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queenlucythevaliant · 7 months

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Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?”

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him.

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say.

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food.

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered.

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her.

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?”

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.”

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try…

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

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head---ache · 2 months

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It's crazy to me how one can experience parasocial relationships even at such a small scale, because I don't think of myself as popular at all, and yet I still get people acting as if we were friends after interacting once or twice. Like, it's nuts that I even feel the need to say this, but!!! you shouldn't expect me to give you my socials just because i've answered your asks a few times!!!! and even if i do end up giving them to u (because maybe i find u cool because that can happen yknow) we still arent friends because i still dont know you!!!!! Im not closed to making friends but a friendship isnt so one sided!!!!! At least let me get to know you before you come up to me acting as if im obligated to talk to you and tell you about me!!!!!/lh

#i truly want u to read this in the nicest way possible btw nskdbskf #im not mad but this does make me uncomfy from time to time #like im REALLY flattered that u guys think im cool and all butttttt #thats really one sided!! i dont know you!!! please keep that in mind!!!!

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canisalbus · 10 months

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My absolute favorite thing about your blog, even more favorite that Vachete, is the care and interest you put into each response. Be it an ask or an art piece, you always eloquently break down each individual aspect and comment on them. It always makes me smile.

#aw geez #thank you! that's such a sweet thing to say!#these are things I like to talk about so it's not like people have to try very hard to get me to ramble about stuff I hold dear #tumblr as a whole seems to have an atmosphere that encourages being open about passions special interests and one's creative projects #it's terribly flattering that folks are interested in engaging with what I make to begin with I don't take that for granted #and having your original characters depicted by other artists is a huge deal #it takes time and effort and thought to create anything especially if it's for someone else #I try my best to let them know that I've stopped to look at and think about their work in a way it deserves #and I like art and I like talking about and analyzing it and if someone made it for me and it features my brain goobers I like it even more #plus I know receiving comments is rewarding so I try to write ones that take longer than a few seconds to read #every time I get thoughtful feedback the good feeling lingers for ages and I'd imagine most people feel the same way #answered #hylorien

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front-facing-pokemon · 1 year

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#aron #now. i was going to write some tags about how aron is cute and it's probably one of my favorite steel-types. but this is not a very #shall we say. Flattering Angle. this is definitely One of the angles of all time. for aron #they look like a skeleton. but with eyes. like a scary halloween skeleton. does that make sense. i wouldn't be able to tell this is aron #if you showed this to me and i just had to guess what it was. i have no idea #so. formal thank-you to aron for existing. big fan

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basket-of-radiants · 5 months

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Ok hi!!!! I love all your takes on the characters and it's rlly interesting! I also think moash is a very nuanced and fascinating character. I'm kinda mad at him after he tried to convince Kal to k!ll himself but I think he's a great charcter with lots of depth and your pinned post was so interesting because it said so much about moash! Anyway sorry bye!!!

Hello!!! Thank you!! I apologize for inflicting that post on you, but I'm glad you read/enjoyed it! ty for letting me know <3<3<3

#i pinned it kinda as a joke but also bc i'd keep getting sent moash hate from new followers #and while there are many places in this fandom that are receptive to that. i am not really one of them.#man remember when i read ob in 2017 and liked it and so came onto the internet to draw characters from it w/ no knowledge of this fandom #i wasn't a moash-poster back then (all szeth all the time baby) but i was shocked by how everyone talked about one of my fav characters #these days there are plenty of people here who like him but back then i felt like i had to claw out a space for myself to discuss him #largely just felt that the kind of hate he got was counterproductive to any deeper discussions or critiques of the narrative #of course in present that essay mostly serves as a barrier to entry for new people following my blog #because the real question of course is how you guys keep finding me #it's sort of a ''come for the silly drawing you saw somewhere‚ stay for the erratic and long-winded discourse'' kind of vibe #anyway. always nice and flattering to meet new people. sorry i don't post much here anymore.#i make up for it how much i ramble in the tags tho

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good-beanswrites · 8 months

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Hi Beans, I’m finally here. Diluting the sad with fun and very OOC.

I don’t really have a lot of ideas about what to write, but I remembered that I shared my idea of Es with the chivalrous Argenti's personality. So. AU in a vacuum (maybe an actors AU, maybe not), where Es thought that it would be funny to surprise the prisoners with the behavior of a knight(maybe Jackalope came up with that idea, maybe just strange sense of humor). What about the prisoners' reactions? (gallantry and compliments to plants attached) I think Mahiru would have joined the drive even if she didn’t really understand what happened. Fuuta would probably say "ugh, cringe" and that would make him a great target for the rest of the day.

YESS ahahaha, this is such a fun idea! I wrote a little scene with a few characters, but honestly it's hysterical picturing any of them trying to figure out how to react to this new and sparkling Es... I went for a version where not even Jackalope was prepared, but I can certainly see him suggesting something crazy like that to shake things up omg. Thank you so much for the request! The original meme was made by Mug, and I couldn't help but do a doodle myself ✨🌹

Amane was the first to witness it. She fled as soon as possible, finding sanctuary in the common room. The others were surprised as she stumbled in, face pale and eyes wide. Very little could frighten the girl; it was not a good sign.

Yuno moved to comfort her. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes went distant with the harrowing memory. “It’s Es,” was all she said.

“Did they do something cruel?”

“No. Worse.” Amane shivered. “They were… nice.”

“They were what?”

Amane opened her mouth, but paused at the sound of heels clicking down the hallway.

She stiffened. “If you need me you can find me in my cell.” She disappeared as quickly as she came. The others, who had been listening in on the odd conversation, gaped after her. They tried to piece together what had been so unsettling. Still, Es’ boots approached.

All eyes landed on the doorway.

And Es appeared. They looked very normal. Jackalope hopped up behind them. All shoulders sagged in relief. Es surveyed the room, slightly surprised to find everyone staring.

Then, they smiled.

It was a genuine, bright smile. The blue-gray of their eyes sparkled with a new light. Their lips parted to release a lighthearted laugh, unlike anything the prisoners had heard from them before.

They glided through the room, heels clicking lightly behind them until they came to Muu. The others stood frozen in place.

Es swept their cape aside with a grand flourish of their arm. They held both her hand and her gaze with warmth.

“Why, hello, Muu! You’re looking as positively lovely as always. Has this fine morning treated you well?”

“Um…” She looked to everyone, her face pleading for a little guidance. They were too busy looking eagerly to her in astonishment. “Uh… yes?”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” They reached behind themself. The room let out a soft gasp as they produced a pale pink flower from underneath their cape.

“For you, my dear.”

They didn’t wait for her to finish stuttering a confused ‘thank you’ before they turned to whoever was standing closest. Mahiru’s own face lit up as Es turned their glimmering gaze her way. Fuuta scoffed, muttering something about this being the lamest, cringiest thing he’d witnessed. Es pretended not to hear.

“Shiina Mahiru… a smile like yours is rare to find in a place like this. I thank you for it.” They pinched their chin and angled their head, thinking. “The meaning of your name has to do with light, correct?”

She nodded, unable to keep the giddiness from her face. The others watched as Es moved their glove behind once more. Surely there was no room for any more flowers hidden there…

Surely they were all mistaken – Es flicked their wrist to present a small gathering of yellow blooms.

“Something radiant for someone as bright as you.”

She fell over herself with gratitude and giggles. She tried to tuck it into her hair, and Mikoto stepped over to help her. The pair raised their eyebrows at each other in disbelief.

This time, Es retrieved their gift before turning to their next victim. A classic red rose. They caught a prisoner’s gaze.

“Oh, no. Nope. No way.” Fuuta held up his hands, as if it could ward them off. “I don’t want your stupid-ass flowers.”

“Now, now, I see you’re playing hard to get, as usual.” They brushed their thumb along the thorny stem. “You know, the rose has a very similar approach.”

Fuuta’s face now matched the flower’s color. “Wha–” He stumbled backward, then took off running to the door. “I don’t know what weird mind games you’re trying to pull, but I’m staying out of it!”

Es only clicked their tongue gently when he disappeared. “Always making things difficult, that one. All part of his charm, I suppose.”

They followed to the entrance. Turning briefly, they flashed their smile once more.“It was wonderful to see you all! I will await our next meeting eagerly.”

With a fluttery wave, they vanished.

Everyone’s attention shot to Jackalope, who had paused in the doorway. No one could understand his voice, but his little rabbit face seemed to say, Hey, don't look at me. I have no fucking idea.

#milgram #es #muu kusunoki #mahiru shiina #fuuta kajiyama #featuring others #asdfsadfs its so silly i love that for them 😂#i hope i wrote them alright -- i dont usually analyze that character type for writing too much 😅#i think yuno and muu would be suspicious at first since theyre used to fake people but would see it was all harmless and accept es' kindnes #haruka and mahiru are super flattered all the time <3 mikoto enjoys it but doesnt really take the compliments to heart #fuuta is downright disgusted but YES it makes him the biggest target 😂#shidou and kazui dont quite understand #but theyre both poetic guys and would probably nod along and muse on what es is saying about flowers and beauty #i wrote amane uncomfortable for the comedy but honestly i think shed enjoy it too after getting over her confusion #kotoko just tries to talk to es as normal #theyll give her a poetic speech complimenting her only to be met with #'yeah i know but thats not important. now as we were talking about...'#no one knows where they keep getting all these flowers from #asdfsdf the art had me cackling the whole time -- if you post yours lmk!!! it was so perfect omg #drabbles

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prettymediocrewizard · 23 days

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Sorry not art related but! I've mentioned a few times how much I enjoy music, and finally gave in and made a last.fm account! I'm prettyokwizard over there~

Just uhh, give it some time to fill out (and eventually see how I just listen to the same random mixes over and over again)

#btw i listen to quite a few different genres and usually go on kick for days or week(s) at a time #gonna try n import some playlists too but some songs seem to be unplayable oops #mutuals let me know if you have one too and i'll follow back... I love music recs and see what people listen to!!#(I was very flattered a year ago to have someone ask if i had an acc bc i was sharing music in a public server but was too shy to make one)#(until now that is ehehe)

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just-french-me-up · 1 year

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hey hi i'm buzzing with the need for dreamling fic recs if you would be so kind as to point me in your favorite direction pls pls pls

Oh friend, you asked and I shall ✨ deliver ✨

DREAMLING FIC RECS 🌻✨

of my misery make thy use by @qqueenofhades (Explicit - WIP - 129k so far - In Universe, but with some tweaks, Rescue fic) Dream is Roderick Burgess' prisoner, in all his silent, sullen, naked glory, and has given up on the thought of anyone ever helping him out of there. Even Hob Gadling. Especially Hob Gadling. In fact, he's quite sure the man never wants to speak to him ever again, regardless of his current predicament. A bummer, really, because he also happens to be married to him. (Listen that fic has slain me EVERY WHICH WAY, it has EVERYTHING, it will take you PLACES (literally), it's rewarding as fuck, has OCs to die for, just... just read it, ignore the WIP status, what's there is absolutely chef's kiss)

the unknown and static strange by @qqueenofhades (yes, again, listen, if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more bla bla bla) (Mature - WIP - 69K so far (nice) - Dubious AU status, Memento mets Academia, Modern day with a twist) Professor Robert Gadling, under cut rocking, weird dreams having, and trauma suffering, discovers a strange piece of undocumented art that seems to follow him everywhere he goes. The Regis Somnorum won't leave him alone, and as he tries to follow that thread, a whole mysterious tapestry unfolds, putting everything he knows, or thought he knew, into question. (This fic is a fucking delight, it's just KEEPS feeding you "oh shit" moments and suspense and revelations and the pacing just keeps you on the edge of your SEAT. Again, IGNORE the WIP status I BEG OF YOU, read it, devour it)

This Rough Magic by @avelera (Mature - WIP - 36k so far - Rescue fic with a twist) Hob Gadling never fancied himself a mage or a warlock, but dabbled enough in the occult to pick up a few tricks over the years, all in the hope to communicate with his Stranger. A stranger, he later discovers, who is trapped under Roderick The Fucking Magus Burgess's manor. Now, he may not be the best magic wielder there is.... but Burgess doesn't know that, does he? (There are some VERY clever things in this fic, everyone is written to a T, I love a fic where my loathing of Burgess can burn from the brightest flame and at the same time have him not like a cartoon villain but a full human being! Can't wait to see where that goes!)

if you just let me (have you, love you) by Lost_Elf (Explicit - 25k - Human AU - Adult Film Actors AU (I see you tumblr, restricting words these days, I see you) Both very prominent in their own niches of the Internet, Dom-BDSM-oriented Dream and Vanilla-centered Hob cross paths and plan what could be (or so their managers hope) the collab of the century. And they might learn a thing or two along the way. (Listen, I read this on a whim, I wasn't too into Human AUs at the time, I was up for some smut that day, and this fic is a LOT more wholesome than the subject lets on and really gripped me! Lots of very nice details in there! And also, you know.... smut)

by the minute by @issylra (Explicit - 11K - Human AU, Sex Phone Operator Dream) Dream has a bet with Desire : he has to manage a phone sex line for some time. He's not thrilled by it. Callers are... unimaginative and unoriginal, to say the least. Except one. He has a very nice voice. He's funny. And he sounds just about as lost as he is, in life. (The tags make it sound super raunchy but it's more about developping attraction through someone's voice and getting to know someone through the phone and falling in love and.... it's just lovely, it's very sweet, it's like a little blanket with a warm cup of tea, really)

Now I KNOW this is not what you EXPLICITELY asked for but.... dare I suggest..... something with an OC thrown in the mix? Cause that's just adding a fun player to the game, with added stakes, really!

as heart for heart, for loving me by @kittttycakes (hello darling) (Explicit - WIP but soon to be finished - 151k so far - Canon compliant - OT3 if there ever was one - How to polyamory, a guide for Dream of the Endless, a primordial being who needs to use his goddamn words) When Dream finds Hob at the New Inn, he's ready to open up a little. Be a friend. Be a little more than that, though he can't quite articulate it. The only issue with that is that Hob has a girlfriend. A live-in girlfriend. A very much serious girlfriend. Dream tries his darnest to hate her, and finds he can't quite bring himself to. (It's soft, it's lovely, it has angst, it has smut, it has fluff for days, it has developping relationships GALORE (plural) and it's just a nice read to switch up your rotation, cause the potential for situations is tripled now!)

#the sandman #sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #dream x hob gadling #fic recs #sandman fics #the sandman fics #sandman fanfiction #sandman recs #I'm waking my way through in the waking world we wait and we want cause i'm a fucking slow reader and it's a monster of a thing #but it's also v v v nice #my dyslexic brain is killing me but i'm still standing #anyway one day i'll make a rec of all the shorter e rated fics ive read for dreamling #cause there are a few and shorter fics also deserve a shoutout #you'll be BUSY dear asker #also thank you so much for asking me ????? idk where that came from but i'm FLATTERED #hope you havent read all of those already #but also that's me giving lil reviews to those writers cause!!! hey love yo work you know #also watch me write all those summaries and struggle to come up for ANYTHING when it comes to my own fics is2g #i'm the type of gal who reads one fic at a time so my reading list is fucking growing by the DAY

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