#pleasant is the fairyland

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (Part 9)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I've been soo excited to write this part, especially the ending. Despite the almost whole thing being erased because I didnt save it, I like this part. Hope you do too.

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n smiled softly as she stared at the Sidra, standing next to Azriel while leaning against the railing of the bridge.

"It's very peaceful." She murmured.

"That it is. It feels more so at night, because there's more chaos nearby." He offered. She nodded.

They had been walking around the city for a couple of hours now, and it was almost dinnertime. They had decided to rest for a few moments before continuing. She was so tired that she was sure that her legs would fall off if she took another step. Obviously, she hadn't considered the consequences when she promised to spend the whole day with him.

The whole morning and afternoon was spent with him pointing at shops and telling her of how he and his brothers terrorised Velaris in their younger years. Y/n's stomach hurt from how much she had laughed. From those stories, she knew that most of his five hundred years had brought him happiness. And that made her happy, for a reason she didnt want to think of.

He tilted his body so he faced her more. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't know...can't you decide?" She glanced at him, quickly turning back to the river, because she couldn't look at him for more than a moment without blushing. Especially with the intensity with which he looked at her. As if she was the only person in the world and if he didn't pay attention to every word she said, he'd die.

She could feel him smile as he straightened. "There is this place along the banks of Sidra. Its the inner circle's current favourite place to eat."

"Okay." She mumbled as she turned to him. "How far is it?"

"Don't worry. I'll carry you."

"Excuse me?"

He grinned, turning away from her and giving her instructions to wrap her arms around his neck, ignoring her protests. She finally relented, his hands going under her thighs to hoist her up. He couldn't look at her, which she was glad for, because all he would've seen was the redness in her face.

She clutched him tighter as he started walking, mindful of his wings. He again started telling her stories.

"There used to be a restaurant there." He pointed to a tailoring shop with a jerk of his head. "When we ate there for the first time, we were obsessed. We made plans all week to eat there on the weekend. When the day came, Cassian starved himself in hopes of being able to eat more. And, because he was so hungry, he gobbled down all the food without chewing. When we were leaving, he started feeling nauseous."

Y/n grinned and rested her head on his shoulder, having an inkling of where this was going.

"As soon as we stepped inside the town house, he threw up all over the threshold. After that he never even stepped foot in the general vicinity of the restaurant, as if it was somehow cursed."

Y/n laughed. "He is... a masterpiece."

"That he is." He agreed. Soon, they had reached the restaurant he was telling about and he helped her settle before he took seat.

As they ate, he managed to get Y/n to tell him about her life. And, because there were not really any happy or pleasant memories in her life, she told him of the less gruesome and painful ones. She watched as his anger grew with every word from her mouth.

When they were flying back, he stayed mostly quiet, as if lost in thought. Before they landed though, he turned to her.

"There is a family dinner tomorrow at the river House. I'd be happy if you came."

She considered it for a moment before nodding. "I'll come."

"Thank you." Quiet joy took over his face as he set her down, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a smile as he kissed her hand before flying away.

She stared at his form until she couldn't anymore, smiling.

Azriel had been extremely adorable today, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't excited to see this side of him again.

•○🌑○•

The darkness was creeping in again as she stared at her abdomen in the mirror. Her shirt was stuck around her wrists as she clutched the cloth to her chest. The disgusting thoughts and vile ideas she had regarding the disgusting marks on her body swirled through her mind.

She hated herself for it.

She hated everyone who played a role in bringing her to this point.

Everyone who had a hand in turning the hopeful little soul she had been into the unoptimistic female she was today.

Somewhere deep in her she knew it was wrong to think about herself that way, but she didn't care. Her father and the other men's laughs were too loud for her to hear the rational thoughts.

This was the sole reason why she never looked at herself when she changed. It bought back those dark memories and thoughts. But today she couldn't help it.

She was getting ready to go to the dinner with the inner circle when she had peeked at herself, and now she couldn't stop thinking of how disgusting her body was.

She knew if someone came in from the door, they would have an unobstructed view of the map of horror on her back. But she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

While she was busy thinking of these things, she didn't hear the soft footfalls nearing her room. She didn't hear them until it was too late.

A knock sounded before her husband poked his head in, the smile on his face disappearing as she pulled the shirt back over her head. She gave him a shaky smile as she watched a muscle feather in her jaw.

"Az– Azriel. Did you need something?"

He didn't reply, entering the room fully, the door clicking shut behind him. He prowled closer, ignoring her questions and attempts at distraction. When he was close enough, he traced lines on her now clothed back, exactly where some of those scars were.

His eyes slowly lifted to meet hers in the mirror, his voice quiet and deadly as he spoke. "May I?" His hands brushed the hem of her shirt. She wanted to say no, but she nodded.

He slowly and gently lifted her shirt as she clutched the front of it so she didn't get completely naked in front of him. His eyes traced the marks on her back with a fierceness that would've sent people running.

"Who did this to you?" His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"My– my father and a few other men."

He met her eyes again, his eyes flashing before glancing down at her abdomen which had gotten exposed. He stepped closer, curling his arm around her around her to reach the scars. His face was murderous, but his hands were gentle. So gentle her knees nearly buckled.

He traced those scars, completely silent. The air was filled with tension as she watched his every move, her eyes prickling.

His eyes slowly lifted to hers again, his voice lower and more dangerous as he spoke. "Anywhere else?"

She knew he was asking if she had more scars. Which she did, so after a moment of consideration, she unclasped the few of the clasps at the top of the shirt and pulled the flaps aside.

A startled gasp full of horror left him as his eyes flew wide.

There, on her chest right above where her heart should be, was a nasty scar.

"How did you survive that!?" He questioned, his voice wobbling.

She smiled. "He wouldn't have let me die that easily." She turned to him. "Before the bargain between us was made, he wasn't that bad. Then he slowly started ignoring us. Mother wasn't talking to him, spending most of her days with me. But then, so deep in despair she was, she stopped taking care of herself. And that was the start of her slow and sure demise." She took a deep breath, tears gathering in her eyes.

"After she died, he only got worse. He started yelling at us, and then hitting us. It soon turned to whipping us." She searched Azriel's face before continuing. "After you left, the Camp Lord kicked us out of the camp, not wanting to share the power when he was no longer getting something out of it. We stayed nearby for a few years before father somehow convinced him to let us back into the camp.

"Later on, we found out that he had made a bargain that he would let the males in the camp beat us for their own sick pleasure. He–"

"What?" He had gone rigid.

She swallowed. "They started an event. It took place every year. The men who wanted to feel like they were great warriors would come and fight with the women, who had no experience. Seeing their opponent, especially a female, beaten and bruised, gave then satisfaction. Some of those scars are the result of this event. But it was stopped the moment Rhysand became High Lord.

"One day, father got so frustrated for something that I can't recall right now, and conveniently, I was nearby. He got a blunt knife that he was about to sharpen, ant stuck it in my chest. It hurt." A tear escaped her eye as she recalled the pain. "And becuase it was blunt, it took more force for it to pierce skin. When he was done and I was nearly dead, he got a healer to get me healed."

At this point, tears were streaming down her cheeks. He pulled her to his chest, his lips ghosting over her temple. He murmured things in her ear, but she couldn't make anything out over the sound of her sobs and her heart beating in her chest as she clutched onto Azriel as if he was the only thing keeping her alive.

He didn't complain, holding her back just as fiercely.

Sometime later, she decided to get dressed. So she pulled away and walked into the adjoining bathroom. When she came back out, Azriel smiled at her.

"I'll drop you off at the house. I have an important thing to do."

She nodded, despite wanting to ask him to not go.

Soon, she was sitting with the inner circle in the sitting room of the River House, glancing out the window continuously, hoping he came back soon.

•○🌑○•

It was somewhere near midnight when Azriel returned, smiling at her. She smiled back, a blush already creeping up her face. He sat next to her. He smelled and looked like he just taken a bath, his hair damp.

Almost an hour later, the High Lord left the sitting room, saying someone had brought some reports for him. Azriel watched him go, his jaw clenching. But when he found Y/n looking at him, he smiled again, relaxing.

It wasn't long before Rhysand burst back in, fuming. He walked straight to Azriel, who was already standing.

"What is this Azriel?" Rhysand waved some papers in front of her husbands face. Confused, everybody sat straighter, somber.

Unease started swirling in Y/n's stomach. If the High Lord was so mad, it must be something important.

Azriel glanced at the High Lord's hand before back at him, speaking calmly. "Those are papers Rhys. More specifically, they look like reports."

Rhysand looked on the verge of murdering someone. Y/n stood. "Tell me why, tell me fucking why, an Illyrian camp was burned to the ground. That too exactly while you were absent."

Her heart stopped as she stared at Azriel, his face void of any emotion or remorse. If anything, he looked proud.

What in the name of the cauldron did he do?

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes @luvmoo @starlight-hope @a-frog-with-a-laptop @fall-myriad @alt-ghost @elleofdragons @ruleroftides @5moremin @stargirl1714 @bunnymallowo @ivy-34

Part 10

[tyrantisterror]

It struck me that my little fictional world didn't have its own take on the Eldritch Abomination trope, and that felt like a big oversight since it is one of my favorite monster archetypes (even if I'm annoyed at how often the label gets thrown onto monsters that don't really count these days). So I tried to figure out where in my cosmology I could fit something that counts well enough, and eventually came to a solution that satisfied me.

In my setting, magic comes from the astral plane, i.e. the dimension between the mortal world and the afterlife, which is limitless like the latter but shaped by the imaginations and minds of creatures that live in the former. Magic leaks out into the mortal world during the Lost Epoch, strengthening the connection between the astral plane and the mortal world, giving even more substance to the concepts that have been developing in the astral plane.

While some mortals wander into the astral plane and colonize it, creating fairylands within it, there are depths of the plane that are too divorced from reality for mortals to enter safely. This is where the true Fae come to be - creatures not made of matter mutated by magic, but of pure magic itself, which is to say, creatures of pure imagination. There as as many of these beings a there are normal mortals, but the strongest of them are the Eldritch Dream Lords, who represent recurring dream motifs that mortals have. They include:

The Lord of the Chase: a primal source of dread made manifest, it is the Thing That Is Going to Fucking Get You.

The Lord of Anxiety: a more complex, existential dread, focusing on humiliating horrors like the loss of hair, teeth falling out, or being naked in public at inopportune moments.

The Lord of Beauty: all that we find lovely and attractive, often exaggerated to impossible extremes and so compelling that we hate to leave its side.

The Lord of Flight: the rush of being able to escape the confines of gravity and the limits of one's mortal form, and to soar high into the splendid unknown with newfound power.

The Lord of Falling: the sensation that one is plunging deep down and fast to an inescapable doom.

The Lord of the Depths: a vast and cavernous space that one is falling into, enormous, inescapable, dark, and lonesome.

The Lord of Comfort: the sensation of being at ease, at home, with what is familiar and pleasant.

The Lord of the Labyrinth: the uncanny and endless geography of the dreamscape itself made manifest, an infinite procession of buildings and locales all sewn together in a ceaseless maze that mortal minds wander through without purpose or end in sight.

There is no death in the domain of the dream lords, for they are so far from the mortal world that death holds no meaning. Everything in their realm is endless, nothing is impossible, and yet they desire to escape it. Without mortal imaginations, they will lose shape and substance, and the individuality they've developed will fade away, which is a prospect they despise. They want nothing more than to fuse their realm with the mortal world, to make imagination real, and to walk among the mortals who shaped them into what they are. The consequences of this could be disastrous for mortal kind, because if imagination became real, then every horror mortals have thought up would become real in an instant. It would quite possibly end badly for the Dream Lords too, as they would now be prey to death, a force they have never understood. So perhaps it is best that, so far at least, their desire to become one with the mortal world seems quite impossible.

But impossibility, like death, is something they can't comprehend.

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

don't mind me, just coming up with Sekais and image colours for my unit shuffle

Ariel's Music Box (Kanade, Saki, Ichika, Nene):

"Sea Sekai" is an underwater Sekai that's set in the Little Mermaid's palace courtyard which is scattered with music boxes. the Sekai was formed by Nene's feelings and is revealed to them after she joins the group, being the last one to do so. upon first entering their Sekai, each girl is given a key on a necklace that unlocks a special music box for each of them. Kanade's plays a song that her dad made her, and the twirling figures are a couple (her parents) dancing together. Saki's does not work and the figures seem to be broken off, much to their confusion. Ichika's has four children holding hands in a circle and the song is the one their old childhood band played when little. Nene's music box plays a soundtrack from the show she and Rui watched when little, the figures being a pair of children in costumes from that very performance, the girl dressed up as Ariel and the boy Ursula. the initial Virtual Singer is Luka who appears as a mermaid (as will the others when they come afterwards)

EMPEROR (An, Akito, Haruka, Shiho)

hardly different to canon, "Street Sekai" was formed by An and Akito's feelings. a colourful street that's lined with music and instrument shops. however, there are also a couple of nods to the idol industry, through posters and an abandoned stage that is more like the ones idols perform on rather than street musicians. the initial Virtual Singer is Meiko, who does still run a café. the VS that appear after her run some of the other shops

Suit Every Wonder (Emu, Rui, Mizuki, Airi)

"Storybook Sekai" is a cosy funfair that is themed after a different tale each day, "the page turning," yet the narrator, the initial Virtual Singer Kaito, always remains to guide the group. this Sekai was formed by Emu and Rui. rather than a gift shop, the funfair contains a small seamstress's atelier filled with outfits from children's books. one peculiar thing about the place is that although it is usually set during sunsets, the sky being a lovely pink, on some random occasions, the time seems to get later and the sky shifts to bluer hues as night suddenly falls. it is only Rui who is eventually able to work out the reason why- it is a reflection of Mizuki and/or Airi's feelings when dysphoric and he is the only one who knows both of their secrets

Vergifteter Apfel (Honami, Mafuyu, Kohane, Toya):

"Forest Sekai" is a Sekai set in the middle of fairytale-like woods, permanently evening and quite eerie, the sounds of wolves occasionally heard in the distance. it is unclear whose feelings formed it. the trees grow poisonous apples and there is a small cottage that they cannot enter for now. the initial Virtual Singers are Rin and Len, with Hansel and Gretel vibes, claiming to have been lost in the forest as long as they can remember

Wings from Fairyland (Shizuku, Ena, Tsukasa, Minori)

formed by Tsukasa and Minori's feelings, set in a mystical queendom above the clouds, "Fae Sekai" is based upon the European myths of fairies, ruled by its own Fairy Queen, Miku, the initial Virtual Singer of this Sekai. the concept of Seelie and Unseelie Courts are also present here. the first three VS that appear, during spring and summer, are of the former type, incredibly helpful, a little mischievous but otherwise pleasant (Miku, Kaito, Meiko) however, on Halloween, the initial three fairies disappear as the Unseelie Court takes over to rule during autumn and winter (Luka, Rin, Len) these fae being quite a bit more tricky...

character image colours:

[book--brackets]

Future Competitions

In light of recent requests and submissions, once this competition is over, we'll be starting back up again with a whole new set of books! If you'd like to submit a title, check my pinned post and the list below to make sure your submission is eligible. I can no longer add to this list. Any further titles are being kept privately by me, but there are there, I promise! I am now tagging asks with the titles submitted.

A to Z Mysteries

Abhorsen

A Dog's Life

Adventure (Blyton)

Adventures of the Bailey School Kids

Adventurers Wanted

Alcatraz VS the Evil Librarians

Alex Rider

All-of-a-Kind Family

The American Girl Books

Amulet

Anne of Green Gables

Animal Ark

Animorphs

Applewhites

The Babysitter's Club

The Bartimaeus Trilogy

Beacon Street Girls

Beatrice Bailey

The Belgariad

Bella Sara

Betsy-Tacy

Black Beauty

The Black Stallion

The Blackwell Pages

Books of Bayern

The Borrowers

Bridge to Terabithia

The Boxcar Children

Captain Underpants

Casson Family

The Cat Club

Catwings

Charlotte's Web

The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci

The Chronicles of Dragon

The Chronicles of Prydain

The Circle of Magic

Clementine

The Clique

The Cloak Society

Cobble Street Cousins

The Cooper Kids Adventures

Coraline

Damar (McKinley)

The Dark Hills Divide

The Dark Is Rising

Dear America

Dear Canada

Deltora Quest

The Divide (Kay)

Dork Diaries

Dragonbreath

The Dragonfly Pool

Dragonhaven

Dragon Rider

Dragon Slayer's Academy

Earthsea Cycle

East (Pattou)

Echo (Ryan)

Edgar & Ellen

Emily (Montgomery)

Emily Windsnap

The Enchanted Castle

Encyclopedia Brown

Esperanza Rising

The Ever Afters

The Faerie Realm

Fablehaven

Fairyland (Valente)

The Faraway Tree

Ferngully

First Light (Stead)

Five Children and It

Flat Stanley

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

Gallagher Girls

Geronimo Stilton

The Girl Who Drank the Moon

The Giver

Goddess Girls

Goosebumps

Graceling

The Great Brain

The Greenglass House

Gunnerkrigg Court

Half Upon a Time

The Hardy Boys

Hatchet

Heist Society

Help, I'm Trapped...

His Dark Materials

Holes

How to Train Your Dragon

The Hunger Games

Igraine the Brave

The Immortals Quartet

The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place

Ingo (Dunmore)

The Inheritance Cycle

Inkheart

Iron Hearted Violet

Island of the Aunts

Island of the Blue Dolphins

Ivy & Bean

Journey to the River Sea

Julie of the Wolves

Junie B. Jones

The Kane Chronicles

The Kid Who Ran for President

Kiki Strike

Killer Unicorns

Kingdom Keepers

The Last Apprentice

The Letter for the King

La Quête d’Ewilan (in French)

Legend (Lu)

Les Chevaliers d’Émeraude (in French)

Leven Thumps

Liesl & Po

Little House on the Prairie

A Little Princess

Little Women

Lockwood & Co.

The Lost Conspiracy

Macdonald Hall

The Magic Thief

Magic Treehouse

The Magisterium

Magnus Chase

Malory Towers

Matt Cruse

Maximum Ride

Melissa (Gino)

Merlin (Barron)

Michael Vey

Miri and Molly

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

The Missing (Haddix)

Mister Max

The Mistmantle Chronicles

Misty (Henry)

Molly Moon

The Moorchild

Mr. Lemoncello's Library

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH

The Music of Dolphins

My Secret Unicorn

My Side of the Mountain

My Teacher Is an Alien

Nancy Drew

Nevermoor

The Neverending Story

Nimona

The Ogre Downstairs

Out of My Mind

The Penderwicks

Pendragon

Peter and the Starcatchers

The Phantom Stallion

The Phantom Tollbooth

Pillage (Skye)

Pippi Longstocking

Pixie Tricks

Poison (Zinn)

Pony Pals

Princess Academy

Protector of the Small

Rainbow Magic

Rain Reign

Ramona

Regarding the...

The Roman Mysteries

Rose (Webb)

Rowan of Rin

The Royal Diaries

Running Out of Time

Sammy Keyes

Savvy

School of Fear

The Search for Wondla

The Secret Garden

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Secret Series

Septimus Heap

A Series of Unfortunate Events

The Seventh Tower

Shadow Children (Haddix)

Silver Brumby

Silverwing

Skullduggery Pleasant

Song of the Lioness

The Spiderwick Chronicles

Stardust

Stargirl

The Strictest School in the World

Swallows and Amazons

Sweet Valley High

The Swiss Family Robinson

A Tale Dark & Grimm

The Tale of Despereaux

Tales of Alderley

Tales of Magic

Ten Kids, No Pets

The Thief Lord

Tiffany Aching

Tillerman Cycle

Time Hunters

The Trumpet of the Swan

Tuck Everlasting

Tuesday McGillycuddy

The Two Princesses of Bamarre

Uglies

Un Lun Dun

Undertow

Unicorn Chronicles

Upon a Marigold

Upside-Down Magic

The Vengekeep Prophecies

The View from Saturday

The War That Saved My Life

Wayside School

The Westing Game

When You Reach Me

Where the Red Fern Grows

Wildwood Chronicles

Windsingers

Wings & Co.

Winnie the Pooh

The Witch of Blackbird Pond

The Worst Witch

You Be the Jury

[dragons-ire]

#6 Ring

Springtime on the estate meant fairer weather. Wildflowers peeking through the last of winter snow, something in the world coming alive again.

For everyone, almost. For the lord’s pair of  wards, the days were unchanging, save that it was pleasant enough to have a window open during their lessons. That, when they schemed to escape the drudgery of their lives for a moment, they had more places to do so than all the hiding places in the manor house.

Both of them dressed in Brendan’s shirts and trousers, they could be easily mistaken one for the other. Two small, pale shapes moving across the hills. Trying to see how far they could get to the border of the lord’s lands before someone noticed they were gone and went to find them.

They didn’t speak. Not among themselves. They didn’t need to- their interlaced fingers twitching against each other were all the words they needed. 

They were headed down an incline together when abruptly, one of them paused, foot hovering in the air. A curl of the small finger relayed the message.

Two pairs of golden eyes turned down to look.

Growing out of a pitch of grass, coming to edge of a small copse of cedar trees, a wide, almost perfect circle of small white mushrooms had emerged from the ground. 

They knew this, of course. In their half-remembered childhood in the Shroud, they’d seen this before. Dotted among the mosses and the underbrush. Fingertips pressed to the others, they remembered.

And remembered their father - their true father’s - wonderful stories.

“You two stay out of there.” In the confines of their shared memory, his voice came through, so vibrant it was like he was alive and there with them. As to why, he had numerous reasons that blurred. Just a little truth in the fantasy.

It depended on the day. Whether a ring of mushrooms was a gateway to Some Mystical Fairyland Where No One Grows Old, a door to the Legendary Kingdom Of Gelmorra, where their blessed ancestors still dwelled and feasted, or just a passage to the Lands Of The Dead. Issom-Har, their father whispered in the old tongue, to children who believed every word he breathed.

It was Brighid who carried the suggestion along with the nudge of an elbow: What if we jumped in?

Breandan stared down a moment, then nudged back: Bet they wouldn’t be able to find us then.

So, hand in hand, they closed their eyes and they jumped. And as they jumped, they wished. For the things they’d wanted fervently since they were six or seven.

To get out. To be free. To be with their family again.

Two pairs of booted feet landed in the center of the circle and two pairs of eyes opened. They looked around - at the trees, the sunlight, trying to gauge if anything had changed.

It was back up on the ridge that they saw it at last: the familiar figure of Ser Leofwin, the estate’s huntmaster, following their trail down to them.

Maybe up here, the old magic just didn’t work quite the same.

(Feat. @witchespromise )

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[dwellordream]

"The House on a Back Street."

By Mary Abbott Hand, Ladies' Home Journal, 1885, transcribed by myself, 2024

The Skittles family lived in a tidy, little box of a house, on a back street in the city. But though small, it was as pretty and pleasant as possible. There was a little parlor, dear to Mrs. Skittles' mournful heart, where funeral wreaths and hair bouquets and a portrait or two hung in the shade and never a wanton sunbeam was allowed to disturb the colors of the carpet and upholstery.

Then, there was a bright sitting-room, where geraniums smiled and fuchsias swung their crimson bells and a canary sung from morning until night. An open fire vied with the bay window for cheerfulness. There was a low bookcase filled with pleasant volumes, a lounge heaped with gay pillows, easy chairs at tempting angles, an old organ that for sweetness far exceeded the smart, new piano in the dark parlor. In fact, that pleasant sitting-room contained a wide range of delights for a contented mind.

In front of the house, a blossoming linden perfumed the air in May; and, later, spread its broad green sunshades so that Mr. and Mrs. Skittles and their little girl could sit under the pleasant arbor it made. And then, the leaves were no sooner on than they began to fall and she must keep the broom wagging till December if she would have her door-steps tidy.

The kitchen windows looked out upon what Mr. Skittles called "the garden." With Mrs. Skittles it was only "a back yard," though a grape vine trailed its graceful leaves and hung its purple pendants right before her eyes. Beds of verbenas and pansies made rich mosaics beneath the windows and the boundary fence was all overhung with morning glories that made the place look like fairyland the moment the sun was up.

But it was the prospect beyond that spoiled the garden for Mrs. Skittles. This was the beautiful home and gardens of their landlord, Charles Meliss, Esq. His mansion fronted on Main Street, but the terraced garden with its fountain, its exotics, its velvet sward and rare shrubs, reached quite to the Skittles; morning glories.

Mr. Skittles rejoiced in his neighbor's possessions was thankful, every day of his life for the sight of so much freshness and beauty. But, to Mrs. Skittle, as she expressed it "was a constant aggravation." Fortunately, the Skittles' only child was like the father. She had, to be sure, the shell-pink complexion, the dimples, the lovely blue eyes and wavy golden hair that had won for Mrs. Skittles long ago the title of belle.

But all these external beauties were made radiant by a sunny disposition. No wonder strangers would turn their heads on the street to look at the charming girl. It was the great disappointment of Mrs. Skittles' life that her child was a girl. It had been her dream to have a boy--to name him Robert Dalrymple for her father. But the best she could do was to name the baby Roberta Dalrymple and insist on having her called by the second name. But of course it became shortened to "Dallie" by her father and playmates, but Mrs. Skittles always called the child Dalrymple. She was such a beauty that Mrs. Skittles was sure she would never live to grow up and was fond of quoting--"Death loves a shining mark."

Nevertheless Dalrymple weathered all the children's diseases and at sixteen was a specimen of perfect health. And now began another worry. Mrs. Skittles did not forget that at sixteen she had a lover and in two short years from that time was married. The idea of Dalrymple and a lover! That would be a drop too much for Mrs. Skittles. So the girl was restricted like a prisoner of war. She could not go to a prayer-meeting or a party unless her father was her escort. She was forbidden to associate with her boy school-mate--was not allowed to speak to a boy on the street, or to acknowledge the bow and lifted cap of the most innocent acquaintance.

Even Tom Butterfield, their next door neighbor, never but once ventured to say "How do you do, Dallie?" when Mrs. Skittles was with her. All the boys could get by way of recognition was a deeper tint of pink in the cheeks and a conscious drooping of the eye-lids when they met the pretty girl. To do Dalrymple justice, she was as dutiful as she was modest and earnestly meant to please her fretful mother, whom she loved in spite of everything.

Dalrymple was untold comfort to both parents,--a perfect sunbeam in the home,--a model scholar, excelling in all her studies, particularly in mathematics, and by the time she was fifteen, the entire business of family accounts, marketing, settling of rent, etc., was entrusted to her. The landlord, young Squire Meliss always collected his own rents, and Mrs. Skittles had formerly met him herself, but, she declared, nothing so stirred her up as to meet that man who had everything in the world below, while she--

"But, mother!" interposed Mr. Skittles, using the name that reconciled him to his lot more than any other he could call his wife. "Just think, he is a love-lorn bachelor, and nobody to speak to in all that great house but servants. I wouldn't give our Dallie for all he is worth."

"He isn't an old bachelor," replied Mrs. Skittles. "Not over twenty-eight I am sure. Plenty of time yet for him to put the fine name of Mellis alongside some Smith or Murphy he may wish he hadn't. Moreover, it's because we have got Dalrymple that we ought to have the riches. That man has no use for half he owns. It fairly aggravates me, the very sight of him."

And so it came to pass that the unpleasant duty of paying the rent money devolved finally upon Dalrymple. If it were a trying thing for her, she never complained, but always answered promptly the ring announcing Mr. Mellis' call the first Saturday in each month, and returned from the brief interview with no other sign of disturbance than the heightened color in her cheeks.

Surely, there was never a more agreeable landlord than Mr. Mellis. He was as courteous as he was fine looking, and he was quite as neighborly as Mrs. Skittles would permit. As it was, many choice baskets of fruits or early vegetables found their way over the morning glories with "Mr. Mellis' compliments for Mrs. Skittles." The lady however did not allow herself to taste the luxuries in the presence of her family, though she might just "try what they were like" in secret. Openly, she avowed that the very sight of them made her sick.

Mrs. Skittles was one of those ladies possessed of such delicate nerves that the slightest ruffle of the waves would stir the very depths of the ocean. The wrong shade of trimming on a new dress had been known to give her a bilious headache; a trifling omission in the grocer's orders would send her in tears from the table, and it would be hard to estimate the hysterical attacks brought on by dear Mr. Skittles' blunders.

He was a man that dearly loved his home, and all through the busy day, looked forward to the bright supper time when, Dallie on his right hand and his orphan nephew, Jakey Billings, on his left, and his wife opposite him, his idea of earthly bliss was realized. That is, when she was opposite him. But he was never quite sure that he should see her. Slight causes and no causes at all were sufficient to keep her in state in her shaded room upstairs.

What was a serious matter to the elders in the family, however was great fun for the children. Dallie, dear child, was sorry for her hungry papa, no doubt, but she, as well as Jake enjoyed the freedom that Mrs. Skittles; absence afforded and they would not have been "young Folks" had they not, smiled at one another gleefully across the table, while Cressy, the girl, scolded because the stewed oysters were turning cold.

The more sharply she scolded, the more gently oblivious became the weary master of the house, till he nodded an unconscious assent to Cressy's remarks. He had a happy faculty of going to sleep when the wind blew, and had wisely learned to receive a woman's gusty temper with the same philosophic treatment.

Jake was never quite so happy as one these occasions when his aunt was absent. She viewed him with the sternest disapproval because he was a boy, and tortured herself with many a distressing vision of Dallie's falling in love with him one of these days. But I will say, here and now, before Jake has outgrown his jackets, that Dallie never did fall in love with him. He was "only cousin Jake" to her--the one boyish companion of a brotherless girlhood, remembered with a smile as she recalled his merry face across the tea-table; and thought of with a sigh in later years for poor Jake ran away to sea and was lost on the first voyage.

As for Jake, however great his admiration for his cousin Dallie, he declared he liked his uncle the best of the family, "because he was all Skittles." Jake had a wholesome disgust for the "Westcott Dalrymples,"--the "Wedgewood Chinas" he would say when speaking of Dallie's maternal ancestors. Light-hearted children they were, Jake and Dallie, and lucky for them that the pitiful spectacle of an ill-mated couple looked to them at that time only like a comedy.

But with Mrs. Skittles, life though hardly tragic, was not worth the living. The little comforts of their own humble home and the luxuries forts of their landlord alike irritated her discontented mind. What is to be done with such naughty, grown-up children? We can't stand them in a corner till they come out pleasant, and so they go on till they drive all love and comfort out of the home and fret themselves into chronic invalidism or an insane asylum.

God pity those nervous sufferers who can't behave, and pity the friends of those who can, but won't. With every year, the kindly relations between landlord and tenants increased, always excepting Mrs. Skittles. One would suppose she believed that Mr. Mellis cultivated hyacinths and sweetwater grapes for the sole purpose of tormenting her. Once, when Mr. Mellis made his usual business call, she brought a choice handful of Jacqueminot roses for "the lady of the house." "If your mother does not care for them," said the landlord pleasantly, "please keep them for yourself, Miss Dimple."

She placed the roses in her pet vase and set it, thoughtlessly perhaps, on the window-sill, not noticing that the morning sun was glaring in there and would soon wither the crimson petals. But Squire Mellis was glad to observe them there, and exclaimed, as he turned from his window to go to his office,--"I'm glad Dimple got the roses." After that, every rent bill was sweetened with a bouquet.

One Saturday morning, some months later, Dalrymple had just attended to her usual duty of receiving the landlord at the door and came in with her hands full of lilies. Perhaps it was the contrast that gave her such an unusual color her mother thought. Dalrymple drew a low stool beside her mother and said, with much hesitancy. "Do--you--suppose--mother--you--could--ever--bring--your--mind--to--such--a--thing--as--my--being--engaged?"

"Engaged! Why Robert Dalrymple Skittles! You are not acquainted with a single boy in town!"

"I know it mother. But this is a man."

The truth flashed, at once, upon Mrs. Skittles. "I told your father, years ago, when we talked of hiring this house that it never worked well to live under the landlord's eye, and now see what has come of it! To think, after all we have done for you that you should disregard our wishes at the first temptation. Ready to leave your poor papa, and no matter anything about your poor mother,--I won't mention her. Ready to leave home and school and go over and keep house for Mr. Mellis! You can sit up there in your fine drawing-room and see your mother washing dishes by the kitchen window."

"Oh mother, mother!" cried Dalrymple. "Don't go on so. I only asked about being engaged. I had not thought of all the dreadful things you are talking about."

"What ails my pet?" interrupted Mr. Skittles, coming into the room, his honest face troubled at the sight of the unusual tears in Dallie's sunny eyes. "Don't say anything about it, mother," whispered Dallie. "This is the last of it. Of course, it is all out of the question and I could not leave you."

A smile of satisfaction came over the mother's face. "Oh, Dalrymple is alright, father," said she. "She was crying, silly child, at the thought of leaving home supposing she should ever be married. I tell her soon enough to cry when the time comes."

The next morning, Mrs. Skittles and Dollie could not help noticing the unusual expression of Mr. Skittles' face after the carrier had left the morning mail. He did not look unhappy, but evidently, something serious was on his mind. At last, it came out.

"I have just had a letter from our landlord, Dallie," said her father tenderly. "You can guess what it is about, I suppose. Well, child, I'm not the one to hender ye. You've been a good child and the light of the house, and I've looked for this question to be put to me by somebody sooner or later. Your mother has tried to prevent anything or the sort, but even if she had kept you in her pocket-book--and dear knows how hard it is to get that open!--somebody would have spied my girl."

"Don't talk like a fool, Mr. Skittles," exclaimed his wife, fairly crying. "Dalrymple knows it is silly for a child like her to think of such things; and, in my state of health, how am I ever going to spare her, I would like to know? She wouldn't want to leave home herself, either, would you, Dalrymple? Wild horses wouldn't drag you, would they?"

"No, no," sobbed the girl, thoroughly humiliated. This new, sudden vision of love and marriage was as startling as it was delightful, and was naturally regarded by her as forbidden fruit when thus dragged into the dazzling light and ridiculed by her mother. Silly or not, most girls of seventeen and eighteen have their heroes. Perhaps the admiration may be at most a distant sentiment for somebody they do not know even to speak to. In this case Dallie's landlord had ever been in her estimation like a prince in an enchanted castle.

She had far too humble an opinion of herself to suppose he cared in the least for her, but she loved to look out upon his beautiful grounds and at the fine mansion she could see from her chamber windows and try to fancy how the beautiful rooms she had never seen were furnished. Secretly, she thought him the finest-looking person she had ever seen, and, though she always dreaded to answer the bell when he came for the rent, she cherished every tone of his voice and every word he spoke from one month to another.

As for Mr. Mellis, he had not lived to the age of twenty-eight without an affaire du coeur or two of his own, but those had resulted unfortunately. Both ladies in these cases proved unworthy. For a couple of years he had turned his back on society and devoted himself to business. The little time he had spent at home was generally in his own room and, from its windows he could not only see his own lovely garden but the humble home of his tenant, Mr. Skittles. It was a pretty picture that often met his eyes;--this dazzlingly beautiful girl, as modest as she was beautiful, tripping about the kitchen, carrying dishes from the sink to the pantry; or, on baking says with bib apron and sleeves rolled up, cooking as deftly as her mother.

Prettier still was it to see her helping her father in the garden, for then she seemed the happiest, and her light laugh rang out as joyously as a bird's song. Mr. Mellis' proposal however, was almost as unexpected to himself as it was to Dallie. A sudden impulse prompted him to say what he did, but it was an impulse seconded by sober afterthought. "I should have spoken to her father first," he reflected, and made the amende honorable by writing a most respectful request to Mr. Skittles that he would favorably consider him as a suitor for his daughter's hand.

As we have seen, Mr. Skittles was willing to forget his own comfort for the sake of his daughter's good, but Mrs. Skittles, though secretly flattered that their landlord admired Dalrymple could not bring her mind for an instant to think of giving up her daughter, and Dallie was in such subjection to her mother's will that she did not presume to question it. The result was that Mrs. Skittles carried the day. She persuaded her husband that Dalrymple was distressed and alarmed at the idea of marrying anybody.

Mr. Mellis received a respectful letter from Mr. Skittles conveying the reply that his daughter was yet too much of a child to know her own mind and that both she and her mother did not favor the marriage. "I kinder hated to send that letter, Dallie," he remarked, that evening after the decisive missive had been forwarded. "I don't never want to get red of you Dallie, as far as that goes, but Mr. Mellis is a fine man, and one of these days, ef you and he make it up, I am not the one to say no. You can't keep your father and mother always with you, my child."

Dallie, distressed now beyond measure, fled from the table to her own little chamber. She glanced out upon the "enchanted castle," but the sight only gave her pain. She seemed forever shut out from the right to admire and enjoy the beautiful flowers and terraced slopes again. In a few days Mr. Skittles received a brief business note from Mr. Mellis announcing that he was about to leave town to travel abroad for an indefinite absence and that Mr. Skittles could hand the rent money to his agent, giving the address. Mr. Mellis closed with a regret that his late proposal had been unwelcome and trusted that Mr. S's daughter would ultimately gain the happiness in life she deserved.

The mansion in sight of the Skittles' windows was closed within a week. Beggar boys stole the pears and grapes and trampled down the rare flowers with no one to molest unless a policeman chanced to be in sight. And no tidings of their landlord came to the family in the house on the backstreet.

Dallie's father was a painter, a house painter, I mean, not an artist. Among Mrs. Skittles numerous woes, not the slightest was this that she must always breathe an atmosphere of oil and turpentine. If she chanced to pass a freshly-painted house, the Dalrymple nose would become perceptibly elevated and she would exclaim "Dear me! Mr. Skittles! How that brings you to mind!" Poor Mr. Skittles did his best to keep his business from annoying his wife. He had established an impromptu dressing-room behind the woodshed door, where an unspotted suit hung by day and a painter's blouse and overalls by night.

He was careful not to appear in this last regalia in the presence of his wife. But he was always welcome to Dallie, whether he wore the tidy, well-kept suit of brown or was covered with as many paint samples as an artist's pallet. She had a childish fashion of talking to the familiar brown suit when her father was away. Mr. Skittles had few holidays. He was always striving to procure some luxury his wife was whining for and it was necessary to keep steadily at work to supply both luxuries and necessities.

The Westcott Dalrymples had, it is true, an aristocratic reputation, but very little money, and the fact was, though she would never own it--Matilda Dalrymple had really never been so comfortable in wordly goods as since she married the industrious painter, Hiram Skittles. There was to be a union picnic of the Sunday schools a few weeks after Mr. Mellis set forth on his travels.

"I think it is my duty to go and take Dalrymple," whined Mrs. Skittles at the breakfast table. "Though I feel such a care always when she is with me. She does get stared at so, and then some of those superintendents think it is their duty to shake hands with everybody and introduce everybody. I am afraid that a chance acquaintance made at such a time might make trouble with Dalrymple."

"Oh mother, mother!" exclaimed Dalrymple impatiently for her, "If you would only let me alone!"

"That is the way!" wailed Mrs. Skittles. "That is all the thanks we poor mothers have for our solicitude." Dallie was swift with apologies and comforting words, but there was deeper regret when she spoke to her father. "Oh, papa dear! If only you were going too I should be so glad!"

"I know it, pet, and so should I. But Mr. Bingham is in a tearing hurry to get his house painted. He just stands below and bosses us men until we are nearly crazy. I couldn't get off before afternoon, no how. I'll try to then, if it is a possible thing. Look out for me by the 1 o'clock train, dear."

"What's that?" piped Mrs. Skittles from the kitchen door. She held her handkerchief to her face, for her husband was arrayed in his working clothes and she fancied she could already detect the obnoxious odor of turpentine. "What's that?" she repeated. "You going to the picnic! Well, I only hope you'll allow time to get off all trace of paint, or the day will be spoiled for me." The long suffering husband repressed a sharp reply which might justly enough have been flung back, and with one more good-by to Dallie, he was off.

Mrs. Skittles, with a martyr air dressed for the picnic. In her heart she was glad to go and Dallie well knew it. There was little of the belle now in the face of the nervous and faded woman, but she still cherished the belief that she was uncommonly good-looking, and claimed for herself at least half the admiring glances bestowed upon her beautiful daughter.

The morning passed gaily as mornings generally do at picnics. Fresh toilets are as yet unstained, babies have not become tired and cross, children are not overloaded with lemonade and ice cream, rash boys have not tumbled out of swings nor drowned themselves in the lakes, lovers have not yet quarreled;--in fact everything is just in that perfect state where anticipation has just met realization.

There was a pleasant confusion of table spreading. Some of the party were walking to the station to meet the incoming train which would bring an accession of picnicers. Dallie was one of these. She had established her mother comfortably upon a bench under the shady trees, for Mrs. Skittles was never one of the active workers on such occasions. Her constitution would not permit it, she said.

As Dallie drew near the station, the train had arrived and laughing groups were hurrying up to the picnic grounds. Dallie looked intently for her father, but was disappointed;--the good, honest face she had hoped to see was nowhere among the passengers. She turned about and was wearily retracing her steps when a boy accosted her. He had shot from the train the first one and had already made the tour of the grove, not finding the one he sought. Now, he put a yellow enveloped message in Dallie's trembling hand.

Dallie's was one of those natures that cannot faint and burden others in awful extremities. Before she opened the envelope, she experienced that fearful strangling in the throat that accompany the hearing of shocking news. She realized that the saddest thing that could happen to her was about to happen. This swift premonition prepared her somewhat for his brief message from her family physician. "Your father fell from a staging--dangerously hurt. Come a once." A.F. THORNE, M.D.

Grief and anxiety were now at their height, and now torture added its sting, for it was simply torture to tell Mrs. Skittles what had happened and endure the selfish plaints she uttered. Strongest of Dallie's sensations was the unbroken prayer--"Oh, spare him till we get home!" That prayer was answered. The poor girl was in time,--only in time to hear his good-by. "God bless you, my little Dallie! I wouldn't a shocked your mother in this way if I could a helped it. It was the staging give way--not I. The men will tell you so. God take care of you both and He'll comfort you yet, Dallie, after many days."

"He did not address any special remarks to me," moaned the widow to a neighbor a few days later. "It was all Dallie with him, first and last."

"Lucky your husband had his life insured," observed the neighbor, changing the subject pleasantly.

"Yes--for my benefit," sighed the widow complacently. Dallie would have none of this "blood money" as she felt it to be. For once in her life, she would have her own way. She insisted upon earning her own living. She applied for a vacancy as a book-keeper, but, before engaging in the place, a position as teacher was offered her in the primary school. Dallie loved little children, and on assuming the role of teacher, she blossomed into a dignity and enthusiasm that left nothing to be desired in the opinion of both scholar and supervisor.

But though happy when busy in the school-room, her heart sank like lead when she came in sight of her own dear home. Sometimes, she would linger in the wood-shed and whisper fondly to the brown suit that still hung in its accustomed place behind the door. "Poor, blamed, banished papa!" she would cry, and put the empty sleeves around her neck and dry her hot tears against them. Then she would suppress her emotion and go in to cheer up who mother who always saved for Dalrymple a list of the domestic discomforts of the day,--all of her own unhappy moods and tenses--all the failings of long suffering Cressy, the maid-of-all-work. And then as a finale she would moan the refrain of all her grief,--"If your poor papa had only lived!"

Friends and neighbors often reiterated a part of this regret--"If Mr. Skittles had only lived," with the additional remark, "and if Mrs. Skittles had only been taken." It is a mystery indeed that generally the brightest, the best, and most useful members of a family are first allowed entrance to the Better Home.

Dallie grew only the lovelier under the trying discipline. True, the old, glad expression had gone--the pink in her cheeks was fainter and the droop of her shoulders and her languid walk showed she was overworking and lacked the inspiration of love. Months grew to years. Changes came to other homes. Many of Dallie's old school-mates went to homes of their own. It was rumored that Mr. Mellis had given up his law business entirely and would devote himself to mining interests in a distant land. Subsequently, the report came that he had lost everything. One confirmation of this report was that Mrs. Skittles was notified to pay the rent money into the hands of a new agent.

Strangers soon took possession of the neighboring mansion which held poor Dallie's vain dreams. The familiar garden was speedily transformed into a very different looking spot. Most of the old shrubs were uprooted,--the terrace graded into one velvet slope; and, on its bank, the skillful gardener, before many weeks had formed in rich mosaic of foliage plants,--a brilliant cross. It seemed to Dallie that it rested on her heart rather than on the green earth. The mansion was lively with voices, young and old, but the children were seldom permitted in the grounds where the old English gardener held sway. When they went out for an airing, they were too elaborately dressed to play, and a capped and aproned nurse walked beside them to see that their toilettes were not disarranged.

On one of the rare occasions when the little ones walked in the garden, with the nurse saying "shoo" on this side and the gardener saying "shoo" on the other, as if they were so many trespassing chickens, Mrs. Skittles sat by Dallie's chamber window, mournfully gazing out upon the scene. "Look here a minute, Dalrymple!" said she. "Don't you think Squire Mellis would have let his children play there? He liked those old-fashioned snowball bushes and lilacs and the roses--what a master hand he was for roses! Oh, Dalrymple, I'm afraid I made a mistake. But you see I wanted you all to myself. Will you forgive me, child?"

"Don't speak of it, poor mother!" said Dallie, "It can't be helped now."

"But, Dalrymple," persisted her mother. "I must say something. Did you ever have any other beau but him? Oh, Dalrymple, what if you should be an old maid!"

A look of scorn that was strange to Dallie's sweet face contracted her lips for an instant, but it gave place instantly to her usual, noble expression. "Don't worry about that, mother," she said. "There could never be but one love for me, any more than there could be more than one papa."

"As to that," said the widow, with a silly smile, "I may say that you have had more than one chance of another papa and I have not decided what answer I shall give to old Dr. Thorne on the subject. Don't be foolish, Dalrymple."

Oh, the bitterness of having a mother so unlike in every respect that there could be no sympathy! Yet before the sacred name of mother, Dallie could check an indignant reply. "It is not pleasant to speak of anything so unpleasant and unlikely, mamma," said she gently and walked out of the room, lest she should say more. From this time, Mrs. Skittles' thoughts centered upon a new worry,--"What if Dalrymple should be an old maid."

The poor girl had cause to blush more than once because of her mother's attempts at matchmaking. When the new minister, in his round of pastoral invitation, called at "the house on the back street," Mrs. Skittles astonished him with her remark,--"What do you think, Mr. Ballard! I was engaged at sixteen, and married at eighteen, and here's my daughter, still in the market at twenty-eight!" Of course, the minister was disgusted with the widow's evident angling, but he observed the closer and with increasing admiration the daughter in question.

In fact, he gave Dallie the trouble of refusing him as she had refused many suitors before. Mrs. Skittles was none the wiser, though it might have soothed her troubled soul had she known that Dallie was appreciated. By the time Dallie was thirty a new trial came to her. She was obliged to give up her congenial occupation of teaching and devote herself entirely to her mother. The nervous tendencies which Mrs. Skittles had shown for years, now developed in alarming proportions and were pronounced as insanity.

"You are wrong," urged a friendly neighbor, as Dallie declared her intention to take care of her mother herself. "You have given up your whole life to her, already. Now, she does not know one person from another. She would kill you in one minute, when her raving moods are upon her. Why will you do it?"

"She is my mother," said Dallie simply, "and she is all I have in the world to care for." And care for she did till the tortured, raving spirit slept in heavenly rest, its disease forever cured,--its sins forgiven, and, let us hope, its power of tormenting taken away by Him who of old cast the devils out of women, and men as well. The day she died, Mrs. Skittles' reason returned for one brief glimmer. "Poor Dalrymple!" she sighed. "God will make it up to you after so many days."

Shortly after her mother died, Dallie received a notification from the agent to whom she was accustomed to hand the rent, that the house she occupied had again been sold and that she must look for a new home, as the present owner wished to take possession as soon as possible. Poor Dallie! How she loved the little home where all her life had been spent. How could she give it up! She fairly broke down as she never had done before, and all her woes seemed dissolving into tears that would have their way.

As she was thus overcome with this last grief, Dr. Thorne happened to call and of course she had to explain her trouble. After a few moments' consideration, the good man said: "Don't be so down-hearted about it, Miss Dallie. I have an idea. Maybe this man that has bought the house would let you retain a room or two. I know,--he hasn't much of a family and he is kind-hearted and accommodating, I promise you. I suppose you don't feel much like meeting strangers, but I shall ask him to call round here this very evening and we will have this matter attended to without delay."

"Oh, I don't dare to hope!" smiled Dallie through her tears, but it was plain she did hope very strongly, for she had known Dr. Thorne so many years and he was not a man to offer unlikely encouragement. After tea, when Cressy had washed the dishes and gone out, Dallie went about the dear old home, from room to room, talking to each familiar spot as if it were a cognizant spirit.

"Oh, I hope I shan't have to give you up! Dr. Thorne says perhaps I may stay." The door-bell startled her. "The new owner!" she exclaimed. It chanced that Cressy had carelessly left the front door ajar, and immediately after ringing, the new owner saw this opportunity of entering which he improved and took possession at once. Took possession not only of the dear home itself but of its mistress' trembling little hands, as she was coming from the bright sitting-room into the shaded hall.

"Oh, Dimple!" he cried, glad to notice that the alarm in her face was giving place to utter joy--"After so many, many days!" We can imagine what long and interesting stories each had to tell the other--stories of over fifteen hard years. At last, they both felt that dying prayers had been answered and that God had, indeed made it up to them "After many days." They felt so truly, but the less sanctified neighbors sometimes remarked that Mrs. Skittles surely had took more than belonged to her when, without other reason than her unwillingness to part from her daughter she forced her to give up a lover, in every way desirable, so that the brightest days of youth were lost to them both.

However there is not now a happier pair in ----- than Mr. and Mrs. Mellis,--though early youth is gone and wealth is gone. They even looked serenely and without envy on the English gardener's floral abomination on the velvet slope that they can see from their kitchen windows. They are happy that they can spend their lives together in "the little house on the back street." THE END.

[ukdamo]

Babylon

Robert Graves

The child alone a poet is: Spring and Fairyland are his. Truth and Reason show but dim, And all's poetry with him. Rhyme and music flow in plenty For the lad of one-and-twenty, But Spring for him is no more now Than daisies to a munching cow; Just a cheery pleasant season, Daisy buds to live at ease on. He's forgotten how he smiled And shrieked at snowdrops when a child, Or wept one evening secretly For April's glorious misery. Wisdom made him old and wary Banishing the Lords of Faery. Wisdom made a breach and battered Babylon to bits: she scattered To the hedges and ditches All our nursery gnomes and witches. Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves, Drag their treasures from the shelves. Jack the Giant-killer's gone, Mother Goose and Oberon, Bluebeard and King Solomon. Robin, and Red Riding Hood Take together to the wood, And Sir Galahad lies hid In a cave with Captain Kidd. None of all the magic hosts, None remain but a few ghosts Of timorous heart, to linger on Weeping for lost Babylon.

[pandemicperipatetics]

Weekend in Bryce Canyon National Park

Overview

A classic view of Bryce Canyon from the Rim Trail

Bryce Canyon was epic. The main hikes descend into the canyon, which felt similar to the hikes at Grand Canyon, although the scenery looks different given Bryce’s hoodoos. I would rank this among the most stunning national parks we visited, alongside places like Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, Big Bend, and Mount Rainier. There are also some nice places to visit nearby – we enjoyed Willis Creek Slot Canyon (kind of a random hike, no official entrance or fees) and Kodachrome Basin State Park (although hiking there in the baking sun at mid-day was tough).

More classic views of the national park

We visited in mid-May, and it was already very hot and sunny during the daytime, though still cold at night. I think going earlier in the season would be more pleasant for hiking (though not too early, given potentially icy conditions/road closures). We booked our trip about ~6 weeks ahead of time and all of the decent-seeming hotels and nearby campgrounds were fully booked out, so we glamped at Under Canvas, which was totally fine (unique and luxurious in some ways and a downgrade from a regular hotel in others). That said, the park didn’t feel very crowded – despite getting a late start (~10am arrival), there wasn’t much of a line to get in, which we observed even around noon (when we accidentally exited the park), and we didn’t have difficulty finding parking throughout the day.

Bryce Canyon Hikes

We spent Friday visiting the national park. Bryce has quite a few options for hikes, but the big ones that caught our attention were the Queen’s Head/Navajo Loop Trail (most popular hike in the park), Peekaboo Trail (much less crowded and very nice), the Fairyland Trail (8 miles, we wanted to try it out but didn’t have time), and the Rim Trail (like Grand Canyon’s Rim Trail, this one is relatively flat and goes around the rim of the canyon). The Rim Trail connects several pretty lookout points such as Sunrise Point, Sunset Point, Bryce Point, and Inspiration Point. Most of these lookout points also have hikes that start from them.

One of the trails. Probably Peekaboo given how empty it is!

For Queen’s Head/Navajo Loop, there are 2 ways to do the Navajo Loop portion – the “Wall Street” side or the “Two Bridges” side. We ended up trying both and thought the Wall Street section was much more interesting.

Navajo Loop - Two Bridges option (can you see the two rock "bridges"?)

Navajo Loop - Wall Street option. The narrowness was very cool.

Other Nearby Hikes

We spent Saturday until mid-afternoon doing some nearby hikes, and then made the ~4 hour drive back to Vegas.

Willis Creek Slot Canyon was really cool. It’s about a 30 minute drive from Bryce Canyon and the walk is mostly flat with a shallow stream running through it. It seems like a fantastic option for people with kids or dogs.

We arrived on Saturday at 9am and departed around 11am, and there was plenty of parking at both times. The last bit of the drive there was a little bumpy, but nowhere near a bad as we expected based on reading reviews. There is no fee to enter.

We managed to keep our feet mostly dry!

Kodachrome Basin State Park is also a ~30 min drive from Bryce Canyon and has several hikes, of which we tried two. We liked the relatively easy Panorama Trail (3 mile loop); it was well worth adding on the very scenic Panorama Point out-and-back (1 mile total). However, there was no shade at all and the desert sun was baking hot, even though the forecast said it was only 70 degrees out. The Grand Parade Trail, which was just across the street from the Panorama Trail and shares a parking lot, was nice but would not make the cut for me in this type of weather. The state park has a $10 daily fee per vehicle (credit cards accepted but it might be good to bring cash if you can, their card reader was temporarily down when we arrived).

View from the Panorama Trail

Food

Like most U.S. national parks, the vegetarian food options in the area were pretty sad. Subway is the best bet, and since they didn’t open on time when we were there, we picked up some basic takeaway breakfast items (yogurt, boiled eggs, a bagel) at Bryce Canyon Coffee Co.  one of the days. The national park lodge seemed to have okay options (the black bean burger and quinoa salad were not terrible for lunch) and Under Canvas was also okay, though overpriced/small portions/light on vegetarian protein and potentially only available to guests (not sure about this). The best food we ate on this trip was Mixed Greens in St. George, Utah, an unexpectedly delicious and reasonably priced salads and bowls place in a strip mall about halfway between Las Vegas and Bryce Canyon. We were also happy to eat at Urth Caffe inside The Wynn/Encore in Las Vegas when we returned our Hertz car rental there.

Lodging

We stayed at Under Canvas, a luxury glamping site located a ~20 minute drive from the park entrance. It was in a very pretty area with cozy outdoor seating and many amenities (breakfast and dinner available for purchase onsite, hammocks, yoga mats, games, campfires and smores kits, etc.). The glamping tents had comfortable beds and sufficiently warm bedding for the cold nights, a shower with hot water, a sink, a normal toilet, a contraption for making a fire if desired, and Anker battery packs for charging devices overnight. There was no wifi or electricity (i.e., it wasn’t possible to use a hairdryer or laptop), and cell signal didn’t work for us onsite (so be sure to download offline maps for the park in advance!). The staff were all very nice and helpful. Apparently this is just the second season this site is open, and it generally felt pretty new and clean.

Glamping tent

Under Canvas was a unique experience, but given how expensive it was, I’d choose to stay at a regular hotel if I had the choice – it’s just a bit more convenient in terms of driving time to get to the park, electricity, staying warm overnight, etc., and likely at least a little bit less expensive. That said, if glamping were the only option, I’d totally stay here again – there were no issues and the chance to visit Bryce Canyon made it absolutely worth it.

View from the outdoor patio at Under Canvas

[reddy-reads]

march and april roundup

still kicking! let's start with march

basically, all I did in March was re-read. Well, I also tried to read Rumphius's Orchids (translated by EM Beekman). While it was a good book, it is also a nonfiction botanical text. I got what I needed out of it :) (the badge reads "did not finish / you tried")

I did so much rereading that I decided to make a new little stamp thingy that says "COZY RE-READ." Admittedly, T Kingfisher's What Moves the Dead isn't really... cozy... but it's still a good read. The narrator is so likeable and has such a strong character voice.

April was pretty similar. I threw in a few re-reads there too, but I didn't include all of them. BUT! I was still on a T Kingfisher kick, so I read Summer in Orcus. This led to me rereading The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, which led into reading The Girl who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There. I like the world building for those books, which is a bit nonsensical and fairytale-ish in the best way. I also reread The Martian, which I didn't mean to do. I was picking it up to put it away, flipped open to the first page, and then BOOM I was 60 pages in already. If you haven't read it, I recommend it.

Leigh Bardugo's Ninth House gets a new decoration I made, which reads "Finished it / Why tho?" and has a shrug guy. Suffice to say, I have mixed feelings, at best, about that one. Basically, I think the pacing was dogshit, and I wish someone had warned me that there's sexual assault (and of a minor) in the book, but I accept fault for not checking before reading. I picked it up because it was recommended to me by several people.

I did enjoy Rosemary and Rue by the ever-excellent Seannan McGuire. I look forward to reading more in that series. It was a good adventure. The protagonist is up against a wall for so much of the book, but she keeps moving forward even when it seems like she is sinking. The setting has a lot of meat on its bones, which is perfect for a series. It feels like a good example of starting a character off at a low point to make their fight upwards more satisfying.

Finally, I postponed my "book of the month," which I will be reading this month (May) or possibly choosing to donate.

A theme that stood out across these two months was "fairy tales." I really got into a fairy tale kick with T Kingfisher and Valente, and I think it was Rosemary and Rue that started it off. (I started R&R in March but didn't finish until April.) It was really cozy and pleasant to reacquaint myself with some of Kingfisher's fantasy/fairytale inspired stuff.

[werentfun]

Party Equipment Rental

Address:

8833 NW 107th St

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Phone: (305) 985-0505

Email: info@werentfun.net

Website: https://www.werentfun.net/

"We Rent Fun" is the premier party rental company in Miami, Florida, offering an extensive range of bounce houses and water slide rentals that truly live up to the company name. We believe that a party is incomplete without a dash of thrilling entertainment, especially for the kids. Understanding this, We Rent Fun delivers boundless excitement with an array of vibrant and safe inflatable rentals that can bring any party to life. Our bounce houses are a perennial favorite among children and parents alike. These joy-inducing inflatables provide a secure environment for kids to release their boundless energy and immerse themselves in a world of fun. Meticulously cleaned and maintained, these bounce houses uphold the highest standards of hygiene and safety, allowing parents to relax while their children explore their playful side. At We Rent Fun, we understand that variety is the spice of life. As such, we offer a diverse range of themed bounce houses to cater to different interests and party themes. From mystical castles and thrilling jungles to adventurous pirate ships and delightful fairylands, our bounce houses have the ability to transform even the most mundane gatherings into an unforgettable adventure. In the ever-present Miami heat, our water slide rentals serve as the perfect refresher. They are not just an exciting attraction but a cool retreat for kids and adults alike. The water slides come in a multitude of sizes and shapes, ensuring that we have the perfect fit for your unique event and space requirements. Whether you're looking to make a splash with a tropical wave slide or ride the exhilarating twists and turns of our hurricane slide, we have an option for every occasion. Just as with our bounce houses, safety remains a top priority with our water slide rentals. All of our equipment is thoroughly cleaned and inspected before each use. Furthermore, we provide trained professionals to manage the installation process and ensure all safety measures are adhered to during its use. But it's not just about fun and games at We Rent Fun. We're also committed to providing the best customer service in the business. Our friendly and professional team is always ready to assist you in choosing the right rentals for your event. From the initial consultation to the final pick-up, we work tirelessly to ensure your experience with us is smooth, pleasant, and trouble-free. Over the years, We Rent Fun has established itself as the go-to choice for bounce house and water slide rentals in Miami. We've built our reputation on our dedication to customer satisfaction, our commitment to safety, and most importantly, our promise of fun-filled experiences. When you choose We Rent Fun for your party rental needs, you're choosing to elevate your event, create unforgettable memories, and bring smiles to the faces of all your guests. Experience the difference with We Rent Fun - your ultimate partner in party excitement!

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[desertsafaridubaiheresblog]

Best Places to Visit for Your Honeymoon

Pondering where to carry your significant other to be just after you get hitched? All things considered, you really want not look elsewhere on the grounds that in this article I will give you data about probably the best places that you can visit for your special first night. Everything relies upon the financial plan and how you maintain that things should be. We as a whole realize that vacation should be a heartfelt second that two wedded individuals ought to share. It is one of the features of getting hitched and it merits incredible readiness. So on the off chance that you have not yet contemplated where to go then perused this first so you can have choices.

ALSO VISIT:-Places to Visit in Dubai, Top Destination

Your significant other ought to be dealt with well and on this exceptional day, everything ought to go impeccably. We would rather not ruin the minutes that you share together. It very well might be smart to decide on extravagance vacations in a few fascinating and astonishing areas on the planet that incorporate The Maldives, Barbados, Dubai, Malaysia and the Mediterranean. These are among the top decisions that you can look at to assist you with concluding which suits you and your better half best. You might attempt to look online to see the pictures of these great places and surveys.

In the event that you believe that your wedding trip should be fairly private, you ought to pick Maldives. It is extremely heartfelt there with more than ninety extravagance resorts. You can either appreciate lying on the sand or investigate the tropical environmental elements. To meet agreeable local people then you ought to go for Barbados as it is frequently called the "pearl of the Caribbean". With a great deal of resorts and stores to look over you can never turn out badly with this spot. For a more intriguing vacation insight, decide on Malaysia. You can go out on the town to shop and simultaneously find a perpetual rundown of extravagance resorts all over. Dubai is likewise another ideal objective where you can encounter Bedouin culture. You will likewise be encircled with incredible sea shores. Finally, on the off chance that you wish to go island bouncing and partake in a quiet retreat with your cherished one then the Mediterranean is where you ought to be. They are famous for their spa resorts so you will unquestionably make them unwind and pleasant special first night.

So here are the best places that you ought to visit for your wedding trip. Ensure that you organize everything early so your special night will fall totally fine. Take her and cause her to feel how unique she is.

Dubai has numerous extraordinary attractions and spots to visit, there are very numerous to make reference to so here are only a couple of the most famous and the most strange.

Worldwide Town

Begun in 1996, the Worldwide Town is situated adjacent to Dubai Spring. Initially the town comprised of little units selling items from nations all over the planet yet has now a lot greater with in excess of 40 nations showing their items. The town draws in great many guests consistently.

Ski Dubai

Situated in the Emirates Shopping center, Ski Dubai has ski runs, ski lifts and has the universes very first indoor dark run.

Fairyland Water Park

Arranged around a little ways from Dubai in Umm Al Quwain, the recreation area makes 62 sections of land of progress with in excess of 25 water rides, cafés, bistros and a pool bar. It are likewise accessible here to Camp offices.

Wild Channel Waterpark

Arranged around a short ways from the downtown area between Burj Al Bedouin and the Jumeirah Ocean side Inn, the waterpark covers an area of 12 sections of land. Here you will find in excess of 20 water rides to energize the entirety of the family.

Wonderland

This is an amusement park with a Caribbean subject, complete with slides, rides, shows, games and a lot of spots to eat. The recreation area is parted into three regions, Central avenue, Amusement Park and Splashland.

Dubai Zoo

Situated in Juneirah the zoo is an extraordinary outing for all the family. The zoo has a wide range of types of huge felines, primates and Bedouin well evolved creatures.

Dubai Exhibition hall

Arranged in Pod Dubai, the gallery is situated in the late eighteenth century Al Sahid Post. The stronghold has been reestablished and offers a knowledge into the Dubai of years past.

Legacy Town

Here in the legacy town there is an exhibition hall showing a wide range of curios, a tracing all the way back to 550BC.

Jumping Town

Here you will find articles which connect with the days when neighborhood individuals plunged for pearls in the Bay of Dubai.

Dubai Stream

The most effective way to see the great structures that line the Brook is to take an Abra (little flatboat) ride, especially at night when there is a light show from the center of the stream.

[setepenre-set]

Pleasant Is the Fairyland  (chapter 10)

Megamind/Roxanne

T rating, Labyrinth AU

The Goblin King Megamind is running out of time–he must take a consort. The King declares he will have no one but Roxanne Ritchi—and so Roxanne finds herself whirled away from her unfulfilling, ordinary life…to the Labyrinth, at the center of which is a secret, the King promises, if she can find it. A secret with the power to save a world, or to condemn it to Nothingness.

AO3  |  FFN

(links disabled so this will show up in the tumblr search tool. I’m going to reblog momentarily with the links; look for it in the notes)

She wasn't sure what woke her, if it was some shift of the Goblin Kind's body or some change in the rhythm of his breathing, but when she opened her eyes, he was awake, his shining cat-like green eyes fixed on her face.

It was still night, and the silver-white light of the trees both softened and deepened the colors of everything, turning the pupils of his eyes into deep black pools even as it painted his skin a yet more delicate blue, with lavender shadows and the barest of pink touches along his cheekbones, the tips of his ears, his lips.

He looked like something limned with frost and starlight, like a meteor or a far off planet, frozen by its distance from the sun. Roxanne reached out a hand and touched his cheekbone and was almost surprised not to feel her fingertips burn with cold.

"Are you all right? she asked softly.

The Goblin King made a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

"Which metric for 'all right' are we using?" he asked, voice soft as her own.

"Mine," Roxanne said.

The Goblin King closed his eyes briefly, dark lashes momentarily veiling the marshfire green glow of them, making it flicker like twin flames in a high wind.

(Roxanne felt a slight increase of pressure against her fingertips, as if he wanted to lean his cheek into her hand but was holding himself back.)

"I may never be all right, Miss Ritchi," he said.

Roxanne swallowed hard against the sudden knot in her throat—she'd suspected as much, guessed without guessing, known without knowing.

"There's something wrong with you," she said. "Something wrong with this world. The sunset—it was all wrong. That wasn't anything like a full day, and night fell far too quickly. And this morning, the sun, when it didn't rise and you said it was warming up—Minion woke you up to make it rise, didn't he?"

The Goblin King stared at her, still, so still he must not even be breathing. And then—

He nodded.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead," Roxanne quoted softly.

"I open them and all lives again," the Goblin King whispered.

Oh.

(And oh—again it wasn't like figuring out something she hadn't known, but like realizing something she had always known but somehow forgotten.)

"The thing that's wrong with the world," she said, "it's the same thing that's wrong with you. Isn't it."

She heard the Goblin King's breath catch, saw her answer reflected in his luminous green eyes before he even nodded.

Roxanne closed her own eyes, pulled her hand away from his face.

This world was broken; this entire world, so not just her—not just the Goblin King, and how was she supposed to fix this? She couldn't even—

(Hey, Roxy, so I'm having a party at my place tonight—)

--she couldn't even fix her own life; how was she supposed to be able to help him?

"Why did you choose me?" she asked bitterly, eyes still squeezed shut against the tears that wanted to come.

"This," the Goblin King said. "This is why."

Roxanne opened her eyes, frowning in unhappy confusion at him.

"You see things," he said, then moved one hand in a quick, frustrated gesture as she made a face of unimpressed confusion. "You don't understand. It's—that interview, the one you have coming up tomorrow with that musician—"

"—not tomorrow," Roxanne said, frown and confusion deepening. "It was scheduled for—yesterday; I'll have missed it."

(And probably gotten fired in her absence, Roxanne thought, but did not mention. She'd known—well, she hadn't known what she was getting into when she agreed to this challenge, but she'd made her peace with the consequences of it last night in that hole.)

"No," the Goblin King said with another gesture, this one impatient dismissal. "Time runs different here; tomorrow will be the same tomorrow, no matter how long you stay here. But that's not important—the musician you're interviewing, do you like his music?"

"No," Roxanne said, taken aback by what she could not help but see as an abrupt subject change.

"Why not?"

"He's terrible," Roxanne said.

"He's very popular, though, isn't he?"

"Well, yeah—"

"You've met him before," the Goblin King said. "Haven't you?"

"Yeah," Roxanne said, still mystified as to why the Goblin King thought this mattered. "We did an interview with him last year."

"Did you like him?"

"Uh—he was okay, I guess," Roxanne said.

"He's supposed to be very charming. Very attractive."

Roxanne made a face.

Wayne Scott did have that reputation among his many enthusiastic fans, but Roxanne hadn't been particularly impressed by the man's muscular physique or his perfectly arranged brown hair or the way he flashed his toothpaste-ad white teeth in what seemed to her to be patently false smiles. Not particularly impressed with his musical talent, either.

"I mean, I don't see it," Roxanne said.

"Exactly," the Goblin King said, pushing himself up on one elbow and gesturing excitedly with his other hand. "What you're not seeing isn't there. You're not seeing the illusion; you're not hearing the illusion. The effort it takes to make you see illusions is—" he shook his head.

Roxanne blinked.

"Wait—are we talking—literal illusion?" she asked. "Like—actual—"

"Magic, yes," the Goblin King nodded.

"You mean he's—like you?"

"Yes! Well—not exactly," the Goblin King said. "We're sort of—inverse of each other. Seelie Court—" he waved one hand to the side, "Unseelie Court," he gestured at himself. "When the worlds ended he escaped in a pod as well."

"You're—seriously?" Roxanne said. "Wayne Scott is a fae creature?"

The Goblin King flinched slightly at the name, but nodded.

"How did he end up a rock star while you ended up—" Roxanne waved a hand at the orchard, the world, around them, "—here?"

"There are—doors, I suppose you could call them," the Goblin King said, "doors between worlds that can be opened if certain...circumstances...are met. Both my pod and his were headed for one such door into your world but—well, his knocked mine off course and got there first. And the door slammed shut behind him." He shrugged. "And so I drifted here."

"Doors," Roxanne said. "Like how you brought me here."

The Goblin King nodded and Roxanne frowned.

"Certain circumstances," she said. "Like how you bought me here? I don't understand—why now? Because you—got sick? Because something happened?"

"The time," the Goblin King said, "the time has come around again and I am allowed."

"Are you—do you need me to open that door again? The one you almost went through before? Do you need me to get you out that way?"

The Goblin King glanced aside, mouth twisting, green eyes going shuttered.

"You've the sight, Miss Ritchi," he said. "It's not that kind of power you have. People from your world—don't. And even if that door could be opened... I told you, things want to be where they belong, and with who they belong to. This world is mine, and so me and mine cannot leave it."

"I wish you could tell me what you need," she said. "If I just knew what you needed I could do it for you."

The Goblin King looked at her again, and his smile and his eyes were sad.

"Would you, though?" he asked.

"Yes," Roxanne said. "I just said so, didn't I?"

"No."

"Wh—yes, I did!”

"Could isn't the same as would, Miss Ritchi."

Roxanne made a noise of bitter frustration.

"Just because you're always speaking in riddles," she said, "doesn't mean everyone is. Would you please just tell me what you need?"

The Goblin King smiled, wider but not any happier, his eyes hard as gemstones, glowing faintly with inner fire.

"Perhaps," he said. "Someday."

Roxanne growled beneath her breath and sat up, glaring down at him. "You say you need me to ask the right question but we never get the anywhere with any of the questions that I ask because you never give me a straight answer."

The Goblin King settled to lie on his back, looking up at her, eyes glittering.

"I'll tell you what, Miss Ritchi," he said. "You make it through my labyrinth and I'll answer one question—fully, completely, and without evading. How's that for a deal?"

Roxanne opened her mouth—and then hesitated, looking down at the Goblin King there, half in the light and half in shadow, looking as near to dangerous as she'd ever seen him.

(This, she thought, this is how you save him. This is how you win. This is what he was promising lies at the center of the labyrinth—a secret, an answer.)

"All right," she said. "Deal."

The Goblin King gave a short laugh.

"If you'd read that book," he said, "you'd know better than to make deals with fae so lightly."

"I'm not afraid of you," Roxanne said.

He smiled at her, sharp edges and something dark and almost angry underneath.

"You're very clever, Miss Ritchi," he said, "but you're not particularly wise."

"And you're not particularly scary," Roxanne said, and flopped down unceremoniously beside him. "Move closer; I'm cold."

There was a pause of several moments and then, stiffly, the Goblin King shifted closer to her. Roxanne sighed and turned towards him, curling up to the heat of his body and closing her eyes.

"—you are a very strange woman, Miss Ritchi," he said, voice low.

Roxanne gave a snort amusement and opened her eyes, tilting her head to look into his face.

"Doesn't it strike you as a little ridiculous," she said, "that you're still calling me Miss Ritchi? You can—"

"Don't."

The Goblin King's hand was on her mouth suddenly, his green eyes above her, looking down, burning and closer to afraid than angry.

"Don't tell me your name," he said. "Never tell one of the Fae your true name. It is—unspeakably dangerous."

He pressed his palm to her lips for emphasis and stayed looking down at her until she nodded in understanding. Then he took his hand away and collapsed beside her with a shuddery sigh, his arm over his eyes.

"You didn't read the book," he murmured to himself. "Why couldn't you have read the book?"

"Is that why you haven't told me your name?" Roxanne asked. "Because it's dangerous?"

He nodded without taking his arm from over his face.

"Why is it dangerous?" Roxanne asked.

The Goblin King sighed and turned over on his side to look at her, arm falling away from his face.

"Names have power," he said. "Names—true names, are power. If I—If I told you my name, if I gave it to you like that, I would be entirely in your power. I would—belong to you; all of the things that were mine would belong to you. Do you understand?"

"But you—you know my name," Roxanne said. "Don't you?"

"Yes, and that counts for a little," the Goblin King said. "But merely knowing it isn't the same as being given it. You see?"

"That's why you call me Miss Ritchi," Roxanne said. "And that's why you haven't told me your name."

"Yes," the Goblin King said without looking away from her, tension in every line of his body.

Roxanne made a wordless noise of understanding and after a moment he sighed and relaxed, tension bleeding from his limbs and spine and face.

For a time the two of them simply lay there, beneath the glowing trees, the silences and songs of the night all around.

"—are we safe here?" Roxanne asked.

"Here?"

"Under the trees," Roxanne said.

"For a given value of safe," the Goblin King said, and Roxanne gave a huff of tolerant annoyance.

"Are we safe enough to spend the night here?" she asked, laying stress on the specification.

The Goblin King, lying flat on his back, slanted her a wry look, green eyes flashing in the dark like sparks struck from flint.

"Yes," he said. "We're safe enough for that, Miss Ritchi."

"Good," Roxanne said, curling close to him again, ignoring the way he went stiff in response, ignoring the way her own heart tripped over itself and slipped into a faster beat.

In defiance of—something, herself, her own fast-beating heart, the universe at large—she reached out a hand and placed it in the middle of his chest. She felt as well as heard the sharp breath he took in response, and felt, or perhaps only imagined she felt, the beat of his heart pick up in response as well, as if it were trying to match the tempo of her own.

“Is there something I can call you?” she asked. “Since you can’t tell me your name?”

Her hand still on his chest, she felt a slight change in the rhythm of his breathing, felt it hitch and then go uneven.

For a long moment, he said nothing, and Roxanne wondered if she had, again, asked the wrong question.

“—Syx,” he said at last, “you may call me Syx, Miss Ritchi.”

…to be continued.

notes:

I LIVE! And the birthday week celebrations live as well! I had to pause them for a bit when I got sick, but I’m feeling better. The celebrations will conclude on the 25th, now. I hope the new chapter was worth the wait!

Thank you to my dear @displacerghost for betaing this and for all the rest of her help as well <3

[hauntedfalcon]

a ~healthy habits~ video that includes intermittent fasting?? honey that’s an eating disorder

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

does the fae that kidnapped Emmy ever come back to try and nab her again? or does her having escaped/been let go/served her sentence mean that she's relatively safe now? (you have given me Emmy Trout brainrot, congratulations)

*me placing tasty bits of canon characters and worldbuilding in a line leading to a box on a stick labeled "getting you invested my incredibly niche OCs"*

The pixie who kidnapped Emmy Trout is under the impression that they are besties

which isn't... completely illogical of them (Emmy did have fun a lot of the time she spent in Fairyland! often... too much fun)

however said pixie was incredibly callous about any distress Emmy did experience while she was there (often simply magicing her happy again) and finds the fact that she herself wiped any memories pleasant or otherwise Emmy had of her to be wholly irrelevant

So post-virgil when said pixie is comfortable coming to speak to Emmy, its a one-sided and very strained relationship - she is essentially a very overfamiliar and vaguely unsettling stranger who can't take the hint that Emmy really doesn't like her much or want to be around her

[visd3stele]

magic and kids

summary:

A/N: I really hope you like it. Thank you for your requests. Loved writing it.

art credit: @phantomrin

TW: none

@britishbookworm2 requested (if you want to leave a request as well, click)

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It's been four years since Taryn decided the mortal world would be a more suitable place to raise her child than Elfhame. Even if her sister was now High Queen, the fairies would still make life hard for her and her baby. Maybe not on purpose, she admits it. But magic runs wild, free and unstoppable. Used to it, the Fae Folk barely notices the dangers. And frankly, they don't care. Not allowed to use it on humans as cruelly as before, some meaner courts claim innocent ignorance. How can an entire society of enchanted beings change overnight? How could they be expected to adjust to human fragility all of a sudden?

So Taryn took her baby, promised her sister to visit and fled to Heather and Vivi's. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought. Getting used to the mortal world, that's it. And if her baby had longer canine than normal, or his ears sharpened to pointy edges to the top, it passed unnoticed. Her son certainly didn't stood out the way Vivi did, even with light brown eyes that looked orange in the sun and rusty red hair. He didn't need much glamouring either, not like Oak, Oriana or Madoc. By the time she sent him to preschool his hair was long enough to cover the ears and no one seemed to notice the teeth even without magic.

For all the talk Taryn did on how she wanted her son to be free of his father in all ways, snapping at Oak when the boy tried to teach him magic before he knew how to properly walk and forbidding her family to bring Fairyland up, she named him Renard.

Fitting, though not what she should have done. Maybe part of her can't let Locke go, not entirely. She knew he didn't particularly wanted the baby, that everything he promised her were pretty lies. But for a few months, it has been real. Their marriage, their love, their lives. She saw her dreams come true, one after another: the mistress of an important household, throwing parties for courtiers, motherhood.

Now that everything she wanted snaped broken in tiny little pieces carried away by harsh winter wind, Taryn Duarte couldn't phantom having her child become like his father.

"It has nothing to do with magic, for fuck's sake!" Vivi exploded once, after Taryn better than not threw Oak and Oriana - who came to visit - out of the apartment for trying to reach Renard's magic. "He won't become a sly, selfish fox if he can change appearance or grow horses out of leaves. It's all about his up-bringing!"

"I want him to be normal, Vivi! That's why I took him here!"

Renard has been barely one year old when the argument happened. But it was enough to take his mother's words to heart.

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Four years old Renard and twelve years old Oak played outside, jumping in crusty piles of autumn leaves. The princeling hadn't given up his plans to teach his cousin magic. He refused to let go of such opportunity: a friend he didn't have to hide of, one he could play with like he used to in Elfhame.

"Hey, Ren-Ren," Oak said, "check this out!" The older boy held up his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, lip grazed between his teeth. Nothing happened for an alarming amount of time. And then... the leaves twirl around the two cousins, splashing then with guts of wind and scarce dew as it swept them up in a friendly tornado.

Renard chuckled in delight, stretching to catch some of the closer leaves. But as soon as he touched one, the whole thing fell apart. "No!" Do it again, Oak. Do it again."

"I'm sorry, Ren-Ren," Oak faked a yawned and laid on the ground. "Magic is very serious business. Very consuming. I'm too tired to even move." He let his eyes close dramatically, watching Renard between his lashes. Truth be told, every time he did magic Oak felt good. Vibrant. As if the earth itself reached out and gave him life. But Renard didn't need to know that yet. He can definitely learn it by himself if Oak's plan works out.

The younger boy pouted and dropped on the ground. "Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"You know, Ren-Ren, you're half fae. That means there's a pretty good chance you're magic too."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't know that. Come on, give it a try!"

"No, Oak! I'm not magic. I'm not like Father, I'm like Mom. Like Mom, just like that."

Oak straightened himself, but didn't rose from the ground. "Ok, Ren-Ren. Listen up. Magic is not bad. It's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"

"Yes!" Renard nodded enthusiastically. "It's super fun. When you do it, Oak." At that the named boy own enthusiasm faded away in an instant.

"Thank you, Ren-Ren," he deadpanned. "But do you know what's more fun than watching me practice magic?" Not giving the kid a chance to answer, to even take in the question, really, Oak said "To do it yourself."

"Do you really think I should try, Oak?" Clearly, the little boy was attracted to magic. And clearly something was stopping him. But his older cousin slowly made whatever that was seem less big and scary, dragging him along in his qualms.

"Totally!"

Renard pushed his lips forward with his tongue, sticking it out through the gap in his teeth. Caramel eyes shone with desire, his red hair flown around by a cold, pleasant wind. "Ok," he gave in, as expected. "How do I do it?"

The smirk that lightened up Oak's face can only be describes as evil. Though no ill intention hid behind it. Only the knowledge his plan worked out, just like his sister, Jude's.

"Listen to me very carefully, alright? There is not just one way to make magic, Ren-Ren. You have to find your own. But for now, try the basics. Think really hard on what you want to happen. Something easy. Got anything in mind?" Renard frowned, then his eyes landed on a tree which still had some green leaves on its branches and nodded.

"Perfect! Now, imagine whatever you want to happen. Imagine it happening. Are you imagining?"

"Yes."

"No!" Oak groaned. "If you're paying attention to me, then it means you're not focusing on magic."

"But how will I know what to do if I don't listen to you?"

"I told you! Magic is your own, Ren-Ren. It comes naturally. So, dig it up. Use your imagination."

Renard tried to shut out the world around him, picturing the sole tree in his mind. A warm pull tugged at him and he followed. His magic, he tried not to dwell on the joy, but instead focusing on his practice. His magic reaching out. Because he reached out first.

The boy allowed the warmth to take control, guiding him through it. The tree now carved in his mind by detail wasn't enough. He needed action. But just imagining the leaves to fall wouldn't do. Renard couldn't say how exactly he knew it. He just did. Something more tender was needed. The half fae kid had to imply what he wants and trust his magic to follow his lead.

So Renard made himself cold. Chilly. Feeling a breeze of wind creeping inside his clothes, whipping his skin gently. Enough to rip a leaf off a tree, though. Which it did. The wind he summoned couldn't be felt, not really. Only by himself and the green leaves that departed one by one from their branch as if plucked by an invisible hand.

Oak gasped. Then grinned. And then he laughed. Renard broke free of his concentration, pleased to see his magic didn't falter. Not until every and each green leaf from his chosen tree didn't fall. The sight made him still in awe for a couple of seconds. But soon enough he joined his cousin with a bubble laugh, jumping up and down and running to tackle Oak in a tight hug.

"I did it, Oak! I did it!"

"Yes, you did, Rem-Ren. Indeed, you did. Congrats!"

"Can we show auntie Vivi? And auntie Oriana?"

When Madoc and Oriana first came in the mortal world, Taryn wanted nothing to do with them. But years of being cared for by the blue skinned, white haired, pink eyes woman showed their tale. She agreed to see her, but only her. She could be part of her child life, if she wanted.

"Sure. But don't you want to show your mom first?"

"Mom and auntie Heather work a lot. We can show them later." Renard said, but he felt his magic shrinking at the thought of his mother. His Mom didn't like his father. And his magic comes from his father. Is that why his magic doesn't want to reveal itself near Taryn? He hoped it was just him overthinking it, because he loves his Mom and wants to share this with her.

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Oak stayed with auntie Oriana, who was his mother, so Renard couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. He would want to be with his mother as much as he can as well. So he did a little trick for auntie Vivi, who told him to stay where he was, brought a camera and ordered him to glamour the tea cups again. Renard made them look like pumpkins, since the Halloween being over the corner made him impossibly anxious - in a good way.

Turns out even mortal technology can be fooled by fae's magic. Vivi showed the clip to Heather, who coed over him until Taryn came home.

"Hello, treasure. How was your day? Wanna give mommy a kiss?"

Renard jumped into his mother's arms, pressing a strong kiss on her cheek before starting to tell her about all the fun he had with cousin Oak. "And then he said I should try magic too."

Tamryn stilled. "And?"

"Look, Mom!"

Renard broke a vase, then, with a twitch of his fingers put it back together. "Auntie Vivi says I'm a natural."

"Does she? That's amazing, sweetheart."

But his mother didn't sound thrilled. In fact, her smile wasn't even a smile at all, but a thin line. "I'm sorry, mommy. I knew I shouldn't've done it, but I didn't know why. Now I know: you don't want me using my magic. It'll make me bad, like father."

Renard pushed his lips up front, scrunched his nose up, wiggled his toes, all in an atempt to stop the tears hurting his eyes from falling. When he realized it was in vain, he took off running to his room.

When Taryn entered minutes later she found her son curled on his left side in the middle of the bed, hugging a black goat plushie his uncle Cardan gave him on his birthday tight to his chest. She hated herself for causing the pain struck look on her son's face.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom." Renard wiped his nose with his jumper's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Mommy was just scared, but that's not your fault. You could never be bad. Magic is not bad. Of course you can practice all you want, but we'll settle some ground, basic rules first. Ok?"

"Really?"

"Rules you can never, ever break. Really."

"Thank you, Mommy! You're the best! Just wait until Oak hears about it."

A/N: Renard means fox in french. Also: oops, guess I finished it earlier than expected and didn't really felt like waiting days to post it 😅

[crisp-sweet-pink-lady]

Summer of Strawberry Shortcake: Berry Fairy Tales

I liked the episodes on this DVD a little bit more than the previous ones, but that's mostly due to the first one. The second one just makes my head hurt.

Taken as a whole, the Strawberryland view on fairies is not a particularly pleasant one. Nearly every fairy we meet is selfish and unpleasant. The first episode makes it seem like it's just Margalo who needs an attitude adjustment, but then we actually go to fairyland in the second episode and nope! They're all just like that. No wonder we never saw them again.

The first episode is a little annoying with the whole 'liar's reveal' plot, but it has what I think is the best song in the whole 2003 reboot, Merry Berry Fairy, so I will forgive it a lot for that. The second episode, however, has no redeeming qualities at all. (Okay, maybe some of Ginger Snap's lines, but that's it.) The whole thing is just riddled with plot contrivances to make the story work, and on top of that, the last song is just a recap of the whole story we literally just watched!

Considering that these two episodes are meant to go together, when Sherry was trying to get someone, anyone, to listen to her warning, why not have Strawberry suggest they try to find Margalo? This story is clearly set after that one (since Custard mentions the fairy princess class system), so it would make sense for them to try and get her help. Of course, asking the second episode to make sense is perhaps a bit much. Still, even just a throw-away line about her being out in the strawberry fields, or something, would have been enough. Ah well.