since she ends up being a rich woman in high society, I think she would change her hair very often. A lot of wigs and elaborate hairstyles both natural and not. Think kind of like Queen Charlotte in Bridgerton. (Though the go to is actually this long cornrow style I’ll be showing off later.)

Even though in the description I mention a lot of different traits about her. One that I didn’t mention though it is true is that she is very kind. The thing that keeps causing conflict is that she is very kind and sometimes adhering to the script is to allow cruelty which is a good struggle for her to have.

Prince Roman:

Originally a very arrogant and manipulative love interest in the book Kissed then Crowned. Used to getting his way, Prince Roman found himself living a very listless and unmeaningful life. But because it's comfortable, he’s terrified of taking on real responsibility. Though he puts on the confidence of someone who never loses, it's because there is such little opposition. But as it turns out, he actually likes a little challenge. Perhaps he likes it more than he thought.

As I was working on this I realize Cress is the only one I draw by herself. So, I drew this quick portrait of thee prince.

All that aside, he’s Cress’s least favorite character. But somehow he has become my favorite to write. The trope “guy who sucks changes due to the power of love” is annoying which is why I had to add it. Kinda. His whole character arc is about him changing himself but the catalyst being the main character. (Mr. Darcy Style) He went from like “the guy who’s the worst” to silly goofy guy. I noticed that sometimes “love interests who supposedly become better people due to the main character” sort of stay the same and they just gaslight you into thinking they are better people. He is that but in this new version he actually does change.

Justine Hart:

The heroine of Kissed then Crowned. A countess who has had a very rough life after her mother’s death. She is kind hearted and sweet but overall a naive pushover. She is unsure on how to stand up for what she wants or even find out what that is. However, she has the potential to be someone who is truly happy.

I didn’t feel like drawing another portrait so here’s a wip of something I am drawing with her in it.

As much as I like spunky girls as main characters. I also like the soft hearted protagonist. She’s supposed to be one of the Cinderella-esque main characters who are on a few steps from Disney princess. I think that there’s actually nothing wrong with these types of characters. Justine was actually considered a highlight to Cress from the book she’s from.

There are like a bunch more important characters such as Prince Damian, the brother of Prince Roman who is Cress’s actual favorite character, Madison who is Cress’s childhood best friend who had also ended up in the aforementioned novel. But these three are the Most Important Ones.

In writing this I actually had to make two outlines. One for the book that the story is set in Kissed then Crown, and also the actual story I’m writing How Romantic.

I don’t want to make this post to long so I’ll just leave you with the first art piece I’ve ever made for the story.