#what did learning this do with writing?

[of-the-nightsky]

Dribble Drabble

Brain: It's time.

Me: Time for what?

Brain: Time.

Me: Time?

Brain: T I M E

Three hours later.

Me: I just researched about a celtic moon calendar, is this what I needed to do??

Brain: Come back later, I'm happy in the moon thoughts.

#writing memes #why am I looking at moon calendars? #what did learning this do with writing? #Idk #I learned about native american moon calendar too #Very nice to learn #world building (?)

[hisui-dreamer]

trial romance

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Synopsis: since you were going to be put in an arranged marriage anyways, you decided to let yourself experience a normal teenage romance first!

Tags: fluff, slow burn, rent-a-boyfriend mallesu, mutual pining nrc and sra are mixed schools, reader has an elder brother, reader is royalty

Word count: 2.7k+

Notes: woooh sorry for neglecting you mal mal :( i hope this fic makes up for it hehe

Masterlist

You've never really known love.

Born as the second child of a small, but affluent kingdom, you're not sure you have the right to complain. Each day dawns with the assurance of never experiencing hunger, attended to by countless devoted maids catering to your every whim. It's a life of opulence, one that stands in stark contrast to the struggles endured by those grappling with meager wages just to survive.

Still, there remains an ache within you, a yearning for a love that exists in the enchanting tales of old. A love so untainted that it remains steadfast in any circumstance, a love capable of cleansing away all your sorrows, becoming your very reason of existence.

But such a love seems as distant as the stars. After all, you're bound by the responsibilities as the second princess. Unlike your elder brother who inherits the throne, you are a mere pawn in the intricate game of politics, destined for an arranged marriage rather than a fufiling romance.

In a rare display of benevolence, your father granted you a fleeting taste of freedom, sending you off to live under a false identity at the renowned Royal Sword Academy on Sage Island. Three precious years, promising a respite from the constraints of duty, and you promised to seize each moment and savour the life of a normal person who yearned for love.

Which brings you back to the present moment.

"Jellyfish are such fascinating creatures, don't you think so dear?"

The man stands tall beside you, his golden locks catching the ambient blue glow within the aquarium, lending him an almost ethereal air. His emerald eyes fix upon you, awaiting your response.

You return his gaze, captivated by the way the light dances in his eyes. A soft smile graces your lips as you consider his question.

"They are indeed fascinating," you reply, your voice carrying a hint of admiration. "They move with such grace and fluidity, it's like they're dancing through the water."

He hums at your response, fix focus shifting back onto the creatures drifting in the display.

He's a peculiar man, no doubt. It's puzzling to fathom the sort of individual who would boldly advertise their boyfriend rental services on Magicam. Especially someone as strikingly handsome as he appears to be; you would have assumed he'd have no shortage of admirers or suitors.

But you suppose you're not really any better, the person who hired said rentable boyfriend.

Though you're a bit ashamed to admit, you harbor a certain discomfort when it comes to meeting new people. And with your identity as a merchant's daughter, you've had few interactions with your schoolmates, leaving you with a shortage of friends, let alone a romantic relationship.

It was in then that you stumbled upon his listing.

And now, here you are, on your first ever date, exploring an aquarium together.

"Do you mind telling me what dates you're free?" you ask casually as you stroll towards the tropical section, bathed in the vivid hues of exotic marine life.

He trails alongside you, his presence exuding an air of calmness. "Dates...?" he muses, his tone tinged with intrigue. "Ah, you wish to see me another time, I presume?"

You cast your gaze downwards, a hint of bashfulness coloring your cheeks. "Yes... I would like that."

He contemplates for a moment, a hint of concern crossing his features. "Hmm... My fees are quite high you see. Your finances may suffer if you spend too much time with me."

"Hmph. You don't have to be concerned. This money has nowhere else to go anyways," you scoff.

His gaze lingers on you with a hint of curiosity, before a gentle warmth softens his features as he nods. "Very well," he murmurs, his hand reaching out to envelop yours in a tender clasp. With a delicate gesture, he presses a fleeting kiss upon the back of your hand, his voice resonating with anticipation, "I look forward to seeing you more often, my dear."

Aquarium Date ✅

First Date ✅

"You seem quite troubled by this book. Is something the matter?" Mal asked, peering over the edge of his book, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He sat across from you, textbooks and notebooks scattered between you, each page turned with a quiet reverence. The library was bathed in a soft glow, the gentle hum of whispers filling the air like a comforting melody.

You glanced up from your own notes, running a hand through your hair in a gesture of resignation. "I have a test coming up for Magic Analysis, but I always get so overwhelmed with information I forget the details."

"Magic Analysis... Perhaps you're approaching it from the wrong angle," Mal suggested, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "What if we break it down into smaller, more manageable chunks? We could create a study plan together."

The idea sparked a glimmer of hope within you, the prospect of tackling the daunting material with a structured approach feeling suddenly within reach. "That... actually sounds like a good idea," you admitted, a tentative smile forming on your lips.

"Alright," Mal began, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "Shall I give you a demonstration?"

There's something to his smile that worries you slightly.

Study Date ✅

The quaint café bustled with life, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of pastries.

Mal's eyes sparkled curiously as he scanned the menu, his fingers tracing the various options with keen interest. "This place is quite charming," he remarked.

You smiled, a flutter of warmth blooming in your chest at his appreciation. "I'm glad you like it. I heard it's one of the best spots in town. Have you decided what to order?"

His brows furrow lightly. "I'm not sure... They all look quite enticing..."

"How about a parfait then? You can choose different flavours of ice cream too," you suggested, gesturing to the other page.

Malleus's gaze followed your gesture, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Ice cream, you say? That sounds delightful," he replied, a spark of childlike excitement dancing in his expression.

You couldn't help but mirror that smile.

Cute Cafe Date ✅

The night stretched out before you like an endless canvas, painted with a myriad of twinkling stars scattered across the indigo sky. Cradled in the comforting embrace of a soft blanket spread out on the grass, you lay your head gently upon Mal's shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath as you gaze upwards.

"It's breathtaking..." you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquil stillness of the night.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining in a silent gesture of affection. "The sight never fails to captivate me," he responds, his voice tinged with awe. "I'm often reminded of how quickly time passes when I stargaze."

Lifting your head slightly, you steal a glimpse of his face, illuminated by the ethereal glow of the night sky. "Ah... Fae are known for their longevity, aren't they?" you remark, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of his blonde hair behind his pointed ears. "Is that part of the reason why you became a rentable boyfriend?"

He smiles ruefully. "Partly so," he admits. "My mentor suggested it as a means of broadening my perspective and gaining new experiences.

A giggle escapes your lips. What's with that? To think you're doing this for educational purposes..." you tease, though the chill of reality briefly brushes against your thoughts. "I hope you've at least had fun?"

"Absolutely." He envelops both of your hands in his own, his gaze unwaveringly earnest as it locks onto yours. "My dear, I've thoroughly enjoyed every second spent with you,"

A blush tinges your cheeks at his sincerity, and you respond softly, "It's the same for me. I had so much fun when I was with you,"

You find yourself ensnared by the ethereal presence of the man before you, his proximity stirring a flurry of emotions within you. His face, mere inches from your own, is illuminated by the soft glow of the twinkling stars, their light mirrored in the depths of his serene emerald eyes. Your heart quickens its pace, thumping so loudly in your chest that it threatens to drown out his next words.

"...Can I kiss you?"

You feel yourself nod slightly.

He tentatively closes the distance between you, his movements deliberate yet achingly tender. His hand, warm and reassuring, cups your cheek, his touch sending shivers of electricity dancing across your skin. The scent of night blossoms and distant pine trees fills your senses, mingling with the heady anticipation swirling in the air.

The kiss is tender at first, a tentative exploration of each other, as if testing the waters of this newfound intimacy. But soon, a surge of desire courses through you, fueling the passion that blooms between you. You lose yourself in the moment, surrendering to the intoxicating whirlwind of emotions that sweeps you away, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed by him.

The sequence of events that followed remains a hazy blur in your memory, the details shrouded in a fog of uncertainty. All you recall with clarity is Mal's familiar presence beside you as he walked you back to the imposing gates of your school hand-in-hand, just as he'd always done.

Just like clockwork, you retrieved a thick envelope from the depths of your bag, its contents weighing heavily on your mind. "Hold this," you instructed quietly.

He stared curiously at your actions. With a practiced fluidity, you extracted a handful of bills from your wallet.. With unwavering composure, you extended the money towards him, your tone devoid of sentimentality. "This is the bonus for kissing," pressing the bills into his palm.

Leaning forward on tiptoes, you planted a chaste farewell kiss upon his cheek, the gesture a stark contrast to the emotionless exchange that had just transpired. "See you next time," you murmured, before turning away.

Each clack of your heels against the pavement resonated within him like a mournful toll, echoing the hollowness that had taken root in his chest. He watched, transfixed, as the last sliver of your silhouette dissolved into the far distance, the bittersweet echoes of your footsteps fading into the twilight.

Dark, menacing clouds stretched ominously across the vast expanse of the sky, casting an eerie pall over the landscape below. Before you realised it, raindrops cascaded from the heavens in a frensied blur.

Stargazing Date✅

First Kiss ✅

The evening air was cool as he led you through the labyrinthine streets of the old city, the cobblestones whispering tales of centuries past beneath your feet. Towering above you, ancient buildings adorned with weathered stone facades loomed like silent sentinels guarding the secrets of bygone eras.

"This way," he beckoned, his voice tinged with excitement as he pulled you along into a narrow alleyway veiled in shadows.

With eager steps, you followed his lead, anticipation coursing through your veins as you delved deeper into the heart of the historic district.

"You know," you mused, breaking the silence as you walked, "when I said you could choose our next date, I never imagined it would involve a trip to the City of Flowers. Have you been here before?"

"I have," he answered. "I was invited here once. There was a magnificent festival here, but I was more interested in the gargoyles."

"The... gargoyles?" you echoed, casting an intrigued glance at the statues that adorned the buildings around you. "There do seem to be quite a few of them."

"They've watched over these buildings for centuries, warding off evil spirits and protecting those within."

"Really? That sounds fascinating," you murmured. "Would you mind telling me more?"

A smile graced his lips, his eyes gleaming with a unbridled glee. "Gladly," he agreed, his voice reverent. "Each one has a story to tell, waiting to be heard by those who seek to listen."

You listened intently as he recounted the legends surrounding these ancient sentinels, his words weaving a captivating narrative that transported you through time. As you continued your exploration of the historic buildings, he regaled you with tales of the city's storied past, his words painting vivid pictures of times long gone.

Somewhere along the line, night had descended like a comforting shroud, cloaking the city in a blanket of darkness. Now, you found yourselves strolling along the tranquil riverbank, the rhythmic lapping of the waves providing a soothing cadence to your thoughts.

Your three years of time is almost up.

Soon, you'd be back in the confines of your childhood room, the familiar walls suffocating with the promise of the same, predictable routine. Then, like a ship launched by an unforgiving wind, you'd be whisked away to wed the spouse your father had chosen, leaving behind your fleeting moments of freedom and the memories far away in your teenage years.

Mal glances sideways at you, noting the unusual quiet that had settled upon you like a shadow. "Is everything alright, my dear?" he inquires, his voice laced with concern.

You pause, grappling with the weight of your impending confession, searching for the right words to convey your thoughts. Finally, you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the revelation to come.

"No... It's not," you confess, your voice faltering slightly as you let go of his hand. "Mal, this... this will be the last time I'm hiring you."

Confusion furrows his brow as he searches your eyes for clarity. "But... why?" he responds, a note of sadness creeping into his tone.

"Because..." you begin, your gaze drifting towards the glistening surface of the river, unable to withstand his earnest gaze. "Because I'm leaving Sage Island. I'll be graduating and returning home, and... and I won't require your services anymore."

"I... see."

A heavy silence descends between you, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a tangible presence. And as you continued your stroll along the riverbank, the knowledge that this would be your final night together lingered like a bittersweet farewell to the memories you had shared.

His Choice Date ✅

Breakup ✅

You've never liked riding in carriages.

With each clop of the horses' hooves, the entire contraption lurched, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It was a waltz of unease, the sway and groan of leather and wood a discordant melody against the cobblestone streets.

The confines of the cramped cabin also felt suffocating, a gilded cage that further severed your connection to your freedom. But the carriage rolled on, carrying you not just through the mountainous terrain, but towards a future you desperately wished to outrun.

Malleus Draconia was your spouse-to-be.

Throughout your school days, whispers of the famed fae prince from Night Raven College echoed in the halls. Tales spun of his unmatched prowess in Spelldrive, where he emerged victorious alone against all teams, his formidable magical abilities casting a long shadow of fear over his opponents. His towering and menacing presence, coupled with the dark horns that crowned his head, only added to the mystique that surrounded him. You could only hope that beneath this formidable exterior lay a heart capable of kindness, granting you the chance for a peaceful existence.

Though, you wouldn't say you could forgive him for having such a similar name to Mal.

As the carriage comes to a halt, the sound of hooves and wheels ceases, accompanied by a palpable sense of anticipation. With the opening of the carriage door, your guards stand at attention, their expressions solemn yet resolute. "Your Highness, we have arrived," one of them announces, his voice carrying the weight of the moment.

With a deep breath, you gather your resolve, steeling yourself for the encounter that awaits beyond the carriage doors.

Just as your foot grazes the carriage step, a gloved hand extends towards you, reaching out towards you with a graceful assurance.. You glance up to meet the gaze of your betrothed, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.

His eyes are a familiar shade of emerald green. A shade that's grown to be your favourite, in fact.

"M-Mal?" you stammer, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

"It's lovely to see you again, my dear," he smiles, as radiant as the sun.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#lilia definitely saw what teens were doing and asked malleus to become a rentable bf #“good learning experiences” he just wanted mal to meet more ppl and hopefully fall in love #and fell he did :) #he helps mal to disguise hiss identity by making his hair blond and his horns temporarily invisible #but his eyes remain the same #since eyes are the windows to your soul hehe #if ppl like this fic i might write a short bonus where it's lilia lecturing mal how to act like a good boyfriend hahaha #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader

[wisteriagoesvroom]

when you watch lando's old footage back with his different teammates you can see his chemistry is so different with each and every one of him. you can see the observant and maybe nervous first year f1 racer that he was around carlos. the fire-meets-fire vibe that they brought, all the overflowing energy of being early 20somethings.

then you get the daniel era where it's honey and butter. both of them warm and charming and lando still learning from the other. but also lando also coming into his own as a racer and realising that he's not an imposter - he's on the level, if not better at that point, than the person who raced for red bull and has 8 GPs under his belt. even if that same racer seems a shadow of his former self at mclaren.

then you get the 2022 merry go round, and oscar. might as well be night and day when they first meet.

oscar, who keeps to himself, puts his head down and works. oscar, watchful and careful after the silly business with alpine. who probably knows he's coming into a buzzy environment with big personalities and huge expectations too - because who is this kid who had the audacity to basically flip off alpine? and via social media of all things (how very modern for an old-fashioned sport). how is this kid gonna make his mark on such a storied team, where the last win is almost now as old as him? what is he going to do with all that potential, right?

we love the machine, because we love watching the potential of a bright young thing fighting their way out of its jaws. lando was in there too, not so long ago, and the poison from that bite might still seep.

nobody knows what to expect. but lando gets to be the elder in the duo for the first time. lando's also going through a process in 2022-23 where he also seems to be entering a new phase of his life and realising some stuff about himself as a person too and what his priorities are. we'll never truly know what that process is (nor should we), but i think on this side of 2024 you can already see how he's handling himself out of it.

and we saw it maybe, in a bit of a smirk at oscar's first day for the car launch and oscar being late. a bit of wonder at oscar, who when suited up seems physically larger than what he remembers.

but then! oscar puts in the work. good chatter surrounds newbie and his working style, and oscar demonstrates maturity. he shows what a contender he is. that he's got his own approach, and he's ready, and – once the car comes – he starts backing that up with good results.

lando is competitive as hell on his own terms. but seeing a twenty one year old from the Reserve bench come in under er, fraught circumstances, then smashing out result after result from Suzuka onwards - surely that puts some fire under your ass in a big way. and! lando is someone who, i think despite his bad luck and lack of a win yet, is incredibly driven and has it in him to be a proper WDC contender. he has that quality. if his teammate is pushing him he's just going to push himself harder.

which culminates, interestingly, in soundbites we're getting recently. like the peter crouch interview, where lando says he's stopped DJ-ing because he's prioritising racing. not an easy decision to make i'm sure, and maybe one that would've happened without oscar's presence at mclaren anyway– but just one signal of where his headspace is probably at now and into '24. lando is also much more reserved about the soundbites he's giving lately (like "i'm not making any race or win predictions anymore and i'm taking things as they are because predictions haven't come true for me in the past, there's too much expectation on myself" etc etc.).

you might even describe it as... maturity.

and guess who has been described as incredibly composed and mature by the mclaren team?

exactly.

#lando norris #ln4 #landoscar #twinklaren #mctwinks #oscar piastri #did i expect to write a mini essay about lando norris in the year 2024? #no #but his whole thing recently has been fascinating to me #sport is myth and imagemaking #so this is a meta on the myth if you will #i could probably do an equivalent essay on what oscar's learned from lando #but that'll be another like 800 words so i won't turn that into a ted talk #wiz.talks

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

Idea inspired by this art!

tags: sorcerer!Gojo Satoru x f!reader, au is kind of medieval, mentions of men grabbing reader out of home, burning at the stake, reader is mistaken as a witch but she is a prophetess, it’s giving castlevania x howls moving castle vibes, Satoru is a bit cocky but we love him (might do a pt 2?)

There’s a nice cottage outside the city, 15 minutes away by foot, you live in a home with your mother and brother (your father actually passed from a brutal cold three years ago, leaving you to tend to the home and seek work). It started off as a necessity, advising the horse racing, chicken fighting gamblers on what animal to place your bets on. your reply? intuition. that chicken has sturdy legs, that horse has agile movements. excuses that granted you money for the time being, for your gifts. an ability passed down by the women of your family though yours outweighed the abilities of your mother, so you remained unadvised. using your intuition to get by the day.

Word gets around that a young lady such as yourself is not married. 19, 20, 21, and now 22– you’re questioned behind your back by your neighbors at how you could possibly remain unmarried. It had been 6 months since men started disappearing in your route by your home, reportedly last seen by the lake not far from your home.

You had been labeled as an unmarried bloodsucking siren, a cursed demon who takes the bodies of young men, and although all that is false, it does not help your case that you’ve remained indoors most of your life and the fact that you’ve advised others in the world of gambling.

You were a sinner, sentenced by the court, but before that happened, a large storm broke 7 days before the fated event.

It was windy, dark, and rainy that your mother had frantically put everything away. “I’ll get the lights from the back shed!” you called, putting on a coat, a second for safe measures. the rain pours hard that it overcomes the splish splash sounds of your feet. When you’re walking towards the fence to the main road, and into the back of your home, you catch a man. wet, crouched, and seemingly pained from all the walking he did. the nearest town by foot was over an hour away, and waking in this weather surely meant he could catch a cold.

“I am sorry to burden you, miss...” the voice calls, head hooded from your eyes, “but is there any shelter I can rest for the night? I... I don’t have any-“

“It’s fine,” you speak, soft and understanding before you pull him gently by the arm, “come follow me,” and you lead him to your shed, making a bed of hay for him before you’ve taken your first coat and placed it over the hay for him to use as a blanket or mattress. the man behind you stands silent as you pull out to light a candle for him, turning to him, “it’s not much,” you say, “but you can stay here. It’s better than spending the night outside, right?” with not another word, you hand him the candle and grab the supplies you were originally here for. “stay here, I’ll be right back.” you direct softly, shortly before leaving the shed. at home, you take out a bowl and serve some leftover stew and some bread that you would have eaten in the morning, opting to give it to someone who could have needed it more than you.

“there’s some stew in here,” you say, handing the man a bowl and bread with your other hand. it’s at this moment you notice how unbelievably pale his hands are, almost like the statues outside the cathedrals. it almost leaves you speechless, and he notes. “Thank you, miss...?”

you give him your name without much thought. finishing your arrangements in the shed before you turn to him. “feel free to stay the night, or until the rain has settled. whatever will facilitate your journey, sir...?”

“Go-“ suddenly, he’s surprised that his bread has slipped past his fingers until you’re on your knees picking it up quicker than he can. It isn’t until you look up that your eyes meet his, a breathtakingly striking pair of azure eyes, bluer than any water or sky you’ve dreamed of, it leaves you silent. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, and the sound of his ragged voice reminds you where and what you’re doing. suddenly shy and remembering you’re a maiden, you’re quickly at your feet wishing him a Goodnight without another word, closing the door behind you.

He’s gone the next morning.

Several days pass and the talk of you around town grow more and more. you’ve asked your mother to keep your brother inside so as to protect him, but on the evening of the 7th day you’re harshly pulled from your home, leaving your mother with teary eyes as you’re feeling like the life out of you is being squeezed out with the way so many men manhandle you. pulling you, shoving you, shouting insults, you’re suddenly the main talk of the town as they expose you on the streets calling you horrible names: whore, slut, demon, murderer, and more. the names don’t cut as deep as the memory of being pulled away from your home.

“Burn the witch!” Cry out many, and you’re roughly shoved against a stake before rope is tied around your midsection, burning roughly against your soft skin it hurts. the town mayor gives a speech, then the priest calls your execution necessary for the good of humanity, blaming you for the deaths of over 12 men in a 6 month course. mother’s shout at you and men renounce your existence as worse than satan himself.

everyone wants you dead. and suddenly, the fire runs around you.

“God,” you call out, “please let these people see past their mistakes! you of all people know I didn’t do anything! please save my mother and brother from this fate! please spare their eyes from this shame, this torment they will carry- and please make my end as quick as possible so that I can look after them.” a long moment passes as your head is now dropped low, not long before you hear a chuckle.

“Well, that’s certainly not the type of monologue I’d expect from you.” calls a voice. he tilts your chin up to face him after your silence. you don’t know if you’re hallucinating, the fire is bound to burn you any second and your lungs burn. in front of you stands a man. tall, handsome, and pale. white hair and pink lips like the kind you’d see in paintings. and his eyes? they strike a familiarity you’ve seen before.

the man before you grins, and you can’t help but put your whole faith, even your idea of god on him as he looks at you with such admiration.

“So you’re the girl they call a witch, huh?”

amusement crosses his eyes. and yet again they are breathtaking, finer than any blue mosaic you’ve seen. possibly holier than any church you’ve stepped foot in.

“I’m not a witch, I... I’m a visionary,” you reply, trying not to grow dizzy from the fire around you. when you turn to look elsewhere, no one seems to acknowledge the man in front of you. were you hallucinating?

“So you’re another one of the freaks, huh?” He says, eyes laced with interest. “That’s why they have you here. even when you didn’t murder all those men.”

“I didn’t,” your coughing takes him by surprise and he remembers how sensitive humans can be, “I... I didn’t hurt anyone,”

“I believe you,” he says, lowly. “Tell you what. I’ll save you from this fire, and in return you can help me find out what on earth became of these men. put an end to this. deal?”

you nod, not remembering what happens moments later as the man wraps you in his arms, making you drown into a deep sleep before he kisses the crown of your head. the fire erupts and sparks behind you both as you both rise like shooting stats, terrifying the townspeople behind.

“From now on, you’ll live a life free of torment,” whispers the sorcerer, bringing you into the comfort of his cave.

#holy shit what the fuck did I just write #this feels like a mix of castlevania and also howls moving castle #ughhh #this gojo will be my weak spot #also I love the idea of these learned stories in regards to treating everyone kindly with hospitality #reminds me of beauty and the beast #Anyways will probably do a part two #gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru gojo #Satoru #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x female reader

[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 1: #355E3B

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

[Fair warning, guys: Canon is a ball pit, and I’m throwing a baby into it. I have no clue what's happening. Feel free to point out mistakes!]

-

Danny was starting to hate the color green. It was the color of death.

Green reminded him of the portal that killed him, and the electricity that was constantly humming under his skin. It reminded him of being on the wrong end of an ecto-blaster and having to dodge for dear life. It reminded him of choking plants that swallowed him whole and tried to turn him into fertilizer. It reminded him of his glowing eyes and how they seemed to take up his entire face when he looked at himself in the mirror.

And right now, as he lay weakly on his side, grasping at fresh wounds with shaky fingers as he tried to ice them closed, the green blood that was splattered everywhere reminded him he wasn’t human.

Not anymore.

-

Green was a familiar color to Ra’s al Ghul. It was the color of life. 

Green reminded him of the Lazarus Pits, mostly. When it was the reason he’d lived such a long life, how could it not be the first thing he thought of? Green also reminded him of his cloak and the warmth it wrapped him in during the cold desert nights when his wife was still alive. Of the beauty he saw in the natural world and why he wanted to protect it. It reminded him of his green eyes that have been passed down through his very few children and grandchildren. Green was the color of the al Ghuls and represented the power he’d amassed through centuries of hard work. 

And right now, as he stood before the Well of Sins, Ra’s was reminded of a secret contract that was buried deep within his personal records, and the monster he’d made it with. The Gardener, the creature called itself, was a being who had crawled out of a Lazarus Pit years ago in search of Ra’s. Its flesh was made from thorny vines and grasses intertwined, and its eyes were tiny red blooms that glowed and made him feel sick just thinking about it. It had forced him into the contract, exchanging power and knowledge in return for a promise of help in the near future. 

‘Near future,’ my ass. Timothy Drake's fleeting voice flickered in his mind, and he could only agree with his subconscious's crude words. It seemed like the only appropriate term as it had already been several centuries since the contract was made, and the being had yet to claim its part of the deal.

He watched, mind racing, as the Well of Sins started swirling frantically. He was alone, with his attendants on standby. Should he call them in? No. Whatever was causing the strange reaction in the pool had something to do with that contract. He could feel it. A power was tugging at his heart, drawing him closer to the edge of the green waters. He loathed to admit it, but this was beyond his scientific understanding. He just knew that every time he tried to look away and leave, his whole body felt like it was alight with flame.

So he stood. And he stared. For hours, possibly, before the first sign of something new caught his attention. A screeching sound was echoing from the bottom of the pool. It slowly got louder and higher pitched as the stone floor started glowing so bright Ra's almost risked the pain of glancing away.

A large head was making its way through the bottom of the pool. It went slowly to accommodate large shoulders, followed by a wide chest and narrow waist. The figure paid no mind to the churning of the Well of Sins and broke the surface of the waters with the ease of a seasoned swimmer. The screeching sound echoed wildly, bouncing unnaturally throughout the chamber, sounding more like incomprehensible words. Ra's wanted to plug his ears with wax and banish the figure back where it came from. Instead, he didn't even twitch an eye.

The Gardener stood before him. And it was carrying a body.

"Master of Lazarusss," it hissed, inclining its head in acknowledgment, but making no move to exit the pool. "Too long has it been, has it not? I've come to collect on my part of the deal."

Ra's nodded in return. Higher being or not, he refused to bow to anyone. "I've expected this, Gardener." He said roughly. Despite learning their language years ago, the sharp chirps and clicks made by the dead were difficult to sound out. It was like he was trying to mimic a broken radio. "Although it's taken longer than I expected for your arrival."

The Gardener clicked its beak in annoyance. "Don't give me flowery words, Pretender. It was not my choice whether to appear before you or not. The Scepter of our realm visited me long ago and commanded me thus; I only now see her vision behind it."

"I...see." He did not see, thank you very much. That was more information in two sentences than he'd ever managed to get from the Gardener. Were there others at play in this little contract of theirs? He did not like the idea of that. "And I assume this whole thing has something to do with the boy in your arms?"

The Gardener let out a low humming sound that seemed to originate from its chest and echo in Ra’s bones. It glanced down, turning the body over gently to let Ra's see his face. The boy was just a child, no older than sixteen. He was deathly pale and seemed eerily stiff, just as if rigor mortis had set in. His white hair was plastered to his forehead from the water, and his clothes were nothing more than rags. Thick green blood was leaking from several wounds and pooling underneath his skin. It wasn't hard to guess what the Gardener was about to ask.

"This is our Guardian and one of the last of his kind. His haunt is not safe anymore, and I task you with his care for the foreseeable future."

Without waiting for a response, the Gardener sloshed forward to set the boy oh-so-gently upon the edge of the pool, taking care that his thorns did not pierce the child. A few vines cupped his face gently as if the Gardener was sad about the boy's state of being.

The assassin made no move to step forward and claim him. "What iske?" He asked. Ra’s voice caught on the last syllable, and he had to repeat the question again properly. Annoying.

The Gardener didn’t seem to mind and just stepped back, relinquishing its hold completely. "He is our Guardian." It repeated. "Care for him well. His fraid will be on the hunt for him and return any harm tenfold. But earn his loyalty, and the power of the Infinite Realms will be at your fingertips. Good luck, Master of Lazarus."

With that, the Gardener disappeared beneath the waves of the Well of Sins, and the waters calmed. The only proof that someone had been there was the sopping wet teen that lay at Ra's feet.

Ra's stared at the boy. The tugging in his heart was a bind, he realized. And it was tying him to the boy. Well, caring for a dead child shouldn't be that hard. Despite his disagreement with Talia over the matter, Jason Todd had turned out just fine, hasn’t he?

With the contract heavy on his mind, Ra's turned and left the boy lying there, clicking his jaw and calling for his attendants to collect him. The Lazarus Pits had gifted him with a new heir, it seemed.

-

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

In another world, a redheaded girl was on the edge of a rampage. Her scream echoed down the suburban street her house was on, and the neighbors sighed quietly and locked their windows shut, not realizing the severity of the question. They were used to this family's antics, and the girl's screaming as a result.

But this could not be written off as 'family antics.'

Jasmine Fenton, nicknamed ‘Jazz,’ was positively furious. Red-faced, she stood before her parents with steam coming from her ears and a bat in hand. 

“Jazzy-pants, we-” her father tried.

“Nope!” Jazz put up a hand to stop him. “Never mind, I don’t want to hear it. I already know.” 

She whirled around, tuning out her parents' protests as she stormed through their house. Correction, her parent’s house. If she had her way, Jazz would never see these metal and unloving walls ever again. Neither would her brother, once she found him. 

Her phone rang, and she flipped it open with a snap, leaving the bat at the end of the hallway. Only a few people had her number, and it sure as hell wasn’t her parents calling her. “What.” She barked, shoving the phone between her shoulder and ear as she dug through Danny’s closet. His bug-out bag hadn’t been moved. 

“It’s Tucker.”

“We have a code green and a code yellow.” She ground out. Good, the ecto-dejecto shots were up to date. The less time she spends in that god-forsaken lab, the better. 

“Fuck.” Tucker swore. Rustling was heard and she heard another voice in the background. “I’m putting you on speaker.” 

Jazz re-packed the bag quickly, adding in some non-essentials that she knew Danny would appreciate. After it was settled on her shoulders, she switched the phone back to her hand for a better grip. “Is Sam there?”

“I’m here.” The girl responded. 

Jazz tripped over her bedroom carpet in her rush to her room. She cursed but recovered and started ransacking her closet and drawers. “Good. One of you needs to contact Danielle. Our parents sold Danny out, and the GIW took him while I was gone yesterday. I’m going ghost and getting him back. Tell Danielle she’s in danger since they have her ecto-signature now.”

“We’re going with you.” Sam said firmly. There was more rustling, and Jazz guessed they were looking for their own emergency bags. “I don’t care how long it takes; we’ll get him back.” 

“Are you going to shut down the portal?” Tucker asked. 

Jazz paused, considering it. In the original plan, Danny was in charge of shutting down the portal while Jazz and the others took care of the Fentons, GIW, and everything else. It was personal for him; his final resting place. But now that Danny was missing, and they needed a reliable escape route. 

“Not permanently.” She decided. “I’ll figure out how to turn it off temporarily, or put a shield up, but Danny will need to be the one to make that call.” 

Tucker started typing furiously on his laptop, muttering under his breath until he got to the file he wanted. “Sam and I will take care of the town defenses, and Dani’s on her way from New Zealand. She’ll be here in a few hours. I’m sending you a bug; plug it into the Fenton’s security systems, and it’ll lock them out of the house for now. Only do it after you’re done in the labs. Sam’s gone off and is pulling some strings to get all the ghosts in town back to the Zone. I’ll start tracking Danny and shutting down all the Fenton and GIW equipment I can find.”

“Thanks, Tucker. I’ll meet you guys at Nasty Burger in two hours; pass that message to Danielle.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and Jazz?”

“Yeah, Tuck?” Jazz started counting her hidden wads of cash, making sure it was all there. They never wanted to believe the Fentons would go this far, but she was glad they’d made contingency plans just in case. 

She could hear Tucker’s silent snarl as he said his parting remark. “Leave enough of them behind for the rest of us.”

Jazz laughed, a little hysterical. “I’ll try.” She said, bidding him farewell. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure she could look at her parents ever again. But she knew, deep in her bones, that if they tried to stop her, there wouldn’t even be ashes left from the hell she would raise. 

-

Gotham was caught in a storm. It was one of those ugly, howling summer storms that threw water in your eyes and bit your skin with a vengeance. Damian squinted, trying to make out the sight of Spoiler and Signal through the rain, but even their bright uniforms were lost in the shadows.

He tightened his grip on his grappling hook as a particularly harsh wind tried to throw him around like a ragdoll. Water seeped into his collar, making him shiver. A beep echoed in his ear, and he risked taking one hand off the line to answer his comms.

"Robin," Oracle was practically shouting in his ear over the storm. "Signal made it to the Cave. Spoiler is rounding up Condiment King, and then she'll do the same. You can go back now."

Damian tsked. "Father is still out here," he replied. "I shall not return until he does."

"Robin-" Oracle sighed.

Another gust of wind made him grunt, and he cut the call to refocus on scaling the building. The only good thing that came from such a wild storm was that most of the villains were smart enough to stay inside. Splitting up in such conditions always left a sour taste in his mouth, but Damian understood it was necessary to cover as much ground as possible during times of emergency.

He wasn't sure this counted as an emergency, but Todd was certainly treating it as such. The citizens of Crime Alley were being hit hard. Enough to the point where Red Hood had openly invited the Bats onto his turf to help with the flooding and evacuation from some unstable buildings. Batman and Red Robin had gone, leaving Robin and Orphan to cover their patrol routes.

Finally, finding purchase on the rough brick, Damian quickly hauled himself up to safety. Some of his equipment was ruined, and his costume was soaked. Truly, this storm had come out of nowhere.

His comms clicked back to life. "Robin." Cain's clipped tone was somehow louder than Oracle's voice.

"I'm here," he replied, scowling at the oily mud on his shoes. Damned pollution.

"Home," Orphan said simply.

Damian scowled even harder. He could argue with Oracle without issue, but he barely won when it came to speaking with Orphan. "...Fine." He sniffed. "I shall return."

"Good." Damian could hear the smile in her voice. "Agent A has cocoa."

"I'll consider it." He said stiffly. He imagined his adoptive sister smiling slyly and glancing toward the sky before the comms switched off, leaving him to his thoughts again. After checking his grapple to ensure it still worked, he started picking his way through the building at a snail's pace, letting himself get distracted whenever he spotted someone in trouble. The Batcave would be warmer and dryer than the streets, but not everyone had a dry place to return to. Every little bit helped in the long run, and even Damian wouldn't pass by a lost child in the rain.

The only thing that bothered him more than the dark clouds overhead and fresh hail on the way home was the unnatural feeling on his spine. It felt like someone was watching him, judging him. But when he looked, nobody was there.

-

The stars were gone.

Danny felt weightless as he floated, staring at the space where the stars were supposed to be. He felt lighter than normal. Danny was surrounded by colors that flowed and ebbed like the tide, taking him deeper into this mysterious space. Golden fish and silver deer wove past him as fire and ice trailed behind, and yet he couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to get up. He just laid there silently. A bone deep exhaustion was settling into him, but sleep refused him.

“Ghost Child.”

Oh, Danny was dreaming. He was already asleep.

He didn’t turn his head, nor acknowledge when the stars returned to his line of sight. The stars wrapped around him like a curtain, cutting off the rest of the dreamscape. Two bright eyes, burning like red giants, peered down at him as thin hands cupped his body.

“Ghost Child.” The voice repeated again, speaking in his mind even as the words were swallowed by the silence of space.

Danny turned his head slowly. “Nocturn,” he murmured. These too, were snatched from his throat and lost. The cold seeped into his chest and he hiccuped. He couldn’t speak. Not that he really wanted to.

Luckily, Nocturn seemed to understand him just fine. He cradled Danny gently, bringing him closer to his chest. Something shifted in the fabric of space, and suddenly Danny was being laid to rest on the smooth stone of a crescent moon, as pearly white as his own hair. He sighed as the coolness of the moon seeped into his body, soothing aches and burns he didn’t remember getting.

“Where are we?” He wanted to ask.

Nocturn blinked slowly at him, his face twisted down towards Danny. His ram’s horns glinted as a glowing blue jay landed on them and started preening itself. Danny wanted to fly with the bird. His body didn't move.

“Sleep, Ghost Child.” Nocturn hummed. The moon vibrated beneath Danny, soothing the electric currents that kept him awake no matter what he did. Danny’s eyes started sliding shut as Nocturn’s song wrapped around him like a lullaby.

The others… Danny’s mind whispered.

Are safe. The song replied. Rest, young guardian. Your people are safe. You did well.

That was all he needed to hear. Danny let himself fall into slumber, relief flooding his mind. Yes, his people were safe. He did well. He deserved some rest.

As the young ghost fell into a dreamless sleep, a real sleep, Nocturn gently tucked the boy in with a blanket made from his own starry robes, shifting the fabric once more to hide away his core, and the boy who was resting on it. The bluejay on his head chirped indignantly from the movement and flew away, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

Nocturn paid it no mind. Warnings from Fate were never a good idea to ignore, but the bird was but a memory of a life that had long since passed. It only stuck around because of the dreams that kept feeding it. The ghost let his lullaby continue as he returned to his work, taking care to move slowly.

Undergrowth was taking care of his physical body, so he would care for the boy's mind. Vortex was off to round up the little ghostlings who had scattered like dandelion seeds, and the Master of Time was keeping an eye on the rest of Phantom's fraid while they rampaged in the mortal realms. After the stunt he pulled to protect the Realms, it was the least the elder ghosts could do.

-

"Is the boy awake?" Ra's asked sharply, entering the private rooms he had set aside for the boy.

The attending nurse, an older man born with no tongue, bowed his head and signed, 'No, sir. Vitals are off. He is a cold corpse.'

Ra's regarded the boy. It has been several weeks since the Gardener dropped the boy off in his care, and he hadn't awoken once throughout the entire time. He truly looked like a regular dead teenager, if you exclude the unnaturally white hair.

The Demon's Head bent over the boy's bed, tugging open an eyelid to see if he would react. Nothing. However, he noted the boy's eyes were green, which he was mildly pleased about. Green was such a lovely color, and this boy seemed surrounded in it.

A sharp knock echoed from the door, and Ra's granted the other party permission to enter. His best phlebotomist, a man named Paz, entered, holding a stack of papers as thick as his thumb. He bowed to Ra's as soon as he saw him.

"The results?" Ra's asked.

Paz immediately handed over his work, fully confident that Ra's understood everything he'd written. "For all purposes, the boy is dead." He said in a thick accent. He spoke in halted Arabic, as he'd only lived in 'Eth Alth'eban for a short time. "He has no circulation. No heart to move blood, or lungs to breathe. We must move him every hour to prevent postmortem lividity. He has undergone an extensive autopsy process, but it seems it was stopped before his brain was removed. No organs remain in his body otherwise.”

Ra's examined the papers. They were reports from different scientists and doctors, all of whom had been assigned to examine and work on the boy. Most of them said the same thing. The boy was dead and had been for a while. If the Well of Sins didn't do anything when he first exited the waters, what good would it do now?

He flicked his eyes up. "But you think otherwise," he stated.

Paz nodded enthusiastically. "The boy is dead, but his blood is alive!" He tapped a green folder that was poking out from the bottom of the pile. Ra's shuffled the papers off to the nurse and opened it. Printed off charts had been scribbled over with Paz’s frantic notes, documenting his thought process.

The phlebotomist rambled excitedly as his boss read his work, gesturing wildly. “It’s incredible! Most of his red blood cells have died off, and he has an abnormal amount of white blood cells, which indicate some kind of infection. But his plates-“

‘Platelets.’

“Platelets,” Paz nodded his thanks to the nurse for correcting his speech. “The boy’s platelets are still alive, and are actually trying to heal his injuries! We recorded a time-lapse last week to confirm it. The process is incredibly slow, even compared to human healing, but there’s a difference! Because of the absence of red blood cells, the plasma left in his body has practically doubled in volume, even though there’s no circulation to keep it moving. We’ve noticed a collection of stem cells at the base of his skull has started growing as well, and whatever it’s producing is being released into the body at regular intervals.”

“What kind of cells are they?”

“Unsure. At first, we thought it was cancerous in nature.” Paz tapped the corner of the folder again, prompting Ra’s to turn the page. “And while these cells are certainly growing as fast as unchecked cancer, rather than doing harm, we’ve taken samples and noted that they’re merging with whatever original matter has been left in the boy’s body. Bonding, like glue! The healing process is periodically speeding up with every release, the plasma has started circulating on its own, and the white blood cell count is diminishing. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s filling in for everything that’s missing, and keeping what is there, alive. Dr. Vanessa hypothesized that within the month, it may even start replacing the boy’s organs.”

Ra’s looked up from the research. “These photos look like plant cells, is this an example or actual recordings of the activity?”

Paz wrinkled his nose. “Those are evidence of the activity. For some reason, cellulose is present within his body, and the mysterious stem cells seem to be a mix of both plant and animal matter. It’s hard to track even with our technology, but it looks like the cellulose is forming a sort of…skeleton? Frame? I’m not sure what the right word is, but Dr. Vanessa says they might start regrowing in another month. If that’s true, this would be a huge breakthrough in the realm of organ transplants and other medical fields!”

The Demon’s Head hummed, flipping through the work again and considering the man’s words. “Very good,” he praised. Paz beamed like a child at his words. “Unfortunately, I shall be releasing you of your duty, and your tongue is too loose for your head.”

“What-“ Paz’s eyes widened as he gurgled, his words cut off. Ra’s twisted his wrist, driving home the dagger he’d planted in the man’s heart. He had no use for men who talked too much.

Paz fell to the floor, convulsing as he tried to weakly remove the weapon still sticking out of his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went pale as his blood seeped out onto the floor.

Ra’s barely spared the dying man a glance, taking back the extra stack of papers from the nurse and neatly stepped around him to exit the room. “Clean that up,” he said over his shoulder.

The old nurse bowed his head, waiting patiently for the foolish doctor to finish dying before he got out the mop.

This is why the nurse had survived so long; he knew how to stay silent.

-

[Nocturn tucking Danny in to rest. Ghost speech says, "Rest well, ghost child"]

#pondhead writes #the folly of men fic #dpxdc #long post #really long post #no beta we die like Danny #I rewrote this three times #this was gonna be longer but the plot got away from me so we're doing more than one part now #the whole point of this is to get me back into writing more so i guess it's working?? #i literally did so much googling for this #even watched timeline videos but i'm pretty sure i'm still wrong #literally what is dc lore anymore #i'd rather learn about kingdom hearts lore at this point #literally I am summoning all of my brain snails to bring this together #not medically accurate!!! #I am not a doctor I just took biology twice

[skunkes]

#prefacing this with I Know Spanish. i cant not know spanish‚ my parents don't speak english #but im the only one of my siblings that didnt get to go to school over there 🇲🇽 (just pre school) #adn the thing is like. my siblings wld talk to me in eng of course #(if they talked to me at all! what do u say to a baby when you're 9 12 and 15 yrs older.) #and my parents wld similarly jst not talk to me? i did not have conversations with them from birth to now lol. #thjere is something about how like. my sisters kids are also learning the languages at the same time #but when they mess up in spanish theyre corrected‚ by my sister (their mom)‚ my other sister�� my parents #why not Me. why wasnt that extended to Me as a child... #the same reason I have the least amount of baby pictures while my siblings all have one full book each i bet #the same reason why my and my eldest sister are 15 yrs apart LOL #igts so crazy to me. i hate mentioning this bc people assume #im one of those ppl who isnt fluent bc their parents speak english and spanish and never taught them #my parents dont speak english❗❗❗❗ #my nephew thats older than me who is my fave family member and also only speaks spanish #is coming up on sunday idk that i can fully carry convo with him! #pure spanglish bc i didnt grow up having convos in it writing it reading it #thats why im so desperate to read books in spanish now. im so deeply ashamed #igts so crazy. i hate it. #saw a comment on smthng the other day thats like ''idk how u can have parents that only speak spanish and not know it lol'' #well can you take a guess. can u take a guess as to how that would happen via interactions. lack thereof. #idk why but its even more embarrassing this way. genuinely how cld u not know...? #its like i was born to feel isolated from my family in every single way...youngest by so many years #the language thing. the Hates Eating thing. the trans thing. most severe failure to launch #im so embarrassed to be alive....! #and i dont belong anywhere. and i am Alone wherever I am. #abandoned by direct and distant relatives. ancestors.

[tboom10]

i thought i'd be funny to write the entire script of the tadc pilot by hand.

sorry if the quality is bad lol

#should i do this with the other episodes when/if if they release? #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc pilot #handwriting #i like to suffer #sorry if the photos are bad #idk what im doing #idk what else to tag #maybe... #it was surprisingly easy and fast #i did like half the script in 1 day #and my hand isn't in as much pain as expected #i could've done this in 2 days if i didnt have to learn and preserve my wrist to write for a biology test #if i end up with carpal tunnel its 100% my fault #should i do the bee movie script? or maybe shrek? idk yet

[mumblesplash]

man i’ve had pretty serious art block before in the past but it was always more a lack of inspiration/irl stuff draining all my energy, currently Not having art block but getting hit by my first bout EVER of feeling like i just straight up can’t make anything that’s good enough and oh my god how do people deal with this

#i have zero mental defenses against this bc it’s never happened to me #like i know i’m being stupid here bc i feel like everything ive ever drawn is somehow worse than anything anyone else has ever drawn #which first of all cannot possibly be the case bc art is subjective and also i’m not that special #and second of all ‘this means i’m bad at everything’ is not a reaction i have EVER had to art i consider ‘better’ than mine #i’ve always just been excited by the opportunity to learn how to do a new cool art thing i couldn’t do before #like what is happening here why did my brain broke #on the bright side this doesn’t seem to be even slowing me down from writing and drawing things and posting them anyway #but i could really do without the accompanying dramatics in the back of my head #‘you can’t post this you are an affront to art history and the whole of humanity’ shut Up brain it’s literally minecraft fanart for fun #anyway all this to say. thank you everyone being nice in the notes of my silly lil poems you’re gonna make me cry #mumbling

[commsroom]

Hello! How much pop culture knowledge do you think Hera has? Has she seen star wars?

hi! that's an interesting question. the simplified answer is that she doesn't have pop culture knowledge - the only media she has any firsthand knowledge of is whatever goddard deigned to give her access to. she's never been on the internet. most likely, the only movie she's ever seen is home alone 2. but that gets fuzzier - and more complicated - when you ask what, exactly, she has in her databanks. what's on the hephaestus's servers? "my databanks indicate janis joplin died in -"? that's pop culture trivia. "well, i don't know what i want, but i know how to get it" is a fun punchline, but there's no way she's actually heard anarchy in the u.k. - is she just remembering and quoting a previous reference back at eiffel? even recognizing bach - does she have prior knowledge of classical music? does she have access to sheet music and the ability to read it? i'd believe that as something cutter would consider useful... education? socialization? for lack of better terms, but we don't have much information on what goddard AIs are exposed to pre-assignment.

i hold to the belief that hera's claim that she's going through "all the writing - i think it's all in here, more or less" stems from an inability to really conceptualize just how much writing there might be. her whole life has been split between high security goddard labs and deep space, and she's met, like, a dozen people ever. i think it would be entirely reasonable for her to see a few thousand books of historical and literary significance and to think, well, that's probably most of it, right? probably everything important, anyway. (and i think she'll be very embarrassed and very overwhelmed when she realizes.)

and then, well. of course, there's eiffel. he speaks in pop culture references to the point it's practically a second language; of course hera has picked up a ton of secondhand knowledge just from connecting the dots and inferring what he's trying to say. hera hasn't seen star wars (though it's maybe inevitable she will, back on earth), but she's heard eiffel talk about star wars and describe star wars to her beat by beat and reenact scenes from star wars from memory (his own voices and sound effects included), so she probably feels like she's seen star wars. ... more or less.

#thank you for asking!! i love an excuse to talk about hera #i feel like... hm. i think the best way to approach most aspects of her characterization is just to treat her as a very sheltered woman #because... she is. but also because trying to determine any definite limits re: what she knows - or what she SHOULD know - #if you try to approach it entirely literally. is always going to run into some contradictions. if that makes sense #like. being in minkowski's play is another example. hera calls it a classic of 19th century comic opera and is learning her lines but #do they have the script for pirates of penzance? #... did minkowski try to write it up from memory? #asks

[quinn-pop]

yet another oc that only exists because i wanted to write something very specific

(middle is a little older, hence her scar healing. i like to think she gets a glass eye at some point)

anyway this is mira! (they/she) since that wip is almost 20k words and counting i won’t give away too much but long story short she’s the result of meta going “one last time, i promise” and adopting yet another kid

also galaxia kinda indirectly picked the name :)

i’ve mentioned before that i headcanon that pretty much all astrals are autistic and this is just kinda an extension of that. whereas meta tends to suppress his emotions and conform to others, mira…doesn’t. she gets uncomfortable and upset and lashes out at people easily, and working through their emotions is no small task.

the main reason i chose to write them that way was for the sake of narrative but i’ve grown attached to it because there’s a lot of ideas there i’d like to explore. stuff about navigating emotions and relationships when existing is so suffocatingly uncomfortable. it’s not something i could center around Kirby himself, but i think it makes sense with a post character development meta knight.

they are very loved (omg oldee cameo???)

kirby was definitely very excited to have younger siblings after being used to being the youngest in the room for so long!! (with the like. one and only exception being gooey.) he’s super affectionate with both of them and wants to have a close relationship one day, but for now mira is pretty unappreciative of that fact lol. they don’t like being pestered for hugs

everyone else is okay tho

(i know that’s hard to read. oops. “obvious bite marks”. siblings being siblings.)

mira also has a very love/hate relationship with the egg kid, being so close in age they kinda Have to get along but in typical sibling nature they also fight a lot. sure it’s probably rough for a while but i think in the end they’d be good buddies. maybe not as close as Kirby and Bandee but still.

anyway i have a lot of thoughts and am very busy but. i’m really enjoying writing about all this lately it’s been fun ^^

#I picked a name and then proceeded to write a comic in pen in which i used that name and posted it #and only after all that did i learn that mira is becoming a very popular name. which i generally avoid #but oh well. it’s stuck #im gonna be completely honest a lot of how i pick names for characters is based off of how many puns i can make out of it #im sorry to disappoint you with that information /j #kirbyposting #my art or something #meta knight #kirby #king dedede #metadede #Kirby oc #semi future au #I swear i’ll introduce oldee one day im just bad at having drawing ideas #also trying very hard to not make self deprecating comments over some of this art cause i just. don’t really want to spend forever redrawing #stuff anymore. like I used to do for a lot of these posts. It’s whatever #anyway kinda a part two to yesterday’s post (as in: I made sure they were both ready at the same time so i could queue them together lol) #weirdly enough this isn’t all that different from my dmk interpretation #i can’t really decide what color she is either #part of me wants to say bright blue red eyes because i think that would look absolutely sick but that seems like a bit too much blue #all things considered #maybe bright yellow blue eyes idk ill figure it out later (maybe)

[batfossil-fr]

I’ve been really thinking of reopening my art shop soon… I’ve been taking some practice doodles (hence all the posting lately) while I shake off my rust and I’m finding things I enjoy working on again. I miss trying my hand at more dragons/OCs and colors. my shop’s so broken rn lmao but that’s a problem for a later date it’s just nice getting back into art

#my mental health is starting to improve a bit #took a couple years but I found some meds that finally work better for me #ofc things aren’t 100% but I was really in a pit for a while #like ‘did not leave my house in months and slept 14 hours a day’ kind of pit #so. any improvement is better lol. but nah I’ve been making real improvement and im doing better. a lil shaky sometimes but that’s expected #diagnosed with chronic fatigue too. which is unfortunate but not unexpected. i am indeed god’s sleepiest soldier #i feel like a raisin slowly rehydrating but considering i was in a desert before any hydration is welcome #just learning how to enjoy things again overall #one thing I just couldn’t get myself to do (and enjoy) was art. doodles here and there but nothing to post #and it’s kind of funny because I feel like that downtime actually gave me a chance to think about what I wanted to work on #even when I wasn’t actively practicing #just paying attention to things I guess. enjoying art styles #i genuinely think my experimenting with stained is helping me learn colors #i spend hours in the scryshop im glad it’s paying off lmao #i want to tackle bigger things but i just gotta ease myself into the hang of things again #for now im having fun and that’s coooool. thank you all for your nice comments #i read all tags while kicking my feet and giggling. thank u all #that’s the update on Me tho. more to come hopefully #starting next month/julyish I will have a significant amount of time to dedicate to drawing which i intend on doing #so who knooowwwsss #rambles #funny enough coloring has become my favorite part of the process now. it used to be lineart. now lineart annoys me LOL #i also feel like i kinda lost my ability to write which has been frustrating but im focusing on art first #anyways that’s a whole different tangent rant over

[goldkirk]

.

#everything’s fine and I’m fine I’m just saying this to say it rn #I don’t know what I would choose to do if he WAS still alive and I COULD still report officially #but a large part of me is really really glad that that mayor is dead. and I don’t ever have to hear him or see him at events or feel his #unusually long weird fingernails and iron grip while telling me to smile for pictures ever again #a part of me would love to confront him #but most of me is just glad he’s gone and can’t scare me or make life hell for my parents ever again #he never should’ve gotten away with all the things he did for so many years. but he did. #now that we’re here in the present. it’s a gift to get to move on from it knowing he’s not still out there at least #he was a gross greedy person with police and government power and never should’ve had those positions for so many decades like he did #but that being said. he can’t ever speak to or touch me again. #I’m not grateful now. I wasn’t grateful then after he stopped pretending either. but I’m glad I get to walk away and never live near #any subdivision or building or anything else with his name or picture #ever again. and he’s never able to touch another child ever. good riddance. you gross greedy poor excuse for a public servant. #now I’m gonna go try to write some of what I’ve learned into a fic to help my future self and others #who do you think came out on top at the end of the day mayor L? #I came out of this with friends and kindness and gentleness and healthy rage. you died just as greedy and fake and paranoid as you lived. #I hope you got better towards the end. for your wife and family’s sake. #I get to protect others from people like you for the rest of my life. and I’ll win. #because I deserve it and every current kid deserves it too. #shh katie

[lit-in-thy-heart]

been trying out a new writing technique recently and it's called chilling tf out and reminding myself that fic is written for fun.

#making a little joke but also being genuinely serious #with my merwaincelot wip i've embraced having little overviews in brackets for what i want to happen #but idk how to write it just yet #if i'm feeling stuck or bored #and if i'm getting tired or the idea of writing an ending is getting overwhelming then i just call it a day and do something else #and yeah it's taking longer to write things (perhaps gone are the days when i wrote and posted a fic in the same night) #but it's working wonders with my brain #and it's amazing how as soon as i relax i get hit with several new ideas #just trying to adjust my thinking in that projects over a long period of time are not something to worry about #like i'm also planning a knitting project that i'll be doing well into september #(mainly bc yarn is expensive and my needs are hella specific) #but that's okay! #not everything has to be done and dusted immediately! #i'm glad i took a break from writing and i think it did do me good but damn i'm happy to be back #and enjoy still learning how to get even more out of my hobby #but anyway i'm just feeling a lil proud of myself today so #lit talks #personal

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though—something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT - #since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it) #I tried this one instead! #pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful! #cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions? #Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story. #So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one. #All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time! #I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

[cerise-on-top]

Heyhey..h um could you write some fluff/comfort with reader x 2bhank? Pretty pls? Like where the reader has been depressed(?)/burnt out for a few months and has been going on less and less missions and one day just refuses to leave their room for one self deprecating reason or another so 2b and hank try making them feel better in their own ways

Very self indulgent request I know but sometimes you gotta give yourself a little treat <:]

Hey! Sorry, I sort of misread this and thought you wanted 2BHank helping a burnt out reader, so I wrote that instead ^^; Again, I'm really sorry about that!

2BHank with a Burnt-Out!S/O

For as dense as Hank could be most of the time, even he can tell that you haven’t been doing too well as of late. At first he’d think you were just sick and needed some time to rest, which meant he would take on the missions you would have gone on otherwise. He was a competent grunt in his field, he could accomplish just about any task given to him. 2B, while he could sense that something was up with you, would let Hank do just that so you could recover a bit. He didn’t think you were just sick, he somehow could feel that it was something worse, something that wouldn’t go away by just letting you rest for a few days, but he left it at that. After all, you did go on missions again, some with Hank, Sanford or Deimos, some on your own. However, at some point, you just hid away from everyone, shying away from the dim light of the sun as well. Hank wanted to see you, he really did, but you wouldn’t open your door. Why? Were you doing alright? It was obvious you had been “sick” again as of late, but even he stopped buying it at some point. While he wouldn’t be too concerned about your physical wellbeing, you could handle yourself in a fight, he’d kick the door in anyway to see if you were there in the first place.

Lo and behold, you were in your room after all, lying under the blanket, not moving, merely sighing as you heard the door fall. Polite as he could be, Hank picked up the door and leaned it against the wall before walking up to you and sitting down on your bed. He’s not usually one for too much talk, but he would ask you what’s wrong, why you didn’t open the door and why you’ve been “sick” so often as of late. He won’t judge you, but he just wants to know the reasons. When you tell him you’ve simply been burnt out on it all, he wouldn’t know what you mean. Hank genuinely doesn’t know what burnout is, so you’d have to explain it to him. But even then, I don’t think he’d really understand the gravity of the situation. You’re tired? Then take some time off. He tries, but it’s not that simple.

The open door would catch 2B’s attention and he’d enter to check up on you, involving himself in the conversation as well. He, too, would ask you how you’ve been feeling and what has been the matter. When you tell him you’re pretty sure you’re burnt out, he’ll sit down on the bed and ask you how he could help. He may not be an expert by any means, but at the very least he knows that this will likely be something that will last a long time. Although he may not be too happy about that, he won’t push you to be better immediately. Will also explain the situation to Hank, whose gears have started turning. If you know how they can help you, that’s great. There’s no one solution that fits all. A few people at S.Q. have been burnt out from all the missions they had to go on, so you’re definitely not the first.

2B will let you rest for the time being. If you ever feel up to it, then he’ll send you on a small mission that doesn’t involve too much danger, such as picking something up from a vendor. However, he won’t have you fight for your life while you’re burnt out, those tasks will be left to Hank and the others. 2B will also be checking up with you more often. He’s not the best with his words when it comes to more emotional things, but he tries. Will comfort you to the best of his ability and won’t stress you out about all those things. You need rest, that much is obvious, so he’ll let you have just that. S.Q. will continue to perform. If anyone ever talks badly about you, then they’ll be sent to him and will have a stern talking to. No one will talk shit about you as long as he has something to say about it. Overall, he’ll be very compassionate about it all. If you need something from him, he’ll give it to you, just give him the word.

When it comes to slowly reintroducing you to small things, it will actually be Hank who does that. He just really wants to spend time with you and 2B, but you’ve been so distant as of late. But he remembers 2B’s words and won’t force you to do anything, but will ask you if you’re up for something small. This might start out with something along the lines of playing cards or board games with him. If you say yes he’s actually over the moon and his metaphorical tail will start wagging. Slowly, he’ll bring you more and more things to do. New things for you to try, and old things you used to enjoy before you got burnt out. Naturally, there’s no pressure from his side, he just really wants to have an excuse to spend time with you. And if you simply do something along the lines of knitting while he’s sitting on the floor, just watching you, then he’s content.

Overall, neither of them will blame you for what happened. In fact, they’ll try to help you to get better again. If you ever just want the two of them to stay with you, then you can ask them to. Of course, if they’re going on a mission, then they won’t have too much time to cuddle with you. However, you’re more than welcome to call on either, or both, of them to just get something off your chest as well, they’re more than happy to listen. 2B and Hank just wanna see you smile again. If it takes a lot of time, then so be it, but they both just hope things will go back to how they used to be. They’ll both do just about anything for you, so don’t be afraid to ask them for anything at all, you’ll likely get it eventually.

#madness combat #madness combat x reader #madness combat doc #doc x reader #hank j wimbleton #hank j wimbleton x reader #2bhank x reader #got to learn a thing or two about burnout today which was nice #now I have a better understanding of it than I did before #again I'm really sorry for misreading your request!! #it's nice to have another madcom request though it's been a while since the last one #I do like cod a lot but sometimes it's nice to have some variety #sometimes I'm also curious about what fandom will come after cod #because cod came after Madness Combat #my fixations usually last for roughly a year before I move onto something new #so I have another three or four months of cod before I get into something new. probably #I was really into madcom for roughly one year. like really really into it #even now I really like it and am looking forward to another episode #I wonder if I'll be writing this many requests for the new fandom as well #well only one way to find out

[altschmerzes]

hate when i see a post and i just Know it’s gonna majorly prevent me from writing anything for like. a solid week.

#gav gab #another ‘stop making characters understand or communicate their feelings’ post! #with additions about how #‘consent posturing’ and asking if they can touch someone and negotiating boundaries is Boring And Bad #and Nobody Knows Identity Language This Character Doesn’t Know What ‘Asexual’ Is And Could Never Navigate Wanting A QPR With Someone #That’s Too Self Aware And Where Did They Learn That!! #‘you’re all RUINING STORIES with your stupid THERAPY SPEAK and characters TALKING about things’ #‘stop making characters know how to help someone through a panic attack they should be making it WORSE’ #I never know if im guilty of doing what these posts are so pissy about #but they’re always out here with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes #and it’s like well! this must be a major consensus opinion I guess! #and everything i write must be boring and cringeworthy and feel entirely fake and stupid! #and then i fight with myself not to delete everything I’ve ever written and scrap every project i have #because if this is how people feel about them what’s the point