#poppy and her ever growing collection of branches

[tamagoneko]

god i wish i was her 💖

[dulltoned]

It's been many, many years since the other members of BroZone have spent any real time with Branch. It was easy, in the beginning, to forget that Branch wasn't the same toddler they'd left behind for their grandma to raise. Now that they were staying with Branch for a while it was becoming increasingly clear that Branch had grown in a lot of different ways since they were kids. He was standoffish and neurotic and rough around the edges but it was blatantly obvious that he cared a lot more than he wanted them to know.

They wanted him to know that they cared too.

-- or --

Five times that Branch comforts and supports a member of BroZone and one time that BroZone comes together to be there for Branch.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Things were different for Floyd after everything. In a multitude of ways, some good and some bad, but after his time in captivity everything had changed. The most jarring, oddly enough, was once again living with trolls. He'd spent a lot of his time since initially leaving the Troll Tree all those years ago traveling from city to city. He'd settled more permanently in Mount Rageous somewhere along the line as a vocal coach for up-and-coming stars. He'd needed something steady, without the unknown that hung over his head while going from place to place. He has no plans of going back to the life he'd built for himself. He doubts he'll be stepping foot in Mount Rageous anytime soon and his work was how Velvet and Veneer had gotten their hands on him to begin with. Those memories were tainted in a way he wasn't sure he could ever remedy. The mere thought of the bright lights and constant bustle of the city was enough to make his hands start shaking.

Now every morning he opens his eyes to dirt ceilings and furniture his size made of warm woods. And every time a gentle confusion greets him. Where was the pink hue? The world made for beings at least thirty times his size? Then he remembers that he was free now and Branch had stiltedly offered Brozone his home before they inevitably returned to their own lives. Even now, as he sits up in the bed he would never take for granted again, Floyd has to take a few deep breaths and remind himself that this is the new normal. It's been a week officially but it seems that wasn't near enough time to shake off the two months of captivity.

Floyd exhales slowly and takes a few minutes to ensure he was well enough to get up to start the day. The more time that passes between when Velvet had selfishly tried to drain him dry and now the better he feels but he still had plenty of dizzy spells that could easily send him toppling if he wasn't careful. He feels stable enough that he hops off his bed and grabs one of the cozy sweaters Poppy-- who was apparently the Queen and Branch had just forgotten to mention that-- had given him. It's a simple lilac thing but it's Floyd's favorite of his growing collection of Welcome-to-Troll-Village gifts. It had been so long that Floyd had forgotten just how overwhelmingly hospitable Pop Trolls tended to be. It was more jarring when he'd barely been able to stand and Queen Poppy had tried to shove a welcome card and a piece of cake into his hands but he'll never forget the eye roll and fond smile on Branch's face when he'd swooped in to grab the items and gently scold her. It was more than enough to gain Poppy some more brownie points from him. Brownie points, he muses, the pink Troll seems almost desperate to earn. He brushes imaginary dust from his sweater and tries to ignore the flashes of white swinging at the corner of his vision as he makes his way over to the door and steps out into the rest of the bunker.

The rooms that had initially been meant for the rest of BroZone according to the plans a little Branch and Floyd had eagerly put together when they were much smaller were now full of meticulously organized supplies and storage. Poppy had swiftly offered her own pod to house the reunited family but they'd only lingered around the Queen's home for a few hours when Branch had shown up covered in dirt with a satisfied grin and the news that he had more than enough room for his brothers. Turns out that had meant individual rooms dug out on the lowest level of Branch's bunker with cozy furniture sets that Floyd didn't really want to ask about. He figured that whatever answer he got would put a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

He casts a cursory glance around the large room as he makes his way towards the elevator. There are plenty of shelves covered in canned goods and dried fruit and others towered with construction supplies that were clearly organized in a specific way that Floyd couldn't quite discern. There are a few small alcoves filled with similar things but one space always stands out to Floyd. It's just a small little place with a table and shelves with curtains always pulled neatly shut. It's a cozy little corner that's so starkly different from the rest of the overflowing bunker that Floyd's eyes are drawn to it nearly every day. He doesn't know what's behind the curtains and he doesn't want to upset Branch by asking but he figures one of these nights when he can't get to sleep it wouldn't hurt to take a little peek.

He nods to himself, satisfied with the idea, and hops up onto the elevator platform. It's a cool little contraption that Clay and Branch had talked about in detail with each other just the other day. Floyd hadn't followed the conversation itself but they'd caught him looking at them fondly just the same. Clay had teased him a bit but Branch, who Floyd could see just over Clay's shoulder while the tall Troll ruffled his hair, had looked back with a similar bittersweet expression. Floyd didn't really know how exactly the elevator worked but he was immensely grateful that he didn't have to use stairs to get around the place or else he'd never get anywhere. He felt like he had plenty of energy to spare but it was like every little thing took more effort than it should. He can admit that even a single flight of stairs would take up all he had to give.

He flips up the lever and smiles softly to himself as the elevator rumbles to life and starts the easy crawl up. He couldn't hear anything coming from the kitchen and things echoed through the large space so he was pretty confident none of his brothers were up and about yet. It was likely that Clay was nestled in the armchair Branch had put in his room, curled up around the latest novel for his book club to catch up for the next meeting. John Dory and Spruce-- Bruce, he reminds himself sharply-- were up in the air but considering he couldn't hear them arguing over something it was safe to say that at least they weren't in the same room.

He pulls the lever straight just in time to stop at the kitchen's level and waits for the platform to come to a complete stop before letting go. He'd watched Bruce get lectured by Clay and Branch for improper handling once and he had zero intention of being on the receiving end, even if it was nice to see Branch integrating back into things. Floyd doesn't know if anyone else noticed but he watched how Branch kept his distance, always tucked away in the corner and watching them interact with a wariness that made Floyd's heart hurt. It was a hopeful but steely look that he had never wanted to see on his little brother's face. Like he wanted but he wasn't willing to risk the disappointment.

Speaking of Branch, Floyd slips into the kitchen and spots his little brother sitting at the stone dining table with a mug of something steaming cradled in his paws and a green robe wrapped tightly around him. Branch is already looking at him, eyes narrowed, but his expression softens when he realizes that it's only Floyd. Floyd smiles and offers a soft wave, making his way over to the cabinet to grab down a mug of his own. Branch's eyes follow him and he hums a soft greeting in return. Floyd has come to learn that Branch is somehow not a morning person but also exclusively a morning person. Branch is always the first one up but he never seems happy about it. Floyd grabs down another gift from Poppy, a pink mug the same shade as his hair, and sets it gently on the counter. He sees the pitcher of coffee just a few feet over and can't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. Coffee sounds absolutely dreadful right now. "Hey," He meets Branch's gaze, "Do you have any tea?"

Branch blinks drowsily a few times and nods, "Yeah, third shelf up on the right in the pantry." He nods towards the door next to the hallway Floyd had entered through. Branch takes a long drink from his cup and lets his eyes fall closed in the quiet bliss of morning coffee, "Be careful with the door, it keeps getting stuck." He warns without opening his eyes.

"Got it," Floyd nods despite knowing that Branch can't see him and moves back across the room. It's not exactly a large kitchen but it could fit them all comfortably. Barely. He pries open the pantry door with only a little effort and he doesn't know why but he's still surprised by the unnecessarily large space. It's more like a restaurant pantry than a home pantry, maybe four Trolls long and three Trolls wide, but the shelves make the space seem infinitely smaller. There are long, sturdy shelves lining the walls from floor to the ceiling packed with bottled drinks, snacks, even more canned foods, and other assorted goodies. Floyd is pretty sure this is the only perishable food he's seen in the whole bunker. He keeps the door propped open with his foot and glances over to the third shelf up on the right and sees plenty of different teas to choose from. That's the Branch he's coming to know and already loves; overprepared and overstocked.

There are plenty of good options but Floyd spots a little green box a bit further into the pantry and perks up immediately. It's a brand he recognizes and the label reads mint chamomile and he knows without a doubt that he needs it. He squints, trying to measure the distance in his mind, and frowns when he realizes that he won't be able to keep the door propped open and also reach his prize. He hears Branch offer an amused snort behind him but waves off his little brother in favor of contemplating his options. He could try to keep the door open and stretch to reach the tea but he's pretty sure he'll just end up falling and that sounded like a bit of a nightmare. He could also just choose a different tea but he's made up his mind now and would be disappointed with something else. He sighs and decides to just step into the pantry, letting the door fall softly shut behind him despite Branch's earlier warning. Push comes to shove he'll just have to either force the door back open or ask Branch to do it but at least by the end of it he'll have his tea.

He grabs the box, turns on his heel, and pushes against the door.

It doesn't budge.

He huffs, tucks the tea under his arm, and braces his shoulder against the door. He pushes. Nothing.

His heart stutters in his chest and he swallows thickly. He's fine. It's just a door, Branch is literally only a few feet away on the other side. This isn't a big deal. He places the tea down gently on top of another box right beside him and places both hands against the door and pushes with all his strength. Nothing. How? He'd barely even let it shut all the way. His arms are shaking and suddenly he's lightheaded and oh no that's not fair he was fine just two seconds ago--

He was fine but now he's not and he can't get out. He needs to get out. His chest is getting tight and his hands and feet feel cold and he jerks away from the door in a panic, glancing down at his hands to make sure that he's not fading away again. The world is pink around the edges and his eyes are burning and oh no he can't get out and--

And the door rips open and Branch is there with wild eyes, reaching in and dragging him out of the pantry with an urgency that matches Floyd's own. Floyd makes a choked noise and his mind briefly flashes to the tea still in the pantry but it feels like he blinks and suddenly Branch has him tucked neatly into his abandoned chair at the table. Branch kneels in front of him, eyes not the same blue that Floyd remembered but bright and worried all the same. "Hey, Floyd, just breathe for a second, okay?" Branch coaxes softly, telegraphing his movements as he reaches out a hand and places it softly atop Floyd's knee.

Floyd hadn't realized that he was practically hyperventilating, muscles so tense his whole body coiled up on the chair. He stutters through his first attempt at an even breath but Branch doesn't say anything, waiting patiently for Floyd to sort himself out. He sucks each breath into uncooperative lungs and with each exhale he unwinds just a bit more. It takes a few minutes for him to calm himself down but Branch is an unwavering support through each agonizing second. With one last exhale Floyd sags back, boneless, and closes his eyes against the wave of exhaustion that crashes into him. Great, there goes all of his energy for the day.

It was incredibly frustrating to be too tired and fragile to do even the smallest things more often than not. He had never been the most productive of their family but he certainly wasn't a slacker either. He liked to get things done and get out of the house, run errands and do chores. His heart twists when he remembers that Grandma had always praised him for his willingness to help her keep the pod up and running.

The soft clunk of ceramic on stone rings loud in his ears and startles him from his thoughts. His eyes shoot open to find his mug sat in front of him filled to the brim with tea. "Oh," he blinks a few times, emotions still high and touched at the thoughtful gesture. He turns his gaze to Branch, standing beside him and once more clutching his own now lukewarm mug in his hands. "Thanks." He smiles warmly.

Branch huffs but his lips pull up into a grin, "You okay?" He asks carefully, so clearly testing the waters to see if Floyd wants to talk about it. It's such a sweet, if not incredibly awkward, gesture and it only adds to the growing adoration nestled beneath Floyd's ribs.

"Yeah, yeah," Floyd nods distractedly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around his cup to hide the near imperceptible tremble. The warmth seeps through the ceramic into his skin and a soft sigh of contentment slips out before he can even think about it. The tea and the cozy comfort of the sweater do wonders to soothe his frayed nerves. "I'm fine, really. I don't know what that was." He admits softly, chuckling in hopes of removing the stiff line of tension in Branch's shoulders despite the unease still churning in his own stomach.

He succeeds, technically, but Branch seems to only have lost the tension in his new confusion. He tilts his head and stares at Floyd in that terrifying way he does where it feels like he's picking you apart and digging up all your best-kept secrets. Floyd wonders if he ever looks at the others that way or if this was an expression reserved just for him. He's noticed that Branch is quiet but it's not because he's not paying attention. Branch, Floyd has learned, is nothing if not observant. A look of brief realization crossed Branch's face, "A panic attack." He says, suddenly.

"What?" Now it's Floyd's turn to be confused.

"A panic attack." Branch repeats, shifting his eyes downward to the contents of his cup. "They can happen after something traumatic or because of stress and stuff." He explains offhandedly, swirling his drink. He seems to stare at the contents even more intently then, "I get them, sometimes." He shrugs, bringing the cup to his lips and downing the rest.

"Oh," Floyd feels like he's always at a loss for words with Branch these days. Sometimes Branch just says or does something that really forces Floyd to remember that Branch has lived his life without them. He's not the little kid they left behind and sometimes what that might entail sneaks up on Floyd in the worst way. "That's--" The sound of the elevator humming to life and starting it's descent back down to the lower floor breaks through his thoughts and spurs Branch into action. The younger quickly deposits his mug in the sink and flees down a different hallway, likely to scamper off down a flight of stairs and find some project around the bunker to busy himself with. That's one more thing Floyd has realized. Every room has at least two exits.

He can already hear John Dory and Bruce bickering as the elevator climbs back toward the kitchen level. All Floyd can think about is who had been there for Branch when he'd been scared and panicking?

[imagineyouandharry]

Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined. 

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

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Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

__

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

[lillywillow]

The Adventures of Poppy and Alpine

Summary: Sam has to take care of Bucky’s cat and your bird while the pair of you are away on a mission

 Word Count: 1475

 Square Filled: Rescue Mission

 Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader

 Warnings: Cheeky pets

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

 When you first saw Poppy in the window of an animal shelter, you were absolutely smitten with her. She was a cockatoo who had sadly pulled her feathers out in a time of stress. You had taken her to the vet and unfortunately the feathers on her head and chest would never grow back. Other than that, she was completely healthy. You gave her all the love and attention she could ever want. When you first started dating Sam, you weren’t sure if they would get along but your concerns were soon at ease. Sam adored Poppy and she loved him. When Bucky moved in with you, he of course brought along his cat Alpine but that once again brought up worries. It took a while but eventually the cat and the bird learned how to get along without too many issues.

...

 There came a day when you and Bucky were called away on a mission by Fury. The pair of you fussed over your animals while Sam stood by.

 “Can I get some love here?”

 “Nope,” Bucky replied bluntly while continuing to coo over Alpine. You went over to kiss your boyfriend.

 “I love you. Now, make sure you cover Poppy up in her cage at night, let her out during the day and don’t give her too many treats.”

 “Same goes for Alpine about the treats. Don’t let her con you into feeding her multiple times a day,” Bucky supplied.

 “Yes, alright,” Sam sighed. Why did he suddenly feel like he was babysitting someone’s children?

 After a few more goodbyes, you and Bucky left. Now Sam was alone with Poppy and Alpine.

 “Well now you two... What shall we do today, hm?”

 Alpine rubbed up against his leg and meowed at him while Poppy affectionately nipped at his ear. Sam chuckled and went to sit on the couch. Alpine jumped up on the seat while Poppy clumsily fluttered to the arm of the couch. While she had most of her feathers, some of her wing feathers had also been damaged by plucking, making it hard for her to fly long distances.

 “Sammy!” she cheered.

 “Yeah? What is it Pops?”

 “Sammy! Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” Poppy hopped around in a circle.

 “Are you dancing, Poppy?” She bopped her head and wobbled about. Sam couldn’t help but smile, giving her a sunflower seed and already breaking the rule about treats.

 Sam also idly patted Alpine making her purr. Poppy squawked at Sam for attention, causing Alpine to jump. Sam had to pat the both of them, trying to give them an equal amount of attention. This was going to be difficult.

...

 That night, Sam was trying to have his dinner but he was being watched. Alpine sat by his foot while Poppy stood on the table.

 “No,” he stated firmly, taking another bite of his food. Alpine meowed insistently.

 “I said no. I fed you already.” She meowed again.

 Sighing, he got up to check Alpine’s bowl. He groaned when he saw that she had only eaten a small amount, leaving a hollow in the middle. Sam shook the bowl to make it appear fuller. Alpine looked at the bowl and looked at him, meowing once more. Sam muttered and pretended to add more in hopes of tricking the feline which luckily worked. By the time Sam returned to his dinner, Poppy was standing on his plate and helping herself.

 “No, Poppy,” he scolded, shifting the bird to her perch. Poppy squawked in protest. She tried to fly back to the table but fumbled to the ground. Spotting Alpine’s dish she made her way over to have some kitty kibble. Alpine tried to bat her away but Poppy stretched out her wings in attempt to make herself look big while hissing and threatening to bite.

 “Hey! Stop that!” Sam rushed over to stop the fight before it could progress any further. “What am I going to do with you two?”

 “Bite me,” Poppy replied cheekily. Sam chuckled and put the bird on his shoulder and out of striking range from Alpine.

 “Whatcha got?” she asked, trying to peer into his mouth.

 “My dinner. Here,” he grumbled, giving Poppy some vegetables in hopes she would leave him alone for a few minutes. Poppy jumped on the table and happily accepted his offer. This was going to be a long week.

...

 The rest of the week was pretty hectic trying to keep the two animals entertained while keeping them separated. Sam found if he didn’t want paper things chewed to shreds, he had to hide them really well and even then somehow Poppy managed to find them. Both Alpine and Poppy wanted his attention since their people weren’t there to provide it. Sometimes it only took two minutes for them to get into some sort of trouble. Twice he had to rescue Alpine from on top of a cabinet from Poppy chasing her and three times he had to save the bird from the cat. The biggest trouble happened on the day you and Bucky were due to return home. Sam got up to answer the knock at the door when Poppy and Alpine had another one of their scuffles. When he opened the door to get the package he had been expecting the cat dashed out, followed by the bird.

 “Alpine! Poppy! No!”

 Sam immediately gave chase. The poor cat was so scared; she ran to the nearest tree and climbed up. Poppy was also scared and didn’t know what to do outside. She fluttered and fumbled about and eventually landed on a roof nearby. Now which of the two troublemakers to rescue first? Sam started by climbing up the tree to rescue Alpine and it was just at this moment you and Bucky arrived home. Bucky ran from the car over to where Sam was climbing up.

 “What the hell are you doing?!”

 “Picking apples, what does it look like I’m doing?!” Sam snapped back, making a reach for Alpine.

 “What is she doing up there?! Why didn’t you use your wings to get her down?!”

 “Don’t tell me what to do!”

 You were more concerned by the squawk you heard from the roof.

 “Poppy!” you cried. The bird was in distress and was too afraid to attempt fly down.

 “Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll get her!”

 You and Bucky could only watch as Sam carefully collected Alpine from the branch. He climbed back down, handing the frightened feline back to her owner before climbing back up. The branch was close enough to the roof that Sam could use it to get across. He moved slowly, taking great care not to misstep. Sam made it across and put his hand out to Poppy.

 “Come on, Pops. It’s okay...” he cooed, trying to calm her down.

 “Bite me!” Poppy took a snap at his fingers. Sam managed to grab the bird and put her down his shirt, trying to ignore the pain caused by Poppy’s bites. Now there was a problem. While the tree branch could be used to get onto the roof, it couldn’t be used the other way around. He looked around for another way back down and spotted a drainpipe he could use. Sam made sure the irate cockatoo was secure before he climbed back down to the ground. Poppy wriggled and swore the whole time.

 You sent a glare to Bucky.

 “What? I didn’t teach her those words...”

 You were about to retaliate when Sam finally came down, handing you Poppy. From the opening in his shirt, you could see she had left a lot of scratches on his skin. You held onto the bird and headed inside with the two men and Alpine. It took some time but you and Bucky finally calmed down your animals. You could tell by the look on Sam’s face that he was wracked with guilt.

 “I’m really sorry. I opened the door and just shot out before I could stop them...”

 You went over and hugged him.

 “It’s okay now, Sam. They’re both safe now. They might sulk for a while but they’ll get over it,” you assured him.

 “Are you sure?” You kissed his cheek.

 “Positive. Now, come on. I missed you...”

 Sam smiled and kissed you deeply but was interrupted by Poppy ‘yelling’ at him.

 “You two are trouble, you know that?”

 Alpine meowed at him while Poppy continued yelling.

 “Let’s catch up later,” he sighed.

 Sure enough, you were right. Within the week, the two animals settled down since their owners were home and there were no further incidents of them terrorising each other.

[dylanlila]

Scrapbooks Of Flowers

the fifth photograph: scrapbook of poppies

"When the lights go out, will you take me with you?"

- Summertime, My Chemical Romance

"That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be who they really are. Most people love you for who you pretend to be."

- Jim Morrison

They run through endless fields of gold which are nowhere near endless or golden, but they choose to believe how they are. All four seasons splash into one and Dorothy’s choice of clothes finally seams rational, with her gloves and short sleeves and waistcoats made out of various colorful materials that shouldn’t make sense, but do. An eternity of memorable every day moments meet up under gloriously ordinary circumstances which all lead to Revelius feeling like he’s finally found himself in a happenstance worthy of a book dedication or a songwriting experience. He lifts up his arms as he runs thinking about the way his life during this very hour must look like from a foreign point of view. He hopes it looks like a painting.

What can he say, he loves it when the reflection compliments the original creation, whatever it might represent.

Simply put, he likes to see the beauty in things.  Including the parts in which they are broken. Light always finds a way to slip through the cracks. You just have to turn it on.

So, he runs. Scraped-up knees and all.

Dorothy has somehow managed to get away from him. She's so far into the field, the sun complimenting her, embracing her features as if it was always meant to hold her. Her and no one else. It makes him question his sanity, which he, for the record, does a lot of anyways, no matter the circumstance. Today's dilemma consists of wondering if he was running in the first place. Dorothy positions herself on the grass, her back the sole part of her that he can actually see. A strange fear blossoms inside of him, spreading its petals, tickling his sides. Teasing him. What if she doesn't look back?

But she does look back and then, he's already close enough to touch her. He doesn't. He takes a few steps forward and she lies down completely on the grass in return, staring at him from her flowery kingdom. He stays where he is, smiling from the above, not quite certain if he should put his hands in his pockets or not. There are moments like these, when he feels entirely disconnected from his body, when he wishes to observe and observe only, without the burden of existing and following people, endless parts of himself, around.

"Pass some of that magic to me, will you?"

He hears it as a joke, but it rings in his ears like an echo. Probably because he should pronounce it back.

"All of this must look a lot prettier to you than it does for me."

Yeah, pretty in its most enchanting form. The kind that makes you dizzy.

"I would paint you a picture, but I know I would never be able to finish it, so what's the point?"

"And I would never be able to feel. Not like you do."

It. Feel it. But she doesn't end the sentence like that. An image of a tree, with an incredible amount of tangled branches and flowers growing from each and every of its corners, pays a visit to his head. That's how Dorothy's mind looks like, he thinks. His own is more of a train. List of a thousand blurry places, an object trapped in motion. For her, everything is spinning around. For him, everything is moving forward.

"You wanna know how this feels for me?"

She doesn't respond, just in case he doesn't actually mean it, just in case it was a slip. She's giving him the space to drop the subject. He probably would've, if the day wasn't endless and the fields weren't gold.

"It feels like,... like when you dream and you know for sure that you are dreaming, but you choose to dream some more because you don't want the dream to end even though you know that is will... End."

"A comfortable illusion."

The wind that might have been there or might have been not says hello to his hair and ruffles it a bit. Revelius closes his eyes to welcome it, just in case it is there because he knows it would have been much prettier if it was.

He likes to see the beauty in things. The trick is, often times, he doesn't. So, he adds glittery fragments of the things that he does like to his surroundings, hoping that the world might show him some love in return. When it does provide him with anticipated pleasantries, he is never certain of their authenticity. Or their ability to occupy the delicate presence of air, for that matter.

"What do you think about getting gold lockets?"

"Like, for us?"

"Well yeah, but also no. What do you think of the concept? In general, I mean. What do you think of it?"

"I think it's a complete waste of time. If I love someone, I'm pretty sure I can rely on my ability to pick up on the sensation myself. Why would I need a reminder? Everything's already there, in my head... Where is this coming from?"

"Where's anything coming from, Dorothy?"

He appreciates the lack of scientific explanation on her part. Revelius has a special fondness for dramatic pauses. Dorothy usually allows him to pursue that passion. There's also the opportunity to delve deeper into the context of his last sentence. Neither of them pushes the topic any further. Good. He doesn't quite know where he was going with that. It can remain a lousy joke, if it ever gets transported to pages. You know, in case they aren't on those very pages right now.

"What do you think?"

"Huh?"

"What do you think of them? The gold lockets?"

"I'm not sure. It just feels appealing to me. Having a piece of somebody else, somebody that's not you, around your neck, resting on your heart, at all times. Something that's physically there. I like that."

He stops to take a breath. Dorothy tugs on his sleeve a little, almost unnoticeable, she now sitting up. He translates the gesture as an invitation and then allows himself to sit beside her on the grass. Home at last.

"She keeps putting herself into these golden, heart shaped lockets that she later attaches to people, people who offer as little, as much, as a handshake born out of nothing other than politeness."

"Who said that?"

"Nova. The sister! The wizard! School essay or something. I don't know what to do with it."

"She really likes your poems, you know."

"The situation called for silence Dorothy, you should have allowed it." he mutters with a laugh which earns him an annoyed glance and that strikingly familiar eye roll. And a smile. Lip-gloss smile at that. But Dorothy would rather leave it unmentioned. He allows it.

"Maybe we should skip the running part this time." Dorothy proposes only a second before he intended to do the same. The great, the funny, the consuming universe and its tricks.

"Yeah, let's do that."

***

He blinks. One. Two. Three. He blinks and he is still there. And he is still him.

 

He blinks and rain comes falling down.

 

Somewhere in the middle of somebody else’s life, Revelius found himself walking into his own. It’s sort of like a collection of countless little glass pieces belonging to various glorious, glorious and dusty, nameless mirrors. The portrait of chaos.

 

And still, the rain is falling down.

He walks home, chest full of memories that he can't possibly hold, but does; city lights and strangers behind him, their voices now forever engraved on his skin. The mirrors, the reflections, the portraits. Each shadow that crosses his path.

Right there, right beside his former high school  (the keeper of life, the home of some of the mirrors) is a little store. He enters it empty handed, exits with a companion, a little paper bag barely grazing the end of his seemingly endless scarf.

When he pulls out the locket and tucks it under his shirt, it rests surely against his heart.

"I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember: somewhere inside of me there will always be a person I am tonight."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

"He, like me, is haunted by his heart."

- Mahmoud Darwish

[iamallybee]

Because peeps on my dash are hooked on the Deltadi ship and have got me hooked too, here's a basic outline of how Delta Dawn and Dickory got together in the Gumdrop AU! It also calls back to my other Trolls headcanon posts so you might wanna read those before this one. Putting under the cut because this is looooong!

All his life, Dickory had been told that one day he’ll meet that special someone, he’ll experience certain feelings, of love and intimacy. But Dickory just...never felt it. He felt love for his family but romance? Sexual feelings? It never came to him. During his teenage years, he did feel like he was broken. He felt pressured to start his first relationship, telling himself feelings would come. It...did not end well. In fact, you could say it made him feel more broken than ever.

But then the avalanche happened. Due to the mass loss of yodellers, many of the young adults were pressured to marry and have children quickly to increase numbers and save their culture. In fact, it became a new tradition for yodellers to marry as soon as they turned 18. The only one to refuse this was an 18-year-old Dickory. He may have been shunned a little for his decision (which made him feel worse about his lack of sexuality) but he honestly didn’t have time to think about that anymore. His was still a kid who parents literally just died with a baby brother left behind to take care of. He had no time for marriage, he’d say to the other yodellers. His brother needed him and that is totally the only reason why he couldn’t marry. Throughout his life, Dickory would continue to feel stress and sadness, not knowing about being ace/aro and still believing there was something wrong with him. But at least he has Hickory and his new bounty hunting job to distract him.

Anyway, TWT happened and as soon as Delta found out that Hickory was really two trolls disguised as one country troll imposing on her beloved town, she had them arrested and put on community service for a unspecified amount of time. So she and Dickory did not have the best start in the slightest.

Hickory was soon made to do a report on Pop Trolls and left for Pop Village (and thus beginning his own romance with Poppy and Branch but that’s another story). Dickory was made to stay and do humiliating duties (like clean up after the livestock) while enduring the mockery of the locals and the ridiculously high heat. The only good/kind of less worse thing he saw in this was the fact that Delta’s niece, Clampers, was strangely drawn to him. She would nag and ask him questions about why he has two legs, what are those stumpy things on your hooves and can I bite them? Annoyed initially, he soon warmed up to her as she reminded him of Hickory when he was a child. Their friendship reached a point where they even started playing together. Delta witnessed this one day and maybe, just maybe, her heart may have melted. But only a little.

One day, after a restless sleep, Dickory decided to take a walk about town in the early hours of the morning. His was surprised when his keen ears picked up on a faint, mournful song from the cemetery. He found Delta singing with tears in her eyes to the grave of her sister. After awkward small talk, they both open up about the loved ones they've lost and how it changed them. They found their experiences to be remarkably similar (Delta lost her sister in a mining accident and was left to raise her daughter) and from that point on, they began to grow closer.

Over the next several weeks, Dickory began to actually care about the Lonesome Flats community and his service became a lot more voluntary and a lot less punishing. He would help the elderly, fix up anything that needed fixing, even learned how to herd up the livestock (although his first attempt was a complete hilarious disaster that Growley Pete just loves to tease him about). The locals soon began to think of him as one of their own and gained their respect, in turn gaining Delta's trust.

Delta and Dickory's friendship grew in that time too. In the beginning, she would order him to do certain task or else she would make him do something much more humiliating which used to tick him off. Now, she would ask him or else she would 'threaten' him to make him clean out Growley Pete's hooves, which he would respond with a sarcastic comment with a smile. They were pretty much very buddy-buddy. But the locals weren't blind to the underlying romantic tension between them.

Delta absolutely knew she was having romantic feelings for Dickory but she was at first hesitant. Country trolls are the type to take romance on head first and confidently but she was afraid of scaring him off so decided to bide her time for the right moment. Not exactly made easy when her parents totally shipped them and would try everything in their power to embarrass Delta enough into confessing.

Dickory, on the other hand, didn't know what to feel. Sure, he liked Delta now but she was just a good friend to have a drink and a laugh with, throw sarcastic comments at, arm wrestle with, share personal and past trauma history with, stare at and wish to touch her stupid big beautiful hair, want to hold close to-uh oh!

Suddenly it was like he was a teenager again but this time it was different. He liked her but it can't be THAT kind of love. It didn't exist for him, remember? He couldn't feel that love for anyone because he never did and it would never happen. She's a friend you care a lot about and that's it. Besides, even if there were feelings (which there weren't), it would be best if nothing happened because come on, she would never want someone who didn't like...well, y'know.

Basically, Dickory's in denial pretty hard.

Anyhow, the country trolls have a pretty big shindig one evening where there's plenty of dancing, laughing, drinking and fun. Both Delta and Dickory were having a great time but just as buddies, right? 

However, at one point in the early hours of the morning, they found themselves alone together and Delta, in a drunken stupor with all logic thrown out the window, confesses and boldly kisses Dickory. And then she passed out.

In the days following, things were very awkward. Delta remembered the kiss and was horribly embarrassed for being so careless. She decided it was best if they actually sat down and talked about it like adults. Only problem? Dickory was now deliberately avoiding Delta. He didn't want to ruin the friendship they already had but he also didn't want to have the conversation he knew was inevitably coming.

Finally, a frustrated Delta decided to f this and confront Dickory head on. A huge argument blew up between them (which temporarily cleared out the town) which culminated to Delta demanding to know why he doesn't want to be with her and Dickory yells back 'BECAUSE I'M BROKEN, DAMMIT!'

Silence.

After the shock, the pair of them calm down enough for Delta to gently encourage him to explain further. Dickory shakily and tearfully admits his unresolved negative feelings about his asexuality, the yodellers pressure on him to marry, how much its affected him and how wrong he's truly felt all these years and yet he somehow has feelings for Delta that he doesn't understand and how he can't be the man she wants him to be or give her what she would ultimately want.

Shocked, Delta tells him that she's sorry she ever made him feel this way but she only wants Dickory to be himself and if being himself means that he can't give her certain things then that's okay because she loves him just as he is.

But Dickory, still confused, emotional and a stubborn old goat, decides this is the best time to run off and return home.

Heartbroken, Delta writes to Hickory that his community service is up and he is free to return to his home. She tries her best to continue her duties as mayor but everyone can tell she greatly misses Dickory.

When the brothers reunite back to their homes, they also try to move on as normal but both of them have a lot to think about in terms of the things they went through recently (again, Hickory had his own romantic shenanigans going on as well). One night, the two of them talk about what they went up to in the past weeks and realise that the other has experienced love and are too stubborn to admit it. They even have a big sibling argument about it. I mean whose dumb enough to not look past their own insecurities and see that they are loved and they love them back and they shouldn't let the past hold them down in finding happiness and - oh, I see what's happening here!

Anyway, its agreed upon that Hickory and Dickory should return to Lonesome Flats and Pop Village to confess their feelings to their respective loved ones and not see each other until they do or someone's ass is getting beat (y'know, normal sibling pact stuff).

So

In true spaghetti western style, Dickory returns to Lonesome Flats. He stares Delta down from one side of town to the other, locals watching with baited breath. He yells to Delta for the whole town to hear, that he was an idiot for running away and that he wasn't sure how they were going to figure things out in the future. But he's here now, he's not running away anymore and he loves her too.

Delta, without saying a word, storms up to Dickory, picks up up from under the arms and gives him a great, big, long overdue smooch to the cheers of the townsfolk and the cries of 'FINALLY' from her parents and niece (meanwhile, Growley Pete starts collecting bets).

Anyhow, Dickory moves to Lonesome Flats, eventually marries Delta, adopts Clampers as his niece, is fully content with being demiromtic/asexual, yada yada, happy ending, mwah! (I am a master of storytelling)

[kkintle]

Map: Collected and Last Poems by Wisława Szymborska; Quotes

Dreams flickered on white canvas.

The future—who can guess it. The past—who’s got it right.

Trite Rhymes     A great joy: flower upon flower, the branches stretch in pristine blue, but there’s a greater: today’s Tuesday, tomorrow will bring mail from you, and still greater: the letter trembles, strange reading it in spots of sun, and still greater: just a week now, now just four days, now it’s begun, and still greater: I kneel on top and make the suitcase lid shut tight, and still greater: the train at seven, just one ticket, thanks, that’s right, and still greater: rushing windows, with view on view on view on view, and still greater: dark and darker, by nighttime I will be with you, and still greater: the door opens, and still greater: past the door, and still greater: flower on flower. —Ohhh, who are all these roses for?

Do you open each human fate like a book, seeking feelings not in fonts or formats? Are you sure you decipher people completely?

Are people really so simple as far as people go?

Lovers     In this quiet we can still hear what they were singing yesterday about the high road and the low road . . . We hear—but we don’t believe it.   Our smile doesn’t mask our sorrow, and goodness needs no sacrifice. The pity we give to nonlovers is even more than they deserve.   We’re so astonished at ourselves, what’s left to astonish us? Not a rainbow in the night. Not a butterfly in snow.   And when we sleep we dream of parting. But it’s a good dream, it’s a good dream, since we wake up from it.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue mentions your name by accident: I feel as if a rose were flung into the room, all hue and scent.

Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow? It’s in its nature not to stay: today is always gone tomorrow.   With smiles and kisses, we prefer to seek accord beneath our star, although we’re different (we concur) just as two drops of water are.

If we haven’t had enough of despair, grief, all that stuff, lofty words will kill us off.   Then we’ll stand up, take our bows: hope that you’ve enjoyed our show. Every patron with his spouse will applaud, get up, and go.   They’ll reenter their lives’ cages, where love’s tiger sometimes rages, but the beast’s too tame to bite.

I TEACH silence in all languages

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse, who’s tricked so many with his sweet colors and fragrances and sounds— dogs barking, guitars in the street— into believing that they still might conquer loneliness and fright, I cannot be responsible. Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.

We know ourselves only as far as we’ve been tested. I tell you this from my unknown heart

An Effort     Alack and woe, oh song: you’re mocking me; try as I may, I’ll never be your red, red rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. And you know it.   I worked to sprout leaves. I tried to take root. I held my breath to speed things up, and waited for the petals to enclose me.   Merciless song, you leave me with my lone, nonconvertible, unmetamorphic body: I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

Leave me, leave, but not by land. Swim off, swim, but not by sea. Fly off, fly away, my dear, but don’t go near the air.   Let’s see each other through closed eyes. Let’s talk together through closed mouths. Let’s hold each other through a thick wall.

Since eternity was out of stock, ten thousand aging things have been amassed instead.

Everything’s mine but just on loan, nothing for the memory to hold, though mine as long as I look.

One day the answer came before the question. Another night they guessed their eyes’ expression by the type of silence in the dark.   Gender fades, mysteries molder, distinctions meet in all-resemblance just as all colors coincide in white.

Sunny. Green. A forest close at hand, with wood to chew on, drops beneath the bark to drink— a view served round the clock, until you go blind.

Parable     Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. It held a piece of paper, with these words: “Somebody save me! I’m here. The ocean cast me on this desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry! I’m here!” “There’s no date. I bet it’s already too late anyway. It could have been floating for years,” the first fisherman said. “And he doesn’t say where. It’s not even clear which ocean,” the second fisherman said. “It’s not too late, or too far. The island Here is everywhere,” the third fisherman said. They all felt awkward. No one spoke. That’s how it goes with universal truths

Ballad     Hear the ballad “Murdered Woman Suddenly Gets Up from Chair.”   It’s an honest ballad, penned neither to shock nor to offend.   The thing happened fair and square, with curtains open, lamps all lit:   passersby could stop and stare.   When the door had shut behind him and the killer ran downstairs, she stood up, just like the living startled by the sudden silence.   She gets up, she moves her head, and she looks around with eyes harder than they were before.   No, she doesn’t float through air: she steps on the ordinary, wooden, slightly creaky floor.   In the oven she burns traces that the killer’s left behind: here a picture, there shoelaces, everything that she can find.   It’s obvious that she’s not strangled. It’s obvious that she’s not shot. She’s been killed invisibly.   She may still show signs of life, cry for sundry silly reasons, shriek in horror at the sight of a mouse.                      Ridiculous traits are so predictable that they aren’t hard to fake.   She got up like you and me.   She walks just as people do.   And she sings and combs her hair, which still grows.

I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.

Exiled by style. Only their ribs stood out. With birdlike feet and palms, they strove to take wing on their jutting shoulder blades.   The thirteenth century would have given them golden halos. The twentieth, silver screens. The seventeenth, alas, holds nothing for the unvoluptuous.   For even the sky bulges here with pudgy angels and a chubby god— thick-whiskered Phoebus, on a sweaty steed, riding straight into the seething bedchamber

He grew rozes with a “z.

(...) the rest of your life? Old age is a precipice, (...)

I am too close for him to dream of me.

Silence—this word also rustles across the page and parts the boughs that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Funny little thing How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it.

The Railroad Station     My nonarrival in the city of N. took place on the dot.   You’d been alerted in my unmailed letter.   You were able not to be there at the agreed-upon time.   The train pulled up at Platform 3. A lot of people got out.   My absence joined the throng as it made its way toward the exit.   Several women rushed to take my place in all that rush.   Somebody ran up to one of them. I didn’t know him, but she recognized him immediately.   While they kissed with not our lips, a suitcase disappeared, not mine.   The railroad station in the city of N. passed its exam in objective existence with flying colors.   The whole remained in place. Particulars scurried along the designated tracks.   Even a rendezvous took place as planned.   Beyond the reach of our presence.   In the paradise lost of probability.   Somewhere else. Somewhere else. How these little words ring. Alive     These days we just hold him

But this is ancient history. I can’t dwell on it forever or keep asking endlessly, what’s next, what’s next.   Day to day I trust in permanence, in history’s prospects. I can’t gnaw apples in a constant state of terror.

Arduous ease, watchful agility, and calculated inspiration.

Old Folks’ Home     Here comes Her Highness—well, you know who I mean, our Helen the snooty—now who made her queen! With her lipstick and wig on, as if we could care, like her three sons in heaven can see her from there!   “I wouldn’t be here if they’d lived through the war. I’d spend winter with one son, summer with another.” What makes her so sure? I’d be dead too now, with her for a mother.   And she keeps on asking (“I don’t mean to pry”) why from your sons and daughters there’s never a word even though they weren’t killed. “If my boys were alive, I’d spend all my holidays home with the third.”   Right, and in his gold carriage he’d come and get her, drawn by a swan or a lily-white dove, to show all of us that he’ll never forget her and how much he owes to her motherly love.   Even Jane herself, the nurse, can’t help but grin when our Helen starts singing this old song again— even though Jane’s job is commiseration Monday through Friday, with two weeks’ vacation.

Sell me your soul. There are no other takers.   There is no other devil anymore.

I’m bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies. What a loss when you think how much effort was spent perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent for the one-time appearance, which is all they’re allowed, so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

The abyss doesn’t divide us. The abyss surrounds us.

In Praise of Dreams     In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft.   I speak fluent Greek and not just with the living.   I drive a car that does what I want it to.   I am gifted and write mighty epics.   I hear voices as clearly as any venerable saint.   My brilliance as a pianist would stun you.   I fly the way we ought to, i.e., on my own.   Falling from the roof, I tumble gently to the grass.   I’ve got no problem breathing under water.   I can’t complain: I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.   It’s gratifying that I can always wake up before dying.   As soon as war breaks out, I roll over on my other side.   I’m a child of my age, but I don’t have to be.   A few years ago I saw two suns.   And the night before last a penguin, clear as day.

True love. Is it normal, is it serious, is it practical? What does the world get from two people who exist in a world of their own?

Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there’s no such thing.   Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.

And it so happened that I’m here with you. And I really see nothing usual in that. 

Under One Small Star     My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all. Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five A.M. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time. Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed. My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs. My apologies to great questions for small answers. Truth, please don’t pay me much attention. Dignity, please be magnanimous. Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.   Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once. My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man. I know I won’t be justified as long as I live, since I myself stand in my own way. Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

Thank-You Note     I owe so much to those I don’t love.   The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.   The happiness that I’m not the wolf to their sheep.   The peace I feel with them, the freedom— love can neither give nor take that.   I don’t wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back. Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can’t, and forgive as love never would.   From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.   Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.   And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.   They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.   They themselves don’t realize how much they hold in their empty hands.   “I don’t owe them a thing” would be love’s answer to this open question.

Dentistry turned to diplomatic skill promises us a Golden Age tomorrow. The going’s rough, and so we need the laugh of bright incisors, molars of goodwill. Our times are still not safe and sane enough for faces to show ordinary sorrow.

Our solitary existence exacerbates our sense of obligation, and raises the inevitable question, How are we to live et cetera? since “we can’t avoid the void.

No way out? But what about the door? No prospects? The window had other views.

You think at least the note must tell us something. But what if I say there was no note— and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.

(...) to linger longer, not to go home again. Since only prisoners want to go home.

In Praise of Feeling Bad about Yourself     The buzzard never says it is to blame. The panther wouldn’t know what scruples mean. When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame. If snakes had hands, they’d claim their hands were clean.   A jackal doesn’t understand remorse. Lions and lice don’t waver in their course. Why should they, when they know they’re right?   Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton, in every other way they’re light.   On this third planet of the sun among the signs of bestiality a clear conscience is number one.

I know nothing of the role I play. I only know it’s mine, I can’t exchange it.   I have to guess on the spot just what this play’s all about

The star is large and distant, so distant that it’s small, even smaller than others much smaller than it.

Small wonder, then, if we were struck with wonder; as we would be if only we had the time.

God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.

“How should we live?” someone asked me in a letter. I had meant to ask him the same question.   Again, and as ever, as may be seen above, the most pressing questions are naïve ones.

Whatever you say reverberates, whatever you don’t say speaks for itself. So either way you’re talking politics.

Who knows you matters more than whom you know. Trips only if taken abroad. Memberships in what but without why. Honors, but not how they were earned. (...) Price, not worth, and title, not what’s inside. His shoe size, not where he’s off to, that one you pass off as yourself.

Nothing’s sacred for those who think. Calling things brazenly by name, risqué analyses, salacious syntheses, frenzied, rakish chases after the bare facts, the filthy fingering of touchy subjects, discussion in heat—it’s music to their ears.

During these trysts of theirs, the only thing that’s steamy is the tea.

May delivery be easy, may our child grow and be well. Let him be happy from time to time and leap over abysses. Let his heart have strength to endure and his mind be awake and reach far.   But not so far that it sees into the future. Spare him that one gift, O heavenly powers.

For the sake of the children that we still are, fairy tales have happy endings. That’s the only finale that will do here, too. The rain will stop, the waves will subside, the clouds will part in the cleared-up sky, and they’ll be once more what clouds overhead ought to be: lofty and rather lighthearted in their likeness to things drying in the sun— isles of bliss, lambs, cauliflowers, diapers.

I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.

A miracle, just take a look around: the inescapable earth.   An extra miracle, extra and ordinary: the unthinkable can be thought.

When I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important than what’s not.

Hatred is a master of contrast— between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields, those we remember and those that are forgotten: (...)

Without us dreams couldn’t exist. The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are available to anyone who wakes up.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

We agreed to death, but not to every kind. Love attracted us, of course, but only love that keeps its word.

We were besieged by doubts. Does knowing everything beforehand really mean knowing everything.   Is a decision made in advance really any kind of choice.

We’re extremely fortunate not to know precisely the kind of world we live in.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

They aren’t obliged to vanish when we’re gone. They don’t have to be seen while sailing on.

The Three Oddest Words     When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past.   When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it.   When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold.

But how to answer unasked questions, while being furthermore a being so totally a nobody to you.

Talking with you is essential and impossible. Urgent in this hurried life and postponed to never.

Understanding came only later: not all misadventures fit within the world’s laws and even if they wanted to, they couldn’t happen.

And what can you say about one day of life, a minute, a second: darkness, a lightbulb’s flash, then dark again?   KOSMOS MAKROS CHRONOS PARADOKSOS Only stony Greek has words for that.

There must be an exit somewhere, that’s more than certain. But you don’t look for it, it looks for you, it’s been stalking you from the start, and this labyrinth is none other than than your, for the duration, your, until not your, flight, flight— (...)

Life on Earth is quite a bargain. Dreams, for one, don’t charge admission. Illusions are costly only when lost. The body has its own installment plan.   And as an extra, added feature, you spin on the planets’ carousel for free, and with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzard, with times so dizzying that nothing here on Earth can even tremble.

At times I get fed up with her. I suggest a separation. From now to eternity. Then she smiles at me with pity, since she knows it would be the end of me too. 

Assassins     They think for days on end, how to kill so as to kill, and how many killed will be many. Apart from this they eat their meals with gusto, pray, wash their feet, feed the birds, make phone calls while scratching their armpits, stanch blood when they cut a finger, if they’re women they buy sanitary napkins, eye shadow, flowers for vases, they make jokes on their good days, drink citrus juice from the fridge, watch the moon and stars at night, place headphones with soft music on their ears and sleep sweetly till the crack of dawn —unless what they’re thinking needs doing at night.

It’s good you came. Sit here beside me. He really was supposed to get back Thursday. But we’ve got so many Thursdays left this year.

Page after page at a snail’s pace. But we’re still going in fifth gear and, knock on wood, never better.

We eat another life so as to live. A corpse of pork with departed cabbage. Every menu is an obituary.   Even the kindest of souls must consume, digest something killed so that their warm hearts won’t stop beating.

In the end I stopped knowing what I’d been looking for so long.   I woke up. Looked at my watch. The dream took not quite two and a half minutes.   Such are the tricks to which time resorts ever since it started stumbling on sleeping heads.

[rmg91]

Meant To Be (In Any Form)-1

Main Summary: Branch and Poppy are meant to be in any way, from canon to AU. Join them in these stories. Oneshot Collection.

Chapter Summary:  Branch has decided it's time to ask Poppy a very special question.

Heya everyone! Here's the fluffy start of a new oneshot collection! Lots of AUs, canon, canon divergence and more is coming your way here! Since I have no real motivation (at this time) to start another full on multi-chapter fic but lots of ideas I'll be focusing on oneshots and usually dumping them here, will be updated when something's done XD I'll usually say something before hand as not all these will be related to one another (But some will!) Anyway...without further ado....

This little oneshot features a headcanon of mine that Trolls sing their proposals with specially chosen songs. If a troll sings said song and the one being sung to sings back, they are considered engaged. Rings aren't necessary but some choose to give their future spouse one sometimes. Also please listen to the Peter and Evynne Hollens cover of the song sung here, it's the whole inspiration behind it!

Next Chapter; AO3/FF.Net

@writerofberk-Thought I’d tag you for this fluffy thing since it involves a song from HTTYD c: Hope you don’t mind c:

                                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~

The night was dark, calm, stars shining brightly in the sky with all sorts of nighttime critters scurrying around the forest. Most would consider this time for calm reflection, cuddles with loved ones or sleep but not the tiny forest kingdom known as Troll Village. It was alight with flashing colors and pulsing beats, the bass pounding through the ground and into the feet of many dancing trolls. Glow bugs flew through the air, casting multi-colored light everywhere, glitter bombs were shot across the sky to sparkle down and glitter trolls hung from branches letting the flashing lasers catch their sparkling skin, sending rainbow specks of light over the moving mass of bodies. Fireworks were even shot up high into the sky, exploding and letting more glitter rain down on the tribe of Pop trolls. It was all very reminiscent of a party thrown from the, then, princess three years ago.

Queen Poppy danced atop the largest mushroom in the village square, skirts twisting around her legs as she twirled and danced to the music. She was resplendent in her high low gown, the short skirt allowing her free movement and the longer train giving her an air of regalness. Her crown sat inexplicably steady in the center of her head as her bright pink hair waved in the air as she moved. Pink eyes glowed with happiness with a large grin stretched wide against her face as she watched her people dance and sing and enjoy the night. And as she laughed, joy echoing loud and clear, she shined brighter than any star.

Branch sighed as he watched the party, watched Poppy, from where he was hiding behind a large bush, waiting for the right time to give the signal. She was beautiful, as always, so carefree and happy as she danced, her inner light bright enough to warm the darkest of nights. And hearts. She was his Sunshine and he would be forever grateful for all she had done for him and that she loved him back. Watching her now though, surrounded by all the citizens, dancing and singing to their hearts content, a panic shot through his otherwise amorous thoughts and he turned away, intent on running away.

“I can't do this.” He mumbled, trying to rush off to hide in his bunker. As much as he wanted this, wanted her, this plan was stupid. He needed a better one, a more romantic one! No big gesture in front of the entire village. What had he been thinking?!

A kind but strong hand gripped his bicep before he could get too far, “Whoa there, my boy.” Peppy, previous king of the tribe, maneuvered Branch gently backwards until they were facing one another, a soft but amused smile on his face, “It's going to be alright.”

“How do you know that? You can't know for sure! What if I forget the lyrics? What if someone else decides tonight's a good night to do this too? What if we're attacked right as I start?! What if she doesn't want it this way?! What if she doesn't sing back?!” Branch was on the edge of hyperventilating as he thought of all the ways this could go wrong, worrying about all the ways this night could be ruined. One wrong note could through everyone off! Someone could trip or fall and cause an accident before he could even start! Poppy could say 'No.'!!

Peppy firmly placed his hands on Branch's shoulders, holding him steady as he spoke softly, “Deep breaths, Son, deep breaths. There's no reason for Poppy not to sing back, she loves you. It's going to be fine.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Breath with me now.” He did it again and again until Branch picked up the rhythm and calmed down, the crazed look in his eyes fading. “There we go. Nothing to fret about.”

Branch sighed, “Right...” He wandered back over to peek out at the party, leaf shaped cape fluttering behind him. He watched the continuously dancing trolls, shoulders dropping as he wished, once again, he could be as carefree as them. Maybe then he wouldn't be so nervous. But twenty years of being gray and self-isolated weren't easily washed away.

Peppy watched the younger troll for a moment, comparing the once scared and angry kid to the brave, caring and willing to try young man in front of him, before smiling fondly. There was no one else he'd rather have ruling aside Poppy. And he knew Alder and Willow, and Rosiepuff, would beyond proud of him. Perhaps hearing that would help calm his nerves a little. “You know, your parents would be so proud of you. Your grandmother too.” And for a moment Peppy wished his old friends were here to see how far Branch had come.

Branch turned, a shocked expression crossing his face, “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Peppy nodded as he approached Branch to look out at the party, “You've become a quite remarkable troll, Branch.”

“But I was...gray for so long...”

“And?” Peppy raised an eyebrow as he turned and placed his hands on Branch shoulders, making eye contact, “You've come such a long way since your 'bunker days', my boy, and you're going to continue to grow and learn. So what if you were gray for a little while, you found your happiness again and that's what counts. And I know your family would be...just as proud of that as I am.” The orange troll chuckled, “Probably more. Cammy too, come to think of it.”

Branch blinked in surprise at the mention of the late queen, “Really? You think so?”

Peppy nodded, smiling as he chuckled some more, “Oh yes. She'd be over the moon this was happening.” He suddenly had a thought, placing his finger on his chin, “You know...she probably would have seen this coming if she were still here. Maybe even would have gotten you and Poppy together long before now.” The old king gave a hearty laugh as he thought about his wife and the match making she'd have gone through for their daughter.

Branch shook his head in disbelief but there was a curious smile tugging at the ends of his mouth, “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I am! Camellia had the uncanniest ability to know when two trolls liked each other and would do everything in her power to help them realize it. There is no doubt in my mind she'd have done the same for you and Poppy.” Peppy continued to laugh softly as he thought about his wife and her brilliant spark. Oh how he wished she was here.

Branch wasn't really sure how to feel about that, the thought of possibly being with Poppy before now both terrifying him and making him wistful it had happened but he chose not to think about that right now. Instead he focused on Peppy's words of his parents and grandmother being proud of him and how far he'd come since he was gray. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he watched the party, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, my boy.”

“And...It's still alright I use your song?” While he felt just tiniest bit less nervous, or at least less panicky, the teal troll was still a little wary about using the same song that Peppy had sung to Camellia for this same occasion.

Peppy chuckled again and gently slapped Branch in the back, “Of course you can! Cammy would want you to, as well. And...I know how much it'll mean to Poppy.”

“Right.” Branch took another deep breath, trying to center himself before going out there and changing his life in one of the biggest ways yet, “Alright....Let's do this.”

                                              ~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy laughed, her voice getting lost in the loud music, as she bounced to the beat of the song playing. The party was going amazingly well! Everyone was dancing, singing, enjoying themselves to the fullest and she didn't think she could be any happier. Her village was safe, happy and there didn't seem to be anything on the horizon to try and ruin that! The only thing she wished was here, or rather the only one, was Branch. He had come to enjoy parties, at least for a little while before he felt the need to leave, so to not have him here, by her side, was the tiniest little bit disappointing but Poppy didn't let that stop her. She'd party with her people until they grew tired and the party ended then she'd go find her ever sensible other half and tell him all he'd missed. She did wonder briefly where he was but then decided he had probably gotten caught up with a project and lost track of time. Which was fine, she'd just have to pull him away from it later.

Twirling around with another whoop of joy, Poppy was surprised when the next song didn't immediately start playing. In fact the music had stopped and just as she was whipping her head around to look at Suki a whistle started to echo around the square. It was familiar to Poppy, something she could almost place when a voice started to sing and it was a voice she was intimately familiar with. It was the one that brought back her colors after all.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er the fear of drowning...” The surrounding trolls had also begun to hum, adding background music to the angelic voice, “And gladly ride the waves of life...If you will marry me...”

Poppy watched, eyes wide, as they moved, parting and creating a pathway for the now spotlight illuminated troll to walk down. She covered her mouth in happy shock, recognizing the song now, as she watched Branch, dressed in a white suit with a cape fluttering behind him, walk towards her, singing her parents proposal song, “No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey, if you promise me your heart...”

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she could barely contain herself as she dropped her hands, revealing her smile, and let her own voice sing out and answer Branch's, “And love me for eternity~”

She couldn't stop the tiny giggle as she watched Branch's shoulders drop, the tension he had been holding in escaping. As if she wouldn't sing back, she loved him and wanted him by her side, to sing, to laugh, to have a family, forever. That was when the trolls on either side of the mushroom she was standing on created a staircase for her, and forcing herself not to fly down them and into Branch's arms, Poppy descended, singing sweetly, “My dearest one, my darling ear, Your mighty words astound me~ But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me~”

Confidence settled into Branch as he watched Poppy descend and he strutted forward, letting the song and music guide him, “But I would bring you rings of gold,” He'd a ring for months waiting for this day, “I'd even sing you poetry,” He did that, frequently, “And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me~” He would do anything to keep the holder of his heart safe and happy, she was his everything.

Poppy couldn't stop grinning as she and Branch got closer, “I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry!” She playfully tossed her head back, hand on her forehead thinking about how much she actually adored his poetry. She smiled up at him, reaching out, “I only want your hand to hold...”

“I only want you near me~” He sang back, taking her hands and pulling her close, his own matching grin gracing his face before he pulled her into a twirling dance, dancing for all the village to see as they harmonized.

“To love, to kiss, to sweetly hold~ For the dancing and the dreaming~!” They spun around, Branch guiding her and holding her close, “Through all the sorrows and delights, I'll keep your love beside me~!” He gave her a spin, twirling her away before gently pulling her back and touching their foreheads together as the village's voices rose to match them, “I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me~!” Their spinning slowed until they were just sway back and forth before Branch pulled away enough to drop to one knee, “If you will marry me~”

“YES!” Poppy cried the moment they stopped, tackling Branch and kissing him soundly as the surrounding trolls cheered. Smidge could be heard over the celebration shouting 'About time!' The couple slowly sat up once Poppy pulled away, happy tears in both their eyes as Branch carefully pulled out and slipped a delicate golden ring with a blue gem in the center on her finger. Poppy laughed joyously and pulled him in for another kiss.

Peppy smiled from where he had watched the procession, chuckling at his daughter's excitement. And as he watched the two of them interact and the village celebrate, he knew things would be in good hands and there would be many years of joy to come.

                                               ~*~*~*~*~*~

Yay! Proposal fluff!!! Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for more! And as I said please listen to the cover of 'For The Dancing and The Dreaming' by Peter and Evynne Hollens~ I love that version. Also Happy Thanksgiving!

[gottacatchemallsims]

A Wild Legacy Challenge Appears!

Welcome to my index post for the newest adventure I’m embarking on amongst all the other crazy adventures going on on this blog.  This is the My Sims Legacy Challenge which is a legacy style challenge created by Alexis3142 on the Offical Sims Forums.  Basically it’s currently a 16-Gen Legacy Style challenge based on the MySims Trophy collection the game and their character counterparts in the MySims universe.  Right now it’s 16 but of as there are more statues in the game so the creator has said that more Gens could possible be added when stuff shows up that fits the remaining characters.  

You can fin the original post HERE though I will be including the full rules will be below the cut.  I will mostly be following the rules as they’re written but more then likely will be adding extra stuff for More Challenge because...that’s just how I roll.

Full Gameplay From the Start * Current

Index

Generation One: Tatum Bright (Chef Gino)

Overall Rules: 1. You must complete the MySims Trophies (Collectibles) Collection by the end of the challenge/legacy 2. Money cheats can be used, but don't go overboard 3. You can live where ever you want 4. You can follow any legacy succession rules you want here is the link: https://www.simslegacychallenge.com/sims-4-legacy-challenge-rules-succession-laws/ 5. Lifespan on normal or long, you can decide 6. Potion of Youth once per generation 7. If you fail to complete the rules for that generation you do not have to start over, you can just leave it up to the next generation to complete Have fun! I really hope you guys enjoy this or find it interesting let me know! I would love to see some pictures and stories! *Your Heir and following do not have to be named or resemble the MySim of that generation if you would like you can but they can look like whatever they want to and be whatever they want to be* Generation One: Chef Gino This Generation is based on the MySim, “Chef Gino” His description is “Gino's skill in a kitchen are matched only by his sense of melodrama. The tiniest thing goes wrong and he's "ruined". To date, Gino has been ruined 9,685 times.” In this generation, you start off from the bottom you have always loved food and loved making messes in the kitchen, and now you dream of owning your own restaurant or being the head chef of one! You strive to be the best chef in the world, exploring different cultures and locations to learn all the best foods the world has to offer. Traits: Foodie, Cheerful, Clumsy Aspiration: Master Chef Career: Culinary (Chef Branch) and/or Own A Resturant Generation Rules: Master the Culinary Career (if you decide this route) and complete the Master Chef Aspiration Master Cooking, Gourmet Cooking, and Baking Skills Complete Experimental Food Photos Collection and learn their recipes Unlock the 27 City Living Recipies Generation Two: DJ Candy This Generation is based on the MySims, “DJ Candy” Her description is “ DJ Candy is like a living, breathing dance party that never stops. With her roadies and #1 fans, Zach and Sapphire, she travels the world bringing the party to those who need it most.” In this generation, as a child, you are a Social Butterfly, and hang out with your best friends as much as you can. You loved making music and banging pots and pans together until your parents decided to buy you a digital piano. As you grow up you loved going to parties and DJ-ing sure it doesn’t make your parents proud but you want to make a career out of it. Traits: Creative, Music Lover, Bro Aspiration: Musical Genius Career: Entertainer (Musician Branch) or Freelance Song Writer Generation Rules: Master the Entertainer Career (if you decide this route) and complete the Musical Genius Aspiration Master the DJ skill and instrumental/vocal skill of your choosing (Guitar Skill, Singing Skill, Piano Skill, or Violin Skill). With the Get Famous EP you can also choose the Media Production Skill and use the Music Station to produce songs Generation Thee: Elmira Clamp This Generation is based on the MySim, “Elmira Clamp” Her description is “Elmira is sour, strict, impatient, and fussy. Her favorite sound is absolute silence and her favorite hobby is toil. On the plus side, um... she's pretty good at remembering names? That's something, right?” In this generation, you didn’t have a great relationship with one of your parents (DJ Candy Generation) They were always out partying when they should have been taking care of you and you resent them for neglecting you growing up, and you never really get passed it as you got older. You love reading books because they are a way for you to escape. You want to write books for people so you can inspire them, and you want to have the best relationship with your child(children) Traits: Bookworm, Loner, Family Orientated Aspiration: Bestselling Author Career: Writer (Author Branch) Generation Rules: Master the Writer Career and complete the Bestselling Author Aspiration Master the Writing Skill and Parenting Skill Generation Four: Ol' Gabby This Generation is based on the MySim, “Ol' Gabby” His description is “Gabby's a cantankerous old grump who lives with his junkyards dog, Grit. He enjoys tinkering with things and getting into feuds with his long time frenemy Barney. (Sorry there's no Barney figurine.)” (This generation was hard to write about so it might be a little far-fetched if you have feedback let me know!) In this generation, your parents spoiled you as a child and got you a dog, they have been your best friend since the day you adopted them. You have always been a rather curious child always asking how things work. As you grow up you have a knack of fixing things. Eventually inventing a building your own furniture and statues. You don’t stop there, you want to fix what's wrong in the world, sure it might be hard because you get pretty hot headed at times but you are more than what meets the eye. Traits: Hot-Headed, Genius, Perfectionist Aspiration: Friend of The World Career: Politician Career (Charity Organizer Branch) Generation Rules: Master the Politician Career and Complete the Friend of The World Aspiration Master the Handiness Skill and Charisma Skill Become Companions with your Dog BFF Generation Five: Hopper This Generation is based on the MySim, “Hopper” His description is “BOING! RIBBIT! Hopper is a young boy in a frog suit. How did this character get so popular? SPROING!! In this generation, your parent had a very strong bond with your family dog growing up, you don't know how that dog lasted so long and when they passed away a hole was left in your family. You have always loved helping animals, in fact, your favorite animal is a frog! Traits: Loves Outdoors, Dog Lover, Cat Lover. Aspiration: Friend of the Animals Career: Veterinarian (Own a Vet Clinic) Generation Rules: Master the Critics! Have your Veterinarian Hospital get to 5 stars and complete the Friend of the Animals Aspiration Master the Veterinarian Skill Complete the Frogs Collection Generation Six: Poppy This Generation is based on the MySim, “Poppy” Her description is “Poppy is an adorable little ray of sunshine who love love LOVES flowers. She also loves her older sister, Violet, and is completely unaware that she is usually the source of her sister's constant headaches.” In this generation, you have a great relationship with your parents and your siblings, you have always loved being outside following the (Hopper Generation) around, but instead of finding frogs you loved picking flowers. Traits: Good, Outgoing, Loves Outdoors Aspiration: Freelance Botanist Career: Gardener (Florist or Botanist) Generation Rules: Master the Gardener Career (Florist or Botanist) and complete the Freelance Botanist Aspiration Master the Gardening Skill, and Floral Arranging Skill. Complete the Gardening Collection Generation Seven: Dr. F This Generation is based on the MySim, “Dr. F” His description is “Dr. F is the indomitable mad scientist with PhDs is robotology AND robotonomy. There are many, many conflicting reports as to what the "F" actually stands for. He invented TOBOR.” In this generation, your parents really pushed you to do good in school, every year at the annual science fair you would build a robot, you love robots and you love inventing. As you grow up you get a job as a scientist, inventing and creating potions with the help of your parents garden is right up your alley. Traits: Genius, Erratic, Perfectionist Aspiration: Nerd Brain Career: Scientist Generation Rules: Master the Scientist Career and complete the Nerd Brain Aspiration Master the Logic Skill, Handiness Skill, and Rocket Science Skill Visit Sixam and the Forgotten Grotto Generation Eight: Chaz McFreely This Generation is based on the MySim, “Chaz McFreely” His description is “Chaz McFreely is the world's greatest extreme sports athlete, according to Chaz McFreely. In his mind, there are only two kinds of people: Chaz Fans and Chumps. Which are you?” In this generation, you didn’t really inherit the love of knowledge and the drive to do good in school, you always focused on playing sports any kind including esports. Your parents always pressured you to do more in life and they pressured you so much to do good in school, it was mad annoying. Sports and exercise were your way to escape and cool down. You love to play basketball and lift weights, so what if maybe you are a dumb jock? You'll prove to your parents that you don't need the brains to succeed in life so you strive to be the athlete. Traits: Active, Bro, Ambitious Aspiration: Body Builder Career: Athlete Career (Professional Athlete Branch) Generation Rules: Master the Professional Athlete Career and complete the Body Builder Aspiration Master the Athletic Skill and Wellness Skill Generation Nine: Lyndsay This generation is based on the MySim, “Lyndsay” Her description is "With an insatiable thirst for adventure, Lyndsay always keeps one eye on the horizon. Her contagious energy often sees her friends swept up in her latest quest. May have had a thing for Buddy at some point??" In this generation, you love to travel. Your family was always traveling for sports events and you got to see the world. Now that you got a taste for adventure you don't want to let it go. You love to explore and travel and you document your travels with your camera. Though you may be a bit low on funds, you don't mind to borrow things you happen to find. Traits: Kleptomaniac, Glutton, Goofball Aspiration: The Curator then City Native (if you decide you would like to) Career: Freelance Explorer Generation Rules: Master The Curator Aspiration and/or City Native Master the Archaeology Skill, and Photography Skill Attend the all the City Living festivals at least once. Complete the Snow Globe Collection Generation Ten: Buddy This generation is based on the MySim, “Buddy” His description is "There is no better sidekick than your ol' pal, Buddy. Supportive, optimistic, and fiercely loyal, he'll stick by your side through any adventure. Last seen moonlighting as a special agent." In this generation, your house was a museum of plum. All these old artifacts and snow globes littered the halls, and the worst part, they don't belong to us. Your parents basically robber their way to riches, and you don't understand how they got away with it. Sure they say they "found it" but it used to belong to someone! You are a goody two shoes and you want to spread justice and solve crimes. However you are a pretty funny person, but sometimes you take jokes a bit too far. Traits: Good, Ambitious, Hot-Headed Aspiration: Chief of Mischief Career: Detective or Secret Agent (Diamond Agent) Generation Rules: Master the Detective or Secret Agent (Diamond Agent) Career and complete the Chief of Mischeif Aspiration Master the Logic Skill, and Mischeif Skill Fall in love with a Criminal Generation Eleven: Morcubus This generation is based on the MySim, Morcubus His description is "Beyond time and space is a world of black fire. From the heart of this maelstrom of horrors was born the infernal Morcubus! As president and CEO of MorcuCorp he advances his dark designs, and he also leads team-building workshops." In this generation, you aspire to gain riches and follow in one of your parent's footsteps, after almost failing school you join the criminal career as soon as possible. Money and reputation mean everything to you, and it's not until you meet "the one" where you finally settle down and correct your old ways. Traits: Kleptomaniac, Mean, Perfectionist Aspiration: Public Enemy and once finished do Career: Criminal (either branch) Generation Rules: Master the Criminal Career and complete the Public Enemy Aspiration then complete the Soulmate Aspiration Master the Mischief skill Marry Your Soulmate Generation Twelve: Goth Boy This generation is based on the MySim, “Goth Boy” His description is “Meet Goth Boy! Nothing makes him feel warmer than wrapping himself in a cloak of emotional darkness. He loves writing bad poetry and hates his job at Turkey-on-a-Fork. Wait a second...is "Goth" even still a thing?” In this generation as a teen, you have a part-time just as a Fast Food Employee, you’ve always loved being alone and felt different from everyone expressing yourself in dark clothing. As you grow older you wonder about the lore of vampires are they real? You find yourself reading romance stories to pass the time, pushing your desire and creativity into art, you spend a lot of time hoping to find yourself a vampire lover that will turn you. Traits: Romantic, Gloomy, Unflirty Aspiration: Master Vampire Career: Painter (Master of The Real Branch) Generation Rules: Work as a Fast Food Employee as a teen writing poetry on the side Master the Painter Career and then complete the Master Vampire Aspiration Generation Thirteen: Violet This generation is based on the MySim, “Violet” Her description is “Dark and dramatic, Violet Darkshade nonetheless has a beautiful heart. She does her best to take care of her kid sister, Poppy, even if it usually gives her one of those headaches that sits right above her eye.” In this generation, you don’t really want to be supernatural, you have always wanted to be cured. Until you can find a way to cure yourself you try to be a good vampire resisting Sim blood. Eventually, under the disapproval of your parents, you find a cure and start a family. Traits: Good, Family-Orientated, Squeamish Aspiration: Good Vampire, Successful Lineage Career: Stay at Home Parent Generation Fourteen: Gonk This generation is based on the MySim, “Gonk” His description is “Gonk is happy and hungry little cave-lad from the Uncharted Isle, which strangely can be found on most maps. His best friends are Bobaboo the dinosaur and a dissatisfied grad student named Sylvia, whom he calls "Girl".” In this generation, your parents let you lived freely, always told you that you can be whatever you want. They only thing they asked was that you stay close to home. Unfortunately for them, you want to explore the world, well in this case, the jungle. Your parents who are very understanding, support you traveling and collecting artifacts, and always welcoming you when you come back home. Traits: Cheerful, Glutton, Clumsy Aspiration: Outdoors Enthusiast Career: Free Lance Explorer Generation Rules: Complete the Ancient Omiscan Artifacts Collection and Omiscan Treasures Collection Master the Archeology skill and Selvadorian Culture skill. Generation Fifteen: Jenny This generation is based on the MySim, "Jenny" Her description is " Jenny was a fan fiction pioneer! Sure, nowadays EVERYBODY gets a publishing deal or a movie based on their self-published stories, but Jenny's "Starcruiser X" fanfic was the first!" In this generation, your parents weren't around that much, too busy going on work vacations to find silly artifacts. So you took to the internet to make friends, as it was fairly easy. You start with fanfiction sites and move your way to SimTube where you start creating content and creating a following. As you get older you continue vlogging and streaming making a living off of it, but your lack of parental affection left a hole in your heart, you need a bunch of realtionships to make you feel content, its not the best way to cope. Traits: Geek, Outgoing, Romantic Aspiration: Serial Romantic Career: Social Media (Internet Personality Branch) Generation Rules: Master the Social Media Career and complete the Serial Romanic Aspiration Have an affair while engaged, leave them at the altar for the sim you had an affair with. Master the Media Production Skill Generation Sixteen: Trevor Verily This generation is based on the MySim, "Trevor Verily" His description is" Trevor is dramatic ac-tor... of WONDERS!! His stirring interpretations of classic works are the very essence of the theater! One time he got stuck in an Astronaut Costume." In this generation, your parent had a huge social media following, so many fans and so many people that supported them. You wanted that, but bigger. You always loved being the center of attention, as you grow older you want to be an actor/actress so that the spotlight is all yours. Traits: Self-Absorbed, Snob, Self-Assured Aspiration: World Famous Celebrity Career: Actor/Actress Generation Rule: Master the Actor/Actress Career and complete the World Famous Celebrity Aspiration Master the Acting Skill

[cthbdck]

Analysis of the collective PC Music as a Music Business

PC Music are a self-defined Record Label and Art Collective based in London, consisting of around 20 consistent members and collaborators, founded by producer A.G Cook in 2013. Their signature sound revolves around an unusual blend of industrial, jarring, pounding instrumentals and sugary sweet, high pitch altered pop production, reminiscent of modern k-pop, as oppose to the conventional current western world’s take on pop music. At first, it may be hard to tell whether it’s a parody of popular music, due to its common themes of consumerism and celebrity culture. For example, one of its artist’s ‘QT’ has no experience in making music, but rather having a background in chemistry and product design and has used her music to advertise a made up energy drink that has somehow become part of her brand, even being handed out at PC Music shows, despite never existing and never being available to buy. 

Despite the odd fact that they have never actually signed an artist to the label and only have a handful of purchasable releases, the intensity surrounding the buzz around PC Music has increased rapidly in the past year, partly due to the sheer number of releases the collective pump out, high status collaborators such as Charli XCX and Carly Rae Jepsen, as well as the critical success of certain releases under the PC Music umbrella, such as 2018’s bombastic “Oil Of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides” by Scottish electronic producer SOPHIE. The collective have around 58 complete releases that are available on streaming services such as Apple Music and Spotify, none of their own merchandise (just collaborators), and two ‘PC Music Vol.1/2’ compilations showcasing some of the standalone songs from some of the artist’s Soundcloud accounts. What comes to mind when taking all that information in is commonly confusion, and lots of questions. 

PC Music as a collective are offering a way to dip our feet into accessible nostalgia, characterised by the modern age of technology- internet slang, parodies (GFOTY’s cartoonish “Mysterious GFOTY” Peter Andre remake comes to mind) and pop culture. Contrary to the classic connotations of the typical market for the poppy sound of the music PC Music brings out, their main audience consists of those who have grown up going out in big cities like London, typically around the ages 18-25. This is partly due to the fact that it’s deeply associated with events by businesses and venues such as Boiler Room and London’s Fabric, and celebrates the idealistic desire of big city nightlife and experimentation, and perhaps this links into the fact that you can’t really buy PC Music- it’s not as black and white as just being one thing, it branches out in a way that is uncommon in pop music, and that’s what makes it exciting. It rejects typical industry blueprints and advertising models, celebrating the purity of inexperience and a desire for fun, rather than perfection and success. 

There are singers, DJs , photographers, marketing professionals and videographers in the collective, and I wouldn’t say it’s an overstatement to say they’re revolutionising the British electronic scene right now, countering the typical quiet, unknown, faceless artists we’re used to and throwing in eccentric, exuberant, and prolific faces- bringing a new lease of personal interaction and life into it, creating music in harmony with personality like one big ongoing art installation. In 2015, the collective announced a partnership with major label Columbia, allowing a creative and financial push which inspired an avalanche of releases, as well as the pursuit towards ‘PC Music Presents…’ live shows, bringing the online group to life with their live SXSW debut. This came with great response, being dubbed as the label of the year by FACT Magazine shortly after and honoured by publications such as Pitchfork, Vice and The Guardian as “Dominating the year” and “Producing some of the most challenging, catchy and, most importantly, funny pop and dance music around.” The collective lead on from this with a sold-out event hosted by the Red Bull Music Academy, titled “Pop Cube”- which was practically a live blend of a live show, reality show and an art instillation decorated as a Hollywood premiere- red carpets, limos, fake paparazzi, fake interviewers, nicknamed as a “multimedia reality network” night. Cameras showed the artists mimed and synced along to pre-recorded sets, with A.G Cook satirically ‘playing’ his piano in an extremely over-dramatic fashion whilst winking at the camera in acknowledgment, as well as overhead speakers with robotic voices instructing the crowds when to move on into the next room for the next part of the night. It’s a take on commercialism, capitalism and celebrity culture, but not necessarily shunning it. It celebrates the bubblegum-pop world of y2k fashion, myspace era aesthetics and the obvious statement of how ‘plastic’ everything is, but how fun that can be when we realise that art doesn’t have to equal a deep meaning, or mystery, to make us feel things- a “high-concept extravaganza”, said the New York Times.

 The commercial relationship it holds with iconic venues, the leading streaming services, major labels and major label artists all are a catalyst for revolutionising the modern idea of what pop music really is, and breaking the typical codes and conventions of how a music business ‘should work’. You should have to follow the formula of having experience in music, signing artists, selling music and playing straight-forward gigs, which are all things that the aforementioned list typically conform to and buy into. Therefore, the acceptance of PC Music and it being allowed to grow is important to those of whom see art as a cathartic, necessary part of their life, not just an extension of their interests- be it the consumer in the crowd or the artist behind the DJ controllers, bringing something new. Additionally, part of PC Music’s image is celebrating ultimate celebration of the human form- everything is accepted. 

Hyper masculinity, objectification and prejudice is nowhere to be seen within the collective. Being a majority female collective, including a transgender woman and no lack of LGBT+ representation, femininity is celebrated, sexuality and experimentation are explored openly and gender isn’t defined by archaic beliefs, showing a clear progressive value in an ever-changing world of music. This is important because, undeniably, there is an internalised bias into what our ideal ‘role models’ and pop-stars should look like, who they should be, what they should and shouldn’t talk about, and any groups who counter this and bring back the spark of what pop music means, the childhood innocence-like feeling of nothing mattering but being yourself and being happy, is important and should be explored, acknowledged and saluted.

[themangoeater]

Rowdy three gardener AU

@intricatecakes you really had most of these ideas but I thought I’d start typing them up! 

The Rowdy 3 aren’t good at settling down and staying in one place for long, but Gripps does own a small cottage (inherited from his late great-auntie) which they go to if they need to lie low or if they want to cool off together.

Gripps’ great-auntie was a great gardener and along with the cottage, left him a full flower garden, greenhouse and space for a vegetable patch. During the time that the rowdies stay there, each one begins to get more and more interested in one particular type of plant and become rather good at taking care of them.

(Each garden style under the cut bc it got rather long)

Vogel loves succulents. He’s a scatterbrain at the best of times but these plants suit him well due to their hardy nature. If he forgets to water them sometimes the plant can survive. His neglect is infrequent, he can often be found demonstrating his swings for his room full of plants, talking to them animatedly. He has given them all names (‘Smasher’ ‘Thrasher’ ‘Basher’ and the like) but due to his forgetful nature he mixes them up a lot. After a while Amanda helps him write them all down on sticky labels and he sticks them on their pots. As succulents do well in bright, sunny light, he’s often caught snoozing in the sun beside them, one arm loosely curled around his gigantic Jade plant (which he calls ‘the Destroyer of Worlds’ fondly).

Cross is the orchid man. There’s nothing that he doesn’t love about these finickity, fancy plants. Each one has its own unique charm and allure and he can spend hours talking to them quietly as he tends to them. Due to their highly specific needs, he spends a lot of time measuring the humidity and temperature in his room, which is filled with extra lights and heaters. (Be prepared to run if you ever open a window in that room without his permission). He refers to his plants as ‘his ladies’ and is an enormous sap with them all, treating them as gently and with as much panache as if they were French aristocratic women from the 17th century. Cross adores each and every plant that he owns and can tell you every single story about where it came from, where they’ve been and how they’re doing now.

Martin isn’t big into plants until he discovers the tantalising, odd-looking stone plants. These plants are extremely susceptible to moisture and humidity so he finds the hottest, brightest space in the cottage (the dry, cobweb-filled attic) for his small, but ever-growing collection. As stone plants are a rarity, he has to go to many plant fairs and festivals to find any sellers but once he has some contacts, he goes directly to them. The sellers are always odd too, but then again, Martin supposes he must look rather different from the usual crowd of old ladies and young men who go to those fairs. The stone plant thrives on neglect and only needs watering once a month, but despite this Martin still gives them lots of attention. He tends to sit beside his collection, smoking out of the open window and talking to them. He claims not to have named them, but secretly has and greets them by name when he goes to sit by them.

Despite the fact that his great-aunt left him a vegetable patch, Gripps isn’t all that into growing veg. What he prefers is growing flowers. He adores bright colours and tries to have some patches of things in bloom at every time of the year to keep his garden bright. Unlike most other gardeners, he encourages weeds like dandelions and bindweed as he enjoys their fresh colours. He always has a hedge of lavender around the garden and at the front of the cottage which smells amazing in the summer. He dries it and the smell helps all the rowdies sleep better when they’re on the road or sleeping badly. He adores sunflowers and poppies, but also tries to plant flowers and plants which he knows attract bees. The trumpet vine plant soon takes over most of the wall on the back of the house and the buddleia is always full to bursting with butterflies of every shape, colour and size. Every summer evening you can watch him trudging about with watering cans so full they spill as he walks, as he meticulously waters every inch of his babies and every spot where he’d planted seeds.

Unknown to all, Amanda turns out to have a really green thumb when it comes to vegetables. She takes over the vegetable patch and greenhouse and within weeks has new greenery sprouting all over. Though she enjoys growing rhubarb and seeing the large leaves grow bigger than her entire body, she has an unparalleled love for tomatoes. She grows them in the greenhouse, dappled sunlight on her babies as she talks to them, inspecting them for bugs or bites that betray the actions of slugs. If she ever does find any marks or insects, she is ruthless. She carries around a pot of salty water and will drop whatever hurt her plants straight into it. She grows herbs and lettuce, tries her hand at baby cucumbers and beetroot of which they have such a bountiful harvest of that they resort to pickling it all (the cupboard is full of jars of the stuff at all times). Along with Gripps, she waters her plants every evening and the two of them chat as they do so, gripping their sunhats when they bend down to water them.

Beast didn’t seem all that interested in plants at first, but she then grew to have a love of simple houseplants. The ordinary spider plant is her favourite and she loves seeing it flower and grow babies so often. Murmuring to them as she tends to them, she often strokes the long, thin leaves. She has a whole collection of them, stripy and curly ones, variegated ones. After she gets the hang of them, Cross buys her a stripy Calathea plant, because he thought it would match the other stripy plants she has. From then on she buys more of the Calathea family, slowly getting the hang of their more difficult needs. She moves the spider plants to the communal areas and turns her room into a rainforest. All plants in the Calathea family require a high level of humidity and low lights, so she transforms her room to fulfil those needs. She then branches out to ferns and ivy and her room turns into a misty, dark place that resembles her home forests. She always feels at home when she sleeps in the slightly damp bed and due to the low lighting at all times, her room is the best place to have a nap.

[ealinginsider]

You need to taste Lucy’s heavenly chocolates

I am always excited to discover talented people in Ealing and am delighted to introduce you to Handmade in Ealing’s wonderful Lucy Savage – our very own chocolatier.

Read on to find out how you could win a hamper of her delicious chocolates and where you will be able to meet her this Saturday 16th September with samples and special offers! 

How did you start making chocolates?

About 16 years ago I decided I would make my own chocolate Easter eggs so I taught myself chocolate tempering and stocked up on moulds and couverture chocolate from ‘The Home Chocolate Factory’, a start up company selling chocolate to home bakers.

Wow self taught! As a non-expert, is making chocolates hard to do?

If only I had known just how troublesome chocolate making really is! Yes, it is hard. It doesn’t always work, it is extremely time consuming and the science behind tempering must be ‘felt’. You can’t ‘see’ when it is correct. But when it does go right, it makes for unique and beautiful products which are worlds away from high street chocolate. I have been on a variety of courses, including at Barry Callebaut, one of the biggest chocolate companies in the world who have their huge UK headquarters in Oxfordshire.

When did it start becoming a business?

When I heard about the new Ealing Food market, run by Kate McKenzie at EatMeDrinkMe in Autumn last year, I suddenly thought ‘I want to sell at markets’. I had always been a keen baker and all round foodie and thought if I was ever going to produce products for a market, they would be made of chocolate. 

It was super busy in the run up to the Christmas period. I was flat out preparing during the week whilst still trying to work. I generally work a couple of days a week for a film company (my previous working life was in Film Distribution), with a great team. I equally love this work and in truth it is paying for me to make chocolate at present.

How has this evolved?

After a few market appearances over Christmas and a period selling in a local gift shop, Jane West from All Original on Ealing Green approached me to stock some Valentine’s Day Chocolates. Around the same time Kate (EatMeDrinkMe), asked if I wanted to be part of a team of four seller/designers taking over an empty shop in Acton as a ‘pop-up’ for eight weeks.  We spent time working in the shop as well as making products, so I was working non-stop to create Valentine’s Day, then Mother’s Day and then finally Easter products.  I chose this route as opposed to investing in a market stall which I realised I just wouldn’t have the time to do. I also hosted a chocolate and wine tasting event at Abbotshill Wine Bar with the owner Susie. 

Fast forward to summer and my products are doing really well at All Original and I’ve been able to attend quite a few markets, meeting and sharing chocolate with keen local chocolate enthusiasts. I have also graduated from my home kitchen to a commercial kitchen in Park Royal (just two days a week at present) which has allowed me to increase my production level five fold. I am now bursting with products which I need to find homes for!

What’s next for you?

To invest in a market stall and prepare for Autumn and Winter including the Christmas markets.  I love meeting customers and seeing them try my products and then buy them. Customers tell me what they like about my products and I can see what price points work, which adds to the ongoing learning experience. I am also launching in a deli in Ealing in October (watch this space!).

I would really like to get into as many Ealing based food establishments as possible, including coffee shops. I am currently developing bespoke small bars which could contain their own coffee. I look forward to presenting them to our excellent Ealing coffee shops.

I also want to branch out into corporate gifting, creating wedding favours and petite fours for events. 

I am hosting a chocolate making event for the WI and a chocolate party for teenagers and I would like to do some more tasting events or chocolate making classes.  Can you imagine a prosecco and truffle making afternoon for example? [Yes please! – Ealing Insider]

What is the best advice you have had about your business?

It was early on and it was from someone who had set up their own business from a passion like mine and it was to think very hard about whether you just want to turn a passion into a hobby or seriously into a business. Could you live with it 24/7 and can you really make it a viable business. I think I am still questioning this and it will take some time until I can realistically see me making a living from making such an artisanal handmade product.  

What are your favourite chocolates?

There are so many chocolates I love and chocolatiers I admire. My favourite producers include The Chocolate Society in Somerset, Leeds based Lauden Chocolates, Eponine in Cheshire and chocolate God that he is, London based William Curley.  They all create the most amazing flavour sensations and are award winning.  I do a lot of research (!) and am currently collecting ‘bean to bar’ produced chocolate bars in the UK which is a growing part of the chocolate industry.  I’ve also just attended the Speciality Food and Speciality Chocolate show in Olympia and got to meet chocolate couverture producers and chocolatiers.

My base foodie desires involve peanut butter and chocolate, (even spooned out of a jar and mixed with melted chocolate!) or any caramelised nuts mixed with chocolate. I love real fruit purees in silky smooth ganaches like passion fruit which I recently used paired with dark chocolate. Also crunchy poppy seeds and blueberry puree caramel paired with the strong flavour of pine nuts caramelised into a hard caramel and crushed in make a crunchy base layer. Using herbs or flowers, such as lavender or fresh mint and spices from fennel to cardamom, cinnamon and sumac which when paired with different profiles of chocolate can make strangely perfect pairings.

What is your most popular chocolate?

Salted caramel is still very popular and I get asked for it a lot.  I make a milk chocolate based salted caramel chocolate with either a hazelnut paste layer or more recently a chai spiced version.  I also make my own caramelised white chocolate (Caramac anyone?!) but it is darker and richer in flavour (and I am told mine is better!)

Dark chocolate is also becoming more popular with people who see it as a more healthy option for a sweet treat as well as appreciating the deeper and more multi layered flavour profiles you can get. I also think palates are becoming more refined and we are more intrigued by deeper flavours. In the cooler weather my single origin dark chocolate bars, (chocolate made from beans sourced from particular cocoa bean growing area) were popular. This Autumn/Winter I am adding more ‘inclusions’ into the bars.  New flavours include smoked sea salt and green raisins and raspberry oil and crystallised rose pieces.

What is your favourite chocolate?

I can’t choose just one! I love pomegranate molasses (sharp), rose oil (perfume) and pistachio (crunchy aromatic nuts) in dark chocolate. I also really like lime with dark chocolate so I mix crushed cardamom seeds with lime zest which has been steeped in cream for an hour, then mix with a dark fruity chocolate, cream and butter. 

Last week as we officially started Autumn I took my new ‘adult’ toffee apple chocolate to Ruislip’s Duckpond market and it went down very well.  I did a version with spiced honey vodka and another with apple vodka.  The hard caramel pieces mimic the toffee apple biting experience of our childhood.

I like pairing chocolate, whether in a bar or a truffle, with contrasting flavours like sweet white creamy chocolate with finely ground strong almost bitter coffee granules and stringent cocoa nibs or dark chocolate with salted caramel crunchy pieces and candied orange.

Where do you source your ingredients?

I source my high grade couverture chocolate from a French brand owned by a Swiss company. It contains cocoa butter. I also use mainly single origin chocolate from cocoa bean growing areas with varieties in flavour and mouth feel, rather than mass produced chocolate designed to be the same every time. 

I am very keen to use local and UK based products where I can. I’ve made Lavender truffles using Ealing honey (by Clare Vernon).

I have also used Lavender gin from a Yorkshire based gin distiller. Today in the kitchen I made up some mini milk chocolate bars flavoured with real lavender steeped first in cocoa butter. Tomorrow I’ll be using some of my garden mint in a dark chocolate.

I’ve just contacted a gin distillery in Cornwall who have a gin product profile based on clotted cream.  I want to attempt to produce a cream tea based chocolate with a strawberry jam layer, white chocolate ganache and sultanas. If it works it will be on the menu for Summer ’18.

What do you like most about Ealing?

Green open spaces and a feeling of community. After commuting to Soho for so many years Ealing provides a wonderful contrasting place to a hectic work environment. 

It also offers all kinds of inspiration for me, for example the excellent Persian food stores we have around West Ealing with their rich abundance of nuts and other delicacies. I have started using barberries (a very tart fruit often used in savoury Persian dishes which I hadn’t come across before). I add them to dark chocolate, slightly salted almonds and green raisins.  

What are your favouring places in Ealing?

There are so many and most are focused around food! Pitshanger Lane as a whole street as it is a peaceful place to hang out on a Saturday morning after the working week. I love sitting for hours in Oscar’s Café, appreciating the warm hospitality of Ben (don’t tell him I said this) and his team. I like buying the beautiful bread from Pitshanger Bakery. 

Abbotshill Wine Bar, with gorgeous deli food and the best wines, friendly staff and great events. Charlotte’s Place and W5 which are so classy and up there with West End eateries. Beehive Café for healthy food, great staff and excellent coffee, and cakes from 11 Coffee & Co. in North Ealing and Papillion on Northfield Avenue.

Non food related I love the parks, in particular Pitshanger Park for tennis and running. And lastly, the best gift shop All Original who are so supportive of local designers/makers and an absolutely perfect retail partner.

Where can people buy your chocolates?

My chocolates are stocked in All Original at Ealing Green, and this Saturday 16th September I will be there from 11am to 4pm for a ‘Meet the Maker’ session. Please come along and say hello and try some samples of my chocolates. I will also have some special offers. 

You can order any products by sending me a message via my social accounts on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. 

I will be at selected markets from now until Christmas - just see my social pages for market details. I hope to have my website up during the Autumn ready for Christmas orders where I shall be introducing e-commerce so you’ll be able to order direct from the website.  

Facebook competition time!

To be in with a chance of winning a gorgeous seasonal mixed chocolate hamper similar to the one pictured above, simply like or share the original blog post on Ealing Insider’s Facebook (the pinned post at the top). Easy!

The competition is running from Tuesday 12th to Monday 18th September 2017 and the winner will be announced on Tuesday 19th September.

The hamper will be hand delivered to the winner in the Ealing area.

Thanks Lucy 😊

Love, 

The Ealing Insider 

Xoxox

 Competition Terms and Conditions

To enter the competition simply like or share the blog post from the Ealing Insider’s Facebook page (the pinned post at the top of the profile).

The competition is running from Tuesday 12th to Monday 18th September 2017.

All entrants names will be entered in to a ‘hat’ and the winner will be selected at random on Tuesday 19th September.

The winner’s name will be published across the Ealing Insider’s social media platforms and we will contact them directly to arrange delivery of the prize within the Ealing area.

The prize hamper will be similar to, but not exactly the same as the one pictured. It will feature a selection of seasonal chocolates by Handmade In Ealing. 

The competition is open to anyone who follows the guidelines above, except for Handmade in Ealing and the Ealing Insider. 

The competition is not endorsed by Facebook.