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irafuwas · 6 months

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BUMP OF CHICKEN - 「Aurora」

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もうきっと多分大丈夫どこが痛いか分かったからね自分で涙拾えたらいつか魔法に変えられる

i'm sure everything's gonna be okay 'cause you realized where it hurts, right? if you can gather up your tears, they'll transform into magic someday

ほんの少し忘れていたねとても長かったほんの少しお日様がない時はクレヨンで世界に創り出したでしょう

you just forgot for a little while, is all for a really long little while on that dark, dark day didn't you use your crayons to dream up the sun into the sky?

正義の味方には見つけて貰えなかった類探しに行かなくちゃ呼び合い続けたあの声だ��

even though your knight in shining armor never came you still gotta go look for that voice that always called out to you

溜め息にもなれなかった名前さえ持たない思いが心の一番奥の方爪を立てて堪えていたんだ触れて確かめられたら形と音が分かるよ伝えたい言葉はいつだってそうやって見つけてきた

those nameless thoughts that couldn't even muster themselves into a sigh they lay deep in your heart, lashing out around them and they waited if you can reach out and touch them then you'll understand just what they are that's how you always end up finding the words to say what you want to say

振り返れば途切れずに歪な線を描く足跡悲しいくらい分かりやすくいつもここに向けて伸びる

if you look back, you'll see the the footprints you left behind still in that unbroken, crooked line it's sad, how easy it is to understand that they'll always be there, heading towards today

大切にするのは下手でも大切だって事は分かっているせめてその白い手紙が正しく届きますように

i'm not good at treasuring things but i know this is important to you i hope at least your letter will get to where it needs to go

考え過ぎじゃないよそういう闇の中にいて勇気の眼差しで次の足場を探しているだけ

you're not overthinking it when you're in that dark place all you're doing is being brave and looking for the next step to take

解き放てあなたの声で光る羽根与えた思いをその足が向かうべき先へそうしなきゃ見えなかった未来へ諦めなかった事を誰よりも知っているのは羽ばたいた言葉のひとつひとつ必ず届きますように

your voice gave all those thoughts and feelings you kept bottled up inside their shining wings now it's time to set them free and for you to go down the path you're meant to take - to that future you've never been able to see before each and every one of your words knows better than anyone else that you didn't give up now look as they take wing i pray they'll reach where they need to go

もう一度もう一度クレヨンで好きなようにもう一度さあどうぞ好きな色で透明に (Aah) もう一度もう一度クレヨンでこの世界に今こそさあどうぞ魔法に変えられる

one more time, just one more time pick up that crayon, and draw whatever you want just once more, go ahead use any color you like, that transparent sky is your canvass once more, just once more make the world what you want it to be now's your chance, so go ahead. it'll transform into magic

ああ、なぜ、どうして、と繰り返してそれでも続けてきただろう心の一番奥の方涙は炎向き合う時が来た触れて確かめられたら形と音をくれるよあなたの言葉がいつだってあなたを探してきたそうやって見つけてきた

you kept on asking yourself, "why? just why?" but still you kept on going, didn't you? in the deepest depths of your heart your tears burst into flame and now it's time for you to face them head on if you can reach out and touch them, then you'll understand just who you are your words have always been looking for you and that's how they found you

#song tl #my tl #bump of chicken #silver #this is like his theme song to me #not just cause the song title is befitting for him but also because its a song about having to be your own hero #and pushing forward even when everything seems to be against you. he perseveres against his sleeping curse and his limitations #as a human in a world of fae. we saw in his dorm vignette he really does feel bad about what people think of him #but still he doesn't give up!! he still tries so so hard #and the song is also about coming to understand just how powerful your words are #silver has such a hard time figuring out how to say what he wants to say but when he does find his words-#-like when he stood up to malleus and lilia in endless halloween-#i feel like it matches perfectly with the songs lines about how your words have always been looking for you #and they know better than anyone else that you never gave up #i also like to think this is lilia talking to silver and encouraging him to keep going on like he did in ch5

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anarcho-smarmyism · 3 days

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husband just said "my street name is EZ Cracker" 🤣☠️

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peppermint-moss · 1 year

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I have a really important question, how do you feel about your art being used in edits ? And I don’t mean taking your whole amv/pmv and changing the audio , I mean taking a few clips here and there, I want to make sure I’m not crossing any boundaries or anyone else

honestly ive been goin a lil back and forth for a while on how i feel about it; at the moment ive kinda been like i dont really like it but i also dont rlly care enough for it to actually make me uncomfortable/upset ? and then i think maybe i should just let ppl use it for edits if they dont bother me Too much idk... The only thing i know for certain is (wht u already mentioned) do not go taking my whole video and changing the audio etc. But just a few clips agh im not quite sure yet Sorry for the wishy-washy answer I know that's probably frustrating :( I'd say for now I'd prefer if people don't use my art/animations in edits but if that answer changes I'll update it in my FAQ on my tumblr and prob reblog this to inform ppl of it

#anon #ppmpost #asks #if anyone has thoughts to share on this im open to hearin it cause im kinda stuck #ok i ended up doing a big ramble in tags so:#tl;dr i keep aruging with myself whether to give or not give permission for edits so for now pls dont until i figure it out orz #a part of me worries it would encourage ppl to take other ppl's work #but i guess the key is that u gotta get permission before u put stuff in edits #and then my own feelings abt it idk. feels kinda bwegh sometimes to see my stuff in edits #but also. i am not attached to my amvs/warrior cats enough to really be longterm bothered by it #so maybe i should just give permission and not interact with the edits so ppl can have their fun with edits n i just dont look at them lol #And then i also worry if i give permission but it does bother me much more later down the line #and then revoking permission at that point feels .. mean??? idk im allowed to but it feels weirdly like goin back on my word n then it #makes ppl who did make edits when they had permission look like dicks again when in actuality i just revoked permission for future edits or #smth like that #AGH ok anyways #faq

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lord-squiggletits · 4 months

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i saw your recent post of having idw megop writing block and wanted to tell you that it's 100% normal (for me at least!) to have that feeling at some point in hyperfixations. eventually you'll get your kick back, black out, and see a half-finished fic you don't remember writing :)

🥰thanks for the encouragement

#squiggle answers #ngl if anyone else has any words of encouragement or compliments that would help

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kabalow · 7 months

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as I lie in bed, 4am and the hopes to fix my sleep schedule even a lil bit, I can't help but feel proud of my gamin today. I explored more of the open world it provides, i set myself for some great things (hopefully🤞) in the future but most importantly? I had fun

I have more thoughts but i would rather not dwell on negativity, somethin I've been strugglin with lately if I'm bein honest (⁠ꏿ⁠﹏⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠) but main thing is I'm tryin to be happier with all the complex emotions i got swirlin abt in my silly skull an makin my chest feel cold an dizzy. It ain't a good feelin but if it's wantin to stay i outta make it live by my rules ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

I wanna be happier an the only things stoppin me rn is.. well myself, time an the fact I need to talk to someone special to me but that's a lil tricky rn

#im just ramblin dont mind me #altho if ya wanna talk with me abt anythin rlly I'd like that #long as youre understandin of the fact I'm fixin to sleep here shortly lol #might delete this later I haven't decided yet #if y'all wanted to drop some nice msgs‚ encouragement or the like I'd rlly like that but obvs only if ya want an can spare the kind words #i know those are in short supply lately an i dont mean to make anyone feel like they gotta take on more negativity or unhappiness by sayin #anythin to a stranger on the Internet #i hope you readin this has a better day‚ a better time than what youre goin thru rn

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lilfoxay · 8 months

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So... what if I posted an out-of-context bit of a story from like a year ago that I still haven't finished? Without any warning or explanation? I haven't like... revised it even. And it's bad because I sucked a year ago (just kidding, I'm working on the negative self-talk). It is edgy, it is about angels and shit, I am living my middle school power self-insert fantasies and the only person who can stop me is me when I regret posting this immediately after I hit the button. It's below the cut :P

“Unimportant. Why isn’t their soul out yet?”

“Complications,” Oxy walked forward to stand next to the mortician, as both of them studied me closely. I averted my gaze, and quickly found the floor to be a point of interest. “Their soul fights back.”

“Fights back?”

“Happens very rarely, only with the–”

“Souls of angels,” The room filled with an oppressive silence as all three of us pondered the situation we were in. However, I felt pitifully out of the loop. “Is there any chance we could still try?”

“Yes. But neither of us will like what we see, or what they’ll do to us when they get their memories back.”

“We can handle one bird-brain.”

“I’d be offended, but there’s no time,” The mortician cupped their hands around Oxy’s, and soon they both wore blue, crackling spectral gloves tipped with gleaming claws. “On three,” With a grim nod, Oxy plunged their claws into my chest, and the cold feeling spread throughout my body once more. The mortician stepped up next to Oxy, and both their claws now anchored themselves into a part of me I did not know existed. “One,” Both of them shifted their stance. “Two,” The claws hummed louder, and the otherworldly sparking increased in frequency, leaving the room aglow in a pale blue light. “Three!” With a heave, they both tumbled backward onto the floor, pulling me out of my body as they went. Pulling… us… out of our body. I was bent over the steel table, the claws still embedded deep within my torso. Hands that weren’t mine tried to grip their arms and yanked me free, only to pass through them uselessly. Voices that were never my own cried out from my mouth in a cacophony of shouting and sobbing and begging and suffering. I saw through dozens of eyes. I grasped and tugged desperately at the clothes of those who had rent me from my body with a sickly number of hands to no avail. I towered above them, my head scraping the ceiling of a room that even they could not reach. As they both stood, unflinching as the hands attempted to pull them towards us, I could barely think over the storm of screams in my head.

I could not see my reflection. Oxeleure and the mortician’s eyes remained hidden from my view. The room had no mirrors. The metal on the table before me was dull and dirty, but it was better that way. What little I could see of myself, the reactions and body language of those who stood before me, they were enough.

I was a monster.

And yet they did not hesitate.

“The table! Hurry!” shouted the mortician as they dug their spectral claws into one of my arms.

“No need to tell me twice, I’m not an idiot.” Oxeleure soon followed suit, and with a snarl they dragged me down and onto the table. They fastened the shackles around one set of my arms and my ankles, as the rest of my limbs punched and clawed at them in retaliation.

“Jonas, get in here! Bring the potions!”

“What’s the hurry, I thought you were a profe- holy shit!” All of my eyes stared back at them as I struggled against my binds, my many arms uselessly passing through anything I tried to touch.

“Just shut up and get the potions to the body! I don’t know how long these binds can hold something like this!” Rushing forward with an armful of bottles, Jonas let them fall at my body’s feet as they tilted my head back. Cracking open three of the narrow vials, they balanced them in my mouth and pulled two handfuls of needles from their apron’s pockets. Disembodied golden hands, shining with the same energy as the orbs that had healed me, appeared around them and grasped the needles, urgently opening the rest of the vials and collecting as much of the green liquid as each could hold. I watched as they jabbed the needles into my neck, my arms, my legs, and even a few in my heart. I could see my neck turning pink as the liquid from the bottles in my mouth ran down my throat and seemingly brought my body back to life, without me in it. One of my hands once again tried to go for Oxeleure, grasping at their forearm. This time, it connected. They tried to wrench away from my grip as my other hands lurched greedily towards any hope of freedom.

“Uh, Circe, what does it mean when it stops phasing through objects?” The mortician slowly turned to see, as if scared to confront the reality of the situation.

“Thought you would know that by now like you seem to know everything else. It means we’re running out of time. Prepare to move the spirit,” They deftly dodged my arm’s pathetic attempt to claw at them. “Jonas, is the body ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. About as ready as it’ll ever be,” They turned to the mortician, their eyes glowing suns against the sickly blue hue that filled the room. “Tell me when.” The mortician and Oxeleure dug their claws into the pair of shoulders closest to my head, tensing their muscles in preparation.

“Okay in three, two, one…” The shackles flew open, their runes extinguishing, “NOW!” They both yanked me up from the table, hurling me towards the body as the golden hands injected the rest of the potions into my corpse. Against my will, my many sets of arms braced themselves against the chair and pushed back. The golden hands let the needles clatter to the floor as the blue energy coursed around them. Growing claws of their own, they burrowed deep into my bones and my chest, and I felt my hands slip through the chair as I screamed in agony. With a heave, Jonas, Oxeleure, and the mortician finally shoved my spirit back into my body. The glow from my own soul vanished, as well as the light from the claws and spiritual hands, as they all fell to the floor in exhausted silence.

“Swear to God… if you die after all this shit we just went through…” Jonas growled between gasps. Sharing their sentiment, Oxeleure crawled forward and clasped my leg. It was almost as if the sudden ‘attack’ scared me back to life. I lurched forward, gasping and panting and coughing and living for the first time in days. The mortician recovered the fastest, getting to their feet and dusting off their clothes. I felt firmly rooted in my own body once again, and for the first time, started being able to register the details of my surroundings.

#special thanks to rfh to encouraging me to share something on here for the first time lol #i will not provide more details unless prompted #because this story has been evolving in my head for years so its one of those disorganized passion project things #a lot of tangled up gibblety gob yknow #but thanks for reading it if u did #even a tiny bit #means the world that anyone would read past word one lol #im not tagging this with any writing related tags cause im not ready for a bigger audience's judgment #maybe someday

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thecowboykatsuki-anon · 1 year

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I really want to get back into the gym and I know that’s a slow process just cause I don’t take care of myself and have wrecked my body but sometimes I just get so frustrated with the limits I have 😅

#like my knees are super fucked #and so are my shoulders (shout out to varsity swim woot woot)#and I’m terrible at knowing my healthy limits #all this to say #if anyone has advice or words of encouragement I’d love to hear them

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maraeffect · 2 years

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holy fuck getting your intercostal space sliced through is one of the worst fucking pains ever. holy shit

#I'm dying over here #I'm not sure for more pain meds for another hour and i have to somehow transfer+#all the way to the bedroom AND use the restroom before laying down #it hurts so bad it's like i broke my ribs all over again but worse #round 2 #negative #I'm feeling really really shit rn if anyone has any encouraging words they would be appreciated

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marrowage · 1 year

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sitting in the airport just trying not to break into a million little tiny pieces

#everything is wrong!#if anyone has some encouraging words for dealing with heartbreak or just wants to send me a pic of their cat #both are welcome #mar

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teaandinanity · 2 years

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Day Three - Food

Y’all this is so long I do NOT know what happened.

I have broken Lyon’s date into more than one because a) the current mechanics do not actually make temporal sense, and b) they get engaged SUPER-fast as it is as an approved match so they NEED to spend more time together.

Fic under the cut.

It is marvelous to let herself be more, at the Summit; more present, louder, larger. She has spent so much of her life biting her tongue and making herself small for her own safety.

Now, she walks with long, leisurely strides, letting herself take up space and refusing to give way. She speaks in measured cadences, still quiet, but letting herself take up time and ensuring she is understood, refusing to be spoken over.

She feels somewhat smug about this, although she keeps the warm ember of it safely hidden away.

She eats slowly, too.

That requires far more will than the rest; a part of her still fears food will be taken away.

But manners require her to take dainty bites and set down her fork between them, to sip slowly at her drink, to make pleasant conversation and not fix awed eyes on her improbably full plate.

Manners dictate a great many things she would rather not do. She does them anyway, because they enable her to do the things she needs to do. She is making good progress with her goals, she thinks - so she can take a break to go and bother a certain library ghost.

–

The Duke is not visible from the door, which is probably by design. He is still not difficult to find.

She settles at his table, even though he has certainly not made her welcome. This is a public space, and she very much doubts the librarians will allow him to take his entire hoard of books back to his room. That will probably deter him from simply fleeing. So they’ll have a chance for conversation, however little interest he may have in it. For her own part, she is very interested in it; he was the most interesting person she spoke to at the welcome feast, so he will have to chase her away if he wants her gone.

She feels a bit like she’s ambushing him, but even just a few days in, everyone knows she doesn’t experience guilt or remorse when going after something she wants; she’s sure he won’t expect mercy on that front.

He looks up and his expression is not nearly resigned enough to make her apologetic. He even lowers the book! That’s practically an invitation. And because she’s curious, and it seems a reasonable opening gambit with another bibliophile, she asks,

“What were you reading, before I so cruelly interrupted?”

If he had not stopped reading, this would indeed be cruel, but he made eye contact and stopped reading before she even said anything, and thus the word is pure levity.

He still looks like he’s not sure why she’s here, but she really was just… seeking him out, to spend time with him. Which is idiotic - she very clearly heard him state an absolute disinclination to marry for politics (or even to have come to the Summit at all), and rumor already says he’s equally uninterested in forming diplomatic ties, or politicking.

He doesn’t strike her as the sort of person who says anything other than exactly what he thinks, so he can’t be a prospective match and he won’t be a useful contact.

And yet, here she is, all the same.

And he does, in fact, answer her question, so she’s being granted the conversation she wanted with substantially less invested effort than expected;

“The Historian Kellem Ives’s philosophical treatise on the ethical impetus upon those with the power to act upon significant events to intervene versus maintain neutrality to allow for unbiased documentation in terms of the impact on perdurable public good.”

She blinks, but that - makes perfect sense, actually. Maybe he’s more inclined to take an active hand than she’d thought, or others expect. He’s considering it, at any rate, or there’d be little point to reading such a treatise.

“Does Historian Ives have anything interesting to say on the subject? I can think of few people for whom such considerations would be more relevant than to delegates at the Summit.”

“It is an interesting discussion, but I’m uncertain as to its pertinancy in this case. It seems to me more of a treatise on regret, having made a decision he tries to justify living with.”

“Ah. And it is too soon in our own sagas for most of the principals to be burdened with an excess of regret. Do you have concerns about your own role here?”

She wonders if he’d admit it, if he did. If he’d tell her, when history tells her she has to overcome hurdles to persuade others to give her anything at all. So she adds, to soften that, to offer an alternate path for the conversation,

“Else it seems unlikely that you should coincidentally be reading something so potentially applicable to our present situation.”

“It isn’t coincidental at all. Unedited first edition copies of Historian Ives’s work are almost impossible to find, even at the Jiyel Royal Archives.”

He hasn’t quite answered her question, but that’s a kind of answer in and of itself. He’s hungry for knowledge the same way she is for safety and softness. For the rest - she laughs.

“I see; you are more interested in taking advantage of the Isle library than your position as a potential agent of change.”

“I… I confess, I haven’t become of one mind on the matter. And you, Lady Valeriya?”

She’s been told that when she smiles like this, she looks like a cobra spreading its hood, like a grinning jackal ready to crack bones in her jaws. Duke Lyon does not seem alarmed or intimidated in the least, and she likes him all the better for it.

“I am usually a creature of many minds, thank you for asking.”

Not alarmed at all; he looks impatient. It’s delightful. No one with sense has been impatient with her in ages.

“No,” he says, refusing to be diverted, “what are your thoughts on this matter?”

It’s inexpressibly strange that she finds it reassuring to be put on the spot and not allowed to escape, just because she’s so certain that he will not use her truths against her. She’s rarely ever been so certain of anyone so soon after becoming acquainted, but she feels very sure of him. The rabbit-flighty fear in the back of her mind is flopped belly-down and sprawling, utterly exposed and entirely unworried.

She hums, considering, letting her expression melt back to contemplative neutrality. It’s a good question, really; self-interest is all well and good, of course, but that’s not why any of them are here - not really. Even those who consider themselves entirely self-interested are here in the broadest historical sense because Princess Katyia brought seven nations to the table in pursuit of peace.

This is a novel situation, though; no one’s asked her to debate ethics in…

Ever? Possibly ever.

She wanted to take this opportunity and grow beyond herself, and here is a sterling opportunity. Something entirely, delightfully fresh and new.

“Well,” she says slowly, “I think the idea of maintaining historical neutrality makes a poor substitute for creating history you can be proud to own, instead.” She warms to the subject and her hands get involved. “Accurate accounts are all well and good, that future generations might learn from them, but they do nothing to address the ills of those suffering in the present. Present harm must take precedence over a hypothetical future in which an unbiased account of said harm could potentially be of use. That is only deferred action, and such a deferral allows things to worsen in the meantime.”

If she had done nothing, only accepted her lot and noted it down in a diary, she would be a shade of herself. She might be dead in truth, but even if her body lived, her spirit would have been broken by the life others meant her to lead. And no one would ever read that diary, because she would never have mattered enough to be worth taking note of.

She meets his eyes when she stops, realizing she’s looked away, that she’s breaking a great many conversational rules; talking too quickly, by the end, looking away from her conversational partner. He meets her eyes evenly and says,

“You speak so passionately on the subject, I can almost forget your argument is essentially flawed.”

She thinks she might have been less shocked if he’d slapped her, and she finds herself grinning again, too many teeth and leaning forward as her pulse ticks up. Why does anyone say Jiyelians are cold and boring to talk to? This is better than piquet.

“How so?”

“We do not have the power to predict or control the ripples and after-effects of our decisions. How can we in good conscience play with hypothetical fire, knowing full well that not only can we be burned by it, but so too can anyone who is around us, or even many innocents we will never see or meet?”

She relaxes back into her seat again, more thoughtful. He IS worried about his role here - and it’s reasonable for him to be so; there is a great deal of weight given to the word of a Duke. She has to fight to take up space; he has very probably had to fight not to be given more than any creature could want. If he does exert the power he has, it will be considerable, and he’s plainly unused to the application of it. But the sort of people who ought to worry about how their actions will affect others are always those least likely to do so; the ones who cause the most collateral damage so often simply don’t care who they hurt.

He cares enormously. And with so much power, perhaps it is true that a poorly-chosen action could cause greater harm than allowing a current wrong to go unchecked. Perhaps.

But then again - perhaps not.

She stares too long, studying him. He doesn’t look at all discomposed by her scrutiny.

If he’s inclined to act, she thinks Duke Lyon will do it for the right reasons - and do it with the care and good sense to minimize consequences, however uncomfortable he is with politics.

“To be human is to err,” she muses, “but I truly believe that it is only in doing nothing that we could truly fail. When our fear wins, we leave the field clear for those who do not care what damage they wreak. To be wise enough to recognize the weight of the responsibility, compassionate enough to care what results, and brave enough to try, regardless - that is what we should all aspire to. We owe our best to the people who are depending on us, but no one can reasonably demand that we be more - or less - than human in the attempt.”

There’s a turn of something almost distressed around his mouth, at that.

“How can you speak of failure so lightly?”

Oh, she doesn’t. Failure is terrifying, and she has spent her life walking on the narrowest rail above it and praying her balance holds. She is here for the sake of her own ambition, true, but -

Not only that. No one will ever believe her, but she is here for more than that. She wants so much, and much of it is selfish. But it is, she thinks, possible to be greedy without wanting to hurt anyone. Covetous without being cruel.

She does not want to take the things she needs away from others who need them more. She does not want to eat the world, only to find enough comfort and kindness in it to see herself happy and safe. Failing in that means misery. Failing in her other goals may mean war.

And yet:

“The worst failure of all is the failure to try. History looks kindly on those who have tried to do the right thing for the greater good. They do not always succeed, and sometimes their success comes at great cost, but even in their failures they give us something to aspire to. We all wish to believe that no matter how dark things may get, however viciously selfish those around us may be, some people will always be brave and good and just.”

It may be a lie, but it is a beautiful one; she retreated into stories and history to hide, first from her mother and then from her marriage, for a reason.

She concludes,

“So even the failures inspire and teach the future, like your historian’s accounts - but they don’t need some mythical ideal of neutrality to do it.”

She’s not sure he’s persuaded. He doesn’t look sure either, though, which is more consideration than she expected to win. He hasn’t dismissed her argument entirely out of hand, at least.

Things draw to a close not too long after, but this certainly hasn’t put her off seeking him out again. She feels invigorated and relaxed the same way one does after a brisk walk or a long ride; she’ll sleep well tonight, mind sated and full.

–

Her next trip to the library sees Duke Lyon in the same spot. If she hadn’t seen him at lunch, she’d think he hadn’t moved at all. Regardless, he has, quite plainly, been here for a while. He is thoroughly entrenched, well-defended from attempts at socialization between the book battlements and his own intimidating aloofness.

Or, well, she has heard people gossiping about his intimidating aloofness; that seems to be the prevailing perception of his quiet. He has not seemed aloof to her, only shy and perhaps a little bored - and both vanish quickly in the face of any expended effort, because she’s found him unfailingly delightful to interact with.

He certainly doesn’t look bored now, devouring the library as if he fears the knowledge they contain will be withheld unless he swallows it all down in one great gulp.

That does make her wonder. She approaches without an invitation she will certainly not get, absorbed as he is, and then compounds her rudeness by opening with a question rather than a greeting:

“If I ask you something, will you promise to answer honestly?”

He glances up at her but does not put the book down. It is refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t snubbing her out of spite when he makes it clear she is not the most interesting thing in the room.

"I prefer to be honest in general. Yes, I promise to be honest, but I don't promise to answer."

He is so precise in his language, and it sends a little frisson of delight up her spine; he says just what he means, and means it whole-heartedly, and so everything he says is true. She wants to settle in more comfortably, but this is important;

"Seeing this pile has given me a sinking suspicion. When was the last time you ate anything?"

He doesn’t respond. His expression suggests that he is having to give actual thought to the question. This is not him withholding an answer, it is him refusing to offer a vague approximation of the truth or a white lie.

Right. She nods decisively and turns for the door, saying,

“I'll be right back."

She steps out of the library again and catches the eye of a passing servant. There won’t be a proper meal ready, not this long after dinner, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“I imagine there’s some kind of soup or porridge going in the kitchen - could you bring a bowl for Duke Lyon? I would not normally ask for such a thing to be brought around so many books, but he isn’t sure when last he ate, and I’m sure none of us want him to pass out. If that isn’t practicable, perhaps some nuts or dried fruit and a bit of bread and cheese?”

That should be a sufficient list to make something perfectly edible appear in short order - none of it requires preparation, and all of it should be immediately to hand in any large kitchen that isn’t egregiously mismanaged (which Vail Isle’s certainly is not).

She strides back into the library with the satisfaction of a task efficiently dispensed with.

Lyon is exactly as he was when she first entered; ensconced amidst the books, reading at an improbable clip and only very occasionally slowing down - probably when he encounters something new. She watches for another moment, but he does not look up. Her mouth wants to curve into a fond little smile, and since there’s no one here to see but him, and he is too distracted to notice, she allows it out onto her face.

She modulates her expression to something more socially appropriate before she steps right up to the table, making herself a little more obtrusive. His head comes up and he blinks at her, clear perplexity on his face.

(It’s adorable.)

“...you are back.”

Yes, obviously. She lets her own confusion wrinkle her brow.

“I said I would be.”

She’s sure she did - ‘I’ll be right back,’ and then she stepped out into the hall. She didn’t even go very far.

He’s studying her, as if she’s said more than that. As if there’s some deeper meaning to be gleaned from such a superficial exchange. He said what he meant, she said what she meant, she left temporarily, she came back. Why would it be more than that?

Well. It could have been. Certainly, some people excuse themselves ‘temporarily’ when they really mean to escape a conversation; she did it herself the first night, aiming Princess Ana’s somewhat overwhelming enthusiasm at Princess Gisette simply because that lady happened to be looking their direction when Valeriya cast about for a reason to cut the exchange short. But she didn’t lie to him, and she thinks he would have known if she did.

She’s still frowning at him in confusion when he finally says,

“...iit wouldn't be the first time."

She manages to keep from laughing, but she knows her eyes must be curved in mirth. Ah, expectations! Well, she’s been determined to prove herself more than she’s been allowed to be; it will be a far more pleasant pursuit in this case. She lets the smile out a little more and teases,

“Ah, do your literary fortifications tend to deter people from laying social siege? Do you chase the young ladies away with intellectual debate?”

"...not usually on purpose."

She wants, desperately, to keep teasing him. It would be deeply improper - would, in fact, be outright rude - but she wants to. It’s almost a compulsion. Thankfully, that’s when the food arrives, so she doesn’t have to consider the matter further.

The servant she originally flagged down has brought assistants, and the trio are laden down with silver platters filled with food and a pitcher of iced-fruit drink. It’s far more than she asked for, a considerable spread, and it certainly cannot be permitted on top of the manuscript mountain Lyon has accumulated around himself.

So she gestures to one of the empty tables near the great windows, instead, farther from the shelves. It still feels almost sacrilegious to have so much food near books, a feeling she’s sure the Duke must share. The spread turns out to be comprised largely of what she’d asked for, just in greater quantities than expected, with the addition of some cold meat and leftover pastries.

“Thank you,” she tells the servants with a smile, and they file out after politely bowing or bobbing a curtsey. She supposes she’ll have to find another member of staff when they finish eating, to take the dishes away; they certainly can’t just leave them here to attract pests.

She turns back to Lyon and finds him examining the now-well-laden table and her with equal surprise.

Ah. No, she didn’t explain what she was leaving for, did she? She’d thought it was obvious, but perhaps not.

“Come,” she says, ignoring that and plucking at his sleeve, “I’m sure you’ll remember how hungry you are once you’ve had a few bites.”

A mind can be very good at ignoring the body, when it needs to be. Sometimes even when it doesn’t need to be. And she gets the decided impression that Duke Lyon lives primarily in his head.

He does, in fact, devour three entire plates before he even looks up; she, meanwhile, has pulled a bowl of almonds close to hand, and pinched a few of the dried apple slices (how is she meant to ignore so great a temptation? She’s already resisted teasing, she cannot reasonably be expected to resist sweets as well).

She sees him glance over and stills her hands. Ladies are not supposed to snack outside of meals; she always has, usually surreptitiously and quickly. Anything she got needed to be eaten quickly to make sure Maryusa didn’t take it or tell their mother, who insisted her firstborn should miss more meals, that she was too fat.

(In hindsight, she realizes that she was a healthy child, round in the way of most children; they carry a little padding because their bodies are growing, because they will need to store energy for the process.)

She smiles, tries to keep it light but not entirely vapid, and excuses herself with the truth;

“I’m afraid my noisy seatmates rather spoiled my appetite at dinner this evening."

Lyon takes another bite, contemplating, and then asks,

"What happened at dinner?"

She playacts at shock that he’s initiating conversation, gasping theatrically, but when he seems genuine in his desire to know, she launches into the tale of how she (a much-put-upon heroine!) had to prevent her seatmates from murdering each other.

Whoever is responsible for seating clearly has it in for her; the only one of her quartet of seatmates who wasn’t actively escalating was the young man from Skalt, who only got riled because everyone persists in calling the whole delegation barbarians to their faces. Nearly everything that was said by the other three was rude, counterfactual, or both.

Eviscerating their opinions (almost entirely wrong) for an attentive and apparently amused audience is the most fun she’s had all day.

–

She thinks nothing of it when, the next time she joins him in the library, there is a little bowl of almonds on the table. They are appropriate snacks for a library (dry, tidy), and certainly by now the servants know that to get the Duke to eat you must put food near him, because he will not voluntarily interrupt his seclusion within his book fortress.

She takes a handful automatically, quieting the anxiety that hovers in the back of her mind, delighted to have both the reassurance and such excellent company.

–

When she joins him in the library at midmorning, a few days later, there is a little bowl of shelled hazelnuts waiting where she usually sits, and this time she considers its presence more carefully. It is not at Lyon’s shoulder, where he can absently reach for it. It is not the almonds that were here last time.

It’s hazelnuts - her favorite. They’d had them at a group breakfast the day previous and she’d had to forcibly restrain herself from taking the rest of the bowl with her when she left the dining room.

She blinks up and finds him watching her, rather than looking down at his book. Studying, still. Looking for a reaction.

So she lets herself beam at him, and pops one into her mouth, savoring it.

#sometimes I write things #7KPP #7kpp week #7kpp week 2022 #OC: Valeriya (Ambitious Widow)#love language: cut fruit #(thank you to Tina for that tag and also for the encouragement; I would not get nearly this much done without you! <3)#I wrote like 3.5k words today if I could do that on command I could actually finish NaNo sometime #anyone who has ALSO been here forever and who has an excellent memory may catch that the second section is from a previous 7kpp week #I wrote the bulk of that in 2018 for the first day's prompt #and since it went up on AO3 it is Officially Done in my brain #so I mostly just polished it up a bit #and tried to smash some of the overarching stuff in there to make the whole more cohesive #did I succeed? who knows.

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