#completes fairytale

[marzipanandminutiae]

WAIT WAIT WAIT

YOU'RE TELLING ME

THE TITLE CARD FROM CINDERELLA (1950) EXPLICITLY SAYS IT'S BASED ON THE PERRAULT VERSION OF THE STORY???

WE COULD HAVE AVOIDED ALL THE SANCTIMONIOUS EDGELORDS SMARMING ABOUT HOW "well Disney toned it down; the One True Grimms' Original akschully has blood and no fairy and feet getting cut up, so there" IF THEY HAD JUST

BOTHERED TO PAY ATTENTION TO THE MOVIE AND THEN GOOGLE "PERRAULT CINDERELLA???"

excuse me I need to go scream into a pillow

(I'm not saying Ashenputtel isn't possibly older as a folktale than its 1812 publication date in the Grimms' book, but Perrault's version was published in the 1690s. so...)

[batbabydamian]

The Boy Wonder #2 by Juni Ba rambling about Gotham's fearsome hunter

added Jason to this issue's collage since it was mainly from his perspective!

ramble for issue #1 here!

starting with the cover again, but now in contrast to the first:

Dick and Barbara are presented as statues in the bg for the first cover where they’re established heroes in a secure time in their lives, and Damian is obviously the highlight! For #2's cover, the autumn leaves motif returns, but this time featuring Jason!! Apparently, Damian isn’t the only one to go through a “season of change” in this series, as Jason takes his own steps forward by the end of this story 🥺 also the literal layers on Jason - his angry Red Hood helmet and the beaten down Robin head...

The issue opens with Joe the robber and his hostage "Merle"! The glasses feels like a giveaway that this is Carrie(??) narrating Damian's story, so the final issue could end with her perspective for where Damian currently is in his journey as Robin and where she plays a part.

Jason as the "hunter" of this fairytale is such a cool concept, especially upon his introduction pages!! He's surrounded by his recent "prey" with a nice contrast of their fancy jackets, pinstripe pants, and dress shoes to Jason's own tattered hoodie, pants, and sneakers.

Just like the past issue (or just Ba's work in general lol), THE BACKGROUNDS ARE SO LOVINGLY DRAWN. Makes Jason's stroll through inner Gotham so enjoyable from the bustling activity of the people, shop signs, and advertising to the quieter area of the cemetery. It's so lived in, especially feels like each citizen in the bg has a story to tell!

some bits of interest to me: is that scaly lil arm reaching for the rat supposed to be Croc LOL; just neat visual of old Joker posters leering over Jason; the name of the cemetery a nod to Kevin Conroy? and from T. Wayne - Thomas Wayne?

Despite showing how much of an intimidating and hardened exterior the Red Hood has, there's plenty of suggestion that he has soft edges! from his act of revenge for a beloved member of the community, his familiarity with the people even greeting him, and down to his chocobar...

might be my overthinking but the layers of that close up shot of the chocobar really got me 😭 it's like such a piece of innocence when seen in his scarred hand, especially when "Wayne Sweets" is visible - is it more emphasis of Jason clinging to a safer time and Bruce Wayne himself?? or is this brand just his favorite lil treat

EITHER WAY, incredibly funny to me Jason seems to hide it once Damian shows up

Seeing Ba's storyboards has me even more curious about his process with O'Halloran - like, it's a small detail but the traffic light in the foreground being red! added emphasis on the red theme this issue, or a warning for these two to Stop heading into a trap? ANYWAY DAMIAN HESITANTLY ASKING ABOUT HIS MOTHER I'M THROWING UP AWWGH

also love critically acclaimed animated film "The Cheetah King" haha! ALTHOUGH, Jason's story does line up with Simba's - a lost prince that feels like he's failed his father. Even believed to be dead for a period of time lol

Rok the demon's design is so slick!! Seems to take after a peacock with how fanciful he is, plus his tail details in his other form! A dapper demon definitely ready for the gala!

A GLIMPSE OF BA'S HEAVIER ACTION ART!! THE POUNCE!! the Robins being entirely made up of motion lines, even the details for Jason's helmet; and i'm always a sucker for those light streaks from the eyes!! THE PUNCH!! the quick panel of Jason's fist before arcing into that POW!!

and i say a glimpse, because in just the two other books i've read from Ba so far, he draws so much more action. lil Monkey Meat promo BUT LOOK!! have i mentioned how much i love his sfx lettering...that "AAAH" getting motion lines when closer to the camera...crazy...

dropping another small element from one of his books, Djeliya! just a really cool visual of casting magic!!

I love this sequence leading up to the Joker vision! The shapely flames that dwindle into the shape of TEARS!! We don't get the extent of how deeply the Joker affected Jason until this moment and the man is terrified.

First thing Damian does after getting shot is insult Jason, DAMIAN IS SO FUNNY. Also absolutely love the wiggly woggly lines of EVERYTHING in this panel.

Considering what Damian said earlier: "We both know you'd rather not have to explain your failure to father if anything happens to me that you could have prevented." As if Jason didn't already feel like a failure before this!! of course he'd turn into jiggling jelly realizing what he's done.

After 27 pages of a narrow-eyed Red Hood, including an early tease of him about to take off the helmet for his snack, this full page of Jason unmasking himself is such a heavy reveal. Adding the aching piece of dialogue?? BRUTAL

Damian responds in kind to the vulnerability with his own confession and something Jason really needed to hear after burdening himself for so long with the idea of being a failure.

After Damian leaves, the camera pulls back to show The Door in the dark of the room. Damian quite literally presents Jason a window of opportunity to face his past, and it goes so hard. Just like the buildup of frowning mask-to-face reveal, Jason's few expressions have mostly looked sad. So the shadowed eyes before the glare of determination makes this quiet moment feel extra epic!! also reminiscent of the Red Hood mask he wears!!

Beyond the door of Jason's "past life" is complete darkness. Jason has been hoping for Batman to pull him out of it (as further suggested by the newspaper clippings), but in the final page, the door is leaking light!! Jason finds his own way forward :')

The first issue introduces the Robins with specific labels, and so far the narrative either delves deeper into those claims or challenges it. Damian is unimpressed by "kind and brave" Dick and even forms some kind of rivalry. By the end, Damian’s learned how those simple traits are essential to becoming the person and hero Dick has become and gains a newfound respect for him.

#2 deviates from #1 by following “brash and rageful” Jason's perspective! Damian is under pressure from the legacies of all the Robins before him, and even if he relates to Jason the most there's still tension. This time around, while Damian does learn what lies behind the mask, he's the one to impart some knowledge to his fellow Robin.

ending ramble with a panel of the small beans

"Look Damian, everything the light touches is our kingdom."

TBH this ramble took forever to start because after reading Djeliya and Monkey Meat, i was so floored by how much MORE Ba has to offer. Everything i raved about from the first issue of The Boy Wonder...Ba's done it all in his previous work and MORE SO?? on top of writing, whimsical paneling and lettering, fun action scenes, deliberate coloring, kickass character designs and worldbuilding... the man does it all?? 😭

Monkey Meat 🐒

Djeliya: A West African Fantasy Epic ✌️

Mobilis: My Life with Captain Nemo

The Unlikely Story of Felix and Macabber

i may save the last two books for after The Boy Wonder ends because imagining the end of the series makes me so sad LOLL orz i may cave just because Mobilis is a pleasantly giant book...praying for DC to give the collected edition of The Boy Wonder this treatment...his pages are brimming with energy they deserve to be blown up with an oversized printing 😭

[mintaikk]

Venom after abandoning his entire species and planet for some sad wet white guy he's known for like a day

[zerozeroren]

Feeling wistful feelings over the fact that the form of Ahiru the majority of us viewers end up loving and rooting for the most (girl Ahiru) is also the most illusive and unreal of the three

[aspen-charminghearts]

“Chloe fell first, Red fell harder” “No Red fell first and Chloe fell harder” “No! Chloe fell first and fell harder” “Nope! Red fell first and harder!”

No! Hear me out please.

They BOTH fell at the same time! BOTH were horribly fallen for one another but BOTH were absolutely clueless in different ways, and BOTH are horribly obsessed with each other and can’t bear to spend a second without the other. Chloe was clueless in comphet denial and Red was clueless in “I don’t get love, why is my heart palpitating immensely every time I look at Chloe? Am I dying? [Gasp] Did someone put a curse on me for every time I look at Chloe I almost get a heart attack and my body temperature increases in my face?”

This leads to a lot of horrible situations where one desperately tries to tell the other but the other just doesn’t get it and they’re stuck in this horrible loop until one of them has enough and they pull the other in the kiss.

[spontaneousful]

"Is this really the world we fought so hard for?"

It was a question that always seemed to be on Blondie's mind lately. It was the only thing she could think to say as she stood in Ashlynn Ella's castle, watching the snow fall atop her fresh grave.

Apple, her friend her once-upon-a-time lover her, Apple White, ruler of Ever After, glanced over at her. "Whatever after do you mean?"

Blondie stared out the window and tried to bite her tongue. This conversation was pointless, nothing she could say would change what was. But that budding investigative journalist inside her, the one who wanted to change the world, the one she thought was stamped out long ago, couldn't leave it alone.

"Did we really fight for a future where our friends drop like flies? And condemn those who didn't agree to death along with them?"

She laughed. "Don't be silly. I haven't sentenced anyone to death."

Blondie turned around to face her. "What about Raven?"

"What about her?" Apple's gaze was piercing.

Blondie stared her down, but Apple didn't falter. Instead, she returned the stare with intensity. Blondie sighed and looked away. She couldn't stand up to Apple, she never had been able to. But the flame of anger in her still burned, and instead, she shifted the conversation.

"How many of our friends have to die for you to admit you were wrong? How many have there already been? Briar, Ashlynn, Ginger, Humphrey, Duchess, Meeshell, we're in our thirties, Apple. And yet, I'm attending a funeral every other week."

For a moment, there was no response. Then, she heard the clacking of Apple walking away. "The Ella estate is sorted out. I believe we're done here."

Blondie wanted to stop her. She wanted to scream at her. To curse the unfairness of it all. How hypocritical of her, when she had played no small part in the war of destiny versus choice.

Why? Why had she ever agreed with the side of destiny? Why had she thought this was better? Why had her own happy ever after been worth setting up her friends for slaughter? Why? Why? Why?

[natasha-in-space]

So I'm replaying Ray's After ending rn, and it got me thinking that what I adore so much about Rika as an antagonist is just how damn scary she can be. I always found those who cause harm with good intentions (at least in their point of view) much scarier than those who hurt you with pure intention on hurting you. I think the best example of it is this CG in particular:

Look at that. Such a loving, gentle expression on her face. Probably kissing his forehead. Because she loves him. Heck, without any context, this CG looks even sweet, if you think about it. And yet, all that is while Saeyoung is forcefully sedated on a powerful concoction of drugs even a trained agent like him can't do anything about (and Saeyoung WAS definitely trained to deal with this sort of thing, hence it's mentioned that this is a 'special' kind of drugs). He looks miserable. Bags under his eyes, his expression pained and troubled, even his hair is paler than usual. All that as a direct result of her actions. But she's utterly blind to it. What's scarier, is that she knowingly shuts off her understanding of what's really happening. She's not oblivious to it at all. She just chooses not to see it that way. Simply because she doesn't want to.

Rika is the type of antagonist that will cup your cheek into her warm hand with the most loving of smiles on her face, all while you are getting elixir poured down your throat. Even whispering to you that you're doing great, that the pain will soon pass, and that she can't wait to see you reach the happiness she knows you deserve. I won't be surprised if she even cried genuine tears of compassion during some ceremonies for her believers. All while being the sole reason behind their suffering.

And that's... God, that's terrifying to me. I love that about her.

Rika Kim, they could never make me hate you

[skruttet]

'Moomintroll wagged his tail happily. Then he stared at the sky.

"The clouds are fun to watch," he marvelled. "They change their shape all the time."

"And it's fun to listen to your stories," said Snufkin. "I never get tired of talking to you. That's why you're my best friend."' omg??? 😭❤️

[gotyouanyway]

they did fail to be normal about adoption though. catastrophically

[yetanotherexhaustedalchemist]

"She was forced to step into the red-hot shows and dance until she fell down dead."

I see a lot of 'i'm going to ruin your childhood' memes about Disney's Snow White... and oh boy, is the Grimm's version many times worse. So naturally I had to draw Vil suffering the Evil Queen's original fate (sorry, Vil).

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[sunnydayaoe]

Inktober Sharktober !! day 1-2? this list skips a day inbetween [verry nice] Fairytale Shark !!

[channnel]

Someone's a birthday boy! He's getting old! Very quickly!

Also, I put my self-insert oc here for funsies. Hands are hard.

[the-overanalyst]

i love the eros and psyche myth 'cause it's like.. beauty thinks she can control love and holds him captive but the human soul (the most beautiful thing of all) overcomes impossible trials in order to find him, and once she does, they produce joy

[viciar]

buddy that lolcow shit is not mainstream in any way, you gotta get better people in your life

^ person who has not yet heard of having coworkers or like even just a dickish roommate/classmate

[elsewhereuniversity]

I don’t suppose there’s a program that registers our ability to fulfill Deals promptly as factors on our credit score, is there? One of these days I’d love to buy a house...

I know you can occasionally register your rent payments through third-party folks, so maybe an alumni through something together?

Unfortunately the two systems of debt are disconnected, although you could possibly, with careful phrasing and pulling of strings, find some way to cash in those favors and goodwill for a way of influencing the actual credit system on an individual basis. Most people just opt for wealth, though, or something else more tangible.