#its from my first two skeins Ever

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

nooooooo i just saw your crochet post but was too late, i was gonna say hand wash gently and lay flat and air dry depending on what you made!!! do you remember what type of yarn you used? again i know it's a little late for that but for future reference?

no yeah i got On that dw! she's all good now! Vigorously stretched the coaster and then she spent the night under my special-made crochet press (a heavy book on top of a styrofoam square)

[coridallasmultipass]

Halloween costume hint:

(The stitch marker and the word that describes this colour-pattern of yarn [or fabric] are 2 more hints.)

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

okay no but im still not done thinking about fiber artist soap (part two of this)

(i crochet mainly so most of my knowledge is there, but if any knitters/weavers/etc want to chime in please do!)

the first time he ever saw anything to do with fibercraft, he was really little. maybe six or seven. he found his nan sitting at a spinning wheel, humming to herself, turning a mass of fluffy white into even, careful strands of soft yarn. curious as he was, he couldnt stop himself from coming closer and watching. asking questions. she just smiled, pulled him into her lap, and let him watch from there.

the first time he tried to make something wtih the finished product, it didnt quite come out how he expected. what was supposed to be a scarf looked anything but. it was wonky and misshapen, with dropped stitches and tension all over the place. but despite the awkward end result, he actually finished it! it took a few tries, a fair bit of frogging, and a couple of breaks where he had to step back and do something else, but he finished it! his sister lit up like a christmas tree when he gave it to her, and still has it tucked away somewhere.

he never really talked about his little hobby once he enlisted. its not that he was ashamed of it, but there wasnt a lot of down time during basic and what little unscheduled time was better spent elsewhere. he did have a stash of yarn and a few hooks and needles tucked under his bunk, and during nights when he couldnt sleep hed pull out a skein or two and work until either his mind stopped racing or the sun broke over the horizon, whichever came first.

the first person to really notice his little hobby was gaz. they spent a lot of time together on and off duty, its only natural that hed notice. after a bit of good natured ribbing, gaz is more than a little impressed at the speed he can work up a piece. he even asked for a lesson or two, with varying results.

price is next, after soap gets laid out during a mission. hes sitting next to the shitty medical cot when gaz brings him a lumpy bag and chucks it at soaps head. hes not expected him to pull out a set of knitting needles and a few balls of yarn, or for soap to start chattering away with gaz as his hands work quickly.

ghost notices when he sees soap working on a different project almost every day. one day its a pair of colorful socks, the next a chunky blanket, the next the beginnings of a sweater sleeve. he works with an intensity that he usually reserves for a particularly complicated explosive, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. ghost rallies the courage to ask when he sees price wearing a sweater he could have sworn soap had been working on last week.

his fingers are awkward and fumble with the hook, yarn getting knotted and tangled as he pulls the last row of loops apart with a frustrated huff. but soap is there to gently guide his hands in place, telling him how to hold the yarn with the right tension, how to start a new row without dropping stitches, all the things that he himself was taught by his ever patient nan.

fiber artist soap who shows his love through his work, and who works his love in every stitch <3

[highwaydiamonds]

Current state of the shawl! I know the photo is at a bit of an odd angle, but the shawl is knit on the bias, and will essentially form a long parallelogram. You can see, somewhat anyhow, the open areas that the yarn-overs create in the pattern. I'm pretty happy with the colors so far and the way things are working up. It looks stripier here than I feel like it does in person (other than that transition from the green mini-skein into the knitpicks muse speckled yarn). I'm close ( knock on wood - i swear i am never so superstitious as hen I'm knitting and scared of errors or crises) to finishing this skein of Muse, and will be going on to the first skein of Wildflower Yarn's Unicorn Poop (:DDDDD - the name gets me very time, smile inducing)

I feel like I am the slowest knitter ever, and I am going to be making this thing til idk armageddon, the universe dies its cold death, or I can find a pair of shoes that makes my feet look cute (the first two are more likely - TRUST.) . However, the fabric is soft and so *bouncy*; it is eminently squishable! This color palette too just is a joy to look at. It's a lucky charms marshmallow of a thing, a my little pony pastel princess of a shawl. So, if i can manage to finish it before the end of forever (without any disasters- told you, superstitious when knitting... (¬_¬)' ) I think I just might love curling up in this thing.

[gaviicreates]

WIP Wednesday - 2023 May 31

I'm back, but no promises about better than ever. I can't live up to that pressure. :D But what I can do is give a quick update on my current WIP status.

WIP Count: 4 1, crochet 2 knit, 1 Tunisian crochet

I have one more crochet project on hiatus, as it's a bit in limbo awaiting my decision for if I plan to continue it, so for now my count remains just 4.

I have been eager to play with some summer yarns - those light cottons and silky smooth bamboos, as it's approaching the hottest months of the year here in the Northern Hemisphere. Except I keep getting these lovely merino wools that have me whipping out the winter ideas.

I've been working with this absolutely GORGEOUS yarn from Arcane Fibre Works out of Canada, in a limited colorway called "Calm Waters." It's these soft yellows and green-blues that I scooped up once I found out the listing was in its last couple skeins.

Since its 80/20 Merino and Nylon in a lightweight fingering, I figure I can get away with it as a summer knit. And yes, you read that right! I am a crocheter choosing the new craft for working up this beautiful yarn. I experimented a little, but there's just truly something special about how these hand-dyeds take to knitting.

I am working on a shawl called the Mara Shawl by Madeline Tosh, available on Ravelry here. This is a FREE pattern, and it's lovely for showing off a lovely colorway. For the first part it's all garter, and I am new enough to knit, that this has been a joy watching the striping take effect.

For the WIP, this is just a phone pic of the progress, so the quality is low, but- it's starting to be a pretty decently sized triangle at the moment.

Since I have two hanks, I do hope she ends up a nice big size so I can fully wrap the shawl around my shoulders when complete. I am tempted to order one more hank just to be safe... and maybe have another credit card mishap.....

[ainyan]

Friendship + promise for flash fic.

It had been some time since that moment in Ultima Thule, when G’raha Tia had stood before her, holding her hand, and asked once more for her promise. As before, he’d done so with the full knowledge that this moment might be his last; once again, a willing sacrifice to see her path paved before her. Denial had trembled on the tip of her tongue; she’d almost lacked the strength to make yet another promise, if only it would keep him from leaving her again.

But, of course, refusal would not have changed his chosen path, it only would have sent him off with tears instead of trembling smiles. And though she might withhold her heart from him, she would never, ever withhold her promise.

G'raha Tia: First, I want to visit Ishgard with you. Properly. G'raha Tia: We scarcely had time to look around last time. I should like it very much if you could show me the sights.

Events had spiraled out of control, as they were wont to do around her; the skein of her fate raveling and unraveling with precious little regard for herself or those around her, much as Vrtra had noted. But finally, things had settled once more. The ruins beneath the Bounty had been explored, the Thirteenth had been breached, the gods had been contended with, and, for a brief span of moments, her life was empty of dire commitments.

So she could dedicate herself to the ones she wanted to fulfill.

As they spun out of the aether into Ishgard’s Aetheryte plaza, their breath steamed in the frigid air. She wore her usual dancer’s gear - all silk and leather and nowhere near insulating enough for the frozen northlands of Coerthas. At her side, G’raha Tia rubbed his hands together and cast a dubious glance at her. “Are you certain you aren’t cold?” he asked, a plaintive note to his voice.

She smiled and leaned closer, bumping her shoulder to his arm. “I’m fine, really. But if you need more, let me know; I’m certain Lord Artoirel has something you can borrow while we’re here in Ishgard.”

The mage cast her a wry look, then whispered softly. She could feel the air warm marginally around him - not enough to impact more than an ilm or two beyond, but enough, she suspected, to keep him toasty enough not to interfere with his enjoyment of the city. “Alright,” he said briskly, “where shall we start?”

She cast a glance towards the Gates of Judgement. “Why not at the beginning?” she asked, and he smiled, offering her his arm. She eyed it, then took it, biting back her amusement as his ears vibrated briefly. “Come along, my lord Exarch. Allow me to show you the sights of fair Ishgard.”

“Your will, my lady,” G’raha replied, scarlet eyes sparkling with joy.

*****

They stood at the final sight - he’d gazed with rapturous delight at the Congregation, enjoyed mulled wine at the Forgotten Knight, walked warily through the Brume, all at the side of his greatest hero. He’d met with Lords Edmont and Artoirel, and both men had grilled him with enough fervor that he was almost - almost - grateful that their half-formed suspicions of his relationship to the woman who stood as a daughter of the house were unfounded. He’d gazed into the Abyss from the Last Vigil and marveled at the statues that lined the way towards their final destination - The Vault.

“It is glorious,” he murmured, his voice hushed. “It is hard to believe a place so magnificent could have held such heinous deeds within its walls.”

Her expression was sober as she gazed upon the solid walls and massive doors, her mind not on the present, but on the past, of the lies discovered and losses suffered beyond. “It was no fault of the Vault that it was put to such ill-use,” she finally said, her murmur disquiet. “And not everything that has occurred within has been bad. Ser Aymeric and the rest of Ishgard’s leadership spend much time within those walls, changing the fate of the nation into one kinder and gentler than her bloodstained legacy.”

He stared up at the frost-edged cathedral, his expression awed. At his side, she stood, arms linked through his, her gaze more pensive, less starstruck as it followed his. “Do you regret bringing me here?” he asked softly.

She smiled and turned her head, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. “I never regret taking you anywhere, Raha,” she said gently.

In silence they stood as the snow drifted lightly down about them, content to enjoy a brief moment of friendship and a promise realized.

[7r0773r]

The Hive by Camilo José Cela, translated by James Womack

At the moment he hears his name being called [Martín] is thinking, “Yes, Byron was right: if I ever have a son I’ll make sure he goes into some prosaic job: lawyer or pirate.” (pp. 80-81)

***

The night closes, at about half past one or two o'clock in the morning, around the city's strange heart.

Thousands of men sleep in their wives' arms without thinking of the hard, cruel day that may await them, crouched like a mountain cat, in just a very few hours.

Hundreds, many hundreds of bachelors surrender to the solitary vice: intimate, sublime, and ever so very delicate.

And a few dozen women wait—my God, what do they wait for? Why are they so deceived?—with their minds full of golden dreams . . . (p. 192)

***

In [Don Francisco’s] house, back in the interior room, Doña Soledad, his wife, is darning socks and allowing her mind to wander: a lumbering imagination she has, flustered and motherly as a chicken in flight. Doña Soledad is not happy: she put her whole life into her children, but her children have not known how, or have not wanted, to make her happy. She had eleven children, and all eleven survived, almost all of them now far away, one or two lost completely. The two oldest children, Soledad and Piedad, became nuns a long time ago, when Primo de Rivera fell; a few months ago, reaching out from the convent, they dragged in María Auxiliadora, one of the younger kids, to join them there as well. The oldest of the two boys, Francisco, the third child, was always the apple of his mother's eye: he's a military doctor in Carabanchel now and comes home every now and then to stay the night. Amparo and Asunción are the only ones who have got married. Amparo married her father's assistant, Don Emilio Rodríguez Ronda, and Asunción married Don Fadrique Méndez, who's a surgeon's assistant in Guadalajara, a hardworking and skillful man who can just as easily put his hand to a broken leg as to a hernia, who can give a child an injection or administer an enema to an old society lady, who can fix a radio or mend a punctured rubber bag. Amparo, poor thing, has no children and can't have them now; she's always been sickly, always having turns; she had a miscarriage first of all and then a whole series of collapses of various kinds, and then they ended up taking out her ovaries and everything else that had been causing her trouble, which must have been a lot. Asunción, on the other hand, is stronger than her sister and has three children who are absolute darlings: Pilarín, Fadrique, and Saturnino; the oldest one, the girl, is at school already: she's just turned five years old.

The next one down the list in Don Francisco and Doña Soledad's family is Trini, a spinster, quite ugly, who borrowed money and started a haberdasher's in the Calle de Apodaca.

It's a small shop, but it's clean and well looked after. It's got a tiny shop window filled with skeins of wool, children's clothes, and silk stockings, and its name painted in light blue: large pointy letters reading "Trini" and then underneath, smaller, "Haberdasher's." There's a guy who lives in the area who's a poet and who looks on the young woman with deep tenderness; in vain he tries to explain things to his family over lunch.

"You don't see it, but these little shops, all these lonely people, called Trini... they fill me with such nostalgia."

"The kid's an idiot," his father says. "When I die I have no idea what's going to happen to him."

The neighborhood poet is a longhaired young man, pale, always distracted, never noticing anything in order not to miss out on his inspiration, which is something like a butterfly, deaf and blind but brimming with light, a butterfly that floats about haphazardly, sometimes beating against the walls, sometimes flying higher than the stars. The neighborhood poet has two roses in his cheeks. The neighborhood poet, sometimes, when he's caught up in a fine frenzy of composition, faints in cafés and needs to be taken through to the bathroom, where he comes round under the scent of disinfectant, the block of disinfectant in its little wire cage like a cricket.

After Trini there's Nati, the woman who studied with Martín, a woman who dresses very well, perhaps a little too well, and then theres María Auxiliadora, the one who went off to become a nun with her big sisters a little while back. And to round out the family are three catastrophes: the three youngest children. Socorrito ran off with a friend of her brother Paco, Bartolomé Anguera, a painter; they live a bohemian existence in a studio on the Calle de los Caños, where they must freeze to death half the time, where they'll wake up one morning frozen into lollipops. The girl tells all her friends that she is happy, that all she wants to do is be at Bartolomé's side, helping him with his Work. She says "Work" with a heavy emphasis on the Capital letter, an emphasis that makes her sound like she's on the jury selecting art for national exhibitions.

"They don't have any standards in the national exhibitions," Socorrito says. "They don't have the first clue about what they're on about, But it doesn't matter, sooner or later they'll have no choice but to give Bartolomé a medal."

There were serious ructions in the house when Socorrito eloped.

“If only she'd managed to get out of Madrid!" her brother Paco said, who had a firm geographical sense of honor.

The other remaining daughter, María Angustias, said shortly after all this that she wanted to become a singer and changed her name to Carmen del Oro. She also thought about going for Rosario Giralda or Esperanza de Granada, but a friend of hers, a journalist, said that no, the most suitable name was Carmen del Oro. This was the stage she was at when, without giving her mother a chance to recover from the whole Socorrito business, María Angustias upped and ran off with a banker from Murcia called Don Estanislao Ramírez. Her poor mother was so shocked she didn't even cry.

The youngest, Juan Ramón, is a bit funny, a bit "yon way," and spends all day long looking at himself in the mirror and putting creams on his face.

Round about seven o'clock, in a break between two patients, Don Francisco goes out to make a phone call. It's almost impossible to hear what he says.

"Are you going to be at home?"

“. . .”

"Right, I'll be round at about nine."

“. . .”

"No, don't call anyone.” (pp. 206-08)

[lotussokka]

i cant recommend highly enough knitting toe up socks with size 6 yarn !! theyre so quick and you can try them on to make sure they fit as you go! ive knitted the second sock of this pair up to the row before the heel this evening since dinner (<7hrs w/ many breaks included in that)

[eskelbigbang]

Eskel Big Bang 2021 Masterpost

Here are all the fics and art made this year for the Eskel Big Bang. Congratulations on the hard work, everyone!

AO3 collection || #ebb works tag || #ebb art tag || #ebb fic tag

Below the cut is a full list of all EBB works:

Uprooted (T, No Pairing, 12k) by @rachofspades, art by @drachedraws

When a nondescript notice begging for a witcher's aid catches Eskel's attention on his way back to Kaer Morhen for the winter, he finds himself drawn in by his own curiosity despite his initial reservations. Once he arrives, it quickly becomes apparent that there's something more sinister going on than typical monster attacks, and he's determined to figure out what it is. Fic || Art (1) (2)

These Clay Hands (T, Eskel/Jaskier, 4.7k) by @aalizazareth, art by @hobbart-art

Eskel is a shy pottery instructor who meets Jaskier during one of his lessons. The two hit it off. Fic || Art

The Empty Safe Job (M, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 18k) by @iboughtaplant, art by @gods-no-longer-tread-here

A team of thieves with complicated pasts take down the rich and powerful to help those that get left out from justice. Their latest job should be simple, but an unexpected adversary has Eskel confronting his past. Sometimes bad guys make the best good guys. Fic || Art

the broken vines are an open door (M, Eskel & Geralt & Yennefer, 5.2k) by @trissmarrygoals, art by @flyingyarn

Traveling through Aedirn with his newly acquired child surprise, Eskel stumbles upon a dead body - and with it, a mystery. Fic || Art

With you I'll never be alone (T, Eskel/Geralt, 5.8k) by @dat-carovieh, art by @mondfuchs

From their first meeting, through their whole long life Geralt and Eskel have always been there to comfort each other when one of them got hurt. --- Or five times Geralt and Eskel comfort each other through some kind of hurt and one time they're just comfortable. Fic || Art

Eskel Has A Good Day (G, Eskel & Wolf Witchers, 9.3k) by @gods-no-longer-tread-here, art by @phoenixandjacob

The Wolves (and bard) of Kaer Morhen go on a vacation to the coast, and have a good day. Fic || Art (1) (2)

Tu Me Manques. (T, Eskel/Jaskier, 8k) by @etcorsolus, art by @cvbeebop

In which, Eskel meets a bard who calms him. Body, mind, and soul. Story title is how the French say 'I miss you.' The more literal translation is 'You are missing from me.' Fic || Art

Little Red (M, Eskel/Lambert, 6.1k) by @miahclone, art by @llwynbleidd

Eskel helps Lambert while he's recovering from a serious injury. To distract him from the pain, Eskel tells stories of past hunts. Fic || Art

Constellations (M, Eskel/Geralt, 7.2k) by @dredshirtroberts, art by @dat-carovieh

Eskel loves Geralt but their soulmarks don't match - he'd know. They're witchers, and scars are their business. As he joins Geralt in retirement, Eskel figures whatever he can get with the other witcher will be enough. He might get a little bit more than he thought he was bargaining for, but Eskel's never passed up a good deal. Fic || Art (1) (2)

Trial By Fire (Eskel and Aza's Wild Ride) (E, Eskel/OFC, 11k) by @janzoo, art by @liaonyxrayne

When Eskel rescues his succubus acquaintance from witch hunters, their reunion becomes something more as they're drawn into the hunters' plot. What can they do against a twisted idealist and the danger he presents to witchers and non-humans? Fic || Art

Pardon Me While I Burst Into Flames (E, Eskel/Jaskier, 29k) by @ghostinthelibrarywrites, art by @wolfgeralt

When Eskel is hired to kill an incubus who ruined a noble wedding, he finds that his target is far from a bloodthirsty beast, a too-pretty court bard. Eskel spares Jaskier and they go their separate ways, with Eskel expecting never to see the incubus again. But Jaskier has other ideas. Fic || Art

I Could Eat the World Raw (E, Eskel/Jaskier, 7k) by @buttercupsanddandelions, art by @gods-no-longer-tread-here

“This is Eskel.” He pushes him slightly forward, “And he just had his conduit moment.” After becoming a mage, Eskel finds that he's been soul-bound to a little lordling. Fic || Art

Something we bury (M, Eskel/Geralt, 10k) by @heartoferebor, art by @craftgamerzz

“Where’s Eskel?” Ciri asks Geralt, frowning a little. “He went out to do more hunting and gather some potion ingredients. Should be back any moment,” Geralt reassures her. “Ah. Good.” She hesitates a little before deciding to forge right ahead with her next question. She’s asked everyone else in the keep, of course she’ll have to ask Geralt, too. “About his scars…” * Ciri wants to know where Eskel's scars came from, so she decides to ask everyone at the keep about them. Except, they all seem to have different stories... Fic || Art

Lord What Fools These Witchers Be (T, Aiden/Eskel, 21k) by @jayofolympus and @frenchkey, art by aviixrc

When Lambert brings Aiden to winter with him in Kaer Morhen, Eskel is catapulted straight into his own personal hell. It would be easier if he didn’t like the Cat. Instead, he finds himself falling head over heels for his brother’s boyfriend and trying to hide it from a pack of nosy Witchers. If only Aiden would stop flirting with him... Fic || Art (1) (2)

A Moment of Comfort (M, Eskel/OC) by @merpancake

An attack at a brothel begins with blood and carnage, but Eskel finds an unexpected peace in the arms of Cenna. As their paths continue to cross, Eskel carries that same peace within him on his journey through monsters and men. Art

Toussaint's Finest (M, Eskel/Geralt, 9.1k) by @kate-river, art by @justhereforeskel

Eskel is still roaming the Continent. But in recent years the Path has become harder and harder. Eskel has made it a habit to come by Corvo Bianco around vintage and this year's events might change a few things in his life forever. Fic || Art

Beneath the Shadow and the Soul (E, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 32k) by @vix-spes, art by @buffskierights

Eskel had the strange feeling that everything was going to change when he passed through Dol Blathanna one year on his way back to Kaer Morhen for winter. He had been passing through a town and, instead of running away from him, someone had exclaimed “You’re a Witcher,” and proceeded to sing at him. He just hadn't realised how much of an impact it would have on him. Fic || Art

Daughter of Fire (T, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 4.9k) by @kittynannygaming, art by @zmezagain

Witchers are sterile, that's a fact. No female human can bear their child. Well, the keyword here is 'human' and a succubus is very not human. And Eskel now has a sweet 7 years old daughter. Fic || Art

Break It Recklessly (E, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 22k) by @anonymousblueberry, art by @nol-nol

From teenage tearaways to successful adults, Geralt and Eskel have always been inseparable. To the extent that when Geralt accepts a wedding invite with Eskel as his plus one, there’s the assumption that they have finally sorted their shit out and got together, forcing them to keep up the facade or cause chaos for the happy couple. What follows is a crash course in emotions, dating, and working out that love can burn long and slow for a very long time. Fic || Art

The Question (M, Eskel/Istredd, 40k) by @eskelchopchop, art by @stars-in-my-damn-eyes

Eskel's in Ohio when Yennefer calls. He’s reluctant to pick up; he’s still not over Geralt, and he's got zero desire to chat with Geralt's new lover. Turns out Yen isn’t his lover anymore, and this isn’t about Geralt. It’s about witcher’s work. Yennefer owns Portal, one of New York City's most popular gay clubs. A Post-Conjunction Entity (PCE) is hunting her clientele, leaving a string of withered corpses in its wake. The police are doing jackshit. Will Eskel come back to a city full of bad memories and take a job off the books to stop it? He'll sure as hell try. Along the way, he’ll cross paths with Istredd, a man with sorcerer’s eyes and a painful past of his own. If Eskel doesn't work fast enough, they both might become the PCE's next victims. Fic || Art

Is It Cold In The Water? (E, Eskel/Jaskier, 12k) by @jennyloggins, art by @jerry-of-rivia

His horse is tied to a branch a few trees out, and that’s where Eskel heads to grab his water skein, taking a deep drink and soothe his dry throat. Patting his horse’s backside affectionately on his way past her, Eskel feigns a stern voice to say, “Zuzanna, keep watch for me.” Her tail twitches as if to swat him away. Fic || Art

Everything I Want (I Can Find in You) by @eyesofshinigami, art by @phoenixandjacob

Eskel didn't think he'd ever see Jaskier again, sure the Cat witcher was only looking for a night of fun. But then he keeps showing up, taking Eskel to bed and leaving him little presents. It takes Eskel a bit, but eventually he realizes that maybe, just maybe, Jaskier means it when he says he wants to keep him. Or Eskel doesn't think he deserves nice things and Jaskier is determined to show him otherwise. Fic || Art

One Stop Shop; Tattoo's Piercings, And Love (M, Eskel/Jaskier/Lambert, 7.4k) by @jesheckah, art by @moondrunkart

When Eskel fumbles an invitation at a party to come into his tattoo shop, Jaskier and he move towards an explosive love. How many tattoo sessions does it take for the heart to know what it wants? Fic || Art

Entanglement (and other words for a mess) (E, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 31k) by @violaceum-vitellina-viridis, art by @merpancake

Eskel has a hundred marks on his body, but a soulmark isn't one of them. Fic || Art

Beneath Each Other's Bones (E, Eskel/Geralt, 7.6k) by @pressedinthepages, art by @drachedraws

Winter at Kaer Morhen can be brutal. But Eskel and Geralt find warmth in each other in an effort to stave off the cold. Fic || Art (1) (2)

#9fe2bf on the Shore (T, Eskel/Jaskier, 4.5k) by @buffskierights, art by @phoenixandjacob

The sea roars with a vengeance, something angering the waves even as the stars shine brightly overhead in the clear night sky. If Eskel were a poet he’d say it almost sounded like a wail of mourning, the way the whitewater crashes upon the night black sand and the gathering foam, the sea frothing furiously. But Eskel’s always hated his poetry lessons so being a poet is firmly off the table. Fic || Art

lion in the wolf's den (T, Coen/Eskel, 5k) by @patchwork-doublet, art by @justhereforeskel

eskel is nervous being around ciri, afraid things will go south like they did last time. Fic || Art

Sugar Baby Blues (E, Eskel/Jaskier, 24k) by adevinecomedy, art by @pastelrune

Jaskier’s mind slipped back to a night several months ago when he was all worked up but had nowhere to go and a mountain of school work to get through. How it was just so much easier to log onto a camming website and watch someone perform seemingly just for him. The gorgeous, confident man on the other side of the screen had been so accommodating, even though Jaskier had been shy and hadn’t typed much into the chat. Modern au where Eskel is a Cam boy and runs into a bit of a financial bind. Enter Jaskier who just might be the answer to all his woes. Fic || Art

Winter Comfort (T, Eskel/Jaskier, 10k) by @myidlehand, art by @liaonyxrayne

Jaskier comes to Kaer Morhen to spend some time with Eskel, after briefly meeting him in the fall. And while both of them seem delighted to see each other again, Eskel starts to shy away from Jaskier's comments and flirting. It doesn't take a genius to see Eskel is having body image issue. Jaskier aims to help him through it. Fic || Art

The Subtle Knife (M, Eskel/Jaskier, 26k) by @major-trouble, art by @cylin-aka-ankamo

There's an assassin haunting the Continent. No one knows their name, everyone - that is, everyone in the know - calls them The Specter. If you want a rival out of the way, a political opponent disposed of, or a strategic target taken out, contacting The Specter gets the job done. For a price, of course. There's an art to subtlety, after all, and it wouldn't do to risk the attention of law enforcement. So there's no obvious cause, no knife to the back, and the deaths aren't usually remarked upon. The Kaer Morhen Agency, however, has noticed. One of their agents has been hired to protect potential victims, people scared that they've been targeted. And they have reason to worry. When Eskel's first assignment winds up dead of no discernible cause, it starts him on a search for the elusive Specter, hoping against hope to track down the assassin before they're hired again. Setting a trap for a ghost is something Witchers are used to. Setting one for a trained killer may prove beyond them. Fic || Art

No Funny Business (M, Eskel/Jaskier, 11k) by goldendaydreams, art by @nanero11

Eskel had long given up on finding his soulmate, his soulmark nothing but scar tissue from a house fire he’d survived as a child. Knowing that most people wait for their perfect someone, their destiny, didn’t stop him from falling in love with Jaskier, the nurse he met after a hunt gone wrong. Fic || Art

Stronger Than My Storm (E, Eskel/Geralt) by @rawrkinjd, art by @nol-nol

Eskel and Geralt were friends from the very beginning. They added the benefits later. It was another way to offer comfort and companionship when the rest of the world closed in around them, and Eskel was content with it for years. Until he wakes up one day and realises it’s become something more. He touches Geralt’s silver hair, wreathed in a halo of yellow sunlight, and allows himself to feel the cracks spreading through his heart. Witchers can’t love each other. It would only lead to suffering. Eskel realises he must weather the storm inside or let Geralt go forever. Fic || Art

Full of Life (T, Eskel/Jaskier, 6.3k) by @sternenstaub28, art by @llwynbleidd

When Eskel gets hired to solve the case of people disappearing in town, she didn’t know she’d find a friend and maybe even something more. or Beauty and strength don't necessarily make your life easier, a companion and love however do. Fic || Art

choices are the hinges of destiny (T, Eskel/Geralt, 7.5k) by @lutes-and-dandelions, art by @cassandrasartworld

After rescuing a fae from the clutches of death, they repay Eskel by helping him make a choice. -oOo- A story about what would have happened if Eskel had claimed his child of surprise. Fic || Art

Eskel Vs The Continent (And His Feelings) (M, No Pairing, 47k) by @chibitabathasloves, art by @zmezagain

Eskel decides he needs to leave Kaer Morhen after the fight with the Hunt. Where will it take him? And will he be able to face his feelings he desperately tries to ignore. Fic || Art

lookin' to the sky to save me (T, Eskel/Geralt, 10k) by @torynickles, art by @trissmarrygoals

Geralt slides his hand from Eskel’s shoulder to his back. And then. Then he keeps moving it, outwards, away from Eskel’s torso, where there should be nothing but air, but— “What the fuck?” he chokes, because he can still feel Geralt’s hand, sensation where there should be none. He shakes his head wildly, twisting his arm to reach for his own back. His fingers connect to something, but—it’s not his body, it can’t be his body, even though he can feel himself touching it. Because he’s made up of skin and flesh, bone and muscle, and this thing has all of those, but— It’s covered in sticky, damp feathers. Fic || Art

A Fine Night at the Faire (M, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier, 12k) by Elensule, art by @liaonyxrayne

Eskel has been hurt by the world and hides for refuge in his little goat farm. He's found no reason to look for love, or much of anything else. But encouragement from his brother sends him to an unfamiliar locale; the renfaire! Maybe stepping out of his comfort zone was just what he needed. Fic || Art

[nat-20s]

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad. 

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show  applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of  a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon:  No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true.  Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look. 

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

[minotaur-in-my-labyrinth]

Okay so in 1994 there was a direct to video Disney film, the first of its kind, called The Return of Jafar. And while the quality is how to put it? Second rate? It was far and above my favorite Disney movie growing up. I distinctly remember Jafar being one of my very first hyperfixations, particularly him as an evil genie. To the point where my mom.yelled at me because I drew a picture of a just 5 year old drawing of a house setting and I had the sun up in the corner, but I drew his mustache and twisted beard and had a speech bubble saying "Hehehe, I'm an evil Jafar sun."

And in this film there is a musical sequence called "You're Only Second Rate" where the omnipotent genie Jafar just flexes his superior genie powers over the genie called "Genie" through a series of pun-themed magic, much like Jafar spent a good deal of time at the end of Aladdin 1992 doing pun-themed magic (don't toy with me, as he turns Abu into a toy monkey, things are unraveling fast now boy, as he unravels the magic carpet into skeins of yarn and tassels, get the point as he traps Aladdin in a circle of scimitars, I'm just getting warmed up as he breathes said circle of scimitars into a ring of fire).

I noticed something very odd, given the whole animation shit show that DTV Disney films are infamous for and it's the judicious application of shading upon giant muscular red genie Jafar. Through the whole song there is almost none. ALMOST. Here they are:

Relatively innocuous, and almost imperceptible.

But then

Uh-oh, now I know where my dreams of having a giant red demon boyfriend came from.

There is one more example and the shot is actually before the one above, but I did it on purpose for emphasis.

And there are several shots of giant red genie Jafar, but there are only 3 shots that have shading, throughout the entire song; the previous two and this one:

His foot. And I just have so many questions for if I ever get to meet the animators who worked on this sequence. And I fucking know all the answers.

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Just Wants An Uneventful Holiday (Part 1)

This is not how you wanted to spend your break.

The school was supposed to be empty. Everyone except the Octavinelle trio was supposed to be gone.

Not to say you don’t enjoy your friends’ company but. No magic-using people means no magic-spewing overblots.

You were looking forward to just bringing the fairies their firewood and working on your winter homework while taking the first opportunity in a good long while to unwind with Grim and the ghosts. No investigations to worry about, no weird dreams to get worked up over, no overblots to frantically try and survive.

You wanted a break.

This? Marching 10km into the desert with the rest of Scarabia dorm for the third day in a row due to their leader’s looming psychotic breakdown? This is not a break.

Although...

There’s definetely something rotten in Scarabia dorm, you think to yourself as you watch Viper-senpai hand out skeins of water. Kalim-senpai had no problem using his unique magic yesterday, and yet today he acted like Grim had mortally insulted him when he asked for a repeat performance.

If the outburst had been after two or three other instances of Kalim-senpai using Oasis Maker and receiving what he felt were insufficient thanks for it, then his current attitude would make a little more sense. But taking umbrage after using it just once? And being universally praised by everyone else the rest of the day for it?

It doesn’t add up.

Even deranged behavior has some sort of internal logic to it, as Rosehearts-senpai and the Rules of the Queen of Hearts have taught you. Even with how nonsensical all 810 rules are, it’s rare to find a scenario where one rule actually conflicts with another— all of them usually work smoothly in tandem with the goal of having an orderly unbirthday party in mind.

Even if they do violate most forms of dignity and common sense.

Kalim-senpai’s behavior though? It’s erratic without rhyme or reason, bouncing from nice to mean and back again seemingly as he enters and exits a room. He insists you and Grim stay and participate in this asinine “training”, despite the fact that you both belong to a different dorm, and are technically rivals to Scarabia in Magift and exams.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s almost like he’s trying to imitate Rosehearts-senpai before his overblot—and doing poorly at it.

And with how much Viper-senpai has been invoking parallels between the current situation and what happened back then...

The smartphone Crowley gave you is a cold, heavy weight in your pocket. Its charge ran out yesterday, which is unsurprising given how many times you dialed and redialed the dumb bird headmaster’s number only to be met with his voicemail. You can probably recite that stupid message by heart now. You’ve heard nothing from Ace and Deuce either.

One thing is clear; no one’s going to help you out of this mess but you.

“Kalim-senpai?” You brace yourself as you step towards him. “Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly question me about?” He barks, glaring down at you haughtily.

“Well, I was just wondering, what’s the point of all this?” You fight to keep your nerve as his posture stiffens. “I don’t mean any disrespect, none at all, but you do want everyone to do better in Magift and exams, don’t you? I was hoping you could explain to me how the parades and defensive magic training are supposed to do that. I apologize for my ignorance, I’m nowhere near as smart as you, but could you please tell me why we don’t just practice Magift and brush up on the class material inst—”

Your head’s ringing.

You think you hear faint yelling, though it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away.

Your cheek aches.

Numbness blooming into a sharp stinging throb that feels like it’s growing with every second that passes, burning hotter than the sun above you.

You cautiously poke your tongue against your teeth, but none feel loose, thank the Seven.

Damn, the desperate, near-hysterical thought flits through your head. Even a pampered rich boy like him has strength behind his hits, huh?

The rest of you is just trying to process what the Hell just happened.

“How. Dare. You?!”

Asim-sama looms over you, red eyes burning with fury.

It’s a fight to keep yourself from curling into a terrified ball under his gaze, tucking into yourself as though seeing less of you would abate the anger, the shouting, the hurt, like you used to when you were a child.

“You dare to question my methods, my leadership of this dorm?! You? A sniveling street rat leeching off my hospitality?! Do you know who I am?!” He rages. “I am Kalim al-Asim! I am the Head of this dorm! I don’t have to explain ANYTHING, justify ANYTHING to the likes of you!!”

You knew, you knew you were pushing your luck when you first asked, but you thought it would just be yelling, like it was before. You can handle yelling, nothing Asim-sama can say could ever be worse than what you’ve already heard.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think he’d hit you.

You didn’t think—

“DON'T YOU TOUCH MY MINION, FGNAH!”

Your arm whips out almost on instinct.

You jolt forward slightly as Grim collides with it, hissing and spitting like he really was an irate cat, the flames in his ears flaring brightly enough that some detached part of you is worried about getting burned.

The other Scarabia students are reaching for their magic pens.

“Lemme at ‘im! Lemme at ‘im!!” Your friend howls, fighting to get past you. “Forget butt on fire, I’ll BURN IT TO A CRISP FOR HURTING MY MINION!! I'LL STEAL EVERYTHING YOU HAVE AND SELL IT FOR LUXURY TUNA!! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR CROSSING THE GREAT GRIM—”

“No, Grim.”

Your friend halts in his flailing to stare uncomprehendingly at you. “But Yuu—!”

“It was my fault.” You say, trying to keep as much emotion out of your voice as possible. Tears and trembling only show weakness, only make them worse. “Asim-sama was just correcting me. He was right to do so. I shouldn’t have questioned him. I overstepped my bounds.”

Asim-sama sniffs. “At least you know your place. Be glad I don’t punish you anymore than this.”

“What?! He slapped you for asking a question, you can’t possibly believe—” You gather Grim into your arms and hug him close. You quietly thank the Great Seven you at least have him, trying to hide the quiver in your limbs by burying your face in his fur.

But that’s exactly why you can’t let him do this. It’s just the two of you, you can’t win against an entire dorm of wizards like you did against the ghosts. Maybe if Ace and Deuce and Jack were here...but it’s just you. You need to protect your friend in the only way you can. “We can’t win this. Please, Grim.”

You feel him grumble, then a paw carefully pushes at your forehead. “Hrm...I’ll show mercy for now, so geroff already. It’s too hot for you to keep hugging me like this, I’m cooking here fgnah.”

Despite saying so, he settles onto your shoulder, tail smacking your arm as it flicks irritably.

“If you’ll excuse me, Asim-sama.” You duck your head slightly. “I will remove myself from your sight and head back early as penance for my behavior. Once again, my deepest apologies for insulting you.”

Asim-sama gives you a curt, dismissive nod.

You turn and make your way through the crowd of Scarabia students, snatches of muttered conversations floating to your ears.

“How could he—?”

“Just for a question?”

“Isn’t that going too far...?”

“Unforgivable...”

“Prefect.” Viper-senpai takes you by the shoulder, turning you to face him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You reply monotonously, eyes on the sand below you. “Just...just need to be by myself for a bit.”

His lips purse and you can feel him study your face. He presses a full water skein into your hands. “Take this. Even if it’s not as cold as I’d like, it should help with the swelling some. Plus you need to stay hydrated out there.”

“Thank you, Viper-senpai.” You nod, keeping your eyes down.

“And Prefect?” He squeezes your shoulder, voice lowering only a fraction. “I am truly sorry about this. All of this. It will not happen again, you have my word.”

It would’ve been a nice apology, had you not caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face.

You nod, making sure not to outwardly react to that or to the way the whispers of the other Scarabia students turn from the condemnation of their dorm head to the exaltation of the vice dorm head. You begin following the tracks in the sand back to the main dorm.

The sun beats down on your back as you take a swig from the skein and pass it to Grim to drink from. He’s still grumbling about how you should’ve let him recreate his rampage at the entrance ceremony.

For your part, the distance and good company have let you pull yourself out of that headspace enough that you can try and look back objectively on what happened.

Your mind keeps circling back around to one question: why did Asim-senpai hit you?

Based on your interactions before this, Asim-senpai doesn’t seem to be the type to resort to physical violence as a first response, or even a last one. Which means something in your question likely backed him into a corner enough that the normally pacifistic dorm head felt lashing out physically was the only way to get you to stop.

...Like the fact that he couldn’t answer it?

Even when screaming abuse at you, his ultimate response was that he wouldn’t explain himself to you. Is that because he didn’t want to? Or because he couldn’t? Does Asim-senpai himself not know the reasons behind his own actions? But how can someone act without knowing or meaning to, without being under the influence somehow?

Under the influence.

People acted without knowing or meaning to thanks to being under the influence of Buchie-senpai’s Unique Magic during the Magift incident. But he went home, you saw him leave, so what...?

You pull out your notebook, flipping through the pages with sweaty hands until you get to your records of the testimonies from the incident. You scan through the testimonies from Scarabia students, hoping to find something, anything—

Oh.

Oh.

“Motherfucker.” You hiss, staring at the page in dismay. You are an idiot. You are the biggest idiot, you make Deuce look like a genuis, how could you forget about this?? It was only the key testimony that helped pinpoint Buchie-senpai and Savannahclaw as the culprits behind the injuries. And it explains so much— why you kept agreeing to stay here despite wanting to go back to Ramshackle so desperately, almost like your mouth was speaking without your consent.

“Minion?” Grim asks, pushing the water skein back onto you. “What’s wrong?”

You snap your notebook shut and slide it back into your pocket, taking another fortifying swig from the skein. “Grim? Think we can get back soon enough to work on the escape route in our room before the others arrive back for lunch?”

“If we pick up the pace a bit, yeah.” He hops back onto your shoulder. “But what’s the rush? We have all night tonight to work on it.”

“Let’s just say the sooner we can get out of here, the better.” You mutter, cogs and gears turning in your head as a tentative plan begins to form.

This is not how you wanted to spend your winter break.

[microcroft]

Speaking of Merlin fics, if you don't mind, do you have any recommendations? I'd really appreciate it since Big ADHD means I have little patience for finding good ones -.-'

okay this was sent back in april but tumblr is garbage and i didn't see i had any new messages until right now?? im so sorry Anyway i fuckin get that my dude, except like my adhd does the opposite specifically with merlin fanfiction for the past year which has been my hyperfixation and i have been using to cope with a multitude of issues so you are in luck (if you still want recommendations) because i created a collection of my favorite fics that i am adding to a lot because i read a, quite frankly, concerning amount of merlin fics (there are some non merlin/arthur in it but its mostly merlin/arthur fics)

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bestfunnylittlemagictwinkfics but more specifically, the ones that immediately come to mind are the long but very good ones that live rent free in my mind, in no particular order, there are a bunch in the collection which are just as good but I am really tired right now and dont want to make this post extremely long so I just want to make sure you (and whoever else may be reading this) know about these ones:

Born of Magic - "Set after 1x13. When Arthur learns he is of magic, he decides it's time to grow out of Uther's shadows. Secrets are revealed, and Arthur comes to learn just how far his father is willing to go in his war against magic. With Merlin on his side, can Arthur build the kingdom he was destined to create?" Arthur has his own cool special brand of Once and Future King magic, merlin also he is adopted by a unicorn.

Para Bellum - "After Merlin goes missing, Arthur forges new alliances to repel a deadly threat to Camelot. Nothing will stop Arthur from finding Merlin, and nothing will stop Merlin from protecting Arthur -- no matter the cost." I will never get enough married Merlin and Arthur fics and this is

The Care and Keeping of Camelot - "With Arthur dead, Camelot's destiny has soured--if it was ever any good to begin with. Gwen is fed up with grief and mediocrity and takes matters into her own hands, returning to the start to make a better Camelot or break history trying. Knighthood, rekindling her first love, and Merlin's silly almanac are all just byproducts." Post Canon Gwen is sent back in time by Merlin fix Camelot using what they learned. Featuring Morgana and Gwen having homoerotic sword fighting lessons and Merlin and Gwen's mlm/wlw solidarity.

For Want of A Nail- "Fleeing from Essetir in the bloody beginnings of the Purge, Hunith finds herself on the doorstep of old friends. That's all it takes to untangle the skeins of destiny and weave a new tapestry." Canon rewrite set in an alternate universe where Merlin grows up with Leon as his adoptive big brother, he has a very good dog, he and Leon give morgana a puppy for her birthday (very important to me), there's a whole lot of pagan rituals (which i fucking love), and merlin is a badass with a staff and throwing knives.

pretty much every CaffeinatedFlumadiddle merlin fic I have read, they are genuine comedic gold and so fucking well written it blows my mind. but out of all of their fics my faves are: Calling the Middle Man (Lancelot's characterization in my head is now entirely based upon this fic) and Thick as Sorcerers (the cat scene had me dying, and also gwen and elyan's dynamic in this fic is so fucking good)

Next to You (It's The Rule) - In which Merlin and Arthur are pining for each other and basically married, and everyone knows it, Merlin is a little shit, and all of Camelot and other kingdoms love him and see him as their ruler because he is honestly running half the kindom. Merlin and Arthur cant cope with being separated from each other, and when they get into a fight the whole kingdom goes into a panic.

(how do i do a secondary bullet???) (i really do love this fic so much, i love reading merlin and arthur being dumbasses together and co-running camelot and the majority of this fic is so unique, funny and like exactly what i look for in fics, so please dont brush it off just based off of this but i want to state that im not a fan of the genuinely-calling-merlin-queen bit. it was funny at the beginning but it did get taken a bit too far at the end in my opinion. i get that it is fantasy medieval times and it makes sense that people probably dont quite grasp that there can be two kings, i could write a whole essay on this topic but in the end it does make me feel uncomfortable, a bit like forcing heteronormativity when you dont have to because its fantasy medieval times not actual medieval times, and misgendering- it honestly did trigger my dysphoria a bit at the end but there is so much in this fic that is so good I can't not recommend it.)

okay there we go im cutting myself off now. if you want any more fics or to talk about merlin at all hmu i mostly just send shit to my friend who has never watched the show but probably has an extensive knowledge on it just from the shit i have been sending her like every day for the past year lmao.

[suoyou]

[wip] 一日三秋; one day, three autumns

1633 words, rated t.

a complete chapter 2 in an incomplete series of oneshots titled 一日三秋; one day, three autumns, in which wwx is the autumn king and lwj is the winter prince.

ch 1.

they say that missing someone is the most powerful force of pain a person will know. a pain that can wilt the heart. a pain to carry. a pain that can turn one day into three autumns.

In the middle of Lan Wangji’s left thigh is a scar, round and hollow in the center, like a coin. It had been a burn once, angry blisters deadening into a purple keloid into, now, a little white moon on his skin. 

Of the five floors of the castle, Lan Wangji is only allowed in three. Evidently, little does it matter that he is the only other heir to the Winter Throne should his brother ever be incapable of holding it; he’s often pictured how woefully unprepared he would be should the Kingdom of Summer ever revolt again, or, as the Defectress Luo Qingyang had promised, if the Autumn King showed up seeking revenge. 

For what, Lan Wangji doesn’t know. 

“You don’t need to know,” has always been his uncle’s reply. 

“You won’t need to know if I have any say in it,” is what his brother says, kind, still double-edged.

“You should know,” said the Defectress Luo Qingyang, over her teacup, and jade has never looked so threatening, “that your kingdom is still carrying out the crimes of war right under your nose, and if your family does not wake up, the Autumn Kingdom will leave the decade-long peace treaty in the dust the same way you have.” She said it all like she was simply commenting on the races. The Jin Imperial Family was winning. 

“How do you know? What kind of war crimes?” asked Lan Wangji. He’d spoken too brusquely, but Luo Qingyang hadn’t been fazed. All around them, the Dragon Boat Festival surged on, air humid and painted green-red-blue, an overfull tea kettle of a day. “Why is it your concern?”

“That you think it shouldn’t be my concern is the same line of thinking that got your Kingdom into this mess,” she said, and her words have been ringing in Lan Wangji’s ears ever since, an unwelcome jabber of sparrow song and raven squawks that won’t leave him hours later. The telltale signs of spring. She holds her position well. 

“What kind of war crimes?” he repeated.

She’d taken her time sipping the rest of her tea before placing her empty cup on the table to be taken away. “Do you recall, when the Wen Imperial Family went rogue and the Snowfire Wars tore the lands apart,” she said, “there was a division of mages known as the Core Reapers?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t really believe, do you, that they simply vanished after those wars?”

Lan Wangji had stared at her. 

The Core Reapers had vanished after the Snowfire Wars. They’d ridden through the war-torn battlegrounds after blood had been spilled like red ghosts, gathering the dying bodies of civilians and mages alike to, as Lan Wangji had heard, harvest their cores. Word was that the Wen Imperial Family was creating elixirs, weapons, medicines out of them. Hearsay had it that they were creating monsters. 

He stares at his scar now, where his jade pendant had burned him through three layers of clothing thirteen years ago, and had never lit up again. In the dusk of the evening, it’s almost invisible, as if it had  never existed—vanished, like the Reapers, after the war. 

Lan Wangji stands up and shrugs his outer robe back on. Unthinkingly, he opens the drawer where he keeps that pendant, like it’ll have answers for him. It doesn’t. Jade does not dull with age, but in the red velvet of the drawer it could be leached bone. A small one—a skull bone. 

Lying beside it is its bonded match. Once they had been identical, though Lan Wangji’s pendant was wrapped in blue ribbon. The other is broken on one side and missing a segment, red knotting and tassels unraveled, the jade circle incomplete like a horseshoe. When the Snowfire Wars raged around him, Lan Wangji wore his half of the pair with more attention and care than when he carried his sword.

“Wangye,” his attendant inclines her head when he opens his pavilion doors. 

“I have some personal work to attend to. Can you see to it that, if any of my family seeks me, to let them know I will greet them accordingly when I return?”

“Yes, Wangye.”

So he goes. 

Three of the Kingdom’s floors are aboveground. Two are below. He’s been to three in the middle—never the topmost, never the bottomost, and he’s not sure what he’s looking for. He has to look, to be sure, or else it will be another evening of Luo Qingyang’s voice in his head, jerking him awake long before dawn.

Strange dreams have been plaguing him since the Dragon Boat festival, the sorts of dreams that someone would tell themselves didn’t mean anything. The night of the festival Lan Wangji had gone to bed and found himself in a place where the sun never set, simply bobbing up and down in the sky, turning from green to gold and back again as the days and nights passed. Then, the next night, the scar on his thigh had opened up and begun bleeding afresh, and no matter what magic he used, it would not stop. The more magic he used, the more blood poured down his leg. 

Last night, he dreamed of Wei Ying. Not in the way he’d been in life, so bright that Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to look at him sometimes. 

The Kingdom of Winter had been blanketed in snow for their cycle, and Lan Wangji was in the woods outside the royal walls alone. A dark sweep of Core Reapers had passed by. Their hoods had been drawn over their heads. It looked as if the entire forest was bleeding. 

One of them in the center of their tight pool of red had paused and turned their heads, and under the scarlet, mink-lined hood had been Wei Ying’s face. 

Lan Wangji shakes himself as he greets the guards that stand outside the gates into the Kingdom’s undergrounds. A question floats through their expressions but they open the gates for him without question, bowing again as he passes. 

He picks his way through the first underground level without wasting his time. Here they keep their forbidden texts, their spoils of war, here they hold sensitive political meetings. A damp, sweet smell of soil clutches fat little hands at his robes, happy for visitors, and he raises his hand to upright some of the overgrown vines and planters that line the walls. His hand glows a dim blue, and the drooping foliage picks its flower heads up again. Blooms are coming. 

Even if he’s never made the descent into the lowest floor of the Kingdom, Lan Wangji knows there are two ways to get there—the prisoners’ entrance in the Pavilion of Discord, and the one he faces now. The jailers’ entrance, through the Hall of Justice. 

He doesn’t feel particularly just, facing the round door that he knows will take him down the staircase into the Kingdom’s dungeons.  

Blue fires light his way. 

In times of peace, there aren’t many prisoners to speak of. The few that the Kingdom of Winter persecutes are petty thieves, suspected spies, and the occasional revolutionist, all of which are bent into fearful submission before they ever even make it to the dungeons. Lan Wangji knows it. He’s seen it. 

And he’s right, almost, for at least part of the dungeon. It’s bright and clean, with mainly empty cells, but the blue fires end abruptly in the middle of the long walkway between the rows. There are scuffles, noises of things living, hushed in the gloom. He pauses and strains his eyes. Then he lifts his hand, summoning some of the fires in the torches to his palm to light his way. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to see. Prisoners, perhaps, curled up like hungry mice. 

The icy sheen of his fire falls over the bodies in the cells, and Lan Wangji frowns before he steps back, breath stuttering in his chest. 

They are prisoners. It’s the most human thing left about them. Some of them have lost all their hair, ragged clumps gathering in rolls thick as dead cats beside them. Others have clawed their own backs bloody, as if they’d been trying to dig their own spines out of their bodies, and still others were covered in a thick, tarry ooze, as if blood and lymph had leaked out of them and gained its own sentience. One of them lay in silence with a stained white strip of cloth over his eyes, a line at his neck like his head had been stitched back on. 

Lan Wangji’s stomach writhes, hot and sick, in his belly. 

The end of the walkway widens into a larger chamber where no one is kept, but as he passes his fire over the space he can make out the outlines of odd contraptions—long rods with fluted holes, boards with three holes in them���one larger, two smaller, for a neck and hands. A splintered wooden gurney like a rotting log. Old blades sprout off of it like oyster mushrooms. They blink sleepily back at him, eyes in the night. A bizarre device like a chair, outfitted with two horns on both sides. Anyone sitting in it would have their head position between the mouths of both. 

He frowns. A long skein of red fabric has been tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, wrinkles rounded and warm. A cloak. Someone’s just taken it off. 

“Wangji,” a voice comes from behind him, “what are you doing down here?”

[atiny-piratequeen]

since you dont know many german tales, how about the original story of rapunzel?

~~

There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world.

One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion - Rapunzel, and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, and had the greatest desire to eat some. This desire increased every day, and as she knew that she could not get any of it, she quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable.

Then her husband was alarmed, and asked, "What ails you, dear wife?"

"Ah," she replied, "if I can't eat some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall die."

The man, who loved her, thought, sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will. At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It tasted so good to her - so very good, that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, he let himself down again. But when he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him.

"How can you dare," said she with angry look, "descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it."

"Ah," answered he, "let mercy take the place of justice, I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she had not got some to eat."

Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, "If the case be as you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into the world. It shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother."

The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath it and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses, wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the king's son rode through the forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king's son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed up to her. "If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too will try my fortune," said he, and the next day when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Immediately the hair fell down and the king's son climbed up. At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes had never yet beheld, came to her. But the king's son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, he will love me more than old dame gothel does. And she said yes, and laid her hand in his.

She said, "I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse."

They agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day.

The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king's son - he is with me in a moment."

"Ah! You wicked child," cried the enchantress. "What do I hear you say. I thought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived me."

In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great grief and misery.

On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress fastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the window, and when the king's son came and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

she let the hair down. The king's son ascended, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks.

"Aha," she cried mockingly, "you would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest. The cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to you. You will never see her again."

The king's son was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of his dearest wife.

Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contented.

~~

so i have been taught a version that is a little easier on children, where rapunzel was basically safed by her prince and they lived happily ever after. and no birthing twins either. BUT this version has been the one read to children for decades since it was written.

i liked the disney movie, but as usual it glossed over the original everywhere. thats fine tho, it was fiction in the first place and an accurate verion might be more of a thriller, or horror movie... or just a very sad one. it just saddens me sometimes when so much detail is lost. just like malificent wasnt called by her original german name (malefiz) in the german dub of her movie. that irked me greatly.

(also if this is starting to get annoying, tell me!! i just really enjoy revisiting fairytales and telling people about them uwu)

Its not annoying at all. Again, i always appreciate this so much. Plus you're sharing part of your culture, for folklore and fairytales, even those with more wider known adaptations, are still important to people's culture. So even if you tell me a Grimm or something that i do know, i still appreciate it so much.

I know a lot of fairytales have gentler adaptations for the kiddos but ive never seen the traditional one for rapunzel so thank you sm!

[oc-growth-and-development]

Day 1: Sunrise

OCtober 2020 has begun! Kicking things off with a bit of prose featuring a couple of my own OCs: a lesbian insomniac princess and her bisexual personal guard sharing a soft moment together (while of course mutually pining for each other) be gentle I wrote this at 2 am with 0 proofreading

(Find the prompt list here) 

Rosea lay awake in the smoky grayness just before dawn, restlessly tracing the embroidered vines of her heavy blanket. Her fingertip ran back and forth, against and with the grain, catching slightly on the raised thread and then gliding over the smooth satin stitch. She blinked hard, trying to wipe away the sandy feeling of sleeplessness. 

With a sigh, Rosea sat up and stretched. No use pretending to sleep anymore. She rolled out of bed, slipping into her slippers and draping an old shawl around her shoulders. Rosea eyed the silver bell on her nightstand for a few moments before turning away. It’s too early to call for breakfast, even for her. So she made her way to the plush seat by the window, trusting her spatial awareness more than her sight, and sat with her feet tucked neatly under her. 

Peeking through the velvet curtains, Rosea stood watch over her world. Clothed in delicate gauzy mist, the castle grounds were just starting to come to life. A gardener emerged from the hedges, pruning errant leaves and inspecting fragrant petals for pests. A castle cat padded leisurely along the path, stopping briefly to allow a passing serving girl to rub its ears. A young night guard paced, rubbing his hands together to stave off the morning chill.

Rosea enjoyed the alone-ness of the morning, before the ladies-in-waiting came bustling in. While she loved each of them dearly, she almost felt a sense of envy around them. As the daughters of highly ranking lords and ladies of the court, their only requirement in life was to marry well. Sure, Lilia was well known for her hunting prowess and Midali was a musical prodigy, but these were not talents they were born into. Try as she might, Rosea never felt like she truly belonged with her ladies. So she relished the alone-ness in the morning when she didn’t have to feel lonely.

A soft rapping at the door to her antechamber made Rosea look up. After a moment’s hesitation, Rosea crossed her chamber to answer the door. Mel stood before her, cleanly dressed in her uniform as per usual, a tray with two cups of steaming tea and a small basket of scones balanced in one hand.

“Good morning, milady,” the guard offered, dipping her head in a bow. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Something in her tone suggested she knew otherwise.

Instead of answering, Rosea stretched and pretended to give an enormous yawn. “Mel! I wasn’t expecting you for a while. Please, come in.”

The two migrated to the sitting room. Mel set the tray down on a table by one of the massive windows and opened the curtains. The room filled with lacy gray light, slightly brighter than just moments before. Rosea sank into the cushions of her favorite armchair and wrapped her hands around her cup, inhaling the fragrant steam wafting from the tea.

“Mel,” Rosea said, noticing Mel still hovering behind her. “Please sit with me.”

Mel sat. To the untrained eye, Mel was just as poised and disciplined as always, intentional in her movements. But because of Mel’s usual perfection, Rosea could detect the slightest bit of sloppiness in Mel like a speck on a skein of fresh cotton. How the tray wobbled ever so slightly in her hand. How her words bled almost imperceptibly into each other. How she raised the cup to her lips to hide her barely stifled yawn. As she swallowed, Rosea’s own chest warmed.

They watched the sunrise in silence. They watched silently as the first glimmer of sunlight gilded the crowns of distant mountains. They watched silently as the gardener lifted her face and the night guard offered his cold hands to the sun. They watched silently as the sunlight filtered into the sitting room, bringing color back into the curtains, the tea, and each other. And as Rosea watched a gentle smile warm over Mel’s face, she knew she didn’t mind sharing her alone-ness with her.