#writing is fun but exhausting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chernabogs · 11 months ago

Text

I made this post yesterday which @/hanafubukki and @/rayroseu and I kind offfff got inspired to actually write something LMAO

Labours Gained

Inc: Malleus, groundskeeper, nanny, briefly Maleficia WC: 2.2k Warnings: None, except swearing Summary: Consequences for your actions come in many forms. For some, it's a time out. For others, it's mucking around in mud all day.

Eirnan was a man who has endured many challenges in his life. Over 600 years of employment as head groundskeeper at Black Scale Palace meant he had faced wyrms, blight, drought, tenebrae boars which had torn up the root vegetables, and the odd employee who nicked a few carrots for their own personal use. He had served during Queen Maleficia’s first reign, and then the wars, and now her second reign. He knew which plots of land were most fertile for which plants, he knew of companion flowers and the medicinal benefits of the herbs, and his mind was an almanac of its own right.

Eirnan was a learned man… until it came to the matter of child-care. He never knew how to act around children, nor did he have any interest in interacting with them to begin with.

But now it’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and there is a very, very miserable boy standing before him.

He’s poorly dressed for the occasion—fine garments in the fields are a recipe for disaster—and the eight o’clock hour shows residual glossiness in those green eyes. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest and his lower lip is jutted out in a pout.

Crown Prince Malleus is a temperamental boy—everyone in Black Scale knows this. His latest explosion of emotion regarding an off-handed comment a tutor said (it was a jest! the man had cried while diving for cover behind trees to avoid furious lightning bolts) had resulted in a complete annihilation of the palace gardens. Eirnan had spent much of yesterday repairing the damage while mumbling about how ‘some things truly are genetic’ under his breath.

Then he had received a missive. A missive, which led them to this moment, in which he stands before the prince with his own arms crossed over his chest and his own equally unimpressed expression on his face. At a glance, one would think the two are related with how mirrored these looks are.

Eirnan pulls out a pocket watch and raises an eyebrow. “On time today, hm?”

“I was told not to be late,” Malleus bites back, attitude in his tone as he glares up at the groundskeeper. He doesn’t want to be here. Eirnan doesn’t want him here either. It’s Queen Maleficia who has shoved them together like two children in a time out.

Eirnan can’t help but wonder if he may have slighted her in the past and this is her round of revenge.

“Right, well, you’re on time but you’re certainly not dressed right.” His gaze skims over the boy's proper attire before raising to look at his nanny instead. The woman ducks her head and focuses intently on the book she holds, making it obvious that no aid will be given. This earns a scoff from Eirnan as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

What exactly can he make the prince do? Queen Maleficia made it clear that a lesson was to be learned today for his actions. Malleus was barred from using any magic, and the nanny was here to ensure that this was followed through. The prince knew no loyalty or secrets were kept by his staff—a sad reality for a seven year old to face.

“It isn’t like I just have clothes to get dirty lying about.” Malleus retorts again while continuing to glare up at him. There is little to no remorse present—just sheer grouchiness. “I don’t usually muck in mud.”

“Well, you’re mucking in it today.” Eirnan can’t help but have his own bite in his words as he turns and treks towards the nearby gardening shed. Malleus stands rooted in his spot for a moment before following, having to run a little to keep up with the older man's long strides.

The inside of the shed contains the extra attire that the staff wear when working the fields in the on-season. Although the prince is significantly smaller than many of Eirnan’s employees, he does manage to scrounge up some pants, a top, and gloves for the boy to wear.

The shoes are a lost cause. There are no boots that can fit the boy without making him goose walk around the field.

“Put these on then, either over your clothes or not, and then meet me back outside.” He tosses the fabric into the prince’s arms, making the boy stumble back with an oof! of surprise. Malleus looks down at the clothing before his lip curls in disgust. Eirnan does his best to stifle the satisfaction he feels about that as he steps out of the shed and slams the door shut.

It’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and this is going to be a long ordeal.

_____________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes of protest later finds Eirnan and Malleus standing before a re-soiled plot of garden near the edges of the palace. The boy's act of destruction yesterday had uprooted a majority of the roses that had been planted there, but a few bushes still remained standing—albeit charred and drooping from the assault. Near their feet are bundles of rose plants that Eirnan had been soaking in the greenhouse overnight in preparation for what was to come today.

The nanny had followed them to this area and is watching with interest from her position on a nearby bench. Malleus looks significantly less intrigued. His gloves are lying discarded on the grass along with his shovel and there’s a distinct air of boredom about him.

“So, what we’re going to do is use our shovels to dig up some holes, ‘bout 18 inches deep, 18 inches wide, yes? Then I need you to mix compost in there—”

“Compost?” Malleus’ head snaps to look up at Eirnan wide-eyed. “But I read that compost has—”

“Shit. Yes, there’s shit in there. Do you still want to fight about putting on those gloves?” Eirnan leans against his own shovel as he looks down at the young boy. Malleus’ brow furrows and his lower lip trembles before he’s grabbing the gloves and shoving them on his hands. He looks ready to cry or throw another tantrum. Eirnan tenses in case that does happen, the memories of the tutor running through the gardens yesterday still fresh in his mind. If Malleus’ does snap, that means he’ll be out here tomorrow, too.

Tough lesson.

“Anyway, mix the compost, and then we need to loosen the roots and put them in the mound. Keep the bud union—that’s the little knob there.” He pauses to squat down and point at the bud on the root. Malleus leans down to look at it as well before Eirnan continues. “About 1 to 2 inches below the ground. Briar Valley has a colder climate, so if we keep it up, it’ll kill the plant.”

“If a plant can’t survive the weather, should we really be planting it?” Malleus’ question is fair. Most of the time, one wouldn’t try to grow plants that can’t acclimate well.

“They can survive, they just need a little help. Princess Meleanor herself was an enormous admirer of roses—it’s her notes of how to plant them that we’re following right now.” Eirnan clears his throat before re-focusing on his explanation. He misses the flicker of interest in the prince’s gaze at the mention of his mother’s name. “As I said, keep it below ground. Then we refill the hole ‘bout three quarters with soil and pat it down. Water it a little, let it soak, and then water it again.”

“There are too many steps.” Malleus grabs at the shovel with an apprehensive glance at the dirt. “Can’t we use a little magic? We don’t need to use it for all of the steps, but one or two? I can just make all the holes appear—”

“No magic. Her highness’ strict orders. Unless you want Queen Maleficia to come out here and watch you herself, which I’m sure is the last thing you want, I’d advise listening to instructions.” Eirnan grabs at his own shovel before tapping it on the back of the prince’s heels, making the boy step forward. “Hop to it, then. This will take up a good part of your morning.”

___________________________________________________________

The first few plantings are painful. The boy doesn’t dig deep enough, and then he digs too deep, and then he buries the plant too deep, and then he doesn’t bother burying it at all. The process reminds Eirnan why he never had any children himself as he carefully explains and fixes all of the prince’s errors. Despite his complaints, the boy actually does listen to his advice, and soon the two fall into a quiet pattern of dig-plant-water.

The compost part is still met with many vocalized protests, though, and Eirnan soon does relent to doing that himself.

“How long does it take to grow?”

Malleus’ question disrupts the silence they had fallen into, causing Eirnan to pause and lean on his shovel again. “Three or so years for these ones. The one’s that are still rooted are fully mature, but I’m not too sure they’ll be blooming this year. The buds got damaged.”

Malleus, who has been sitting cross legged on the dirt with a bundle of rose plants in his hand, stares at the bushes for a moment while his thumb plays with the stems. “Did my mother plant those ones?”

“Before she left, yes. She used to plant new ones at least once every few years. When she got her own palace, she had an entire garden there as well.” Eirnan digs another hole as he speaks. He had been in service long enough to see Meleanor weaned off of Queen Maleficia. The girl had sat where Malleus sits now, and their near identical likeness strikes Eirnan as unnerving, as though he’s been projected into the past and is witnessing those spring days once more.

He clears his throat. “They’ll recover. Roses are hardy plants. Strike ‘em down, and they’ll get back twice as strong.”

“Are you sure?” Malleus looks up at the groundskeeper, his green eyes squinting against the light. Eirnan doesn’t look back as he keeps digging.

“Mhm.”

At the affirmation, the prince returns to planting, now with significantly less attitude than before. He’s almost enjoying the rhythm after a while. Despite his status, in the end the boy is still a boy, and it’s hard to keep a child from loving messing around in dirt.

It’s when the nanny clears her throat and brings over a basket of food that the two finally take a break from their labours to sit in the nearby grass. Eirnan rarely gets to appreciate the fine foods served to the nobles, so he’s indulging himself heartily in the miniature sandwiches that are present when Malleus begins to speak again.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Eirnan pauses, ham sandwich halfway to his mouth. “647 this spring.”

“647 years?” The boy's voice is incredulous as he looks at him. “You’re old.”

“And you’re a baby.” Eirnan grumbles back as he wraps a few of the sandwiches in a napkin.

His comment causes another flash of annoyance to cross the prince’s face. “I’m not! Grandma says I’m very mature for my age!”

“Did she say that to you before yesterday, or after?” He challenges back. Malleus’ cheeks flush as he grabs at a sandwich and takes a bite. After a few more, the scowl on his face softens before he continues his questioning.

“Why do you do this? The manual work? It’s easier with magic.”

“Keeps my stress down.” Eirnan chuckles. The nanny gives a sound that might be mistaken as a laugh, which is quickly covered by a cough while she begins packing the extra food. He mourns the finger sandwiches being lost to the basket. “There’s always something to do for these gardens, and when you’re planting, you can let your mind just fall quiet. Watching something that you worked hard to grow get appreciated by others is a rewarding feeling. Magic takes away from that. The instant gratification fades faster than the long-term that labour brings.”

Malleus falls quiet again as he finishes his sandwich. He then fiddles with his gloves, which are still too big for his small hands. He has dirt on his cheek and his chin that he seems entirely unaware of. Eirnan offers him a napkin to wipe it off, albeit gruffly.

“It isn’t bad.” Malleus finally mumbles when he accepts the napkin and hastily wipes his face.

“What, using magic?”

“No, planting.” Then Malleus looks up quickly with another furrow in his brow. “Except the compost. The compost is bad.”

“It’s shit.” Eirnan shrugs his shoulders and ignores the sharp look the nanny gives him. Malleus’ lips do twitch slightly into a smirk.

“It’s shit.” The boy repeats, causing the nanny to say his name in a scolding tone, which finally does draw a laugh from the prince. “How many more do we need to plant?”

“Three, maybe four. Shouldn’t take long.” Eirnan rises with a grunt and brushes a few spare crumbs off of his pants. The prince is quick to scramble to his feet as well. He seems oddly reinvigorated as he pulls his gloves on and grabs his shovel. He then cranes his head back to look up at the taller man with a spark of challenge in his gaze as that cheeky smirk continues to play on his lips.

“Let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

Eirnan snorts in amusement as the two return to the dirt patch, both unaware of the figure watching from the windows of the palace above, a pleased smile present on her lips.

#malleus draconia #twst #twst fanfiction #i didnt know if it was ok to tag directly so i just did a lil slash #i always feel awk tagging ppl LMAOOO #anyway this was super fun i love writing the 'exhausted adult and devious child' dynamic #i feel like malleus was just a cheeky lil guy growing up yk

98 notes · View notes

soulrph · 2 years ago

Text

good morning my beloveds! this is a bit of a surprise post, but i'm thinking it makes more sense to say this in a post now rather than copy and paste it for the heartbreaking number of people asking abt this in my inbox!

allow me to paraphrase the overall message of, at present, fifteen nearly identical messages in my inbox:

"hi blue. i'm wondering if you have any advice on how to deal with people not interacting with you anymore. i make all these posts and starter calls, i post memes, i answer drafts, i do everything in my power to make my dash a nice, happy place for people to feel comfortable enough to approach me for interactions and conversations, but nobody is doing anything. nobody is liking my posts, or commenting, or reblogging. my notifs are empty, and i feel really awful about it."

that's actually, word for word, what has been in my inbox for three days now. and i didn't know how to respond, because quite honestly, i have no advice for you. none except for this:

please, please, please start interacting with your mutuals some more.

i'm guilty of it myself. i go silent a lot, i've no idea why. however, i still make a good effort of trying to comment on people's posts, because that's what this place is. tumblr is a social media platform. we socialize on this platform. if we stop doing that, it ceases to be a social media platform.

but a single like can do so much for a person. sending a DM to do some plots, commenting on a post about how to make a grilled cheese REALLY special (i like to add pesto to mine!) or sending unprompted asks to a new mutual! it doesn't have to be massive. but we have stopped interacting with one another, and it really, really sucks. it's so disheartening, it really is, and if that happens to one person, they'll stop sending out notifs as well. and it'll expand, like ripples in a puddle.

it breaks my heart to see so many people facing this challenge. and i'm so sorry that i've been unable to provide a solid answer or suggestion. but the issue here is the community itself. it's a classic example of an individual issue expanding into a social one. if we stop communicating, if we stop socializing, on a SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM, then it's no longer a social media platform. we're no longer a community. we're just a bunch of people who like to write, and we're all on tumblr.

let's make it a resolution. in fact, a challenge. let's all agree to like a few posts each day. or comment on a friend's post, or send in a few memes, or randomly tag people in starters. it's not a massive effort, it's not a huge energetic loss. if we all did a small bit each day, i can guarantee that the dash would transform almost overnight into the community we all knew and loved and deserve! but we all need to be making that conscious choice to interact and communicate more often.

#psa.#ooc.#( it's been BUGGING ME for so long )#( i took a brief hiatus not two weeks ago )#( bc i thought i needed to fix my mentality )#( but the dash is just so exhausting )#( it feels like an office bullpen most of the time )#( we need to make things fun and interactive again )#( and we can )#( there's nothing stopping us )#( just go chat with people again )#( fuck the anxiety )#( if you're mutuals with someone )#( THEY WANT TO WRITE WITH YOU )#( it's so simple i stg )

502 notes · View notes