#help I'm running out of ideas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hadesknockedupintheunderworld · 3 months ago

Text

Okay hear me out hear me out hear me out

Sonic who's litho and Tails who's demi

(Sort of headcanons/thoughts/au musing under the cut)

ㅤ

Tails coming to terms with his desires regarding his best friend, wishing to hold and to be held, to kiss and to be kiss, to take care of and to be taken care of, to share as many domestic moments as one can, to take a shared adventure for the fun of it, to be intimate in a way only lovers could be, right?

And that's where the subtle horror lies in the slow realization of feelings.

To want to be like someone and to admire them is one thing. To want to be someone's friend is one thing. To want to stick with one person you like is one thing.

But to love and desire someone in that way is another.

Tails has kept watch over Sonic's relationships. He's known him long enough to spot trends in how Sonic acts. The rules, so to speak

Sonic always makes the first move. When others express interest in him (depending on the nature of the interest or how obsessive) he preens at the praise at best, treating this person like a fan, and runs away or his expression betrays his uncomfortableness/disgust at worse. This means Sonic has to be interested in you first.

Whether he even realizes the attraction himself or not, Sonic tends to start a bit strong, but this is because of his usual target (people who are able to match or challenge him in a fight). Even if the other person seems uninterested, he has no problem flirting and teasing a bit during altercations

Sonic's romantic relationships never last longer than a year at best

As one can see, the rules are a bit stacked against him to start (at least, from Tails' pov). He's Sonic's best friend and, while they do fight sometimes, that kind of role is hardly comparable to a rival or an archenemy. Sonic gets a specific look in his eyes when engaged in an interesting battle, banter rolls off his tongue like honey. He never gets like this towards Tails. There's no situation (whether during a shared battle or in his lab or when they're just hanging out together) where Sonic looks at him with that level of interest (at least, from Tails' pov).

Of course, Tails wouldn't want to be Sonic's rival anyways (best friend is the kind of role younger him had always coveted), but it doesn't mean he can't be a little jealous...

And of course Tails knows Sonic cares about him, appreciates him. That's never really been in question either.

It's just, in the end, even if his wildest dreams came true—if he confessed his feelings, Sonic reciprocated, they started dating and it didn't ruin their best frienship—how would it then pan out? In the end, whether Sonic would return his feelings is the least of his worries!

Because Tails has seen what happens.

One of Sonic’s rivals, for example. Before they got together, Sonic enjoyed teasing and flirting with them casually. And at the beginning of their relationship, they would race each other often (perhaps more often than they had before). It was their favorite form of date—to have a "friendly" competition, followed up by sunsets and dinner on the go. Really, they almost couldn't get enough of it. But then...things shifted. Sonic didn't enjoy racing them quite as much anymore. That passionate interest began to palpably fade, and the two began to disagree. Eventually, Sonic’s presence was more of a casual one. Tails could see that he enjoyed going out to eat with his ex and hanging out with them in general, but while that was all fine and good, his ex hadn't lost that passion. So with every poke and prodding and proposition for a race, Tails could see his ex become resentful in that Sonic didn't want to be this way with them as much as they used to. Eventually every "I don't feel like it" from Sonic turned into a fight ("when do you ever feel like it?" his ex would follow up with). In the end, Sonic’s ex is still fixated on him. While they wouldn't admit it, they want Sonic’s attention back. Even without being romantic partners, they still cling to rivalhood, challenging Sonic and showing off whenever they can. But Sonic... He doesn't take it so well. Someone who was once a rival and partner to him is now an annoyance—just another person too obsessed with him. They're still fixated on Sonic, but Tails knows Sonic would be happy if they gave it up. That relationship can never be the same again.

Sonic even had a childhood friend once—his very first relationship like that. Not that they're not friends anymore, but things are different now. There was a time where Sonic traded banter with this person often, those who knew them would remark how they fought like a married couple, and they saw the looks they'd shoot each other when the other wasn't looking. It only seemed natural to onlookers that these two would get together, and yet...it took some time. Sonic would be jealous when others pursued that person, and yet, for a while, whenever they pursued him or it seemed the perfect moment to confess, he'd run. For a long while when anyone (even Tails) would ask why he wasn't dating anyone, he would just answer that he didn't want to be tied down. But he eventually gave in, decided he had no choice but to confess his feelings, and (as everyone knew would happen) these feelings were reciprocated. In fact, a number of people even though the two had been dating for years before that. But...things didn't stay all sunshine and rainbows for long. The relationship ended with a (literal) slap in the face for his best friend. The two's interests and futures had grown apart, and even love couldn't change Sonic's nature. In the end of it, he still wanted to be a free spirit, a magnet for danger, a hero to the masses. Just like with that rival of his, though the relationship was seemingly passionate at first, Sonic couldn't sustain those feelings. Sonic's partner wanted someone for life, wanted him to choose their projected future, wanted to keep him out of such great danger. The fact that Sonic seemed to be losing those kind of feelings and interest he'd had when their relationship began was perhaps one of the final straws. And although Sonic and this ex partner are still friends these days, have mended their friendship, their relationship has never been the same again. Even Tails can see that they're friends, but they no longer share that banter, Sonic no longer concerns himself over that person's love life (he's more supportive than anything), and they don't spend quite so much time around each other anymore.

So this is what it comes down to. Even if Sonic does love him back in that way, even if Sonic wants to be with him too, even if he agrees to enter that kind of relationship with him, what use is there in hoping he (Tails) would be an exception to the rules?

What if things are amazing at first, and then over time Sonic begins to lose interest in him? What if those feelings disappear? What if getting together with Sonic ruins their best friendship because all interest has faded away?

What if Tails confesses only to end up as an ex who is a casual friend at best or an annoyance at worst (because Tails knows getting over Sonic would be near impossible)? Then it would be all his (Tails') fault, wouldn't it?

And that's exactly why he figures it's best to leave things as is. As long as he can stay best friends with him, as long as he can still be by Sonic's side through thick and thin, as long as they can still care for each other and be for each other as they are now, that's enough isn't it? In the end, Tails would choose a future where he's still at Sonic's side over having his feelings requited.

ㅤ

As for Sonic, it does, admittedly, take a while for him to sort of realize those feelings of his. This is partially due to him being dense, but also because he's grown so used to Tails' presence. He's just used to the fact that Tails is always around, always able to be contacted, that the days are largely similar. It just never really occurred to him for a while that Tails could (or would) leave him for any reason.

But after enough times being separated from him completely, then dealing with enough minor jealousy as Tails expresses possible interest in others, it sort of just hits him one day while the two are hanging out (probably playing video games and eating chili dogs or something, or perhaps even while watching a sunset) that he wants to do this forever. He wants to continue this life where he can pull Tails along on adventures and crash at his place and relax with him and bust badniks with him and everything.

Long ago, back when he'd first met Tails, there was this bit of nagging fear in him. Even as he eventually would come to regard Tails as his best friend, for the longest time there was this nagging fear that Tails' admiration and wish to stick to his side would become...something else, and that Sonic would have to confront it one day, potentially risking their relationship.

It's almost weird now thinking that he truly wouldn't oppose the idea of Tails confessing to him (if Tails does indeed feel the same, but Sonic doesn't know for sure). Perhaps it wouldn't be bad (even if cheesy) to live out a fantasy of the first kiss, where Tails confesses and Sonic tenderly steals it...

But pretty soon a new kind of horror sets in—a new "what if".

Because, you see, though he can still count the number of exes on his fingers, Sonic has never had a relationship like that last more than a year. Things always start out great! All Sonic wants to do is be around this person as much as he can be, and that person shares the sentiment. But then as Sonic finally settles in, tension eventually follows. That person becomes increasingly more frustrated in him, and Sonic himself comes to realize that he no longer wants to spend every waking moment with them. He's busy, he has things he wants to do (sometimes alone), other people he wants to hang out with. He doesn't mean to leave this person in the dust, he's just not quite as interested in them as he used to be. And apparently that's a problem

Sonic has never cheated, not once. Maybe he can be a bit of an ass sometimes, but messing around with other people while he has a partner is not his thing. But...this doesn't matter either. Eventually the accusations come—that he doesn’t love them anymore (not true), that he isn't as interested in them anymore (something he can't really refute once he starts to think about it), that he's probably looking at other people (not true).

So inevitably, Sonic can no longer take the tension and facilitates the breakup, or this person breaks up with him (an event that's never better than bittersweet)

In short, that obsession that attraction that attachment—it all begins to fade eventually, no matter how close he is with that person. He often doesn't want to just break up with them (again, just because those feeling start to fade doesn't mean he doesn't love them or cares about them less), but it's an inevitability. People logically want to be with someone who loves them just as much as they do in the same way that they do, and Sonic just...can't seem to live up to that.

If he and Tails started a romantic and/or sexual relationship, could he even place hope in the fact that Tails would be the exception? He knows in his soul that even if these feelings of his began to change or his interest in this way began to fade, he'd never just stop loving or caring about Tails altogether. Best friend or partner in romance, Sonic knows he'd still want him at his side.

But with his track record, who could guarantee that Tails wouldn't grow resentful of him too as things began to change (compared to the very start of that kind of relationship)? And would he really be able to blame Tails? After all, most people want someone who will be just as interested in them as they are in the same way that they are. If Sonic can't always promise that, then isn't it doomed from the start as it always is?

Not that he's never had thoughts such as these before, but in his last relationships (since those people seemed to be cut from similar cloths as him personality wise) he'd been willing to take the risk in hope things would be different. But he doesn't want to lose Tails—can't. What would be the point of solidifying a relationship like that with Tails if he lost his best friend in the process? At that point, it would be all his (Sonic's) fault, since he knew this would probably happen.

So this is why Sonic decides it's best to leave things as they are. As long as he can still crash at Tails' place, come to him for strategical or technological advice, take him along on adventures, bust badniks with him, play video games with him, be his best friend and have him by his side, isn't that better? Isn't that enough? In the end, Sonic would rather take the future as it comes (deal with the possibility of Tails leaving him one day) and get to have him by his side now than have his feelings requited.

ㅤ

But I'd like to imagine that, one day, the two can't ignore the whatever it is going on between them. The moment is scary, and admitting those feelings doesn't bring as much relief to either of them as it should. They're both apprehensive about starting that kind of relationship for their own reasons. Should they really "get together" simply because the feelings are mutual?

And so starts this weird gray period of the nature of their relationship. They're still best friends for sure, but neither has decided they want to be in a declared state of "dating". If anything, at first it seems like the two have gone right back to trying to exist like normal (business as usual), hang out like they always do, treat each other like they always did before. The only difference in this case is that the feelings are requited now.

But things begin to shift and change during this gray period no matter how hard they try. The two end up sharing their first kisses, every interaction carries a bit of a different weight than before. If it's even possible, more than before people mistake them for a couple, especially their friends (who can't really understand why they're not, even if they try to be supportive for the most part).

And yet, while feelings, their actions, etc seem to make everything undeniable (as if they're dating all but officially in name), Sonic can feel it come on. He can see the signs, recognize that those once undeniable feelings of attraction (romantic or otherwise) is beginning to fade away, meaning that it's only a matter of time.

Meaning that the last thing they should do is "get together" now, because Sonic can't promise Tails those feelings that were so strong before.

And Tails realizes it too. It actually scares him a bit at first, already seeing the signs. He can't help but fear that it's inevitable—that Sonic will lose all interest in him and grow apart from him. It makes him feel like an idiot. Even if back then there was no way to keep those feelings between them wrapped up and hidden, he feels like an idiot for confessing at all—like he should have found some other path. This whole thing, it makes him want to cling to Sonic even more, though he fears making this all worse by being too clingy...

But, fear aside, things do turn out okay.

I'd like to think that one day they wake up in Tails bed together, Sonic brushes Tails' bangs aside, gazing at the fox's expression before he opens his eyes, and feels that though his feelings have undeniably changed, it's just that. Though those kinds of feelings began to fade away, his love did not. More than ever, even though he doesn't love Tails in the same way he did a while ago, or even before he came to feel for him romantically, he cares for him so so deeply. He still wants Tails to be with him going forward.

And yes Tails sees it—the way Sonic has grown more casual, doesn't seek out kisses as much, isn't quite as clingy as he used to be—but his fear begins to let up as well. While he will perhaps keep that nagging fear of Sonic leaving him forever, even Tails comes to see that Sonic has no intention of breaking their friendship. Where Tails once was afraid they'd naturally grow apart and bitter as Sonic's feelings faded and Tails would be clingy by comparison, he sees that Sonic's feelings haven't really faded—not truly. They've only just changed.

Things are undeniably different from before, but Sonic seems to want to be with him still. He still wants him by his side as much as he can have him. Though he's more casual in his expression of feelings, Sonic is still interested in what Tails has to say, he still enjoys making him happy. In fact, somehow, Tails almost suspects Sonic has begun to love him more than before despite the shift in their relationship and in Sonic's feelings.

They were both so afraid things would naturally end in failure, but they cared for each other, and they accepted each other as they were.

Maybe the two decide to officially become partners one day ("partners" in a way that elevates their existing partnership to a status which coveys that they want to live out their lives at each other side, no other types of feelings or actions or life choices inherently implied), perhaps because Sonic (despite not having those large feelings of romance anymore) still doesn't want Tails to choose anyone else but him

And maybe the two don't! Even if they don't label themselves as dating or in any type of partnership society and others recognize as "inherently stronger" than best friendship, they're still best friends and partners. They're still going to spend their lives together, happily doing the things they always do as long as the universe allows it. No matter who comes and goes into their lives, their bond is a constant presence.

In the end, it no longer matters whether Tails has romantic/sexual feelings and Sonic doesn’t, or whether they give themselves conventional labels or not, or whether other people can grasp their chosen relationship or not, or whether it's a "glorified best friendship", or anything else. All that matters is that despite the nature of any feelings involved, they choose to be together.

#sonic the hedgehog #sontails #unbreakable bond #tails the fox #miles tails prower #i just be ramblin #I kinda played a bit fast and loose with what canon it is here #tbh I was running off of an idea that kind of mixes game canon and idw canon and some archie canon #but largely with the example of Sonic's exes #in this case I went with Sonic/Jet (as I like to headcanon the two as being exes in idw just based on how the two act and Jet's picture of #himself with sonic torn out of the picture) and with Sonic/Sally #but yeah this is an interpretation of Sonic and Tails' feelings towards each other that is a bit dear to me #partially because I genuinely love to interpret a potential relationship between them as sort of a complicated one or qqp where Tails does #have romantic feelings and Sonic's aren't romantic but not wholly platonic either and with them being best friends on top of that #anddddd partially because I'm projecting my relationship with romance/sex onto sonic a bit #can't help it #Anyways by god I love them they make me insane the thoughts do not cease they mean everything *head in hands* Sonic and Tails #qqp #queerplatonic sontails

17 notes · View notes

confetti-cat · 9 months ago

Text

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT -#since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it)#I tried this one instead!#pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful!#cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions?#Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story.#So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one.#All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

39 notes · View notes