#☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] )

[cromwellharvests]

@regnantlight​​ said:

It was a wondrous comfort to have Emily's head in her lap, stroking her lovely locks of auburn hair as Zelda read passages from her book. It was peaceful. Warm.

Is this was happiness felt like?

She takes a moment's pause in her reading to lean forward, enough to brush her lips against the crown of Emily's head.

Yes. This was most assuredly what happiness felt like. And if it was not— well, then happiness was not nearly so good as whatever this could be.

A rare kind of peace both women were often too single-minded to allow themselves; overpromising to task after task with little mind for indulgence. But, then again, it was growing steadily less unusual with time. Inevitably, and irresistibly... like a magnetism; with every passing hour that the two were allowed to share each other’s company, the drawing force only grew stronger.

Because a job well done may indeed be a fine reward, but no task completed could hold a candle of satisfaction to the feeling of barely opening one’s eyes to find the woman they love bent softly overhead, the gentle sun of afternoon caught in golden hair.

Emily Cromwell knew happiness— all told, there were few more adept at kindling joy in every day than the young woman from Wiradu— but what she finds here, in the moment where she lifts one hand to barely trace fingertips along the line of Zelda’s arm, down to her wrist, and back again in easy strokes... it is bliss. 

Unhurried, satisfied. Not want for anything in the world. 

Content, completely, to be exactly where she was; with her.

#regnantlight #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴅᴜsᴛ sʜɪɴᴇ [regnantlight] ) #ic. #|| absolutely weeping in this club tonight

[cromwellharvests]

@reigningsniper​

Riza links their fingers. They're hunched over the small sitting table in the corner of their living/dining/...kitchen area.

What time is it? The sky has grown darker earlier with each day of autumn that progresses. It adds an illusion of more hours in the day, especially when they're in the office late into the night. Papers stacked high, ideas flung back and forth as they encounter problems or try to plan ahead...

The energy doesn't stop when they return to their tiny home. The desert garden has been a labor of love, sweat, and the enhancement of Easy's freckles as she works in the sun - both a thing they have in common. She's been talking for quite a while this evening on some experiments she wants to try. If they work, maybe she can implement that with some of the practices of the people here, and work with them to see if they want to incorporate it as part of the rebuilding.

Her chin rests in her palm. Easy's eyes are far away as she pictures the layouts in her mind, the solutions for irrigation issues, hurdles of getting supplies out before they can reestablish a cycle to not have complete dependence on the bigger countries around. Down she goes along towards another idea. The little 'oh' as a new thought flickers in the shine of her eyes prompts Riza's lips to curl.

God. She sighs, gaze dropping to freckles cheeks and full lips. This was the first time where she felt completely enamored with the woman before her. She knew a lot of passionate people, but Easy was another manifestation of it. Roy and Edward had unparalleled drives, unrelenting motivation to see goals to the end. Easy was passionate in such a way that energized the room around them in a way she'd never seen. She could only predict the warm reception to these being proposed tomorrow.

Easy trails off for a moment, and Riza closes the narrow distance to catch full lips. Hands cup her cheeks, angling her chin just so she can kiss her thoroughly and completely. It seemed fitting in such a flurry of ideas, innovation, and pure light in her eyes as the candles burned low and threatened to burn out behind them.

Truth be told, this opportunity was everything the youngest Cromwell had ever longed for— a perfect culmination of compassion, dedication, and healing which were quintessential to her core. 

There’d been a moment at crossroads when the fallout settled, presented with a number of opportunities and a far-more-opened future than most of Amestrian military personnel might have ever imagined; an embassy being established in Drachma, mitigation at the Northern border, and reparations at the edge of Aerugo in light of the dwindling border war. All fine options, and all eager to have a high-ranked alchemist in their retinue.

But when Roy and Riza extended an invitation to have Easy join their efforts in rebuilding Ishval– the start of a long, hard process of atonement, of undoing some of the destruction they’d played such a prominent role in– all other options might as well have disappeared. Not only for the chance to be a part of amends so necessary, but to support her dearest ones as they confronted the worst of their past; to lend them strength as they struggled to prove to themselves, more than anyone, that they could be better. That they were better.

It’s one reason she was so happy to share the humble home she did with Riza… but only one of many; not all of them so pious or selfless in the least. 

There was no denying how much pleasure Easy found every day in coming home to her. As much as she’d enjoyed the privacy, the independence she’d experienced when she first left Wiradu, (something never quite afforded in a big family home), the Earthshaker fast discovered that solitude did not become her. Hence how she’d done everything in her power over the years to fill it with guests, whether they stayed for dinner or for several weeks, just the same.

Here and now? The hours spent in labor are never lonely. Quiet may slip into moments, but there’s always the soft ambience, the tender presence of someone she loves. So thoroughly, so deeply. And gods, is it good. To look over and see her; to have that patient, listening ear as she explores her thoughts aloud, excitedly getting lost on tangents as the theoretical breadth of their work expands, but she delights in every moment of it– each new complexity its own puzzle she’s too happy to have a hand in solving.

She trails off for a moment; wandering with a thought, trying to pin down the right words before she goes on— but instead, the trail is lost entirely; stolen abruptly off-path by the gentle pressure of lips on her own, and even further as that gentleness gives way. 

Yet another of those many reasons: Easy could count on one hand the number of people in her life who had ever kissed her with such meaning; like the other woman was trying to put the whole of herself into it, conveying with touch that which words failed to. Someone who held her so, and in whose hands she felt utterly, completely safe.

All her life had been building to this present. The study, the working, the waiting; finally realized, in the dimming candlelight and cooling breeze as night moved in on the desert, with a full day of work eager to move in with the next sunrise. A beautiful promise of fulfillment, but only in due time; because between then and now lay the sweet embrace of night, and that of her beloved with it. The love whose one hand Easy covers with her own, while the other lifts to loosely frame the curve where Riza’s jaw slopes down into her neck; a lighter touch only in the physical sense, as it bears every ounce of her heart, just the same.

#reigningsniper #answered. #saved. #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼’( ...ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴋɪɴ ɪ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ 'ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs' [reigningsniper] ) #|| SCREAMING. SCREAMING CRYING. #|| NAT WHO LET YOU.

[cromwellharvests]

@regnantlight​​ said:

🎶

send  🎶 for a musical number for our muses

[rubs my little racoon hands together] good. splendid. alright—

Being Alive from Company (especially as performed by Voctave)

Someone to hold you too close Someone to hurt you too deep Someone to sit in your chair And ruin your sleep To make you aware Of being alive...

Someone to need you too much Someone to know you too well...

Someone you have to let in Someone whose feelings you spare Someone who, like it or not Will want you to share A little, a lot Is being alive...

Someone to crowd you with love Someone to force you to care Someone to make you come through Who'll always be there As frightened as you Of being alive

and, of course, the pleading reprise at the end, as the perspective shifts:

Somebody crowd me with love Somebody force me to care Somebody let me come through I'll always be there As frightened as you To help us survive Being alive

honestly I feel like it bears little need for elaboration, the proof’s in the pudding (and performance)— but I’ll go on and give some, anyhow: that they’re both so practiced at showing only parts of themselves to others, and finding ways to keep even the people they love very dearly at arm’s length; for fear of being a burden, of not meeting expectations, of not being exactly what they each believe they should be, every moment of every day... I’ll admit, I think it’s even more difficult for Zelda to begin to open up and ease those barriers than it is for Easy to do the same, but they certainly both struggle with it.

But that only compounds the need for someone to break through. To hold you too close; someone you have to let in... each of them coming to terms with how, as they do finally give leighway for the other to see the parts of themself they try to keep down, it lets them feel freer, fuller, and— indeed— more alive than they have in a long while.

It’s scary. Of course it is— life is. But it’s better together. 

I think the realization at the end errs more from Zelda’s perspective, maybe after a pre-determined length of partnership ends which had brought them together, or maybe as she gears up to enter into a loveless political marriage, and realizes, oh! actually! that doesn’t sound nearly as tolerable as it did before because I’ve experiened what being alive (for myself) is actually about!

honorable mentions: Come What May from Moulin Rouge, Sunrise from In the Heights, (and of course: You Matter to Me)

honorable honorable mention: Legally Blonde from... Legally Blonde: the Musical... something, something, “someone in Hyrule’s court attempts to take advantage of / otherwise snubs the ambassador in a way which makes her feel foolish and small for ever believing she was good enough for such a high position, decides to pack it all up and head back to the small town where she ‘belongs’, much to the dismay of her highness’—

E: Thanks for your help and for all you've done Thank you for treating me decently Z: What's wrong? E: Maybe someday you can visit me Give me a call, say hello– Z: Wait, where are you going?

E: Sorry, I'm letting down everyone Z: What brought on this? E: You gave your best with a hopeless case Z: That's ludicrous Both: You are the best thing about this place Z: Emily, you should know-...

#☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #|| WOW this got long #|| i have the MOST thoughts

[cromwellharvests]

@eternasci​ asked: 

What Major Arcana tarot card's morals best align with your character? You can focus on the developmental aspect of tarot (meaning, the entire "journey" that a tarot set puts a person through) or state the card you think best fits them overall.

(E.g., someone can be only temporarily aligned with the Chariot card because they are about to move into the Hermit's teachings, or they simply are always a Chariot because your character focuses on achievement, change, and empowerment.)

Okay so. I TRIED not to be biased about this. I tried to go ‘oh well, she could be the Empress, what with the divine femininity of it all,’ or the high priestess— even Temperance, which comes fairly close; one foot in the water, immersed in the flow and constant change, while the other is planted firmly on the earth, grounded and constant, completely dedicated to her purpose...

But I can’t help myself. She has to be The Star. Yes, yes, it’s my favorite card from the major arcana (to the extent of my one-and-only tattoo thus far being the Star card from my primary deck)— but it hardly seems like my fault that Easy so closely embodies the qualities which make it my favorite to begin with. Or maybe it’s completely my fault, but who cares. 

To elaborate, I’ll pull from the Biddy Tarot description of The Star, as well as the Wild Unknown, as that’s my preferred deck for reading:

“ She pours the water out to nourish the earth and to continue the cycle of fertility, represented by the lush greenery around her...  one foot on the ground, representing her practical abilities and good common sense, and the other foot in the water, representing her intuition and inner resources and listening to her inner voice. She is naked, representing her vulnerability... under the vastness of the starry night sky. ” Biddy Tarot

“ The full-spectrum color gives the star an air of holistic, healing energy. All colors are present, all colors are even, and they are contained safely within the star... The Star represents the magical sensation that comes when you live in a way that feels true and right to you. The Star gives its light freely, without holding back. But it is also unassuming. The star draws attention quietly, with a sort of serene power. A beautiful, calming influence is present in this card. This star is a reminder that hope is present even in the darkest of nights. ” Wild Unknown

Nourishing, peaceful, and hopeful. Giving without reservation, but not with the same level of intensity that is commonly associated with the Sun, (which is a comparison I, and many others, have made in time).  Where the Sun is vigorous, celebratory, and unapologetic, the Star— Easy— is a gentler presence, a more balanced force; no less constant in her shine, but not quite as blinding. Her light is not meant to drown out that of others around her, but to amplify them.

And the selection from the Wild Unknown highlights a very important quality of her character I have always tried to convey, (and no doubt what helped inspire her creation in the first place): the idea of someone being able to come through the darkest times imaginable, to endure trauma and see the worst of what the world has to offer, and still continue to share their light. To be hopeful and kind, warm and welcoming, even if that vulnerability has lead to incredible pain before. The idea that the love and goodness that can be cultivated with a tender heart still outweigh any consequences that same openness incurs. To sum it up, I’ll pull another quote from the ‘general meaning’ section as described by the Wild Unkown:

“[The Star] also has some healing connotations. The Star offers you a reprieve, a chance to make peace with whatever turmoil you’ve experienced. The Star shows that despite your battle scars, you can still be vulnerable. You can still trust, you can still find a way to show up in this world as your authentic self. Your greatest strength is activated when you devote yourself to being real.”

#☼’( ʜᴇʀs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ [about] ) #☼’( ᴀ ʜᴀʙɪᴛ's ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ [isms] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #|| honestly this question is about to make me cry a little #|| thank you. beautiful question. i appreciate it so much #|| god easy means the world to me

[cromwellharvests]

"You've thoroughly charmed everyone, tonight."

The two would indulge a bit of interlude from the commotion inside, standing in the brisk air of the balcony. Away from prying eyes and chatty socialites. Though Satsuki stood stiff and proper, as usual, there is undeniable reprieve in this moment shared between them. Where they could enjoy their champagne above a garden and below the starry heavens.

"Myself included." She silently confesses, peering behind the veil of her side fringe to the Earthshaker. A hint of a... smile? "Even when my guard is at my highest, in places like these, it is ... nice, that I can find comfort in your company. So thank you. For coming with me."

@kiryuiegerin​ | [ based off that doodle :)c ]

It very well could have been overwhelming– being so thoroughly surrounded by beauty on every layer. The stars which so often got trapped in her eyes instead pressing down overhead, her constant companion of flora and fauna below, and... words did Satsuki little justice, but striking, graceful, and resolute came close.

Smiles and gentle candor aside, hardly a minute had passed the whole evening where the alchemist’s heart hadn’t raced; flutters of worry tickling the nerves from her nape down to her fingertips. Guests of the highest esteem all eager to meet and trade banter, telling stories and peppering with one question after another...

And yet, it scarcely seemed to faze the Prime Minister in the least. No matter how many vied for her attention– one proposal, comment, question, and transition of company after the next– she was steady; gaze clear, and disciplined.

“...I– really?” Safe to say, her words caught Miss Cromwell by surprise. Me? she thinks in lieu of words, which were suddenly hard to come by. 

Making a good impression on the other attendees was one thing– a feat which, even for all her humility, Emily was confident she could pull off with enough care (as someone in her position should)– but... being a comfort to Satsuki Kiryuin was entirely another. Her excellency was not prone to flattery, either; if she offered a compliment one could be certain she meant it.

“I can’t begin tell y’ how happy I am t’ hear that. ” thankfully, the warmth of her expression manages to do most of the heavy lifting where words continue to fail. “Th’ pressure you must be under at these sorts ‘f things is the stuff that makes diamonds out ‘f coal. T’ be able to take even a little bit ‘f that load off...well, I’m certainly glad t’ be here. With you. 

An’ I hope you’ll have me again, sometime.”

#kiryuiegerin #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #|| sometime read also as: anytime. whenever. wherever. #|| hmm this made my heart unprecedentedly soft

[cromwellharvests]

What kind of herb are you?

Oregano

You are home to so many people and yet you're not at home with yourself. Everyone needs something from you and you desperately try to prove that you're enough but you're never enough, never good enough, never even you despite all of that. Your hands shake but only when you're never looking at them and your smile is so ever-present you can't help but wonder if its fake, wonder how much of you is real. 

You're a caretaker, but are you even good at that? or are you faking yourself out into believing you're something that you wish you could be; someone that someone else needed you to be when you were small and so full of need and hope and fragility? Who are you underneath the need to be someone's home? Who are you when you come home to yourself?

#☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ʜᴇʀs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ [about] ) #☼’( ᴀ ʜᴀʙɪᴛ's ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ [isms] ) #|| uh #|| what the fuck; good sir #queue. #|| i come back and THIS is what you hit me with???

[cromwellharvests]

@sunlilted​ asked possibly my favorite question of all time:

what is the most difficult part of Easy's alchemy? was it the research, the trials / testing, the process of learning at all?

Dropped low in the middle of a valley between mountains, Wiradu is a little town, blessed with a great many things— good soil, mostly mild weather, a stream which plays host to schools of migrating fish... but it also, predictably, lacks a lot of other things typical to larger settlements. 

When Easy happened across the scribblings, notes, and handful of books that her great-grandfather left behind, she had very little idea as to how to begin parsing them out, and fortunate though her little town was to have a library, they certainly didn’t have any additional texts on alchemy, and there was no-one in town with relevant expertise to offer, either. Any initial learning she did was entirely self-driven and self-motivated, which lead to a lot of frustration. Trial and error after error after error. 

But despite the lack of guidance and seemingly insurmountable hurdles at the start, she kept beating her head against it, determined to not only understand the concepts, but make them useful for her community. From all the stories, Zachariah was a very charitable man, and bright, too— he wouldn’t have put all the work he did into this craft and these theories for nothing. So she begged to go along on trips into East City and New Optain, determined to find any books or scraps of paper she could that might help bridge her gap in understanding.

Really, it feels like she skipped a few steps. That’s what made the research so difficult— jumping headfirst into alchemical texts with no beginner-friendly introductions is like picking up a book in a completely different language, relying on borrowed words and a few familiar concepts to carry her through. She spent countless hours reading, sketching, testing, and reconfiguring to try and make sense of it all. But, of course, it was all worth it for those moments when a one-in-one-hundred attempt turned out as she expected, and every little inch of progress was made.

Once she had a grip on the basics, things definitely grew easier. She’s fairly bright, and a natural problem solver, so the process of stringing together the new repertoire of tools once she understood them wasn’t nearly as difficult as getting a handle in the first place. Still, there was a lot of additional studying to do to make the impact she hoped to. Alchemy is only a fraction of the equation, lumped in with biochemistry, agricultural, and environmental science. 

The trials and testing really aren’t that difficult— tedious, at times, maybe, but she’s very passionate about the work, so it doesn’t feel draining— the difficulty today (and what will most likely remain), is in the research, because there’s just so much which goes into consideration for the methods and practice she’s trying to develop. Stacks upon stacks of research documents, soil surveys, regional agricultural reports, and various relevant science texts end up on her desks at work and home at any given time, with no end in sight. But, such is the nature of the pursuit of knowledge: a true student is a student, eternal.

post-script:

one of the more difficult qualities of implementing her signature alchemy, as it’s known, is control. controlling the intensity, the depth, and the extent of deconstruction and displacement. similar to how roy manipulates the size and strength of his flames with focus and intention, it takes a great deal of restraint and practice to do what she does without disastrous repercussions. 

(of course, that sheer destructive quality was part of her marketing scheme to appeal to the military’s sensibilities in the first place, but... y’know. she’s not actually Like That).

#☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ʜᴇʀs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ [about] ) #☼’( ʜᴇᴀʀᴛsᴇᴀsᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴ ᴘʟᴏᴛ [musings] ) #☼’( ᴇᴀʀᴛʜsʜᴀᴋᴇʀ [main verse] ) #|| tags this with everything #|| thank you for this question i adore you

[cromwellharvests]

what’s your underlying motif?

the home

whether it’s your warm embrace, your unwavering reliability, your smile that says “welcome back”, your motif is the home. your the equivalent to coming out of the rain to the fire on and your slippers waiting by the door. your uncanny way of making people feel alright, you’re treasured in these trying times. 

i respectfully request you take care of yourself, the world will never been as kind to you as you are to it. anne lammott said “lighthouses don't go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining” and though unconventional, lighthouses are inhabited and your cup runs over with generosity. because you probably don’t hear it enough: thank you.

#dash games. #☼’( ʜᴇʀs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ [about] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #|| definitely did this on my old blog to the same ends BUT #|| i like it. so.

[cromwellharvests]

@reigningsniper​

The wrapping is misleading. Precise corners, folds, almost imperceptible pieces of tape holding it together, and a simple bow crowning the display above appropriately solstice themed paper. She spent significantly more time than otherwise making the package appear as exquisite as she could manage, since within box beneath, laid contents were markedly not.

That simple fact was not due to a lack of trying, however. There were few things that would cause Riza’s brow to crease as a prelude to the inevitable migraine, but knitting was one of them. She had learned to sew in her youth, and she could certainly mend an old knitted sweater if the situation required it. The result would not be pretty, but it would do the job. In this case, she committed herself to make something completely from a few balls of yarn and a set of needles. Not just a carefully baked treat - she could do that in spades. Nothing fancy or extravagant, but well done all the same.

The saving grace of the sweater, she supposes, is the quality of the woolen yarn, coupled with the delicate blush lavender color. In certain lighting it could appear pink, and in another it would appear purple. Would it wholly distract from the uneven loops, the wonky neckline, and quite possibly, embarrassingly uneven widths of each sleeve? She certainly hoped so.

Nevertheless, it was gifted to Emily all the same. A triumph over a craft that would have prompted her to chuck the materials necessary in her lap across the room a few months before. It was hard enough to find time to sneak in the work, but she’d found ways. She always did. Emily never ceased to amaze her at finding time to make all sorts of little things. And some not so little. Lots of them for her. She hopes it begins to return the favor, even if it’s merely a drop on the bucket.

There’s a quiet dose of humility which traces the Earthshaker’s smile when taking the gift in hand, still unaccustomed to accepting favors without a fuss, but she won’t raise any objection when it’s a gift from her, of all people. Only blush a little with her tucking chin, and say a pre-emptive thank you with star-scattered eyes, as she turns the neatly wrapped parcel around to admire the delicate handiwork. It’s almost too fine to disturb, she’d argue, and maybe she even makes a little joke to that effect before carefully splitting along one of the too-neat seams with her finger, breaking the tape and pulling the paper off in one large swath.

All smiles and playful banter ‘til she’s popped open the box and drawn out the gift with one hand, upon which she falls quiet and mostly still. Still, before spreading it open proper; still, before her hands move under and along the knit with slow, sweeping gestures, getting a feel for the piece as a whole. It is, indeed, quite apart from the calculated edges of its packaging; loops and rows which vary in width, to the abstract frame which would sit along her collarbone whence pulled into place. It shifts a bit from side to side, catching different light and revealing the equally unusual, special hue.

It really isn’t that long. A few moments, not a whole minute, but the quiet might have made it feel longer. But at any rate, the lazy pace comes to an end as the Cromwell awkwardly shuffles the garment into one hand, as to shrug her shoulder out of the loose cardigan she’d already been wearing, quickly making her way out of the other sleeve as well and casting it aside, to pull on the new blushing wool in its place, quickly adjusting it to fit (as well it was made to) over her breast. And, once it’s on, she wraps her hands over her collar, huddling closer into it... 

Only just barely misting up, with tiny silver tears at the corner of half-lidded hazel eyes.

“Thank you. Oh, Riza, I’ve never had anything so wonderful. Thank you—” Said with the most infallible, inscrutable sincerity. “I don’t know that I’ll ever take it off.”

#☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ...ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴋɪɴ ɪ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ 'ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs' [reigningsniper] ) #|| and just like that it's the most precious thing she owns

[cromwellharvests]

@reigningsniper​​ is consoling her sunflower

A long sigh didn't need to be heard for Riza to know that the mountain of work and long hours these last few weeks was wearing Emily thin. Silently, she leaves Emily in their study to abscond away into the kitchen, and make a dozen or so apricot danishes.

Evidently the aroma doesn't entice Emily to vacate her desk and hunt down the culprit. So she continues on her mission, drawing a bath, dripping a few calming essences of lavender and chamomile, bringing forth a few bubbles, and to top it off, a fresh glass of one of Emily's favorite wines.

Once the danishes are sufficiently baked and placed on a wire rack to cool, Riza returns to the study. Hands rest against her shoulders, thumbs brushing against skin where Emily's shirt fell along its slope, pressing a kiss into her hair. She reaches 'round, closing the notebook and placing the floral cross-stitched bookmark into the tome she's been laboring over these last few days.

How long it will take Emily to notice the aroma of golden tinged dough and apricots will be left for time to tell. "Come, let's rest for the night."

—in order to convert low-grade desert soil, it is necessary to coat the unsorptive particles in a clay coating to not only increase their surface area, but create pourousness with magnesia and alumina, improving water retention. By breaking down bentonite or kaolin clay into its reductive elements then re-integrating them with the basic silica particles from sand, high-yield agricultural soil could be produced with significantly less labor intensity, and water usage reduced at least by half—

her hand, (which had begun to mold to a curved shape from holding her pen too long), falls suddenly slack, hauled out from the depths of focus by gentle fingers working on her skin, and the feeling of lips on her crown. Truth told, she hadn’t noticed, and perhaps, wouldn’t have noticed for a long time to come: the sweet, thick aroma of baked fruit, turned to caramel and nectar by the perfect combination of heat and time, and the sound of water climbing through pipes to fill the tub– it’d been lost in the traffic of over-taxed neural pathways, her thoughts seemingly racing two paces ahead, while she simply tried to catch up.

Amazing, then, how quickly those straining thoughts all fade to the background the moment Riza calls her; her voice low, and quiet, spoken as much into Emily’s hair, her skin, as the air between them. Only then can she realize how much time has slipped by, from that too-indulgent scent singing in from the kitchen, to the more subtle trace of floral oil that still clings to Hawkeye’s fingertips, selling the secrets of how she’d spent her time since disappearing from view.

“alright, twist my arm.” She murmurs playfully, reaching her own hands up to cover Ri’s, tracing her knuckles while acquiescing to one stretch where she sat, chest pressing forward and shoulders pushed back, with a terse hum to match. 

Tension that lessened with each passing moment, from the first mind-numbingly good bite through flaky pastry, to how the heat of the gently scented bath seemed to permeate deep into her bones, cutting straight through the rest of her. 

And while she sank deeper into the water, humming and turning to mush, her head tipped back to look at her beloved, weary eyes full of a gratitude she couldn’t quite put into words. For the moment, she only stared, and sighed again– a much more gentle sound, and content:

“...sometimes, I wonder what I could have ever done t’ deserve someone like you.”

#☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ...ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴋɪɴ ɪ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ 'ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs' [reigningsniper] ) #|| [pounds my fist against the table repeatedly] #|| don't touch me i'm soft. #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #|| technically

[cromwellharvests]

@regnantlight​

Court was an awful, horrid place to be.

Zelda could understand, objectively, how it appealed to someone who had never taken part in noble circles. It all looked and felt rather glamorous and romantic, from the outside. She suspected that Emily had a similar idealization of it, from the excitement she had over the idea of attending a royal ball, going as far as to even sew her own gown (despite Zelda's offer to purchase one on her behalf.)

She should have arrived with her. That had been the initial plan, but unfortunately, her father and her advisors saw fit to thrust her into a ceremonial entrance that separated her from her guest of the evening. And by the time she found her way back to Emily again, the court gossip had already made its way to her ears. Country Bumpkin. Foreigner. What a thick accent, they said. What an unusual dress, they said.

It wasn't, of course, obvious to them that Miss. Emily Cromwell was the esteemed guest of Princess Zelda (for if it had been, they would have plastered on smiles and waited to whisper until after the ball) but they were about to be made quite aware.

Zelda approached her with the only smile that hadn't needed to be forced that evening, trying to calm the flutter in her belly at the curl of her brown hair and the way the dress laid delicately across her freckled shoulders. By Hylia, she was beautiful. It was with no small amount of quiet reverence that she took her hand, bowing her head to place a kiss across its back, an act of greeting, of respect, reserved typically for those of noble birth— but there was none nobler than Emily that night, and the message to the court was made clear.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Miss. Cromwell."

It was everything she ever dreamed it would be. Decadent and otherworldly, gilded in shining decor from the cieling to the floor, and all the elegant figures dappled in amongst the scenery fit to match. Glamorous and romantic and wholly unlike anywhere else she’d ever been. Emily was so excited from the mere mention, but it paled in comparison to how she felt walking in.

She insisted on sewing her own gown, of course– not only for the fact that she outright refused to let Zelda rack up any more of an expense on her behalf than she already had, (nor the fact that she often struggled to ‘shop’ for dresses for reasons of her figure), but because she’d sketched countless dreamy gowns in her time hoping for just such an occasion, and she would see at least one of those ideas realized. As much work as it was to see through from start to finish, it didn’t feel like work at all. Nothing could steal the magic and joy of this experience away from her.

Not even the response she knew awaited her.

Snide, sideways glances, chuckles hidden behind gloved hands— or sometimes not hidden at all. People who whispered and took amusement, rolling their eyes and no doubt wondering how someone so low— of low birth, of low standing, of low import— made it to their halls in the first place. She has never been oblivious to the condescension that follows her handiwork and gentle mien; Easy knows full well how their minds shift and bend the second they hear a dropped syllable and honey-sweet, lulled contraction, the weight of her home and her upbringing heavy on her tongue.

It all came just as expected. And, perhaps, after some time it did wear a little on her nerves; only not for her own sake, as much as her benefactor’s. The fact that no-one had seemed to put together, thus far, that she was a guest brought in by the highness herself was her saving grace— because, truth be told, she couldn’t care much less about their disparagement. It was the same thing back home, when she arrived in the capital city (in a dress far less ostentatious; but just as home-made), and declared her intentions. 

Simply put, Easy was very muched used to being underestimated; to being looked down on, and have assumptions made about her intelligence, about her upbringing, and about the quality of her character, based on how she looked and sounded. These aristocrats with their noses turned up weren’t particularly cruel— they were just par for the course. 

That’s why she was prepared to take it in stride, with the same easy smile and gentleness that she always wore, determined to enjoy the dream-like qualities in spite of them. It’s why she’s wearing that soft expression even before the crowd begins to part around her, and she turns to match gaze with the heart of her daydreamed fairy-tale. A moment of nervousness flooded her heart, thinking she should stop the Princess before she could spoil her own image, tying herself to the rumour mill’s favourite fodder of the night... 

But that worry is far outmatched by the starlight in her eyes, and the thrill when Zelda’s fingers move under her own, lifting to land a kiss on the inked array which framed freckled skin. 

The significance of the moment isn’t lost on her, nor, undoubtedly, is it lost on any of their shocked onlookers— how might those whispers change shape for the rest of the evening? And how many would suddenly take to her with renewed interest and pliant smiles?

Most importantly: who cares?

Certainly not the Alchemist, and not likely the Princess, either. Not at least for that moment– when her head rises and their eyes meet again. Zelda speaks, but the way that they look at one another says far more.

“Not ‘t all, Princess. I’ve had a perfectly wonderful time.” her smile widened, a little. “It’s only even better, now.”

#☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼’( ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴅᴜsᴛ sʜɪɴᴇ [regnantlight] ) #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #|| [pounds my fist against the table repeatedly] #|| them!!!!

[cromwellharvests]

@reigningsniper​​ said: Just. Casually holds her hand for the first time. 🥺

There’s a subtlety to their company that she’d just begun to understand, and grow comfortable in; the few outtings they’d taken together ‘til then characterized by quiet appreciation, and sometimes slightly awkward small talk, though it melted into something easy, something natural before long... 

It was clear that it had been some time since either of them had committed to this kind of thing– but doubly so for Riza— and Easy made every measure to respect that. No haste, no extravagant expectations, just the slow and steady process of exploring something new and getting to know one another outside the confines of their professional bonds. And that was nice, in its way. 

Not in the least because it made such a little thing seem so... special. Monumental.

The barely-there slip of fingers around hers, (hesitant at first), before they tightened more securely, cementing a hold and confirming it was no mistake, no accident. Emily managed to only look surprised for half a moment, (eyes briefly widened, lips barely parted), but the suddenly-heavy beat of her heart carried on long after her expression wandered back to something softer; a casual smile on her lips, contrary to the breath she briefly holds.

Her own hand shifted just enough to better accomodate Riza’s– without a second thought– and pressed back in return, before carrying on with whatever thought she’d been in the middle of before... 

[ if you asked, later on, she’d never be able to remember exactly what it was she’d been waxing on about, but she could describe the feeling in great detail ]

#☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼’( ...ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴋɪɴ ɪ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ 'ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs' [reigningsniper] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #|| oh...

[cromwellharvests]

She's been out for as long as there has been sun in the sky -- tending to the earth, as garden nymphs often do, making Solf damn near envy what it must feel like to be a plant under her mindful touch.

He supposes the next best thing would be placing her under his mindful touch.

Once he has her to himself, he treats her by sprawling her into the mattress below. Climbing over her while she lays on her tummy -- never placing full weight, though some nagging part of him knows it would hardly be a bother to her -- straddling her as he runs his palms up and down her bare back.

First it's the path of freckles his fingers follow. A bit of self indulgence, always captivated by those speckles... Then it's every tense muscle that is in need of dutiful service. Working out every knot that a hard day of work would cause.

And when he was feeling especially greedy, he even stole a kiss at the spine here and there.

she doesn’t always beat the sun to rising, but there are days when it must be done– to be pried so early from the warmth of soft linen and steady arms is a sacrifice she’s willing to make for her garden, and few other things. it’s best to get as much done in the first hours of light, after all, before the sun grows harsh mid-day, and slows the pace of straining muscles. albeit, she bares the burden of work better than most, the memory of each motion sewed deep into sinews, which have grown strong for their loving labor...

Emily knows very well that practice and diligence don’t completely allay tension, and she tries to be at least somewhat mindful of the toll her toils take, (moreso with each passing year). yet she still has to bite her tongue to avoid denying his offer outright; to not insist ‘oh i’m fine, dear, you don’t have to’, and soldier on with the day.

He’s made her a little better at it, in time. not being so reluctant to indulge something purely for her own sake. hence how she manages to follow his lead with no further objection, undoes the knot which kept a halter dress lazily in place, and settles face-down on the bed with little more than a sighed exhale and brief worry of her bottom lip under her teeth.

The barest trace of nervous energy which melts to a gentle laugh as his fingers map the trail which the sun had blazed before him, still flattered by how he marveled at the little marks— then laughter, too, gives way. to heavy hums and relieved whines, finally aware of just how much tension she carried only as his fingers worked it out.

Sometimes, it’s a wonder if he hasn’t missed his calling... though maybe it’s all the same precision with which he could tease sweet songs out of a slew of instruments which allows him to draw the pressure, (and sounds), from her. 

So he could kiss and nip all he liked, and earn all the same breathless little noises and hums—

She was content just to sink deeper into the bedding beneath and forget everything but where his fingers, his palms, his lips were on her. 

@creepiitus​ 

#☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀs ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ [creepiitus] ) #i see someone has been reading their guide on 'how to care for your nymphet'. #astounding work. absolutely stunning. #she's literally just... like... #（///◞‿◟///） #pudding. completely melted.

[cromwellharvests]

@dolcetters​ said:  first thing he noticed was the lack of cold spots, and how the dogs almost immediately stopped whatever nervous jitters he may have had or usually has. kind of the feeling you get after spending hours in a cold room and stepping out into sunlight for the first time. the sense that "this one... she's genuine, and i think i'm safe around her".

what’s the first thing your muse noticed about mine?

while every experience is different, you come to know that look in people’s eyes— the ones that have seen more than their share of tragedy, of the cruelty this world has to offer. in a way, he is the reason why she glows with that low-kindled fire, soft and slight, because she learned early on in life that it was better to be a warmth which could soothe than the blaze which scours. not the harsh, glaring sunlight at noon baring down relentlessly on those trapped under it, but the soft rays of early morning, filtered through the curtains, the leaves, the mountains which carve the horizon...

at the very least, it suits her better.

to create that sense of safety, so that no-one has to be on their guard all the time. to reinstill the idea that, though this world remains full of jagged edges and those who would drive you against them... it isn’t all that way.

#the chance; the privilege; to instill that in him. to let him reconnect with that softness even a little. #it means the world to her. #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼( ...ʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ [dolcetters] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] )

[cromwellharvests]

@creepiitus​ said: The first thing he noticed were dirty knees. Soil beneath the nails. Beads of sweat at the brow. He noticed someone working away well into the afternoon -- bringing life back to desolate places he had so cruelly uprooted. The first thing Solf noticed about Emily Cromwell, was that in a cruel and violent world, there would always be people like her to oppose it.

The cute face was only a bonus.

what’s the first thing your muse noticed about mine?

there are more “proper” ways to meet someone– prim and neatly manicured, dressed in something nicely tailored and offering a clean, gentle hand to shake. hell, they’re both soldiers, aren’t they? they could’ve exchanged curt salutes in military blues, alongside titles and scripted pleasantries...

far better that he found her as he did. at home, wrist-deep in her work. rebuilding, recreating. 

it’s a very cute face. all the more for the easy, enchanted look she could offer in turn.

#yes. good. #☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #god she is cute though. #you might wonder if they'd have ever fallen into place like they did if not for such a first impression. #if they'd just met in passing at some base #hmm..

[cromwellharvests]

@alchemic-elric​ said: Is that a Strawberry Rhubarb pie left for her? Handmade with an attention to detail. It looks like someone got artsy with the crust. There's a note attached to the box.'Hey I love you and take it Easy when you can. ~ E.E."

she reads the note first and foremost, assuaging any confusion with a quick and sentimental smile, with the scrap of paper soon drawn close to her heart– she hopes, with a gesture, she can send a similar feeling his way. or, perhaps, that he always knows it; that he can hear her voice in low moments just as she’d gladly say it any day: ‘ i love you too, moondrop. always. ’

the sight of his marvelously-done work only deepens her affection, to no surprise. little hand-cut leaves and twists of dough to look like vines twining ‘round the edge, baked to a perfect golden-brown hue. artsy, indeed, and precise without being finnicky... it looked, and smelled, a lot like home. the comforting sort of scent she’d gladly breathe in deep and forget, for a moment, all the weight she’d taken on her shoulders...

maybe it was time for a break, after all. oh, and some tea would be really nice with a slice! maybe with a bit of fresh clotted cream...

#☼'( sɪɢɴᴇᴅ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ [answered] ) #[pleading emoji x100]. #☼'( ᴘʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs [saved] ) #best boy baby brother strikes again. #bless your soul sweet angel.