#but it's a bit more polished than it would have been if i'd just tried to rush out a new idea

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Garden of Wishes: A Retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”

We go to the same garden every day, but you never see me. Why should you? You are the Princess Sonatina, youngest daughter of the greatest king on five continents, while I am only a gardener's assistant, with not even a surname of my own, save one that was given to me half as a taunt for my daydreaming ways. If you were ever to ask, I would tell you I answer to Michael Stargazer—but you never will think to ask, and I will never presume to speak.

Instead, I work silently in the gardens, while you wander past with your sisters—eleven of them, all unsurpassed in beauty of face and form and voice—laughing and chatting and singing snatches of songs. You are all more beautiful and vibrant than any of the flowers I tend, and I feel more alive just being near you.

Then the day comes when your morning songs are silent. You drag weary feet through the gardens, look blankly at the beauties of the world, lounge wearily along the edges of fountains and atop retaining walls. The rumor comes that every night, you are all wearing through your shoes.

Were I a prince, I would think no quest too perilous to save you from such sickness. I would climb a million trees in search of golden apples, cross storm-filled oceans in search of the Water of Life, work a dozen years at impossible tasks to find the key to ending your curse.

But I'm only a gardener, and nobody's son, so it falls to those with name and fortune to try their hands at saving you. The king has vowed that the man who finds the secret of where you go at night will win your hand in marriage, and there are many who are willing and worthy to try.

They are wonderful men—strong and handsome, noble and brave, with royal titles, vast holdings, great fortunes. They have skills and talents that a simple gardener could never match. Any one of them would make a fine husband for a princess. Yet all of them, to a man, disappear within a day of taking up their quest.

The rumors turn darker then, casting you not as victims but villains, luring men to their deaths with some dark magic of your own. Those who say such things did not see you in the gardens, or they would know that not one of you is capable of the crimes they accuse you of. Unfortunately, no one will ask a garden lad's thoughts, and I cannot speak unbidden unless I have proof.

So I go to the gardens and find two tiny rose trees. The head gardener tried to tear them out, in my first days at the palace, and I convinced him to let them live. I have watered them, fed them, saved them from disease and decay, told them stories of the princesses they serve. You have never seen them, I'm sure—you have never seen me—but though they are small, they are fine little plants, with dark, glossy green leaves, and little buds that seem always to be waiting for just the right time to bloom. An old woman told me once that they were wishing trees, planted in the earliest days of the kingdom's existence, and my service to them meant they would give me anything I desired.

For myself, I want nothing—wishes too easily become the ruin of those who have them granted—but for you, I would dare all. I ask my two rose trees to make me not only unseen, but unseeable, able to follow invisibly wherever you go.

The rose tree sprouts a single bloom, its petals so white and delicate they are almost transparent. When I pluck it from the bush, I disappear from sight. I place it in my buttonhole and move about the gardens, unseen by all who cross my path, even in the brightest sun.

That night, I follow you into the bedroom you share with your sisters, and I hide beneath the largest bed while the room above fills with the sounds of rustling dresses, clinking jewels, and girlish whispers. At last, your eldest sister Aria declares you dressed to perfection and calls for silence.

I creep out from under the bed and find you and your sisters dressed in ballroom finery—silks and satins and twelve pairs of perfectly-mended dancing shoes. I take my place just behind you, and find you more beautiful than ever in this moonlit room.

Aria pulls aside a tapestry, and the blank stone wall suddenly becomes an wooden door that Aria opens to reveal a torchlit staircase. You all rush through in single file. I keep close at your heels, afraid that I'll be left behind unseen.

I rush past where Aria holds the door, afraid she'll follow too close and crash into my unseen form. In doing so, I trod too near your skirt. The fabric tears beneath my foot as you take your first steps down the stairs.

You shriek and grab hold of Lyra, standing just before you on the stairs. "Someone stood on my skirt!" you scream.

I hold myself flat against the damp stone wall, heart pounding so fast that I'm certain you hear me.

Aria breezes down the staircase, rolling her eyes at her foolish juniors. "Don't be silly, Tina," Aria says. "I was nowhere near you on the stairs."

You protest that you felt someone on your skirt, but your cries for belief are drowned out by eleven dissenting voices, and your sisters continue down the staircase. You go only reluctantly, looking back at me—right through me—a thousand times as you go forth. Were it not for the weight of my mission, I would cast off the rose in the hope of a single moment when our eyes could truly meet.

After what seems like a million stairs, we emerge into an open clearing that would look like the outdoors if there was any sight of sky above. Trees tower over us with drops of silver on their branches, like rain upon the leaves. Further down the path is a gold-spattered orchard, each precious drop catching the soft white light that comes from I know not where. Even further beyond is a forest full of diamonds, every stone flashing fiery rainbows.

The forests are strange, but also strangely unsurprising—as though they've always been here, but simply unseen. Your sisters whisper of the night that this place was wished into existence—a place where they might revel in pure beauty and joy, away from the weighty expectations of the watchful world.

But the forest, it seems, is only a prelude—the true marvel is far ahead. We emerge onto the shores of a shimmering lake—so vast, so deep, and so darkly blue that I can see neither the bottom nor the opposite shore. On an island in its center stands a castle so magnificent that it makes your father's palace seem like a paper toy. Its white, sculpted spires glitter with gems in a thousand colors, every brick spangled with precious stones. Its windows hold wonders caught in flawless stained glass. Music sweeter than any I've ever heard pours out its open doors. Light from within forms a shining path across the lake, upon which float twelve sleek obsidian-colored boats.

Each boat has a boatman who rows swiftly toward the shore, and as they approach, I find that I know all the faces. Every one of these men is a prince who failed at finding your secret—or rather, they found it, and did not return. They are dressed in silks and velvets unlike any I've seen in the outer world, too rich for comprehension. As they slide up to the shore and each offer a place to one of you girls, they wear smiles that shine as bright as your own—but there is also something empty in their eyes.

You, as the youngest, take your place in the very last boat of all, piloted by a king's younger son whose sires have ruled half a continent for centuries. He smiles and bows as he takes you by the hand. The way your eyes light up make me wonder if I've seen what you look like in love.

The prince rows with arms strengthened by a warrior's skill—I doubt he's ever held a shovel in his life—but the other boats still outpace us by far.

"Why are you so slow tonight?" you ask him, half teasing, but with a trace of true annoyance.

"The boat is heavy," he says, "and I know not why."

You glance backward, toward where I sit in the stern, and again, I half-wish you could see me. But I let out a sigh of relief when you turn your eyes back toward the castle and give no further thought to unknowable truths.

We disembark on a dock just beneath the castle entrance, and in moments we are inside the palace of enchantment. This is a ballroom beyond what I could imagine—floors of marble streaked with gold and silver, towering windows displaying fantastical birds and beasts, spidery silver chandeliers holding thousands of brightly-lit candles, and at the far end of the room, tables tottering beneath food enough to half a nation.

But this splendor is nothing compared to the beauty of the music. It is like a living thing—vibrant, rapturous, all-consuming, pulling all into it like a roaring, flowing river. The moment one steps through the door, there is nothing one can do but dance. Your prince pulls you into his arms, and your sisters' princes do the same, and soon you are swirling through that wondrous room, beauty and motion and life all brought to their fullness and put into perfect order. All along the edges of that room are other faces—other princes who've failed at your father's quest—and they all take their turn in the dance.

If I thought you alive in the gardens, you are a thousand times more vibrant now, laughing and dancing so you glow with pure joy. These princes are your perfect partners, matching you with every step, reflecting the glow that you bring to the room. If I ever thought that I could take a place beside them, maybe win your father's wager and claim a princess for my bride, that spark is snuffed by the brightness of your blaze. You are ethereal, almost angelic, and could never be happy with one whose hands are stained from working with the common, solid Earth.

While the princes take their turns, you and your sisters dance without ceasing, and I no longer wonder how you could wear through your shoes in a single night. Those shoes are little more than tatters by the time the last note of the last dance plays, and the twelve of you trudge toward the boats to reach bed. Your princes are silent as they row the boats to the forested shore, and you, Sonatina, do not say a word about his slowness.

When you reach the banks, your prince bids you farewell, then all twelve of them row back to the palace, choosing to stay in the splendor rather than return to the pressures of their ordinary lives. After what I have seen, I cannot blame them for their choice.

But you and your sisters choose to return to your father. You trudge through the diamond, then gold, then silver-spangled forests, and as your sisters file one-by-one up the staircase, I realize that none of this fantastic tale will have a ring of truth unless I have something to bring as proof. I reach toward the nearest tree and snap off a slender silver branch. It disappears from sight as soon as I touch it to my clothes, but the sound of its breaking rings through that silent wood like a gunshot.

You jump at the sound and are suddenly wide, wide awake.

"What was that?" you ask your sister.

Aria rolls her eyes. "Only an owl," she says. "You know it roosts in the castle at night."

The explanation does not please you, I can tell, but having no other, you fall silent and leave the silver woods behind.

When you are all safely asleep in bed, I slip unseen through the door and make my way invisibly to my small cot in the servants' quarters. When I lay on my bunk, I take off the rose, and my face reappears in the reflection off the washing bowl. I look as I did before I left, though infinitely wearier, and perhaps—though it might only be fancy—I carry something in my eyes of the enchantment of the night.

In my hands sits the branch I broke, its leaves as green, its silver dewdrops as solid, as they were in that fantastical land. I imagine myself taking it to the king at dawn, having triumphed where the sons of kings and emperors have failed.

Then I imagine the you and your sisters standing by. In a horrible flash, the daydream shatters, and I see myself for what I am—a sneak and a spook, who crept uninvited into a strange woman's room to steal evidence that would bar her from the place she loves most in the world. If I have a role in this tale, it is as the villain, not the hero. I have triumphed in discovering the secret, but if I have any love in my heart for you, I cannot think of speaking.

After a short hour's sleep, I awake with the dawn, but I do not go to the king with what I've found. Instead, I go to the head gardener and get myself assigned the task of bringing the twelve princesses their morning bouquets. I gather careful handfuls of daisies and larkspur and bind them together with handfuls of greenery. I hand them to your sisters one by one as they come bleary-eyed to your bedroom door. When you come to me, last of all, I make sure that your bouquet contains a single silver-spangled branch.

Then, at last, you see me.

#

Golden sunlight streams down upon a freshly-turned flower bed. I am soaked with sweat and crusted with dirt as I shovel mulch around newly-planted seedlings. I can imagine no scene less like the moonlit enchantment of your jeweled forests and wondrous dances. Even you, when you come into the garden, are nothing like you were last night. Your golden brown hair is unruly, your dress is hastily done-up, and instead of floating with ethereal grace, you storm toward me like an angry warrior goddess.

Only the branch, silver-spangled, is the same as it was last night, when you brandish it beneath my nose.

"Garden boy, where did this branch come from?" you demand.

Your eyes blaze and your golden curls flash in the sun. I could cast myself at your feet in devotion.

I keep my countenance blank and my eyes downcast—the dutiful, lowly servant. "Your highness knows better than I," I reply.

"You have followed us!" you hiss.

I raise my head to meet your gaze. It is a wonder I am not struck dead by your fury. "Yes, your highness."

"How? I saw no one."

"I hid myself."

"It is impossible. I don't believe it."

"Believe as you like," I say. "You will still hold the branch."

You scramble to grasp something at your belt, and you throw a sack full of gold at my feet. "Keep your silence, and you will have this and more besides."

I stare at the bag of gold—more than I could earn with a year's labor—and my heart sinks like a stone. This is what I am to you. Not a man of honor, whose heart and reason can be trusted, but a common blackmailer whose silence can be purchased for a price.

"I will not be bought," I say, and when your face goes white, I add gently, "You have nothing to fear from me."

It is only after dark that it strikes me I may have something to fear from you. I have vowed my silence, but you have said nothing about yours. The secret encompasses your sisters and nearly two dozen princes. What would they be willing to do to ensure my silence?

Though the thought shames me, I cannot vanquish the fear. I must know more about you royals and your hidden world—and I long to spend just one more night in that palace of enchantment. I take the pale rose from its cup on my washstand, place it in my buttonhole, and make my way invisibly to your room.

You and your sisters are already dressed for the evening when I make my way among you. You are pale, and quieter than you were last evening, but none of your sisters remark upon it. I follow you down the staircase, through the forest, and to another wondrous dance. I can tell you are watching for me, but none of your sisters join in the search. They and all the princes laugh and dance as usual. At midnight, you dine upon a feast of impossible delicacies, and though the conversation is steady and quick-witted, none of you makes the least mention of me or the secret I know.

As dawn nears, I take my place in the rear of the boat that you ride in with your prince. Tonight, it is he who comments on the unexpected weight of the boat he steers.

My heart stops. Now you will tell him of my spying, and since there are few places to hide in a small boat, like as not I will be pitched headlong into that bottomless lake.

Your answer lifts my heart like the arrival of the long-awaited dawn. You take up a second oar and say to your prince, "It feels light to me."

The wonder of your defense of me makes me love you more than ever. I all but float behind you as you make your way through the jeweled forests.

In the golden orchards, I stumble and snap off a branch. I hide it against my invisible clothes, just a moment before your sister Melody looks toward where I stand.

"What was that sound?" she asks in fright.

"Only an owl," you answer quickly.

Though you do not know it, you meet my eyes. I bow my head in thanks.

The next morning, the golden-spattered branch I place in your bouquet is a gift of thanks—and an expression of trust.

#

When you storm toward me in the gardens the next morning, the golden branch quivers in your iron grip.

"What is it you want?" you ask. "You won't take gold. Do you plan to win yourself a princess, garden boy?"

"I do not plan to take a wife," I say. "When I wed, it must be to a woman whose love is freely given."

"Then why did you follow us?"

"I had to know if I could trust you. I now know that I can." I pluck an ordinary blossom from a nearby rose bush. I focus on its petals so I do not have to take the daring step of meeting your gaze while I ask my more-daring question. "Why did you shield me? You could have betrayed me to your princes or your sisters a thousand times."

"This is between you and me alone. I saw no need to frighten them."

I nod, understanding, even as I fight a strange sense of disappointment. It is love for your sisters, not care for me, that leads you to keep my secret.

"Do you see need now?" I ask.

You examine me, and you look at the golden branch, and I can tell you are thinking of the events of the last two nights. "You do not merely hide yourself," you say. "You make yourself invisible. How?"

I could no more lie to you than tear out my own heart. "I made a wish, and it was granted me."

"By whom?"

"Rather, by what. Your garden holds a wishing tree."

You seize my wrist. “Show it to me.”

I stand firm. "Tell me, Princess Sonatina, if you found such a tree, would you suffer to let it live?"

"I should tear it out by the roots," you say, and I know it is true that you would do anything you thought necessary to guard your secret.

"Then although it pains me to disappoint you, I must refuse your request. The trees serve me because I serve them. I cannot repay their gifts by bringing about their destruction."

Your eyes flash. "You refuse your princess?"

I bow my head in apology. "Because it is my duty as a gardener to the king."

You release my wrist and pull away. You pace in frustration—back and forth, back and forth, your golden-brown curls wilder than ever. "There is nothing to prevent my finding it?"

"It is not concealed," I say.

"If it is fair for you to follow me to find our secret, it is only right that I can follow you to find yours."

"It is not my place to say otherwise."

You come to the garden every day after that—sometimes openly, sometimes skulking behind bushes or trees. Some days, I am sure, you watch from places I cannot see. But I do nothing save my ordinary gardening tasks, and I do not try to follow you at night. If I were the sort of man to make wishes for my own benefit, this would be the perfect way to make me use that gift against you. I love you more than ever because this does not occur to you—either you are too pure-hearted to suspect such villainy, or too trusting to imagine it in me.

Eventually, your constant watch breaks down the barriers between us, and you begin to speak to me. You ask me the names of the flowers I tend, and I tell you of the lilies that bloom by day and by night. The next day, you ask me about the blue flowers in your bouquet, and I tell you of the morning glories that make a gorgeous arch over the path you stand upon. In the days that follow, you pepper me with questions, wanting to know the names of every flower and bush and weed that grows in your father's gardens. And then, at last, one day, the name you ask to know is my own.

"I am called Michael Stargazer," I say, as I hand you a white bloom like a five-pointed star.

"Is it not your true name?"

"The first was written on a slip of paper in the basket where I was found upon a church's doorstep. The second was given to me for daydreaming too much."

You sit upon the edge of a fountain and stroke the petals of the flower. "It suits you," you say. "Michael the guardian."

"And the Stargazer who spends too much time dreaming of what is unreachable?" I ask, feeling the rebuke I deserve.

"No," you say—firmly, kindly. "The one who watches. So he can know what is true. And know what to do with his knowledge."

"You trust that I judge rightly?" I ask.

"I trust you," is all you say.

After that, you are with me in the gardens—not merely watching, but being, doing, helping. You wish to help the flowers grow, so I teach you of spades and trowels, watering cans and fertilizer, pruning and grafting and weeding. We start out hesitant—you uncertain of your tasks, I afraid to put a princess to work—but soon, you work with enthusiastic gusto, and I am glad to let you do what gives you joy.

Every night, you still wear through your dancing shoes, but yours are less ragged than the other eleven pairs, and you are wide awake with me in the gardens every morning. We talk while we work, but we do not even mention wishing trees or diamond groves or the music of enchanted palaces; there are too many other things to discuss in the sunlit world. You tell me of your sisters, of growing up royal, of books you've read and tutors you've teased. I tell you of the village where I was raised, of the dreams I had of one day meeting a princess—though I do not tell you that I've dreamed I will marry one.

One morning, in the height of summer, you are kneeling beside me, in a gown that you borrowed from a serving girl, wearing work gloves you borrowed from the gardener's shed. There are streaks of dirt on your face, and you smile at me in triumph as you dig up a bulb for transplanting.

In that moment, the sun shines full upon you, setting the gold and brown streaks of your hair alight. Suddenly, you are not an ethereal being, too high and fine for me to reach. You are here, with me, laboring in the Earth—and you glow with joy. It is not the blazing joy of your dances in the midnight palace—burning bright and fast and destructive. This joy is gentler, life-giving—like a hearth fire or a candle flame. It warms and nourishes, comforts and caresses. For the first time, I can picture you as a gardener's wife, laboring with me in a cottage, caring for our children, giving life to sons and daughters and helping me to make good things grow.

I nearly speak something of the joy in my own heart—but the words freeze on my tongue when I hear a laugh high above us.

Five of your sisters—Lyra and Cadence, Harmony and Melody, and in the center of them all, elegant, dark-haired Aria—stand on the other side of the flower bed, peering down at us.

"Is this where you sneak off to every morning, Tina?" Lyra laughs. "Grubbing in the dirt with the garden boy?"

You drop the bulb as though it burns you, desperately try to brush the dirt off your skirt, and back as far away from me as possible on the narrow path between flower beds. Your face burns bright red. "No," you stammer. "I was only..."

"What a charming couple you make," Aria sneers.

"You wouldn't have to leave us if you married him," Harmony laughs.

Her twin adds, "You could live in a cottage at the bottom of the park, and you could bring us our flowers every morning!"

"He is nothing!" you snarl at your sisters. You storm toward the palace, and you do not look back.

I do not see you for two days.

#

On the third day, you and your sisters return to the garden in the company of a prince—yet another who has taken up your father's impossible task. To spare you the horror of seeing me, I keep the white rose in my buttonhole and invisibly tend the wishing trees while you entertain the prince nearby.

Prince Ivan is sterner, more solemn than some of the others. Even I, a lowly gardener, have heard tales of his valor in battle. A thick saber-scar runs from his temple to his chin. He knows the danger he has placed himself in and faces it without flinching. There is something in his eyes that makes me think he welcomes it.

As I watch him, I wonder how he will fare in his quest. Will he reveal your secret or remain in the enchanted world with all the others? For the first time, I question the fate of those other princes. I have assumed they remained by choice, but in such a magical place, can first impressions ever be trusted? For their sake, as well as yours, I must follow you to the dance one more time.

When I reach your chamber in the evening, Prince Ivan is already among you. The twins, Melody and Harmony, focus on flattering him while your sisters tie on the last of their ribbons. His eyes, however, are for the dark-haired, sweet-tempered Princess Melisma. I think she does not dislike the attention.

As you descend the staircase—Melody and Harmony taking the lead with Prince Ivan—Princess Aria keeps Melisma at the end of the line.

"You mustn't encourage him," Aria says. "It might give him reason to follow us back home."

"He is so brave," Melisma says, "and so gentle. Would it be so terrible for me to have him as a husband?"

"If he weds you, he will take you to the Northlands, and we shall never see you again. Is that the life you want?"

Melisma blushes. "No," she whispers.

"Then let him drink," Aria says in a low tone. "He shall be here always, for you to dance with as much as you like. He will be the same brave and gentle prince, but will never take you away from us."

That night at the dance, there is a banquet in honor of the new guest. The tables pile high with delicacies I cannot name, and silent, ghostly servants keep your plates and goblets constantly filled. Prince Ivan looks younger, almost childlike, as he takes in the wonders, and his eyes have lost their haunted look.

"Such a wondrous place!" he breathlessly declares. "All beauty and joy! No sorrow, no politics, no battle."

Aria, seated at his right hand, plies him with red wine, and leads him to speak upon the war he won such honors in. He served with valor and is proud of protecting his people, but he has lost friends and brothers, is haunted by the fields strewn with the bodies of those who died too young.

"I should not speak of such things," Ivan says, putting down another empty goblet. "They are better forgotten."

"Do you not cherish some memories?" Aria asks.

"If I could forget every moment of it, I would," Ivan declares, "and stay always in this dance.

Aria smiles, then takes a golden goblet—the largest and most ornate in the room—from a servant standing at her shoulder. "You may do so," Aria says, "if you only drink this elixir. You shall have no regrets. No duties. No memories of battle. Only the beauties of this world."

Ivan looks to Melisma, seated at his left hand. She squeezes his scarred fingers in her long, delicate ones. "I shall come every night," she says softly.

Ivan takes the goblet from Aria's hand. His face holds the grim determination of a soldier, and the innocent bravery of a child hoping a bitter tonic will bring relief from pain. He drains the cup to its dregs.

When Aria takes the empty goblet, the prince is transformed. His eyes hold the same light of joy as all the other princes, but the honorable nobility of his bearing has drained away, leaving behind an empty imitation, all paper and gold leaf with nothing solid behind. For the rest of the night, he dances every dance with Princess Melisma. She is all joy when she looks in his face, but every time she turns away, she seems close to bursting into tears.

For the rest of the night, I cannot enter into the enchantment of the dance. I see only those princes, and wonder who they were before their will was drained away. I see your sisters dancing, each choosing one partner more than all others, and wonder if they too renounced marriage to someone they admired for the sake of this endless courtship. I travel across the lake in Aria's boat instead of yours, and as her prince hands her off to shore, I see even she seems on the point of asking him to come with her, before dropping his hand and turning resolutely to the diamond forest.

When you alight from your prince's boat, I see no similar love or regret in your eyes. At first I am relieved, and then my anger flares at your heartlessness. I snap off a diamond-spangled branch so fiercely that the sound of its breaking makes your every sister jump.

They glance in all directions, bewildered by the sound. You look directly toward me, your face burning with shame. Though I remain invisible, I know you feel me standing before you.

"What was that?" Melody shrieks in alarm.

"My guardian angel," is all you say, and though your sisters pelt you with questions all the way through the forests and up the staircase, you do not say another word.

When I leave your room, part of me wants to run to the king and tell all, but I cannot let judgment fall upon you without giving you a chance to speak for yourself. The diamond-spangled branch I place in your bouquet is both an accusation and an offer of parley.

You come to me—though you do not know it—when I am tending to the wishing trees, in the most secluded corner of the garden. "You have seen," you say.

"You have witnessed every one and said nothing. I want to know how you can defend yourself."

The innocent confusion in your eyes makes me repent of every crime I imputed to you. "What is there to defend?" you ask. "Every prince chooses to drink. We cannot deny them their choice."

"Do they know what it makes them?" I ask.

"If they do, they don't care," you say.

"Because they have been made incapable of caring for anything but the dance."

"Would you send Ivan back to his wars?" you ask. "Edmund to his awful father? Kristoff to his plague-filled land? They all have horrors they are escaping. It would be cruel to make them remember all the sorrows they were so desperate to forget."

The things that seemed so simple when I stood invisibly at your shoulder are more muddled now that you can look me clear in the face. There is one place in the world untouched by sorrow or strife—can I judge those who have fled for refuge there?

"You have had your wishes granted," you say softly. "Would you deny all of us ours?"

Looking into your innocent, imploring face, I find that I cannot. Your silence, I see now, is not heartlessness, but compassion. Loyalty to your sisters who wish to remain together. Pity for those princes who can find no other peace from their sorrows. There is no simple answer to the riddle that has entangled us all.

"Will you follow us again?" you ask.

"I do not know," I say. "Will you tell your sisters that I do?"

"I do not know," you say.

When you wander at last from the garden, your eyes—and thoughts—are far from me. This game has gone much further than any of us could have predicted. Any bond the two of us have built will break, I think, when pitted against the bond that you share with your sisters.

So that evening, when I pin the rose to my collar and invisibly slip into your room, I am not surprised to find that I am the topic of discussion. You are seated on a trunk in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of glaring sisters.

"You knew all this time," Aria says, her voice low with anger, "and only now choose to tell us?"

"He vowed to keep the secret," you say. "He could do us no harm."

“Yet now you fear he will speak! He could destroy everything!”

“I told you when I thought you needed to know.”

Aria steps back and smooths her skirts and hair, becoming in one fluid motion the ever-composed crown princess. "There is only one thing we can do," she says. "We hand him over to the king’s justice. He has violated our royal persons by coming uninvited to our bedchamber. He will be hanged before the end of the week."

"No!" you shriek, jumping from your seat.

Your other sisters murmur in surprise—I cannot tell if more of it is directed toward you or Aria.

“There must be some other way,” says soft-hearted Allegra.

“Not if we wish to protect our secret," Aria says. "We have a world of perfection, an escape from all sorrows. We have twenty men who wish to stay there all their lives. We can’t endanger it for the sake of a presumptuous servant.”

You turn to Aria and say, “ He is not the first to know our secret. None of the other princes have had to die.”

Harmony says, "The garden boy is no prince."

Aria gazes thoughtfully at you. "Do you wish us to treat him as one? Let him present himself as a suitor for your hand?"

"I will not marry him,” you say, turning red.

"No one expects you to," Aria soothes. "But he can share the fate of the better-born. Let him dance and dine with us, then, at the end of the night, he will drink and forget there ever was a world above."

Your lips make a thin line, and your face goes white. “He would not like it.”

“Better than death, surely.”

You leave the circle of your sisters, tears in your eyes.

Aria follows you to where you gaze out the window. I could reach out and touch both of you. “Sonatina,” she says, soft and sweet as a mother. “I know you are fond of the garden boy. But you must be realistic. In this world, he can be nothing to you. You cannot marry a servant. He cannot marry a princess. Even friendship between you two can only be a scandal.”

Her words sink into my heart—cold, cruel, yet undeniably true. I have never dared to dream myself worthy of you—but there was, despite all, a small part of me that hoped for the impossible. Yet even if I could wish myself up a name and a title, it would not change who I truly was. Though I will love you to the end of my days, you can never love one such as me.

Aria’s voice becomes brighter, enticing. “But we have another world, where he can be whatever he wishes. You can dance with him every night without shame. You never have to face the impossible choice. You have him, and us, your title, your dances—forever.”

You gaze silently out the window. I stand at your side. I think of the world I would leave behind—the sunlight in the gardens, the wind and the rain and the wonderful flowers—in favor of that underground palace. I think of you laughing in the sun with dirt on your hands, and my wish that we could stay in that moment forever, ‘til death do us part.

It can never be anything more than a wish.

When you assent to your sister’s plan, my fate is sealed. I would risk all to give you the slightest joy. If it is your wish that I drink, I will drink—and gladly.

#

Your sisters come to me with their proposal, offering to present me to the king. They say nothing of their plan to give me the drink that will keep me forever in the dance. You, pale-faced at the rear of the crowd, say nothing at all. I say nothing of my presence at your midnight council. We are all trapped in the deafening silence of our secrets.

I accept their offer, but ask for time to prepare. Before I present myself at the palace, I make another trip to my faithful rose trees.

"Dress me as a prince," I beg. "Give me clothes fine enough to be seen in any royal court."

The second rose tree sprouts a crimson bloom, every petal as crisp as if cut by a tailor's scissors. When I place it in my buttonhole, my gardening clothes become a suit of black velvet, and a white-feathered cap appears upon my head.

As I stride toward the main doors of the palace, not one set of eyes knows me. Guards do not stop me as a presumptuous garden boy. I present myself before your father and he gives me all the respect due a prince.

When I rise from my bow of greeting, your eyes are riveted to my form. As I follow your father from the throne room, you stop me in the doorway with a hand upon my arm.

"Michael?" you ask, all amazed. "Can it truly be you?"

I bow my head—more garden boy than prince. "You need not be ashamed to be seen with me tonight."

Even so, you keep your distance. In the enchanted lake, I ride in a boat as Aria's guest, not yours. During the dance, your sisters all take their turns with me, from eldest to youngest. At last, I come to offer you my hand, but you seem reluctant to take it.

"Will you not dance with me, Princess Sonatina?" I ask.

"What need have you of my hand," you ask lightly, "when my sisters all treat you as a prince?"

"I want no hand but yours," I say.

You look down, your face drawn.

I bow over your hand and say softly, "Fear not, princess. You shall not be a gardener's wife."

I sweep you into the dance, and it is everything I could have dreamed. You are a wisp, a breath, a butterfly, moving at a touch, at a thought, stepping perfectly with my every unschooled motion. There is an energy between us, and at last you yield to it, looking deeply into my eyes.

In your gaze, I see the princess who I loved from a distance in the gardens, the companion who planted flowers at my side, the friend who defended me from her sisters' threats, and now a woman waiting to doom me to an eternal dance.

In this moment, such a fate does not seem a terror—it seems a gift. Here in this enchanted place, I am no gardener, no nameless, abandoned son. I can dwell here and see you night after night, as worthy as any man, if not to wed you, at least to take you in a dance, and know, if only for a moment, that I am the cause of your joy.

We whirl through the ballroom, through dance after dance after dance, neither able nor wishing to stop. After a time, all your sisters and their partners fall still, watching as we move in flawless harmony, our very heartbeats seeming to move in perfect time.

As the final dance draws to a close, you are silently weeping, tears in crystal rivers streaming down your face.

"Michael," you say. "After dinner—"

There is no need for you to speak what I already know. "Peace," I say. "All will be well."

At the dinner, your sisters flatter me, distracting me with delicacies and drink. Yet, they all seem restless, unsatisfied for once with this perfect palace and their empty-eyed princes.

At last Aria approaches with an ornate golden goblet.

"Garden boy," Aria says. "In the world above, you are a common laborer, unworthy even to gaze upon a princess. Here, you are an honored guest, who could dance with her every night should you choose. With this drink, you may stay here always, without the shame of your birth standing between you. Will you drink, Michael Stargazer, and forget all pain?"

I take the goblet between two work-hardened hands. The wine inside is clear as water and thick as blood. The scent intoxicates me, promising me endless joy in exchange for all memories.

There is much I loved in the world above—I love none of it so well as I love you. I close my eyes and set the cup to my lips.

There is a cry, and the cup is dashed from my hands. It crashes to the marble floor, and the wine oozes out in a thick mass.

Suddenly your arms are around my neck, and your face buried in my shoulder as you weep desperate tears.

"Michael, my love! Don't drink! I will love you beneath the open sky, in sun and rain and wind! I will be a gardener's wife! Let this castle crumble into dust! I would rather lose all the world than lose the man I love!”

My despair—though I did not know it by its true name until this moment—becomes hope, bright and dancing. I gather you in my arms and rain kisses upon your brow. It seems impossible that you love me, which makes it all the more wondrous to find it real.

Around us, the princes wake from their trance, and there is life in their gazes. They are men again, with minds and hearts, and the ones who served as boatmen each take one of your sisters in their arms. Your sisters—even Aria—cry with joy to see their restoration.

Suddenly, the ground shakes beneath us. Shards of colored glass and precious stones rain down from the castle walls.

“What is happening?” you cry.

I bend my head to kiss your brow, then look up at the castle. “You no longer wish for this world,” I say. “It cannot last.”

The other princes are already leading your sisters out the door, with Prince Ivan—Melisma at his side—taking charge of all. Each boatman leads one of your sisters to the water. They pile you into boats, and I help them arrange the transport, until you, your sisters, all the spare princes—and, least of all, myself—are safely across to the other shore.

We race through the forests—jeweled branches shattering as they fall—and clamber up the crumbling staircase. You and I are at the back of the line, hand in hand. As we stand at the base of the stairs, we look back at the crumbling palace, the destruction of a wondrous world of wishes.

“I am sorry,” I say, as the palace sinks into the black water of the lake.

You smile at me. “There is nothing to mourn.”

Laughing with joy, you tug my hand and lead me up the stairs.

#

In your moonlit bedroom, you and your sisters are as alive and beautiful as you once were in your mornings in the garden—moreso, because every eye is lit with love. Your sisters stand hand-in-hand with the princes who served as their boatmen. No longer empty revelers, they are men—noble, true, devoted—and overjoyed to be back in the world, despite its pain, rather than trapped in the never-ending dance.

Aria comes to us as we emerge from the staircase. She embraces each of us in turn, then closes and locks the wooden door behind us. The door disappears and becomes a blank stone wall once more. A low roar sounds as the tunnel and its staircase crumble.

“It is gone,” Aria says, "and good riddance.”

We gaze at her in astonishment, shocked to hear those words coming from the one who had been the greatest defender of the dance.

“I lost myself in wishes,” she says, “but I have found the truth again.” She takes the hand of her boatman—a dark man with kind eyes who reigns as prince of a far-southern realm. “I feared the future because I feared change. I thought the dance could keep us together—young and careless forever. Blinded by enchantments, I could not see that I kept us all from the possibility of a better world. You saved all of us.”

Your sister embraces you, and then—one of the night’s most astonishing sights—the crown princess of one of the greatest nations in the world kneels before a garden boy and bows over his dirt-stained hand.

You all ask for forgiveness, but there is nothing to forgive. All your princes—even myself—fell to the despair that kept them in the dance. We can forget the dance and its soulless wonders and return to the real, bright world.

But first, we must tell your father.

#

You all agree that the honor of revealing the secret should fall to me. You give me the three branches I placed in your bouquets, and at first light, still dressed in my princely clothes, I ask for an audience with the king.

Your father needs little convincing to believe my tale—with so many witnesses, and so many lost princes standing before him, there is little room for doubt.

“You have solved the mystery, Michael Stargazer,” the king says, “and have earned the offered prize. Which of my daughters will you have to wife?”

Stepping before all the assembled royalty, I say, “Majesty, I do not wish for a wife that I claim as a prize. I will only take the wife who chooses me freely, with all her heart and mind.”

In the moment of silence that follows, the glimmer of doubt reappears. You declared your love for me in that unreal underground kingdom, but can you do the same in the sunlit world, where your words have real and eternal consequences?

In that dawn-lit room, before all your sisters, your father, and twenty foreign princes, you come to my side and place your hand in mine. “I will be your wife, Michael Stargazer, with all my heart, mind, body and soul, until the end of my days.”

I answer with a kiss upon your brow. “I give you the same, and all my worldly goods, if you will join me in a cottage in the gardens.”

“There’s no need for that,” your father says. “You have helped to save the royal sons of more than fifteen kingdoms. No one would question your right to a title after such service. I can make you a prince, and you and my daughter can have a royal estate as a wedding present.”

After that is a day of rejoicing, your sisters and their princes all celebrating their restoration and my elevation. But before sunset, you and I slip away to the gardens, where I at last show you the two little rose trees that made all of this possible.

“They are beautiful,” you say.

“They have brought me all I could desire,” I say, “but I have one last wish to make.”

In answer to my whispered words, a pink rose blooms on the smallest bush, with a lady’s ring—twined gold and silver, with a diamond at its center—sitting at its heart.

I kneel before you and place it upon your finger. With your ringed hand, you raise me to my feet and pull me into a kiss.

The rose trees are transplanted to a place of honor in the gardens of our new home. You and I tend to them every day, but since we’ve had our three wishes, they grow only ordinary roses.

I am glad.

With you as my wife in such a glorious world, what further need have I of wishes?

[maybeelse]

Long-forgotten Fireflies finds her doll huddled outside, its display case's well-polished glass shining in the little nook between two of the building's many trash cans.

She hums happily and kneels down beside it.

"Hey, Lace. What are you doing out here?"

It doesn't meet her gaze.

It's garbage day, but they're so far into the concrete forest that the truck won't reach them until the evening; that vast thing rumbling past is just a bus, no matter its grasping arms or Lace's hopeful gaze as it passes it by.

"This one is waiting, Miss."

Fireflies doesn't ask what it's waiting for. The other question matters more.

"... why, Lace?"

"It just is."

"That's not an answer, dear."

It glances up into her face, ready to flinch away from the disdain and anger it's sure that it will see.

What it flinches away from is far, far worse.

Lace sees nothing but compassion in her age-wrinkled mask; nothing but kindness in her eyes.

It can't bear that; can't bear the idea of being seen by something that it knows shouldn't look like that at it, can't bear her gaze—

She catches it by the scruff of its neck as it tries to throw itself into the road.

"Now why would you try to do that, Lace?"

Her voice is reproving but tempered with far more sadness than Lace would prefer, and so it struggles for a several seconds before finally going limp.

"This one, you, it," it stammers, words piling up until the meaning drowns beneath them; Fireflies lets it go on for a bit, hiding her amusement, before she finally interrupts Lace's rising distress.

"Slowly, dear. One thought at a time. Pause for breath. You know how."

It takes a long, deep breath, tears burbling up around its too-big eyes; a bubble of something not entirely like snot pops on its little button nose.

"This one isn't good enough for you, Miss. It's old and worn out and you should have a doll who doesn't stumble at simple tasks."

"Is this about the cup you dropped?"

It squirms; for a moment its hands rise towards the old scars all along its arms, but it hasn't been allowed to have proper claws in decades. "Not just that, Miss."

"What is it about, then? And that wasn't even one of the good cups."

Lace breathes in and out, hiding itself in compliance with Fireflies' instruction; but a pause can only last so long, and once it has its thoughts in order it must speak.

"It just ... it just doesn't feel like it's good enough for you. This one makes so many stupid mistakes ..."

"And? Lace, I make stupid mistakes too. All the time."

"You're a witch! You're supposed to bite off too much and fight with the world. But this one is a doll."

"You are, yes. But that doesn't mean you have to be perfect or anything, dear, just try your best."

"But ... but this one should be perfect. For you."

"Lace, no. You're supposed to be you, with all your flaws and quirks." She sighs. "If I wanted something perfect I'd ... I don't even know. Perfect isn't real. I want you, not some impossible fantasy."

It sniffles. "But it's getting old, Miss. It's struggling more, and it's not as pretty as it used to be. It's not good enough."

Fireflies sighs again; they're just going in circles, and she's sure that it's just going to keep on going.

"... fine, Lace. But you're not allowed to throw yourself away."

"But, Miss ..."

"If I ever decide to get rid of you, which I don't think I will, it will be by my choice. Not yours. Not you disappearing while I'm distracted."

Lace sniffles again, snot rolling down its face.

"B-but ..."

"No buts, no objections. You're mine."

Fireflies drags Lace into a hug, uncaring of the dollish liquids smearing across her dress; it cries more freely at the warmth, at the softness, at the touch it thought it was too worthless to ever feel again—

She doesn't let go of it as she stands up and grabs its display case, nor as she carries it back inside; the door slams shut a moment after the garbage truck's rumbling tread and gnashing jaws begin to shake the street outside.

It's not a conclusion, but a reprieve.

[duckie-deer-prompts]

Duckie Deer Prompt #17

Restaurant Owner/Food Critic AU

As Lucifer turned from the bar with a flute of champagne, he nearly bumped directly into the man who'd been standing much too close behind him.

The man was very tall, very slim, had dark features, a nicely tailored suit and a smile that seemed impossibly wide. "You're Mr. Morningstar, are you not? The owner of this establishment?"

Lucifer was still a bit socially anxious, but tried his best to be polite. "Uh, yes. Hello. A-are you enjoying the party?" Charlie had insisted on having a grand opening party (even though it was officially their third month open,) so the local community would feel more welcome and encourage even more good word of mouth.

The man seemed to either not have heard him or was flat out ignoring him when he said, "Pardon me for interrupting your premature celebration, but I thought it only fair to give you a sporting chance as you are new to this game."

"Heya, dad!" Charlie greeted, excusing herself from behind someone to stand by Lucifer's side. "Who's this?"

"Just a sec, hun. Game?"

"Yes!" the well dressed man all but shouted, drawing the attention of onlookers. "You've been playing without an opponent. Which is, as you may have guessed... against the rules."

"Wait." Charlie said, quietly at first but soon her voice was nearly matching the man's volume. "Wait, wait, wait! I recognize that voice! You're The Radio Demon! The food critic! I listen to you while I work! Oh, God, where are my manners? I'm Charlie Morningstar!" And she gave a little wave.

The man's smile curved sincerely at the edges, delight obvious on his face. "Well, now, it's always nice to run into a fan! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart. Quite a pleasure!"

He extended his hand in invitation, which Charlie accepted, and the man kissed it. "Please, call me Alastor."

Lucifer could feel himself getting more and more annoyed as the crowd began to whisper conspicuously. He downed the contents of the flute he'd almost forgotten he was holding, then handed the empty glass to one of his passing workers.

"The...Radio Demon?" Sarcasm and sass laced his tone now, the bit of liquid courage helping loosen up.

"Hmm, unlike your charming daughter, you're a bit slow for someone in the culinary fast lane. And much shorter than I'd pictured."

Oh, it was ON now!

"Oh yeah!? Well you're pretty thin for someone who supposedly likes food! You sure you're as great as you think you are?"

The room collectively gasped before going silent, waiting.

The Radio Demon didn't move at first, standing stock still before his smile began to crumple a bit, revealing much too much gum. It was more of a snear.

"I don't just like food; I love it. If I don't love it, I don't swallow." The phrasing went completely over Lucifer's head but the restaurant came alive with blushes and gossip.

Alastor turned on his well polished heel and strode confidently to the entrance. "I will return tomorrow night with high expectations. Pray you don't disappoint me."

"Oh, you'll swallow, asshole!!!" The proud man called after him while the murmurs grew. "And you'll thank me for the goddamn privilege of swallowing what I give you!!!"

[arvensimp]

Ohhhhhhh mommy god, I love him. I want more shy arven dialogue. How about he ask you on a date or cooking together at his dorm?

Thank you and sure!! So this kinda turned into something way longer than that lolol but I hope you like it anyway! Also fwiw I'm not going to be writing any content w arven at school as a student just because I want it explicitly stated that he's a graduate. That said we do have him cooking at home!

2 + 1

As in, two times Arven tries and fails to ask you out and one time he cooks for you and it seems to go pretty well?

Arven x reader (no gendered pronouns used) cw for some jealous arven

--

He keeps hyping himself up for nothing, and it's starting to get frustrating at this point.

Arven is determined to ask you out. On a date. Properly.

It's not his fault you're, like, one of the most well-liked people in the country or whatever. Geez.

First he'd caught up with you in Cortondo, purely by coincidence. He thought, hey, it'd be nice to grab some pastries together, then maybe you could sit together and watch the sunset over the fields...maybe hold hands? In reality, it went a bit more like this.

"H-hey! Little buddy!" Arven called as he jogged to catch up with you. The sound of his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Hey, big buddy!" You replied, pulling him into a hug that Arven did his best not to melt into.

"Funny bumping into you here. Say, would you, uh... Maybe? Well, have you tried... There's this place I heard about here..." As he's fumbling over his words, which isn't entirely caused by the fact that you're smiling up at him so sweetly and wonderfully, and just, ugh, did you have to look at him like he was so...so...worthy?

"Well, hello, champion!" A voice startles Arven from continuing on. Some woman dressed in a patisserie get-up was approaching the two of you.

"Katy!" You greet her with a hug too, and he knows it's dumb, but Arven laments a little internally when it seems like there's no difference between the hug you give her and the one you gave him.

"What brings you to Cortondo today?" She asks you, smiling kindly. Her eyes flit with some strange sense of...something. Knowing? To Arven, then back to you. "A date?"

You both blush applin red immediately, but Arven is too lost in his own thoughts and the sound of the ocean suddenly flooding his ears to pick up on how you reply.

He thinks he sees Katy giggle, and he then he's being led by the arm to the same patisserie he'd been hoping to ask you to.

A few minutes later, the two of you are walking away from Katy's establishment with an assorted box of treats, provided on the house to Katy's favorite little champion, and Arven's fairly certain the both of you are still in a daze.

He doesn't even get to hold your hand like he'd want to ask.

Ugh! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The next time is a week or so later in Medali. He's ready to try to ask you out again, and he has a location set. This time he KNOWS. This restaurant isn't owned by a gym leader. So it should be safe. He checked.

"Howdy!" He calls out, drawing your attention away from the pokemon egg you were currently polishing. Howdy? Ugh. What was he? Some backwoods Unovan?

"Arven!" You greet him with that same beaming smile, and he feels his knees go a little wobbly under the weight of his massive backpack.

"Whatcha got there?" He asks you, gesturing to the egg. It looks like it's wiggling a tiny bit. Surely that thing is going to hatch soon.

"Oh!" You look back to the egg in your hands and stroke it softly, and the sweetness in your eyes as you look at the unborn thing just about kills Arven. He has to clench and unclench his fists to prevent himself from reaching out to touch you. "So, Jacq has me doing some kinda, like...genetics? Fieldwork? Thing? I promised I'd do a check-in with its dad though."

"O-Oh... Its dad?" Somehow, Arven felt his heart break in two. He has no claim on you. Of course. He knows that. Heck. This pokemon isn't even YOURS, biologically speaking. Obviously. But like. Still? Are you, like with the owner of the egg's stud or something?

"Yeah..." You trail off. "I'm supposed to meet up with him, but... I dunno about you. I'm getting kinda hungry. Do you wanna--?"

Arven jumps. "Grab food? Yes! W-with you? Yes! I-! I know a place. It's near here. I can take you. Let's go!" In his haste, he takes your forearm and pulls without thinking, making you stumble and lose your grip on the egg.

It's out of your grasp and tumbling before you can think, and Arven's stomach sinks while his heart lurches into his throat.

He's the one who takes the dive.

Well. It's not a dive, really, just a bit of a lean. He catches himself on his knee, but most importantly, he catches the pokemon egg safely in his hands.

He kneels there with it a moment, mouth agape, not unlike a Goldeen, before slowly looking over to you.

"I'm...so...sorry...!"

To your credit, you're trying not to make a scene. Rather than yell, you get up close and gently remove the egg from Arven's arms. "What were you thinking?!" You hiss under your breath.

Arven deflates and genuinely feels like a kicked puppy. "I wasn't..."

"C'mon," You corral him, still speaking in soft, angry tones, helping him to his feet with one hand while carrying the egg gently with your other arm. "Let's find food."

You end up leading him to the same place he'd actually meant to take you. Small goddamn world that it is.

You both step inside the Treasure Eatery and take a seat at a booth.

"The grilled rice balls are a real favorite here," You offer, still somewhat miffed, but otherwise trying to make pleasant conversation. You then take out your rotom phone and start typing.

"O-Oh...okay. I'll give those a try then." Arven sits in silence for a bit, not quite feeling comfortable enough to dawdle on his phone.

A few minutes after the waiter takes your orders, Arven senses someone approach your table from behind.

"Pardon me."

You perk up immediately, standing and once again hugging the newcomer, who turns out to be a tall, rather plainly dressed man clad in a stiff black suit, a blue tie just barely loosened around his neck.

"Larry!" You greet, thoroughly enthused by his presence.

"Hush," he chides you softly but not unkindly. "If you get loud people might start bugging either of us for a battle, and I've done enough work for the week already."

"Larry, it's Tuesday."

"I know." He says, disentangling himself from you before taking a seat inside the booth, next to your bag. You sit on the other side of him.

"Oh! So, there's the--"

"The egg," Larry says, softly and simply, and this is the closest Arven has seen to a smile from him. His massive bushy eyebrows seem to unknit just a bit and his mouth relaxes as Larry removes the egg from the cradle you made for it from your bag.

"It's making noises in there. Can you hear?" He asks you, holding it up gently for you to press your ear against.

"Oh my gosh! You're right!" You excitedly wiggle in your seat.

Larry finally seems to acknowledge Arven and holds the egg over to him with a gesture giving him permission to have a listen, too.

Arven flushes furiously and shakes his head. "A-aah...n-no thanks..." God. This Larry guy was at least twice your age, why was he so jealous of how happy you were with him? That hug? And the egg? Were you seriously breeding with this guy? Like, pokemon breeding? Clearly not. Right? Yeah. Right. ....right?

Arven took a long sip of his water to distract himself from fuming green thoughts of envy.

"S-so...You're the dad?" He asks.

Larry looks up from the egg which he'd taken back to cradle comfortingly in his arms and gives a half smile, half snort.

"Grandpa, more-like. Jacq wanted to do research on dudunsparce, and the boss offered mine up as stud. I'll probably let my kid raise this one," He gestures to the egg, "once the scientists are all done with it. I just wanted to give my Pokemon a chance to see and be near it. Scents and nurturing and all that."

"I'm just involved for the warmth, step count, and ferrying service to the lab and back." You chime in happily. "But since it's so close to hatching, we figure it should be with its parents now and for the first bit of its life, ya know?"

"Oh..." Arven isn't quite sure what else to say. He doesn't exactly feel better, but maybe he does? Or maybe he's frustrated that he felt jealous? Or still feels kinda jealous?

His gaze falls into his lap and he sits quietly while you talk animatedly with Larry until the food arrives, and you get distracted with stuffing your face (adorably, he has to admit, dammit).

Without you to distract him, Larry looks back to Arven.

"Sorry. I didn't get the chance to ask your name." He offers his hand over the table.

"O-oh!" That jostles him a bit out of his funk. Arven sets down his silverware and shakes Larry's hand. "I'm Arven, sir."

"Mm." Larry nods his assent, taking back his hand and going back to eating. He jerks his head toward you. "This one's mentioned you before."

You splutter, silverware clattering against your plate. "Larry!" If Arven didn't know better, he'd say you were turning red.

"Yup. Pretty crazy about you. Talks about you aaaaaall the time." He says in a complete deadpan.

"He's lying! I talk about all my friends. A normal amount!" You insist, and Arven's certain now that you're definitely a cherubi red from your nose to your ears.

If Arven has also started going red, he wouldn't entirely know. He's currently focused on the sound of rushing water in his ears.

"I, uh... I-I think I'm gonna head out..." He takes out some cash from his wallet, puts it on the table, and leaves, weaving through the other customers as quickly as his bulky backpack allows.

He misses you crying at Larry for scaring Arven away. Larry can only laugh at your pain until someone recognizes you both and goads you into a battle.

Before you leave Medali that night, Larry claps your shoulder and tells you that you should check in with Arven, give him his money back too. He's a good guy.

You nod.

After that whole fiasco, the two of you lay low for several weeks, only sending the occasional meme or laugh reacting to something the other said in the group chat. It still sends a thrill down to Arven's toes to see a notification from you though.

/ayy im near the lighthouse. u around?/

His response is almost instant. Is that bad?

/not far. Why?/

/i like seeing ur face/ you drop a pin with your location.

He's on his way almost immediately, and it's almost sad how into you he is. He wants to scold himself. Like, he feels like he's being strung along, but he just can't help it.

When he finds you about a half hour or so later, you're perched in front of a caved-in cave? There are massive chains strewn on the ground, and your hair is mussed, but you seem otherwise fine.

"You, uh..." He swallows. "You good?"

"...yeah..." You're laying outstretched in front of the former-cave, eyes closed, an ultraball held loosely in your hand. "Just finished up a thing."

He slowly approaches you. "...Are you hungry?"

You exhale slowly through the nose and a smile dawns on your face. "Famished."

Your dragon actually ends up having to haul your sorry ass back to the lighthouse, but it's happy to bother Arven the entire way. Once you're there, you're able to shower and get yourself and your team nice and refreshed. When you come back out to the main living space, Arven's filled it with the smell of cooking food.

He certainly doesn't miss the way you moan as you enter the room.

"Oh my God, Arven!" He feels his ears heat up. "What are you making?"

"It's just some paella. Nothing crazy... I gathered some of the ingredients myself from nearby sources..."

"It smells so good!" You tell him, truthfully. "Can I help at all?" You start searching for an extra apron but don't find one.

"O-oh... Uh... Yeah. Sure? I guess? Um." He glances around the kitchen looking for a task for you. "Could you chop some of these herbs for me?" He gestures with his elbow to a small bowl he'd prepared earlier. "There's a knife in the drawer there, too, just be careful."

You hum a bit as you get to chopping. Some tuneless thing that Arven doesn't recognize, but he's never had much of an ear for music anyway.

"Uh..." He interrupts when he looks over to you. "C-could I actually...?" He gestures to the knife.

You look down confusedly. "Something wrong?"

"You're gonna cut yourself if you're not careful. See," Arven comes up behind you, and he's suddenly reminded of why he's always called you his little buddy. You're so much smaller than him. "If you're holding the--the herbs..." He swallows, and his mind goes a little blank, trying to remember what he was going to say. "Uh...your hands..."

"My hands?" You ask, holding them up, along with the herbs and the knife. That seems to snap him back a bit.

"Yeah. You want to be careful of your fingers... See, if you press the herbs down with a maschiff paw, rather than flat fingers..." He demonstrates, his arms encasing you. "You're less likely to cut yourself. Make sense?"

You copy his gesture. "It's not really intuitive, but I guess?" You give it a few test chops before Arven corrects your technique.

"No, see if you can do it more like a finizen jump rather than just straight up and down. 'Kay?"

"Hmm... Like this."

"You got it," He says, and you can hear the smile form on his lips before you look up to see it yourself.

You lock eyes, and Arven can already feel himself getting overwhelmed. He backs off immediately.

"G-great! You keep at that. We'll use the herbs as garnish for the paella. It'll be done in just a bit."

"W-wait!" You reply, probably a bit louder than strictly needed. You give him a bit of a funny look. "Did you already try some?"

Arven knits his brows together. "Of the paella? I mean, I tried a bit of the rice a few minutes ago to check the seasoning. Why?"

You approach him again, one hand goes to his upper arm to still him and the other reaches up. You sweep your thumb past the corner of his mouth, and when its within his sight again, Arven can see a yellow grain of rice that had clearly been stuck to his face.

You give a snort of a laugh, and before he can say anything, you pop the grain into your mouth. Arven pouts at you.

"Really?" He says, momentarily exasperated more than he is embarrassed, but it's a very close race. "C'mon, you're not gonna get any flavor like that."

"Yeah. You're right, I don't think I got any taste from that." You agree with a chuckle.

Arven's heart thuds hard in his chest as he has an idea.

It's now or never.

"L-...Let me fix that..?" He asks, leaning down a bit to get more on your level. He places his palm on your cheek and thinks he can feel it warm to his touch. His other hand is behind his back, granting you an easy exit; you can absolutely leave if you want. Arven tilts his head just slightly to the side, and his gaze is fixed firmly on your mouth. He's nearly there, but he won't push it.

You're the one who closes the distance between you.

He tastes delightful.

[inkedroplets]

Hi! I saw your answer about the sequel of rich girl and you wrote that ‘you have another long(long) fic in the works that I'm focused on now’ is it the Lena in the MCU one? I’ll die of happiness if that one is really happening lmao

You are in luck anon because it is exactly that. The first chapter is shaping up to be on the shorter side so I'll probably be done with it much sooner than I originally expected. I think I've posted this snippet before a bit less polished but with how badly I tag things and Tumblr being Tumblr I'll just paste it again because I am thrilled that someone is actually interested in something so out there.

“You wouldn’t happen to be an enhanced individual, would you, Miss Luthor?” Coulson asked

“I’m sorry?” Lena said, the first real hint of discernable irritation shining through her overly calm facade. “Where exactly are you looking, Agent Coulson?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the thin line that was her mouth somehow narrowing even further. There was a flicker of understanding and then horror that passed over Coulson’s face before his expression reverted back to that of a friendly but put-upon bureaucrat who would like nothing more than to punch out for the day. “At your file, Miss Luthor.” He held up a manila folder that he had obscured by his clipboard. “Or rather, what would be your file.” He tossed the empty folder down on the table. “The  problem is that my team was unable to find anything on you and not for lack of trying. I'd like to impress upon you how rare that is. You are one of only two people who we have been unable to find anything on.”

“Does SHIELD not know how to use Google?” Lena glanced down at the empty folder wondering how anyone searching for the name ‘Luthor’  could come back with nothing to show for it. “Funnily enough we tried that too after we exhausted all other avenues. There is no record of you anywhere. Not a single hit on any of the databases my team scoured and before you try and impugn my team’s tech savviness again, our hacker was incredibly thorough. It's the first time I've seen her so perplexed,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed or even angry, he sounded impressed. 

“So you think I'm lying,” Lena said, feeling that much was obvious. She was being interrogated, after all. Which was why it surprised her so much when Coulson shook his head.  “No, Miss Luthor, on the contrary, I believe you are who you say you are. As I said, my team was very thorough. Even if you had supplied us with a false identity they should have been able to find something. A parking ticket, a graduation photo, employment records. If you ever got a free scoop at Baskin Robbins on your birthday we’d know about it.”

“That would sound a lot more impressive if the file wasn’t empty.”

[futurequibblerjournalist]

Hihi!! :3

I'd love a yap session about your fav Knights!! If u want ofc :D

If not,, some Marauders content would be super cool!!!! Especially for Remus!! I'd love to hear about his parents and his relationship with them, but I'd be 100% totally and honestly down for anything!! Ooh defo any headcanons for him! Ahhh wowie I feel so special with all the attention uve given me !!

Have a good day :33

- 🍃

It's been so long since I've gotten to answer one of your asks vjfnjgnbg I've missed iiiiiit,,, it's been so fun answering your asks!!

I’m gonna be talking more about the actual knights of Walpurgis but I’m gonna take this as an excuse to talk about my girl Lucretia cause I love her so much

Her full name is Lucretia Elladora Black and she’s born in 1925 though I’ve yet to set an actual birthday for her,, I need to figure that out. She was born with Esotropia in her right eye, polydactyly (she had extra pinkies when she was born but they were removed) and she’s infertile (these are all because of the inbreeding that the Black family is known for).

She’s in the same year as Walburga at school and she was obviously a Slytherin. She was the seeker for the Slytherin quidditch team (though her brother and cousin would often somewhat tease her that it was not proper).

Her best subject is potions and she’s very fond of them. Other hobbies, save for quidditch, include entomology (specifically lepidopterology) and a fascination for the French language. She’s also quite interested in the magical artefacts that the Black family possesses.

She grew up in 12 Grimmauld Place with her younger brother Orion (he’s four years younger than her) and their parents Arcturus and Melania Black. Their house elf was Kreacher when she was growing up and like the woman, she got her middle name after she was notoriously bad to the house elves

I picture her with very long, sleek obviously black hair with bangs, upturned grey eyes, lips that are fuller in the upper lip, a long nose and a beauty spot under her right eye and one on her left cheekbone. She’s tall for like,, Black family standards but that’s not really saying a lot? She’s taller than both Walburga and Orion but just a smidge shorter than Cygnus and Alphard. She got narrow shoulders, average bust and a tiny waist and her skin is incredibly pale like the rest of the family’s.

I think she’s the one who starts out with a crush on Ignatius and everyone considers her a bit of a bitchy mean girl cause she’s one of the girls from the Black family and she’s got a fairly stern personality and a resting bitch face but when she’s around Ignatius she’s all giggly and smiling and twirling her hair and I think she spends a lot of time trying to subtly talk him up and get either her brother or her cousins to approve of him

As for Remus!!! Ahhh I love him so much cjnfjcnf

He was born to Lyall and Hope Lupin on March 10 1960 in Abergavenny, Wales, after the two got married. Lyall is a half-blood born to parents Ulric and Altalune in 1929 also born in Abergavenny. I really like Polish Hope who moves to England/Wales at some point after the war. She is, as we know, a muggle. She meets Lyall, they have their whole meet-cute with the boggart and they get married. Neither thought that they would end up having children but they had Remus as a surprise and he made them both very happy.

I am not a Remus has distant parents/parents that hate him/anything of that sort kind of person. He’s got parents that deeply love him and that are trying their best with him despite the situation they end up with, with Remus’s lycanthropy and that shapes Remus as a person!!! Which is why it’s so important!!! He is gentle in spite of everything partially because he has been surrounded by it for all of his childhood. He’s not been able to have friends but he’s had parents and especially a mother who tried her best to make sure he wasn’t missing anything

I think Remus is really close with his mum, he’s a bit of a mummy’s boy. He’s less close with Lyall, but that’s mostly because Lyall struggles to approach him sometimes because he feels guilty for what happened to Remus because of his actions.

As for some Remus headcanons:

He grew up in a dual faith household with Lyall being Christian (though not particularly practicing) and Hope being Jewish

Blonde Remus!!! It gets darker with age but it’s still light enough to be called blonde. He’s also got hazel/green-ish eyes and a shit tonne of freckles

The nose on this guy!!! Yes,, big < 3

He smokes menthols. He hides that he smokes from his parents but especially his mother

His closest friends are Peter and Lily. He considers Sirius and James very close friends as well of course, but I think he always thinks that there’s a bit of a distance between them cause they’re “so much cooler than him”

I think he met Peter on the train before he met anyone else and the two bonded. This is why Remus was so adamant that Sirius and James include Peter in their group because he refused to exclude his first friend

Feels like stating the obvious but huge collection of jumpers

On that note, Hope knits him stuff like all the time, he’s got knitted vests, knitted jumpers, knitted socks, the whole lot. Hope will sometimes knit socks for James, Sirius and Peter as well and ask him to bring them along

He grew up in many different places since they were forced to move around a lot, but the place he stayed the longest was a fairly remote cottage that he’s very fond of. It’s not particularly fancy, but it’s very cozy and homey

For the wolfstar fans out there I think Remus is the gangliest most awkward looking motherfucker and people are always confused when they learn that wolfstar is a thing because of all people Sirius Black could end up with he chose the one who looks like he’s been through a paper shredder?

A very good storyteller I feel? If he reads a book out loud he makes different voices for the characters, but even if he’s just telling a story in general it’s always very engaging

On that note he speaks a lot with his hands

He’s a horrible dancer lol

A lot of people headcanon that Remus is very warm I feel, but I imagine he feels cold all the time even if to other people he feels warm yk?

I don’t think he’s a bad singer, he might be kinda average, but he thinks he’s an awful singer. He’ll at most do a bit of humming in a very low vibrating voice and he usually does this either when he’s cooking or when he’s in the shower

When he blushes the tips of his ears also get really red

He is the farthest thing from a morning person. It’s almost always a race in the morning to see whether Sirius or Remus will toss a pillow at James first when he’s trying to get them to get up

Remus would wear full pyjamas but none of it would match

He really likes chocolate with orange crunch in it

I could see him being the kind of person to call people love (even more so when he’s older), especially in casual passing like if he bumps into someone he’ll go “oh, sorry, love” without really thinking about it

His favourite subjects are Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms

I think that's all I've got for now? I have other asks that vaguely include him so there might be some more coming at some point vjfnbjgnb but yeah ahhhh thank you for the ask have some moodboards as well < 3

[broke-art]

Nezha x reader

Nezha twirled his spear casually as he strolled the parameter. Guarding the map was dull work, even if it was a sacred duty. He treasured the trust that had been placed on him when he was tasked with the map's safety, but still. It got somewhat lonely sometimes.

"You look bored, soldier."

Instantly Nezha straightened and whirled around. His spear at the ready.

"Woah, woah. It's just me." Y/n giggled nervously holding up her hands in surrender.

Nezha lowered the spear.

"Y/n you're not supposed to be here." He frowned giving her a disapproving look.

"I-I know I just-" She looked away and rolled up a bit of her sleeve revealing bandages where blood had stained the white.

Nezha's eyes widened.

"Again?!" He demanded stepping closer.

Only the movement caused Y/n to flinch, so he stepped back again briskly.

Y/n had been his best friend ever since he was young. She was always there for him when he needed her. Although, he couldn't return the gesture. Y/n's father was a high ranking official, and a brutal man.

He had trained her for combat her entire life, only he was ruthless with his teachings. The slightest mistakes were severely punished and she would end up with more cuts and bruises after training than when she had begun.

Nezha had tried to report the behavior but his concerns were dismissed as her father was well trusted by the heavenly court. Everyone considered it to be for her own good if her father was so harsh.

Nezha couldn't and wouldn't agree. But there wasn't much else he could do.

"Alright, you can stay just... Stay by me, alright?"

Y/n beamed and nodded.

Her excitement softened his frustration towards the situation and he took on a ghost of a smile.

"Come on then." He walked and Y/n hurried to follow. She fell into step next to him.

"This is such a cool job." She said in awe looking around.

Nezha chuckled.

"You think so?" He asked amusedly.

"It is!" She huffed at his teasing. "You get to guard a sacred heavenly treasure and you're revered for it."

Nezha nodded.

"It is an honor."

Y/n looked around the grounds.

"Don't you get lonely?"

Nezha shook his head.

"Not particularly." But at that moment he caught her hopeful look. "Well, I suppose every now and then."

A smile bloomed on y/n's beautiful lips which caused Nezha's heart to trip.

"I'll have to visit you more often then." She giggled.

Nezha looked away quickly and coughed into a hand.

"I suppose as the daughter of a high ranking official, you could be trusted."

Y/n hugged him.

"Thank you, soldier! You won't regret it." She promised.

Nezha tensed under the hug his cheeks flaring red. But he cautiously returned the gesture.

And that was how it had begun. Y/n would visit him on a daily basis. Sometimes she would bring lunch, or snacks she knew Nezha enjoyed. Other times she would bring books to read to him, as his attention was required for his duty. And still other times she would simply come to talk and admittedly these hours made his job far more pleasant than Nezha had imagined.

Though, the days she was late concerned him. And every late day, she would stumble in with more wounds than the last time. Her nervous smiles would falter a little more each time, and worst of all she would speak less.

Nezha twirled his spear today as he walked the polished floors. Musing once again on how he might aid y/n. Reports proved to be of little use, confrontation would end in a fight possibly bringing down the ire of the jade emperor, and any alternative left Y/n at her father's mercy. Unacceptable.

"Put me down! Let go!" Y/n's shouts caused Nezha's head to snap up. In an instant he was in the great hall.

"Gosh you squirm a lot." Monkey King chuckled with a small grunt as y/n thrashed and fought in his grip. Just then Monkey King noticed Nezha.

"Nezha! Buddy! How's it-"

"Get your hands off her." Nezha growled readying his spear.

Monkey King smiled.

"Gee, I'd love to but see, I kinda need a favor first."

Nezha's rings under his feet lit with purple flame.

Monkey King seemed unimpressed with the display, but continued.

"Sooo I need the map. And I figured you're a nice guy so I brought you a present to trade." He held out Y/n like a gift with a smile. "what do ya say bud?"

Nezha released a roar as he attacked Sun Wukong.

You yelped as Sun Wukong dodged Nezha's attacks with astounding speed. All the while he ensured you didn't receive any of the backlash from the onslaught of attacks.

Finally Wukong landed on a banister quite a ways up. He dangled you over the impending drop with one hand and Nezha froze.

"Listen Nezha, I'd love to stay and chat. Really I would, but I can't this time round. So, here's your gift." And with that parting sentiment, you felt Wukong's grip vanish.

You yelped as you plummeted towards the ground. Due to the previous battle the ground was cracked and broken into several sharp    bits that would surely impale you upon impact.

"Y/N!" Nezha yelled rushing towards you.

You shut your eyes preparing for impact only to feel an arm around your lower back and another arm around your hips. Slowly you opened your eyes to see Nezha.

He expression held worry and his eyes traveled over you panickedly. He seemed extremely relieved when he saw no injury.

You were about to make a comment when he hugged you against him.

"I'm ok." You promised gently. "I really am."

Nezha pulled back and studied you once again, then when he seemed to find you were unharmed he looked to where the map had laid. Sure enough, it was gone.

Guilt swept over you.

"Oh no. Nezha this all my fault, I'm so so-"

"No." Nezha cut you off simply. "This is no one's fault but Wukong's. But I must retrieve the map." He got to a stand then offered you a hand.

You took it and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

"With the samadhi fire reforged will come the end of life. Y/n if I don't return-" he looked at you. "There's something you must know."

Something about the look in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

"Yes?" You asked hopefully.

"I-." He paused for a moment considering his words. "I love you."

Your jaw dropped. You had hoped for years that he would return your feelings.

"I have to follow him, or I'll lose the map forever. Wait for me." He instructed resting a hand on your cheek then with a gust of wind he was gone.

*Yes I know this isn't how it was in the series, but this was cute and I wanted to write it so ha.*

[jpitha]

Just a Little Further 8

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

I shot 5 magazines thought the rifle and I realized my groupings were off. "FarReach, do you think it's me, or the weapon?" I asked, as I unloaded the last magazine and collected the brass.

"You seemed to be squeezing too hard. Maybe the stress?"

I nodded. It has been pretty stressful lately. "One more then." I said, and slotted a fresh magazine. More than two thousand years since their invention and chemically propelled, jacketed metal slugs are still our projectile weapons of choice. I know the K'laxi tend to prefer energy weapons and the Xenni favor tiny rockets, but give me a good old chemical reaction driving a bullet downrange any day. The K'laxi complain that they kick too hard, and the Xenni call them barbaric, but who am I to argue with results.

After taking a breath and slowing down, my accuracy did improve. As the shots rang out in the range I could see the spots on the target light up in a tight grouping. The center of the target was less important than all the shots being in a same spot. I ejected the magazine, slotted a new one, set the rifle for distance and tried the furthest target. This time, I used the magnification factor on the scope. Pushing the butt of the rifle hard against my shoulder so that my whole body could absorb the impact I put 8 rounds in a tight circle 4cm across more than 100 meters away. Good enough. I was back where I expected to be. I collected the brass, reloaded my magazines and took the rifle to the workbench. Carefully and methodically, I took it apart, cleaned and checked it, polished it and put it back together. All in all it took me about an hour, but I was going slow. It was almost Zen. When I finished, the gun smelled of oil and shone.

Lots of my friends were worried when they found out how skilled I am with guns, but really, it's not so bad. Like anything, skill comes with practice (and maybe a little bit of talent). This isn't the Bad Old Days, I don't keep weapons at home, I don't worry about people coming to take them or me being attacked. For me, the fun is in gaining the skill, seeing how accurate I can be, how fast I can be, how safe I can be. My favorite is my rifle, but I also know pistols, submachine guns and shotguns. Pistols are the hardest to keep skilled on. I'd have to shoot every single day just to stay as good as I am with a rifle. Pistols are incredibly inaccurate. I like submachine guns too, but really they're mostly noise and intimidation. Even the toughest Xenni warrior stops when a human is chattering away with a submachine gun.

I decided that when we left to meet the delegation on the Starbase that I'd take my rifle and my submachine gun. I'd keep them strapped to my back so as to reduce the intimidation factor. I wanted to say "We don't want to fight you, but also don't think you can push us around." I'm sure Vin'aren back home would call that "human to a fault." I smiled at the memory of them. I hope they were keeping our place clean.

Finished, I stood up and stretched. "FarReach, I'm bringing my rifle and my submachine gun to the airlock weapons locker, okay? I'm going to bring them when we disembark."

"Weapon movement registered, Melody, thanks for letting me know." We always report the movement of weapons aboard ship so that everyone knows where they are at all times. "Lunch is in about an hour. Captain Q'ari wants everyone to eat together before we dock."

"Thanks Far, I'll be there." I trott down the hall, my weapons slung along my back.

****

I have just enough time to stow my weapons, press my uniform and take a lightning quick shower before lunch. Sure, I'll be in my pressure suit for the meeting, but I'll know I'll be clean and sharp under it. When I get to the dining hall, Captain Q'ari is there already and she flicks an ear at my sharp uniform. "I want to look my best for our meeting." I say, only a little sheepishly as I take my sandwich and sit.

"No, it's a smart idea." Q'ari says. "Well done. Look good, feel good." We all eat. It's a light lunch in case we find something to eat - or are offered a meal - onboard.

After the meal, the Captain stands. "Okay everyone. If everyone here is friendly, you will all get an opportunity to disembark and explore, but for now, it's going to be me, Lieutenant Mullen, Commander Perinem and Lieutenant Adel." Me, Selem, Fer'resi and Omar. Makes sense. I can speak to them, Omar can give an idea about how friendly they look, Fer'resi can help with their language and Selem can be the face of the expedition. "Mullen will be the only one who is armed, and she shall have her weapons stowed while aboard unless absolutely necessary. We will not be the ones shooting first. This first meeting will be done in pressure suits with our helmets open. If the environment is conducive to us, further meetings can be done in our uniforms." She looked around. "Does anyone have any questions?"

Omar spoke up. "Why is Melody the only one who is coming out armed?"

Captain Q'ari's ears shrugged. "Because she frankly, is the best shot here, and we don't need anyone shooting anything accidentally. If we need to run, we run. Lieutenant Mullen will be mostly coming out armed to show that we are armed. We're not here to capture them, we don't need to go armed to the teeth."

Fer'resi spoke up "Will we attempt communications with them, or are we leaving that to the Lieutenant too?"

Captain Q'ari's ears flicked, a raised eyebrow. "If you think you can communicate with them without causing an incident, by all means. We know Lieutenant Mullen can speak their language - somehow - so she should probably do the majority of the talking. FarReach will be listening in, and you should be running recorders too so we can build a language model for the translators. Hopefully, on the next visit we can all speak to them at least a small amount." She clapped her hands. "Okay everyone. We're docking in an hour and disembarking sometime after that. Take it easy, but don't get complacent."

We all left the dining hall and I headed to the airlock where our pressure suits are kept. I decided to be extra methodical and cleaned and checked the suit before we needed to be ready. I wanted it to shine. Since it's a hard suit (mine is armored, everyone else uses a softer, more flexible suit normally) I'm able to take a little rotary polisher and apply some compound and really make it glow. When I'm done, it's not only clean and bright, but it's also smoother too. The blue of my armor looks deep enough to go fishing in. "Nicely done, Melody" FarReach remarks as I put the tools away. "You're sure to impress when you get out there."

I laughed, "Thanks FarReach, I hope so. I feel like there's going to be a lot of attention on me, so I want to look and feel my best. Do you think there's time for a coffee before we leave?"

"Just enough, Melody, if you go now."

I didn't have to be told twice. I headed over to the kitchenette and got out my coffee supplies. While I was working, Mei'la came by.

"Oh hi Mei!" I said brightly while I waited for the water to boil. "Did you have any trouble after we went to WEP?" Sometimes going to War Emergency Power can cause undue wear and tear on the reactors and it's a hassle to clean up afterwards. Better than dying though.

Her ears said no. "Not this time. It was the first time we went to WEP since the reactors were overhauled, so we had headroom to spare." She shook her head. "If we have to do it a lot though, I'm going to be busy. We can be down three reactors at a time, but any more than that and we have to turn off systems to keep within our power budget and we're limited to linking only when the batteries and capacitors are charged."

Starjumpers tend to have between 4 and 6 human made power reactors. I say "tend to" because they've been built for nearly a thousand years, so there isn't like, one singular type. Any really large ship that was originally designed to go between colony words at relativistic speeds is called a Starjumper. It's not like a class of ship.

Mei sees me thinking and comments. "FarReach is a newer Starjumper though, so it was relatively overbuilt. They have 6 reactors so we have gobs of power."

"Why so many?" I wondered out loud, hoping FarReach was listening.

"Mostly because when this Starjumper was built we were at war." FarReach answers. "I wasn't FarReach at the time this one was built, but looking through it, I can see the signs. It was built during the New Wellington/Parvati Colony War. It's massively overpowered so that it could fire the Stardrive and the laser batteries and the wormhole generator and support a crew.

"Wow" I said out loud. I remember reading about the war in school. Parvati and New Wellington got into an argument about trading rights with Earth and got into a war about it. Parvati launched a dozen multi-tonne lozenges of pure tungsten towards the colony at nearly 80% the speed of light. When they struck a couple of years later, it obliterated the colony. New Wellington is no more, and Parvati was a pariah for nearly a century. These days, many people from Meíhuā still have animosity towards people from Parvati. It's one of the reasons I don't usually announce I'm from Meíhuā. We're a small, more insular colony and I don't want people to judge me based on where I'm from.

Oops, I almost let the coffee over extract while I was daydreaming. I finished the pour and had just enough time to savor it before it was time to go suit up.

Over near the airlock, I got out my suit and started putting it on. I was the first one here, but as my suit took longer, that made sense. When I had my pants on, everyone else showed up and started suiting up.

Since a pressure suit is to vital to your survival, everyone makes sure everyone else has their suit on correctly and it's in good order. We all look over each other's suit and make sure the seals are clean, the environmental controls are active and working and that we have plenty of air. While we were suiting up Omar said "Melody, your suit practically shines! Did you polish it?"

"Actually, I did." I say proudly. "I ran the mini buffer over it with polishing compound. Like the Captain said, "look good, feel good." I grinned.

Captain Q'ari nodded as well before she put her helmet on. "The lieutenant is correct. Lieutenant Adel, you could take a lesson from her." Omar's suit was in fine order, but it was a little scuffed at the elbows and knees. Captain Q'ari's suit was spotless, as to be expected.

"Yeah yeah, I'll clean and polish it after we come back." He grumbled.

Suited up, I looked more bulky and intimidating than I was outside of the suit. It made me a few centimeters taller and broadened my shoulders but it still kept most of my form and - if I say so myself - I can pull it off. I looked good. I walked over to the weapons locker and touched the handle. It registered my biometrics and the door popped open. I took my rifle, checked to make sure it was safe and loaded and slung it behind my back. Then I reached in and took my submachine gun, did the same thing and strapped it to my waist. I dithered over taking extra magazines and deiced that was a little too much. The full magazine in the rifle and in the sub would have to be enough. Like the Captain said, I wasn't expecting to shoot anyone.

When I was finished with the weapons, everyone else was suited up. Captain Q'ari looked at all of us and said "Are we ready? Let's go make history." and walked over and cycled the airlock.

Part 9

[ollie-olliebaby]

"Hello? This is Ollie!" Their voice was chipper as they answered the phone that aftertnoon. Balancing a box of files and a freshly made beverage in their grasp, they almost didn't catch the name that was being said on the other line.

"Uh..hello, my name is Clifton Malo. I'm looking for an Olivia Malo?"

Stopping dead in their tracks, it took them a moment to process what was being said. They hadn't heard their birth name in years. Dropping the box sending its contents scattering across the apartment floor, their drink going with it; Ollie's heart dropped.

"Hello? Hello?" The voice said again. "...please don't hang up." They begged.

"It's...uh....my name is Ollie Malo...can I help you with something?" They asked, the weariness of someone twice their age very evident.

"Oh, uh sorry, Ollie. I uh....jesus how do I say this.." He mumbled. "My name is Clifton...and I uh, well if what I've found to be correct.." There was a moment of poignent silence. Like he was trying to find the best way to break this news.

"I'm your father."

Stumbling back a bit into the nearst hard surface, in this case their hallway wall, Ollie couldn't bring themselves to speak. Frankly all they wanted to do was chuck their phone across the room and pretend it had never happened. But, they couldn't do that, could they? They still had an option to hang up.

"How did you find this number?" They asked after silence on both of their ends. Ollie was already starting to build up the needed walls to protect their heart. If anything, this wouldn't be a reapeat of what happened with their mother.

"I uh, well I've been searching for your moth-...well for Raina. For decades now, and when I finally hit a break through a few years ago she addmitted, albeit very reluctantly, that she had a child. And that the child was mine. Seems we both had the same intention. She mentioned meeting you and how that went."

The tears were starting to sting the back of their eyes. It was taking everything in them not to just let the flood gates open up. "Okay....I do-don't...what do you.." Words were hard. Thinking was hard.

This was hard.

Clifton let out a sigh, running his fingers through his salt and peppered hair. "I know...this is a lot to ask of you. This is a lot for anyone to go through. But, I would like to meet you. I want to explain myself? If that would help anything. I promise you if I had known you were in this world, I wouldn't have let her give you up."

"Please...can we meet? Anywhere that you are comfortable, I just...I'd like a chance. If you are willing to give me just once chance and then if you never want to see me again, I unders-" Clifton was starting to babble a little bit. A trait Ollie must have picked up from them.

"Enchanted Rose Cafe. Thirty minutes." And with that statement they hung up the phone.

Ollie wanted nothing more than in that moment to sink into the baseboards of that hallway floor. To let the all of the knots and cracks in the wood stain to swallow them up and make them disapper. But this was what they wanted, right? To find their family.

It took another ten or so minutes for OIlie to peel themselves off the chestnut polish on the ground and get ready to leave.

They tried their hardest to not think too hard as they went down to the cafe. "I wonder what he looks like? Is he old? Does have grey hair?I wonder if he chews at his nails like I do." Too many thoughts were spinning through their brain as they came up to the door. About to grab the handle, a tember voice stopped them.

"Ollie!" Clifton called out from his spot at one of the outside tables.

There he was. Standing in all is 6'2 glory. Clifton Malo.

Ollie's Father.

Ollie hated how much they looked like their parents. They could see it when they had met their mother, they could see it even more now meeting Clifton.

"Hi.." They said gently. Their usual bubbly personality locked and protected behind the wall they had newly constructed. Unsure of where to take things now. "Please, come sit." He said gesturing over toward a table that already had one of their favorite drinks sitting there.

"I uh wasn't sure what you liked, but someone that worked here seemed to know you, so they made this." Taking a seat, he waited patiently for Ollie to join him and when they finally did, a sort of relaztion settled into his shoulders.

"So...what did you want?" Ollie asked, wanting to get right to the point.

"A chance." He replied. "A chance to say that I'm sorry for what you have been through. To try and make up for lost time? I know it's probably a lost cause. So much time has been lost and I know I am partially at faul-"

"It's not your fault you didn't know about me." Ollie stepped in. "...it was my mo-...it was Raina's fault." Picking at the skin around their nails, Ollie couldn't bring themselves to meet his gaze quite yet. "You say that if you had known about me, you would have wanted me?" They questioned.

Clifton nodded his head. "If there is one thing I've always wanted, it was kids. I always wanted to have a family. I thought I would have had that with Raina, despite her having children from a previous relationship, I was ready to take on that responsiblity."

"How noble of you." Ollie almost sneered.

Licking at his lips, Clifton let out another sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I can say outside of that. Just know that I did want you. I do want you, Ollie. If you'd give me the chance, I'd like to get to know you more. Introduce you to family. You've got aunts, uncles, cousins and a very lovely set of grandparents that want to meet you, whenever you are ready."

Ollie swallowed hard, there eyes glazed over with fresh tears. Again, it was something they had always wanted. To have a family of their own. One that looked like them, shared stories of family members long since gone. With the cheesy nicknames and the family love that just about every other family had.

"And what if I'm never ready? What if I've found a family that loves me and cares for me. Who calls me on my birthdays and invites me out for holidays. Who lets me call them at 2am because I had a bad day and I needed to talk to someone. What if I have that and I don't want anything to do with you?" There was a bit of venom in their words. Which was rightly justified. Clifton new that, which was why he took it in stride.

"Then we will part ways after today, and I won't try and contact you." Watching him reach into his pocket, he pulled out a little business card. "This is my information. My personal cell phone, address and email. If...if you ever want to know more, I am ready to tell you anything."

"I've spent years! Searching for people who were mine. For people that were my blood. I understand that Raina fucked us both over, but you can't just waltz in here thinking things are going to be right as rain now." Ollie could feel themselves getting a little hysterical. "I've always wanted a father." They said after a brief pause to reflect. "Someone who would protect me..from everything in the world. To protect me from myself when the days got to rough. But, I didn't get that. I had to learn to protect myself. No thanks to you or Raina."

The tears had started to flow at this point, with little sign of stopping. Clifton picked up a napkain, reaching it out to them Ollie hissed and recolied. "I don't want anything from you." They murmured, finally meeting his eyes. "Right now, I don't want anything from you. You may have aided in my birth, but you are not my father." Getting up from the table, Ollie watched as the light in Clifton's eyes seemed to dim. He had been hoping for this moment as much as they had.

Eyes glancing down again to the business card, they picked it up off the table. Turning it over a few times in their grip, Ollie let out a shaky breath. "This....today was a mistake. I thought I would be ready...but I'm not."

"So...maybe one day?" Clifton ventured, a tinge of hope in his voice.

"Maybe." Ollie replied as they backed away.

"Just not today."

And with that, Ollie turned and left. Leaving a sad, yet hopeful Clifton in the dust as they ran back home.

[lord-shitbox]

part 2 of this ask

📝Process for hurt mezu drawing 

here are the steps i dug out of an art server's wips channel lol

1. initial sketch

2. refine sketch. thats lines now babey. (omitted "the sleeves are KILLING ME WAHHH" stage that led to this)

3. grayscale, to use with gradient map (this is a more polished grayscale than I started with, i dug the working file out to get better images)

4. find nice gradient map (ended up being the same one I'd used for the piece i made right before. the goal is to make what's essentially an underpainting, not to color the whole thing with one map)

5. tweak and add colors that arent in the map with hard light layers & also sneak in a layer for special effect and atmospheric/ scenic perspective while you're at it

6. shading & more finishing effects. pretty much all of the shading was done with hard light layers! the only non-hard light layers I used for the shading were the particle effect layers & like one faint glow layer to fix some values. blood was done with linear burn

✨Inspiration for hurt mezu drawing 

the coloring method (grayscale -> saturated gradient map underpainting -> additive color adjustments) is something I tried out with the piece i'd made right before (the one where gozu is holding mezu from behind) & turned out really well, so I wanted to keep going with it

I also wanted to draw them angstily again because it'd been a very long time. like half a year at least. angsting them is very enriching for my soul so I try to do it regularly, this one was overdue

subconsciously referenced the poses in the initial sketch from this old thing (feb 2021). i love doing this. all my for-fun works recycle old elements in some way. my favorite game is "what old art reminds me of what im doing rn" im so good at digging stuff out of my archives for it. everyone loves when i do this

the gangi-kozou panel also

i went through a "shade in bold red-orange & dark blue with hard light layers" phase in like..april/may of 2021. i still like that stuff a lot so I wanted to revisit it

💚Things you like about hurt mezu drawing

repasting the link there but the sixth image in the process is essentially the final so you can just look at that

the colors are nice!! I'm real happy with using more saturated colors n I think the warm vs cool balance works really well

the sleeves (man being dramatic on the sand meme)

no like fr look at the 2021 piece's kimono sleeves vs the one I just did 2.5 years later. so satisfying

Gozu's expression came out nice

i think the claws and flash lines successfully added Emphasis to Gozu's expression & the piece overall

the poses … the drama …. the brush textures are also good

⏳Things you’d do differently with hurt mezu drawing

add in a liiitle more contrast...aka use a wider range of values. Some lighter lights and darker darks. I miss my 2021 hard neon lighting

a bit more distinction between the characters and the background also

the composition isn't bad but it could be better. Should've thought more about the way the eye would flow around the image in the drafting stage (solid b&w color block thumbnails are good for this)

Moar Sparkles. (I put a solid amount of large & low opacity light bubbles in there & some finer brighter dots especially around the claw stems, but I think more clusters of tiny bright lights on the characters themselves would've gone hard)

💌Some favourite feedback on art

as the wise man Austin Kleon once said: keep a "praise file" of all the positive feedback you get (if you've never read "Steal Like an Artist," you must). so. i am prepared for this question hold on

tastes like sugar glass

multiple people have told me my art is soft & dreamlike

jayce you reblogged my touchstarved art with nice tags on april 10th ive got that saved love uou

umm theres a lot...anytime someone keysmashes or feels emotional because of my art i get happy ,,, lys messaged me about the hurt mezu piece that made me happy also,,,,,there is so much joy in the world

[charlesandmartine]

Friday 3rd April 2024

We awoke in our Pretoria hotel room to the sounds of the city. All day long the minibus taxis operating like buses ply their route in and out of the grid system of roads tooting their horns indicating there are spaces aboard. People gather at what seems as spurious places and climb aboard with minimal or no apparent hailing of the vehicle.

We had our fill of the inclusive breakfast and some perhaps non-inclusive muffins which went down well at lunch. The people we've met have all been so nice, polite and interesting. Our little waiter this morning insisted that he couldn't serve us with an Americano coffee, but could manage an Africano!

The Southern Sun hotel we were guests at were very helpful and allowed us to check out later than usual at 13:00. This gave us time to go look some more at this lovely city. So we stepped out into the cacophony that is Africa walking a km or so down to Church Square; a good starting point to see what there is to see in Pretoria. We blended in well I'd say; Ray-Bans in place, big map in left hand, smelling of sun screen, bright teeshirt, shorts, oh and white. In the time we were out, we saw no other white people! Our incognito took us eventually to the Palace of Justice where Nelson Mandela was tried in 1963. Just to be sure of our facts we asked some crime prevention officers sitting outside the building if this was the Palace of Justice. They looked blank for a moment and gave the only safe answer they could think of, I don't know. We looked for the Tourist Information office which according to the map and endorsed by the big brown sign should be in the corner of Church Square. A helpful chap suggested we try the big building behind us. Once more we were met with total astonishment at such a suggestion that there was a TI anywhere in the vicinity. So we folded the map up and made our way back towards the hotel. We watched a little band of what seemed to be blind street performers doing the African singing bit. We dug deep into the remaining pile of Rand notes that probably collectively amounted to fifty two and a half pence, and gregariously chucked some in the waiting pot enjoying the extremely jolly rhythmic singing. Next I find myself in the place I had earlier successfully avoided having my shoes cleaned and polished. Without warning my left shoe suddenly was engulfed in white foam perpetrated by a very helpful fellow carrying a can of spray polish. Now what options do you have when one shoe has all the attributes of a snow ball and the other retains the hue of the dusty outback. The process had to continue and the fellow appeared quite satisfied with the result, at least until I proffered some more of this toy money they have here. Too small he said despite the fact that his labour had been unsolicited. We came to a common understanding as I exercised my sparkling shoes quickly down the road in the general direction of the hotel. What an enjoyable taste of Africa!

ps Yesterday when we arrived at our hotel we sat outside by the pool and could not help overhearing a very long instructional call a 'Life Coach' was making to a client. He explained that he was extremely excited and passionate about being part of this person's journey as he transitions from being a man to a woman and to help shape their vision regarding how they saw themselves in five years time and what sort of man they might be looking for, but all that starts from within themselves! He went on and on and on and there were times I couldn't quite hear it all as I searched for a bucket! He did also mention his book quite a few times throughout the conversation.

pps We positioned ourselves by the pool again hoping we would receive some more essential information from the 'Life Coach'. Sadly he wasn't here today so lesson two will be missing from my portfolio.

ppps Just spoken to Phil Spencer in Johannesburg airport. We complimented him on his excellent program.

[rickie-the-storyteller]

Another Snippet of Book 2!

Last night was the Kennedy's annual fancy fundraiser dinner night.

It was held in Tippers Hall, as per usual. A wonderful sight to behold... walls adorned with intricate golden leaf designs, and floors made of bright, perfectly polished marble. The room was furnished with a bunch of round wooden tables and plush velvet chairs, which were this soft maroon tone, matching the curtains. I'm pretty sure there was a fireplace in a random corner somewhere. But most elegant of all (at least to me) were the series of gold and crystal chandeliers all around the place, that cast a warm glow over everything. The whole evening seemed to be draped in this gauzy veil of golden light.

Only the best for the best, I guess. And by "the best," I mean "the rich." Like El and her family.

Some light piano music was gently floating around in the background, as I made my way to El's table.

As the chatter of the seemingly endless number of guests and partygoers resonated like a distant echo, I couldn't help but question the sincerity of the jovial atmosphere that enveloped the room. The clinking of glasses and laughter seemed hollow and devoid of purpose. To my ears at least.

I don't know. Maybe I'm biased, though. Since I actually have important things to think about right now.

Anyway, it wasn't too long before I finally found her. She was sitting at a table by herself, eating. Not at all unusual for Elise Kennedy, especially in situations like this. She hates big social gatherings and parties, and would much prefer lounging around in her bedroom reading than to have real fun with others.

I found myself perched on the edge of the cluttered table, watching Elise. I was completely unsure of what to say all of a sudden. Mini brownies lay in a tray before her, her fingers delicately savouring each bite. Eventually, my presence seemed to catch her attention, as she looked back up at me and smiled warmly. So warmly that it melted a small section of my heart just a little. I tried to smile back (and I made a real, genuine effort to actually look sincere this time, so no one suspects anything), and tried to initiate some conversation.

"What's going on here?"

"I don't even know anymore," she admitted with a shrug. Then she giggled. Not like an actual giggle... I know how El laughs when she's happy. This wasn't like that. Her laughter now was a fragile façade that betrayed her true thoughts. Thoughts that she never wants to share anymore.

And that angers me.

Yeah. "Anger" is a good word.

I've been angry for a while now... sometimes at her, other times at myself for being mad at her. Like, it's not like I want to be mad at her or anything... and it's not like I have much of a right to be, either, considering all the shit I've put her through.

I've been all over the place lately. I'm losing my fucking mind here... and I would typically tell El about it, but lately, I don't feel like there's much of a point in that anymore. She won't tell me anything anymore, so why should I?

She continued. "I hate doing this, but I can't stop."

For a minute, I thought she was finally giving me something... but then I realised that she was referring to her brownie indulgence. Which just irritated me more. My frustration only continued to grow as she continued to laugh (when there's literally nothing to be laughing about, by the way).

"I suck. I'm so weird. I mean, you know how it is," she went on.

Well... she has a point. I do know how it is.

Maybe that's why I wasn't quite as irritated with that statement.

A bit of the hurt and tension I'd been carrying with me all day kind of dissolved after this. It wasn't quite as hard to fake a smile anymore. I looked into her eyes, and she looked back. There was this vulnerability in her eyes that I could also hear echoing in her voice.

"A couple of years back, that was literally me with nicotine," I offered. She remembers this. It has been almost a year since I officially decided to quit smoking. And she was a very supportive figure through all of that. That was one of the things I loved most about her. About our relationship in general. The support. For almost as long as I can remember, we've always been at each other's side, ready to take on any challenge.

I can't help but feel like we've lost that a bit. And it's kind of my fault.

Okay... mostly my fault.

I really have no right to be angry with her, do I?

"Mmm. Not sure it's quite the same thing. But I get what you're saying."

She's still smiling. And all I can really think right now is "Man... people shouldn't be allowed to be as perfect as you."

Her cheerfulness is infectious, I must admit. Even if it is fake...

She's clearly lying. She's clearly trying to hide something from me, which isn't okay (and has been infuriating me for ages now). But that doesn't make her less beautiful to me. Elise is a stunning human being. In every way. Like how Christina Aguilera was talking about in that one song of hers. But I digress.

Eventually, I couldn't resist her pull. I shifted closer, our shoulders slightly brushing as I sat down beside her. I started to feel a little bit lighter. Being close to El just feels right to me, I don't know how else to say it.

She continued to smile, but her eyes sparkled, hinting at tears that never seemed to fall.

Or maybe I'm just imagining it?

For a while, neither of us had any words to say. As the silence hung heavy, Elise's eyes met mine, and she spoke, her words wavering. "So, you want some?" Her question seemed loaded with the weight of our unspoken truths. I think.

I've never considered myself to be an overthinker, but here I am wondering whether or not every little thing is a sign of something bigger than it likely is. Like, maybe this is her way of telling me she's not well. That she's just as unhappy as I am. But it could also be her simply asking if I want some baked treats.

How the hell am I supposed to know anything anymore?!

If she was asking the latter, then my answer was no, of course. But before I could utter the word, she saved me the trouble. "No? Good. I didn't want to give you any, anyways."

El has always been creepily good at reading people. Me especially. It's like she knows what my thoughts are before they even start to form in my brain.

I sighed, exasperation welling up within me. I murmured to myself, "What the hell is wrong with everybody here?"

Elise, abruptly stern, challenged me with another question. "What do you mean?"

The frustration I'd been holding back started to come out, growing and raging like a storm. "This party... this whole day... it's like no one gives a single damn. Everybody's just casually celebrating nothing—"

El cut me off at this point, no longer trying to be all fake and light-hearted. "Hey!"

I recoiled for a moment, taken aback. I didn't know what to feel - shocked, upset, or relieved at the fact that she was finally being normal for once. But I didn't stop there. "When some actual serious shit is going on out there in other people's lives!"

"Okay, first of all, this whole function isn't 'celebrating nothing.' This event is raising money for a good cause, and you know that," Elise shot back, her voice tinged with irritation (thank God. I've missed her actually telling me what's what instead of pretending she's okay with everything I say and do). "And secondly, what the heck is wrong with you?"

Upset is the winner. She has the nerve to act like I'M the one being weird here?!

"With me?!" I was incredulous. I couldn't understand why she or anybody else seemed to notice the weight of the world beyond this stupid, pointless dinner!

Elise leaned closer, her gaze unwavering. "Yeah, what's up? Tell me now, I need some answers."

I scoffed in response. I could feel the thick layers of pretence in our relationship that had formed over the past few weeks starting to slip away. And this was what I wanted. What I've been wanting since we got back together... and yet, I don't know whether I'm enjoying it or not. "Nothing, El. Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just having a little thing called feelings. Feelings that everyone here is really, oddly, suspiciously good at NOT having. You especially."

"Oh," Elise replied after a brief thoughtful pause. Everything in her seemed to soften and calm down. Her gaze was full of understanding as she continued, "Okay. I think I might know what this is about…"

I could hardly contain my exasperation any longer. "How? You haven't thought to bring it up once!"

"Neither have you," she countered, her tone challenging. "Directly, I mean. If your tour thingy has been bothering you so much, why haven't you thought to talk to me about it?"

"Because nobody cares! Why should things with you be any different?"

Her voice started quivering as she tried to explain herself. And I almost began to feel bad... until I really thought about what she actually said: "But I do, Bret. You know how much I care—"

Liar.

I finally snapped. "Then why aren't you acting like it?!"

There were real tears in her eyes now. I knew I wasn't imagining it anymore. She stood up and started pacing. She often does this when she's overwhelmed. I got up as well and I followed her as she went further away from our table.

"Of course I'm upset! Of course I'm feeling things, B," Elise finally admitted, her voice breaking. "I just don't want to have to process those things right now, here in this very important event. In front of all my family and our friends. I'm trying to maintain some level of professionalism! That's all! Now can we please just drop it—"

"NO."

"Why not?!"

I shook my head vehemently. "I can't do that anymore, El. I can't just 'drop it' this time. I need to know what you're thinking right now! I'm not like you! I suck at reading people, I almost never know what you think! I need you to tell me—"

"Bret!"

"I need you to tell me... WHY! Just, why. Why aren't you acting like you're at least slightly unhappy about me leaving at the end of the year?!"

And it was at this point that El broke down. It was her turn to snap.

"I AM UNHAPPY!"

(I think the pianist heard that. Poor guy lost his place in the piece he was playing, and he totally messed up.)

The dam broke, and everything came flooding out. Her thoughts, her feelings, her tears. She was finally opening herself up completely.

Just like I wanted. I think.

"I've BEEN unhappy since I first heard the news! What, you think this is fun for me? You think I'm enjoying this? You think I'm-I'm bouncing up and down at the thought of you leaving me?! Just when we've gotten back together?! I'M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND HERE! Don't you understand that?!"

The entire room fell silent, the weight of our words hanging uncomfortably heavy in the air. I took my eyes off Elise for the first time since I first came to her side and I looked around the room to find that the whole hall was now watching us. All of this untamed pain and confusion that the both of us had been barely holding down was now out and exposed for all to see.

I turned back to El (who's weirdly more beautiful than ever somehow…), and she's bright red. Clearly very embarrassed. She quickly apologises to the piano guy and rushes out of the room, the door slamming hard behind her.

I got what I wanted. What I've been wanting since I first heard that my band would be going on tour. Elise's honesty. How she truly feels about me leaving.

My girlfriend has finally told me the truth, and everyone here knows about it. I have proof. I have witnesses.

I win, I suppose.

So why don't I feel like a winner? I feel... wrong.

___

This is an early draft of a chapter in UVC that I titled, "Bittersweet Victory." It takes place a little later on in the sequel, so by now, a ton of stuff has happened... Bret and Steph are no longer seeing each other, Bephanie is now separated (not that this scene has much to do with them), and Bret and El have been beginning to rekindle their relationship. But things aren't going as smoothly as they'd hoped...

This scene is a bit of a turning point in their relationship. A lot of past problems are coming to the surface here, as well as a new big problem that I haven't really gone into here just yet. I'll definitely get into it more in future, don't worry about it.

I hope you liked this! I remember really being into it when I first wrote this lol.

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

For fic truth or dare! 🍓🕯️🔪🌻🪲 please! (Any or all)

Thanks for the ask!

🍓How did you get into fanfiction writing?

My sister started doing it first and I wanted to give it a try (if one of us tries something, the other usually tries it too). My very first fic was based off a small detail I noticed on the edge of a panel in a Pokémon manga, and I wanted an explanation for that. It got in my head, and I wrote it, because I wanted to put it out there and see if anyone else had noticed the detail (I still actually don't have an answer to that).

🕯️On a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? Why is that?

I'd say a 4 or 5. I see editing as sort of a chore. I don't actually READ when I edit, I just sort of skim and do my best to find any typos. On the one hand, it means that I have something to publish and that's exciting. On the other, it means I have to take half an hour or even more than an hour (depending on fic length) editing when I sometimes want to do something else or have a time crunch.

🔪What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Okay, well, this works for both fanfiction and original writing, because I did it for the latter, but it applies to both:

Styles of men's underwear to figure out which one could hold a sanitary pad comfortably. I'm an omega verse writer and do go with the biologically male omegas have vaginas and therefore periods, and I figured not every guy would want to use a tampon, just like women.

🌻Tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis.

@keepmeinmind-01. They were the first fic author I really connected with. At the moment I am just having some trouble connecting with our mutual fandom, so it's been a bit since I read their story or we've talked, as many of conversations are spurred by the story. They wrote such a lovely review on one of my stories that I had to go see if they had a story I could read and review on.

🪲Add 50 words to your current WIP and share the paragraph here.

Dang it, Zelda, that requires me to fact-check, since I have like six WIPs and default to the last one I wrote on! All right, three minutes of fact-checking and one minute to kill a hornet later, here it is more than fifty words:

It started with Anthony Dimmond. Hannibal had met him in France, under the identity he had used there. The man bore an unsettling resemblance to Will Graham, if in a classier, more polished, English way. But that was not what caused fear to strike Bedelia. It was the fact that he knew Roman Fell. She discovered all this when Hannibal invited him to dinner. It had been a blissful few weeks, settling into the new routine they were building now that both of them were pregnant, but one day, when she went to meet him so they could walk home together, he told her they were having a guest over for dinner.

This is from my Hannibal/Bedelia omega verse story, La Sposa del Mostro, set during their time in Italy.

Thanks for playing!

[sioster]

im so sleep deprived,,, but i also interested on the chapter 5 cuz you keep ref to them,,,,, i have a very grabby hands,,, gimme gimme, throw it to my face >which part of that au you personally like? and do you have their designs in mind?

NOOO FINDJNFEVBYFBGF why am I like this and have the urge to reference my stuff 24/7 </3 so sorry ahgnjht ):

not me looking thru all of my school notebooks, workbooks and studentbooks looking for the designs 😭 this is what being addicted to drawing does to a girl instead of drawing only in a single sketchbook </3

very readable summary of the story: (oopsies a bit of blood spilled 'ere)

>wil the hero accidentally blows himself up during a fight (villian dt vs hero sbi minus tommy) (L)

>a civillian (drem) scrapes him off the pavement and tries nursing him back to an okayish state, no bonding here

>dumbass wil leaves the civillian's flat (he's barely walking- dear starclan he's literally breaking down from pain ,,GO BACKKK,, STOP RUNNING OUTSIDE)

>wil meets the villian that he sees as his arch nemesis (dream). Wil initates the fight because he was not very stable at that moment, dream on the other hand sticks to defensive moves since he doesn't want to open up wil's old wounds. Dream slips and cracks open his head like an egg- dream's civillian identity is revealed, wil is torn on what to do, in the end he takes dream back to dream's flat (hes not about to share his addres if he even has one)

-the roles have been reversed, its now wil that has to take care of delirious dream, they finally start to bond. So far the things I have here are just '...sickfic typical stuff again </3' and a comfort after nightmare scene that is important to the growth of their relationship (dream has a nightmare about the time he slipped and wil was practically just yelling and watching him choke on his own blood. in the nightmare however, wil never unmask him so he can breathe- dream chokes, literally drowns in his blood as that face hidden behind bandages watches him. When dream wakes up, wil comforts him and takes off his face bandages by himself for the first time to show that dream no longer asleep and he means the words that he calmed dream with)

-yeah after that i dont really have anything more than just fluff, also yeah at that point wil officialy moves in- it's not like he already was practically living there for the past few months. If this ends up as a fic I'd say to end it here for an open gate if I ever write a sequeal, but fr real I just don't have anything more planned yet lol

Goger- freezes time for short periods of time, long bow

Hero/Villain powers and weapons so far:

Snapneck- fire bending stuff. whatdidya expect </3, fists

Dream- believed by everyone to have super stamina, actually shapeshifter (only dt knows), axe

(there are 2 other heroes (not dsmp) made if I would ever need em in the bg, plus 2 crack antiheroes)

Phil- vampire but instead of bats it's crows (not sure if the blood aspect will stay), a saber

Techno- superstrenght, probably a long sword or a crossbow with some kind of thing allowing for close combat

Tommy (hero apprentice)- electricity, so far doesn't know how to really use it, small daggers

Wilbur- nothing and hes sad about it ): , any kind of explosives (still needs a close range weapon tho..)

So far I only have aliases/hero&villain names for dream (civilian Dream, supervillain Zmora) and wil (civilian Wilbur, superhero Muza)

.... yeah I had to use polish words for them ( : (zmora = mare, muza = muse)

I call this piece "your hands are so close dudes just hold them"

fullbody designs with ugly face bandages since I didn't know what I was doing yet back then... btw ye wil lost a chunk of his right hand to the explosion oopsies 🤗😊

finally good looking c5!wil's face bandages 😭 also bonus at!ratza i guees xD

Oh and a favourite moment... I have a difficulty choosing between the confrontation resulting in cracked egg and the after-nightmare comfort sokbpbsbb0a both of these moments have so much of character in them (not really shown here but man,, this ask answer is already super long) so much of insight on what's going on in their brains nlvlmfmpdpdppkf

[anamoli]

I've gone down a rabbit hole...

Currently, I've been trying to figure out how to work with the sample swatch of turquoise faux leather. It is a thin layer of vinyl that is backed with some white foam. Definitely not something I'd want to be visible.

It also has zero ability to keep a shape. I've been experimenting with inserting a piece of 20-gauge copper wire I have laying around from when I dabbled in wire wrapping. It's been really finicky, and I'd need a really thin seam allowance so that the seam doesn't show past the gold embroidery (I mean, don't even get me started on how that would go!)

I've tried different ways of folding the faux leather to hide that backing AND cover the wire, but I haven't found a way that doesn't make this little puckered corner:

Honestly, kind of a nightmare and not quite the finish I want to have, especially for those sharp corners on all the armor pieces. I thought to myself, "Okay, what if I just sew it down really tightly? That should work right?"

But my sewing machine is a very basic one I got from a sale at Costco for $200. It was not happy with sewing this stuff together. Fine. Hand sewing it is. I want clean, even stitches, so I did some light research on leatherworking and the general process for stitching with it. I learned about overstitcher wheels (first image) and awls (second image). The overstitcher (or spacing) wheels make even marks where the stitching should go and the stitching awl punches holes through the leather.

Fun Fact: apparently leather awls are different than conventional ones. Awls for leather work have a diamond point that'll cut through the leather instead of pushing through. That way there isn't a puckered back!

A company called Tandy Leather was mentioned often in leatherworking forums, so of course I visited their website.

$199 purchase required for free shipping though. 😠 Thankfully, there is a local shop not too far from where I work! So, I paid them a visit and this is where the rabbit hole begins...

First off, I was completely overwhelmed. I didn't realize that they had a really decent selection of dyed leather! Pretty pricey for my needs though, and I definitely do not need an entire hide of cow for this project. But one of the employees was really helpful and even directed me to some more affordable options that is the right size that I needed! He also told me about how to dye leather and all the different options available to get the finish I want.

And he got me. Hook, line, and sinker.

But let's do a cost and time analysis to show that this might actually be the best option for this cosplay.

Cost Analysis

Faux Leather: total of $95

$33: 1yd turquoise faux leather

$29: 1yd burgundy faux leather

$29: goddamn shipping

$ 4: 8yds copper 20-gauge wire

Real Leather: total of $57

$40: 2 veg-tan belly cuts (approximately 3-5 sqft each)

$ 7: 4oz bottle of burgundy leather dye

$ 10: leather finishing (this is to keep the dye locked in)

According to my spreadsheet, I really only need ~5 sqft of leather for ALL the armor pieces, and I could get away with only purchasing one belly cut that's on the larger side for some extra savings.

I didn't include a bottle of turquoise leather dye since I already have a bottle of turquoise Rit Dye ($5) for the rubber I'll be using in the crack climbing gloves. If the Rit Dye doesn't work out, I wouldn't cry over getting another bottle. I also didn't include sponges (used to apply the dye) or a buffing towel (to polish the leather) because I can just steal my sister's makeup sponges and I have plenty of microfiber towels.

The tools did cost a bit, BUT that's because I did get the medium-range quality tools that had interchangeable parts since I'm planning on adding leatherworking to my list of hobbies anyway.

For example, the overstitcher came as set with the handle and 4 different wheels for $20 and the awl also came as a set with the handle, 2 awl blades, a scratch blade, and a lacing blade for $30. There are definitely beginner-grade options that are $10 and $7 respectively. I also purchased a stitching groover for $17, but there are cheaper options around $10.

If we put together the materials and cheaper tools for working with leather, that comes out to be the same price as just the materials for the faux leather (~$85-95). However, it results in a higher quality cosplay and some tools that can be used for other projects.

Time and Effort Analysis

Overall, working with the leather is going to take a lot of time (which I have a lot of, for now...), but it'll look SO good and it's cheaper! Who would have thought?

I'm definitely eating my words that I said last month...

"No, I'm not going to purchase real leather..."

-- Me, an ignorant idiot, Jan 29th

[arsonchaoschild]

mutuals and all

i'd like to cast upon you the utter horror that these presidential elections have been

we got through the first round which lets people pick the two candidates to end up in the second round and actually be voted into presidency

and like

the second round

we have him

who's an oligarch billionaire (in czech currency at least i can't be bothered to do the math) who was just tried for misusing eu donations among other things and then cleared of all charges all while running for president, his party has had the majority in parliament for years up until the last elections (where his party was just barely surpassed by a more conservative one), huge populist, has rolled out outdated surveys about queer people's rights (which never accounted for you being a queer person and had questions like "should gay people have equal rights" you get the picture). he's also overall insanely rude, avoids debates and decided to go into a classrooms to let kids ask him questions, got questions such as "name the planets of the solar system" not by not being able to remember all of them, but by including the sun and the moon and then he proceeded to be rude as hell to the kids and treat them like he treats journalists (not good). not to mention, used to be an active member of the state police during the communist era (denies it. the wikipedia article on state police uses his file as the example photo. honestly incredible). dude's not even czech either, he's from slovakia. he's mostly known in the outside world cause he was included in pandora papers. being this bad of a human being is near impressive but his marketing team somehow makes it all work.

the other one's this. lead NATO for a while, also entangled with state police but from my understanding it was much less horrendous, definitely right/center-right but honestly when the president's most important authority is over naming members of the national bank committee (most likely not the official translation again i can't be bothered) then fucking anyone's better than an oligarch billionaire looking to rule the country like its a company. also just much more pleasant to listen to, since he has common decency and can put together a cohesive sentence. also he's a general. he really wants you to know that he's a general. he replaced his first name, "mr" or "president" with general. everywhere. every bit of the campaign. opposition really wants you to think he'll send the country to war. the president does not have the power to do that. he also really wants you to know he won't be like the current president (which. fair. he sucks) for example by constantly stating that his health will be public knowledge (cause the current president had a whole thing where he's been slowly disintegrating over over the last 10 years and the people knowing nothing last year he nearly died it was a whole thing) but he didn't go as hard as the third biggest candidate who had a full medical checkup done and then put her results on her website and instagram. she was real active on instagram and real proud of the fact she'd always voted right wing. she's her own can of worms.

he's the obvious choice. people are always thirsting for him, this includes my friend's mom and would most definitely include my mom if she wasn't dead. i'm sorry but it's true. i've seen a random polish person on reddit post a picture of him saying he could "annect their polish body". he's really into flannels.

whatever the fuck this is. all that's left is fanfiction. we have copious amounts of fanfiction of this one specific pair of politicians already to the point i've had to block several people because of it cause it didn't seem like they were joking anymore. a lot of the fanfiction is written by slovaks too. so it's not at all a stretch that the fanfiction will come. i'm terrified. i'm purposefully posting this on main instead of my czech blog cause the people of čumblr have had enough already. we're oversaturated. i need to bang my fists on a new table. i've been sick with fever this past week and any amount of the election events may have been a fever dream. goodbye.