#in that time ill hopefully be making my own money so i can buy them ;D

[spicycinnabun]

pt. 1 2 3 4 6 7 💐

Eddie turned around, finding none other than the flower nazi. His nametag actually said Steve. 

He had a leaf stuck in his hair, and his nose was abnormally rosy. Going by that and his nasal tone, he clearly had a cold. He sneezed, then looked annoyed at himself for doing so. “Ugh, sorry,” he apologized. 

He was fucking adorable. It made Eddie smile. “Don’t be. I don’t really need help.” Not with flowers, anyway, just with everything else about his life. “I’m only browsing.” 

It was a weird response, he realized. A guy like him, who looked like he belonged anywhere else, loitering in a shop like this. Just browsing. Right. Steve probably thought he was a creep. 

Steve was surprised to hear that the man wasn’t looking for anything. Last time, he had bought something, so Steve had assumed he was a returning customer. He had been staring at the wedding arrangement, so maybe he was trying to figure out if Harrington Floral was the best place to get them from.

“That’s some talent you’ve got,” Eddie added, pointing to the display.

Steve felt himself flush. “Thanks,” he said softly, ducking his head bashfully. It wasn’t usually guys who were doling out compliments on the displays. Typically, they just asked for his advice on what they should buy for their significant others.

The redness that bloomed on Steve’s cheeks was just plain delightful. It could have been due to his illness, but Eddie was pretty sure it was a reaction to his compliment. His smile widened. “You made it, right?”

“Yes, I did. I make all the displays.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, missing the leaf by a mere centimeter. “I think I saw you last month when I was building one in the window over there. Are you sure you’re not interested in anything?”

Instead of answering, Eddie reached out and plucked the leaf out of Steve’s hair. “Sorry, you had a little bud-dy trying to catch a ride there. Was distracting the hell out of me.” Eddie showed him the small, curvy leaf. 

Steve laughed, which made him cough a little. After clearing his throat, he got back to business. Steve was all about closing a sale, so he pushed a little. “Are you or someone you know getting married? I can, uh…” he thought quickly, “give you a free bouquet as a testimony to how well our flowers will hold up. I was just pruning the roses before you came in. What do you think about a bouquet of them?”

Steve remembered Eddie. And he’d laughed at Eddie’s horrible pun. But Eddie was caught off guard by the questions and the offering. Steve was observant. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “My uncle is getting married. Hopefully. He hasn’t popped the question yet.”

It would be kind of terrible of him to accept free flowers if it didn’t work out and they never ordered any.

“That’s exciting,” Steve responded.

Genuinely, he felt like it was. Steve loved love. Working in a flower shop would be hard if he was bitter about being single. Also, the fact that someone else around his age wasn’t getting married made him feel a bit better about his own love life. Lately, it seemed like all his friends were getting hitched.

Eddie twirled a piece of hair around his finger, contemplating. He pocketed the little leaf. “I’m meeting the bride-to-be tonight. I suppose making a nice first impression wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He could give the flowers to Wayne to present to Kathleen when she came over. “How much for half a dozen?”

That was probably all he could afford, but he would be paying.

Eddie wasn’t selling as much anymore. Just weed, no powders or pills. Not since he’d discovered that one of his regulars had recently overdosed on Molly. He was at least partially responsible for that. He should have questioned the steadily increasing amount the guy was buying, but he had only been thinking about the money.

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.” Steve had no intention of taking any money for the bouquet. 

He walked around the store and started building it. Steve picked out four roses in red and pink, then added two pastel-dyed Asiatic lilies and sprinkled in a few strands of baby’s breath.

When he was finished, he went to the counter to put them down. He grabbed the twine and unrolled some tissue paper. “I’m sure there won’t be any more customers tonight. I’m kind of in charge, so I can totally give you these for free. Because I want to.”

Eddie pressed his lips together briefly, walking over and planting his forearms on the counter. He wasn’t some charity case. He didn’t like having debts, either. Maybe Steve had seen the type of clothes he wore and automatically assumed Eddie was trailer park trash who couldn’t afford it.

But Steve was smiling at him, looking sweet as a goddamn sugar cookie, and Eddie relaxed, rejecting the thought. That just didn’t seem right.

(Though why Steve wanted to give anyone, let alone Eddie, free flowers was a mystery.)

“You’re the boss, huh?” Eddie said. Steve looked young to own the shop, but maybe he was one of the Harringtons.

The name rang a bell. Steve Harrington. Dustin used to talk about a Steve during D&D. Gushed more than talked, really. Was he the same one?

“Technically, it’s my mom’s shop, but I’ve been running it for a while now,” Steve said. He couldn’t take all the credit.

Eddie gently drummed the counter, rings click-clacking as he watched those nimble fingers cut, tie, and wrap. His mom’s store. Well, wasn’t that precious.

Steve gave the bouquet one last critical look and a fluff with his fingers before handing it over. “With these, I think you’ll make the best impression. Maybe your uncle will even pop the question tonight!” Steve was excited for the groom to be even though he didn’t know him.

Eddie accepted the bouquet and looked down at it. “Thank you. It’s stunning.” Kind of like you.

He didn’t say that last part out loud, though he thought it hard enough that he’d probably projected it into Steve’s head.

Steve felt his face heat again. He didn’t know why he was reacting this way to the compliments. When women complimented his arrangements, he barely blinked.

Eddie brought the bouquet to his nose to smell its perfume. It brought another smile to his face before he lowered it. If Kathleen didn’t end up liking them, she was crazy.

Steve watched Eddie, grinning. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Eddie’s gaze flickered up. He lowered the bouquet. Why were they both smiling like fucking idiots? “Eddie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. Let me get you a card—you know, in case your uncle does propose and will need flowers from somewhere.” Steve grabbed one of the embellished business cards from the stack beside the register.  

Eddie reached out to take it, and Steve sneezed again just as their fingers brushed. It was a big sneeze that made his face screw up and nearly blew him backward. Luckily, he managed to cover his nose before he bombed Eddie. Eddie tried not to laugh at his irritated expression and soft whine as he sniffled.

Eddie pocketed the card and tugged his handkerchief out at the same time. “Here,” he offered kindly, holding it out to Steve.

It was his favorite hanky, his pirate one with the skull and bones, but it was the least he could do. 

Without thinking much about it, Steve took it and blew his nose. He let out a soft sigh, feeling a little better. Then he realized what he’d done. “Sorry…this is kinda gross now. Do you want it back?” 

“Oh no—no, that’s yours now,” Eddie said hastily. “I insist. Consider it a token of my gratitude.” He lowered himself in a teasing bow. “Farewell, Steve, fine sir.”

So, so fine. Even with all the snot.

Eddie backed out of the store, still bent over for extra theatricality. When he straightened up, Steve looked confused but was red in the cheeks again. Score.

On the ride home, Eddie almost missed a turn because he kept glancing at the bouquet.

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

[alatariel-gildaen]

Everything's going wrong, and I really feel like I'm about to lose it.

Firstly, we're stuck in a maisonette with rising damp and mould, and the freeholders are doing precisely NOTHING about it all.

This has caused major respiratory conditions for all three of us. The worst of the damp and mould is in my disabled son's bedroom - this is what it currently looks like in there

The wallpaper and plaster have fallen away, the wall itself is actually wet, I'm cleaning mould up every day. We've had to throw away toys, bedding, books, and clothes of his that have been destroyed by mould.

We can't move, because we own the flat and no one will buy it with this problem, and we can't fix it ourselves, because its a structural issue that is the responsibility of the freeholder, and they have done nothing but ignore our pleas for the last 2 and a half years.

Ok, ready for the rollercoaster that's making me lose it? Strap in.

Now, as my son is disabled, and we're a relatively low income family, we were able to apply to the family fund for a holiday, something we've not been able to afford to do for YEARS.

This Friday, we're due to fly out to the south of France for a week. The FF awarded us £500 towards the holiday, but we had to pay the rest out of our savings, costing us just about £1200, and depleting our savings to nothing. We figured it'd be worth it - the holiday park we're going to sounds utterly perfect for him, with lots of nature, wildlife, and secure facilities with easy access. Something we simply wouldn't have even considered without the FF's help. Yes, it was still expensive, but the memories would be utterly priceless.

A couple of week's ago my car's engine light came on. Honestly something I'd probably be ignoring right now normally, but my husband was due to take his driving test in it this week before we fly out, and we are pretty sure that you can't take it in a car with the engine light showing. We managed to get it seen, and it requires around £800 worth of repairs. I cannot function without a car - it's absolutely vital for transporting my son and keeping him safe.

As I mentioned before, we've all had respiratory problems linked to the mould. My poor son seems to have a permanent frog in his throat. I've been diagnosed with asthma following a cough that I've had now since last November. A few weeks ago, my husband developed a similar nasty cough. And last week that cough suddenly got worse. He was vomiting due to the cough, in pain from head to toe, shivering and shaking.

Yesterday it was so bad, we called NHS 111, and they were so worried, they sent out an ambulance.

He's been admitted to hospital with pneumonia caused by the damp and mould. He can't take his driving test (obviously) and we are most likely going to lose out on our holiday.

I'm self employed but been unable to work much due to illness, but I'm going to have to put that aside.

So, I'm begging you, please help out a struggling artist, mother to a disabled child, and wife to a terribly ill husband. If I can book in a few pet portraits, I'll be able to cover our mortgage this month, and hopefully recover some of our lost holiday money, as well as keep my car on the road.

Here are some examples of my work.

Mostly I work in coloured pencil on pastelmat, although occasionally I can also do drafting film (if the subject allows for it) Commissions are £140 for an A4 piece and that will include postage to anywhere in mainland UK - outside of the mainland, of course I'll have to charge extra for postage.

I appreciate these aren't cheap, but a lot of work goes into them. If you could please reblog to get this seen, I would appreciate it so so much.

I am in the process of setting up a website for these, but feel free to contact me here in the meantime.

Thank you so much for taking time to read, and reblogs to signal boost are hugely appreciated

[a-slut-for-smut]

heya! ive recently been introduced to the nanamei rare pair and im genuinely curious abt how the ship came to be ! they look really good together and i wanna get in on the ship 😳

Happy new year and sorry for the delay, also can i say you display impeccable taste??

As far as the pairing came to be, i imagine it was like any other ship- pure, unfettered brainrot! 😆

But to expand on that, Nanamei is a rare pair indeed, which is such a shame but understandably so. While i only have a working knowledge of canon (long story, but ive been burned too many times in the past so i prefer living 24/7 in my lala fairy headcanon land) IIRC Nanami and Mei Mei dont have any direct interactions in the manga so as far as ship crumbs it is slim pickings.

So on the surface level, its as you say, they look SO good together- just a pair of tasty af snacks you could dine on for years hehe. However, it just makes you wonder what else could lie beneath and THATS where the sl*utty headcanon potential begins! Behold, my shameless sm*utty Nanamei headcanons:

Sharp Dressers

When it comes the official attire JJK characters are known for, id say Nanami and Mei Mei are the most fashion-oriented dressers- Nanami wears tf outta a suit, and i always liked Mei Mei's chic, covered head to toe look (bonus that its not overtly sexualized while showing off her curves). So, my brainrot is convinced not only does Mei Mei LOVE to clothes shop for Nanami, but insists that he join so he can model them for her (insert future sm*ut fic where they do the dirty in a luxury designer dress room 😝)

Bed & Breakfast

They love having breakfast together after a wild night in bed, and because Nanami's a huge bread sl*ut they routinely go to his favorite Parisian themed bakery cafe. Mei always orders the biggest, thickest and hardest baguette because she says it reminds her of Nanami and eats it a certain way to get him hot and bothered. I wrote a little drabble based on this teehee

Oxford Dictionary on the streets, Urban Dictionary in the sheets

So they both come off having buttoned up, reserved personas outwardly/publicly, but i like to think they're decidedly opposite in private...if you catch my drift. Nanami tends to be very formal and respectful, especially to Mei as she is his senior and one of the strongest sorcerers there. So Mei's kink is to get him so sexually flustered/come out of his cage, to get him to disrespect her (especially in bed). Which he does, to Mei's absolute delight.

Money Can't Buy Happiness

This is the headcanon where i see major ship potential. Canonically Mei is well known to be money-hungry (stated that she would side with whomever paid more etc) and Nanami had left the sorcery world to become a salaryman after graduating. So my brainrot had me thinking, what was the REAL reason Nanami left the JJK world behind? Was it to make some money to impress a certain lady perhaps??

In my delusions of grandeur I had planned to explore this in a multi-chapter sm*ut fic but alas i honestly dont know when ill have the time. I did write a rough intro to the fic here, and the stepping stones/foundations are laid out in my companion gojohime fic (which also explore sugushoko, and hopefully in their own fic 😁) in a similar format of flashback/present day smutty romance if thats of interest!

Any way as far as getting onto the ship:

[aamethyst000]

i didn't realize exacctly how slow my progress will be (july 9,24 - 10:56pm)

holy fuck i did not realize how slow my progress in life will be! it feels so weird to be 26. like, not only the progress of my name and gender change, im talking about my progress in life! the changes im gonna have, the hardships ill probably cry to. i thought teenage life was hard, no siree. the adult life is difficult. once the adults before you leave you alone to be independent and strong and whatnot, they all end up telling you how wrong you are and how you're living life wrong. one side is trying to control how you live, the other wants you to be dependant and independent and some how balance that out on your own. anyway, getting off track here. today i woke up feeling lazy but also feeling pretty good about myself! i actually wanted to clean the house and do the dishes without complaint! which is a rare thing for me since teenage hood. it can get pretty bad on most days. my little brother and i did the dishes today and a little bit of sweeping. i am planning on doing the rest of the house chores tomorrow and start on the towels that were supposed to be done last week. which kind of sucks that it is only me doing the laundry, but what the hell can i do when we got my mothers' brother staying and only doing his own laundry, a 17 who is overly cranky, yknow, normal teenager bs, hes gotta do his own laundry whether he likes it or not. and a mother whose arthiritis hurts her enire body and really bad insomnia. 10 year old me would be very surprised of where i am at right now and 14 year old me would be very confused.

july 11,24 - 11:16pm - just got through washing the dishes and cleaned up a bit in the living room. finally and now i have time to clean up my room and start washing the towels, we desparately need clean towels considering how hot the weather will be this week. you know the funny thing about this? i have stopped taking my anti depressants for nearly a month now! i think i only need to take them during the winter. they seem to work better by then, which is weird to me. anyway, now that i have more trans tapes, im going to wash the towels tomorrow and have a bath by the next day. my poor room has been a mess for too long now and it has been bugging me for a couple of days. doing this will help me feel better about buying myself a new 3ds and cases for it, being more prepared about taking care of it than i did the first time around. i ended up buying another black 3ds, kinda thought i wanted a white one but i ended up changing my mind part way through the search of the new 3ds. i found one for somewhat cheap that came up to 195 plus 10 shipping which was fckn awesome! i so cant wait till they arrive now. though they wont be here till the first week of next month. i know ill be impatient about it but that is not new at all lmao im impatient with every perchase i make, i just gotta keep myself distracted till the items get here.

july 18,24 3:43am - i am planning on rearranging my room to open up the air vent in my room. since i bought the 3ds, i feel like i need to ''earn''' when it finally arrives here, but i am hoping to god that it works for me or id cry. well, not really, i'd be sad about it but wouldnt do nothing about it until i have enough money to save again to buy another 3ds. hopefully it wont come to that at any point for me. anyway, as im typing this out, i am wathcing chuggaconnroy's lets play of kirby 3ds. i heard about his recent..situation, not happy to hear it and not sure how to feel, not entirely anyway. not gonna lie, it kind of sucks and nearly ruined my day. im better now, i heard about this a week ago, so im fine. i think. i havent been able to go to sleep at a reasonable time lately and it sucks. some nights i dont go to sleep until it is literally gets really bright outside (5am or 7am), i did not think id be slowly devolping insomnia at the age of 26. though, i shouldnt be too surprised considering the fact that my whole ass family has it and possibly autism or adhd. not gonna lie, my whole family is a mess. but they are my mess, i guess. you ever feel that way? they are not the best, toxic in their own way (the older ones, not my cousins), when it some down to it, they are there for you (until they sabotage that closeness during any death) they seem to have continued the generational trauma. i hope my cousins are doing alright, some if them have a kid or two, others are single or childless, but they all have a decent job that helps them keep their apartment. so, i hope they are doing well.

by this point, i have one more journal entry to edit and double check on, and a set of papers to look for in my room. i was supposed to mail it back to the place i was getting my legal (now dead)name to my current one, it is coming up to a year so that it is my own fault on that one, considering that all i needed to do was give them the signed papers that i have right now. well, i can do that now and be a bloody adult about it instead of putting it off for tomorrow, every single day. is it weird to still feel like a teenager (16-7) at the age of 26? should i go to therapy for this? is this normal or should i be worried? does every other adult feel like this? and not just me and my friends possibly being delusional or just dramatic about it. either way, i am not entirely sure if ill find the answer or if itll be given to me. i am going to have a puff and then head to bed, it is already very late so im gonna have a puff and enjoy whatever sleep i can get. good night/day, readers!

[timeoverload]

I have spent a lot of my weekend sleeping but I keep having horribly vivid nightmares. I woke up at 5 because I had another one.

I've had to cut down on smoking a lot (against my will) since the person that was helping me with that is strung out on coke now or something and I don't feel safe going over there anymore. They have changed a lot and I can't trust someone in that state, especially when they have weapons laying around. I don't want to be around that stuff and I'm not going to put myself in a potentially dangerous position just for that. I'm not sure what I'm going to do now but I will probably have to stop entirely since I don't really talk to anyone anymore. I'm pissed that I can't just go to the store and get it myself and I wish it was legal here. It's so much better than drinking all the time and I haven't really wanted to do that either. I don't handle hangovers very well anymore. It's probably good for me to take a bit of a break but I hate it and I'm grumpy. I think that has contributed to me having more nightmares and definitely isn't helping with my pain, appetite, or my mood. I thought I would be more motivated without it too but now it's worse.

I decided to get up and force myself to go to the grocery store this morning since I couldn't fall back asleep. I bought way more stuff than I normally do so hopefully I can get myself to eat more. I like going to the store really early when there aren't very many people there so I don't get overstimulated and feel like I need to rush out of there. I don't feel like I did that much but I'm worn out again. I also feel like I have a migraine coming on. I need to force myself to get more stuff done today and tomorrow. It feels like any time I make any progress, I have to start over again. I'm tired of it being that way.

I greatly appreciate my family letting me live here for free because I would probably be homeless otherwise but I really wish I had a little more room. I really like my bedroom but with all of the stuff in here it feels small and overwhelming. I really miss having my own bathroom and my washer and dryer. It is nice not having to pay rent since I was spending almost $1000 a month on that since I usually ended up having to cover most of it. I like being able to save some money and also buy myself the things I always wanted when I wasn't allowed to spend money on myself without getting in trouble. I've made quite a bit of progress with paying off my debt too.

I guess I've still been feeling a little bitter though because the person who ruined my life has gotten to live comfortably in a brand new place since I left and I have had to struggle to do everything. I'm still angry with his family for treating me like I'm a bad person and spoiling him when they witnessed how he treated me and they were fine with it but I don't think they ever liked me or understood me anyway. They could tell I was traumatized and I wanted to tell them that he hurt me but I couldn't trust them. I also couldn't sleep at night without worrying that he would do something to me while I was unconscious. He was a creep and lacked self-control. He didn't get my permission. He didn't have respect for my bodily autonomy. I remember him insulting my appearance and then later trying to say he was just joking. Apparently no one ever taught him that it's not ok to hit a woman either until I came along. I remember him responding to my panic attacks by trying to wrestle me and pin me down and I had bruises on my arms from trying to get away from him. Sadly that's not the worst thing he did to me. There is a lot of mental illness and violence in his family too. It got to the point where I had to start fighting back and I'm not that kind of person. I didn't like how he and his dad started buying lots of guns and it made me uncomfortable to know there was one in the closet when we lived in the apartment. I don't miss getting screamed at on a regular basis either and getting in trouble for doing anything. Mental illness isn't an excuse in my opinion and he refused to get on medication until after I broke up with him and tried to use that as leverage to get back together but obviously I said no. He also wrote me a 40 page love letter and forced me to sit on the couch while he read it to me after we broke up even after I begged him to stop and was crying. He also went and got tattoos on his arms that matched the color and theme of the ones I have after we broke up because he wanted to match and I thought that was weird. He was just being obsessive and wouldn't leave me alone for a while even when I would ignore him. His mom always hated me too because I "took her son away from her" when he was the one who pursued me initially and wouldn't back off until I decided to date him. It still grosses me out that his dad also tried to sexually harass me on multiple occasions when he was trashed and I was still expected to be around him despite my complaints. I want to warn his current girlfriend about him because I don't want to see anyone else get hurt but it isn't my place to do so. I'm happy he moved on. I don't miss him and I don't care that he's with someone else but I just hope he treats her better than he treated me. I know I wasn't the perfect girlfriend but I spoiled him and did everything he asked me to do and it still wasn't enough. I let him manipulate and control me for so long and I had to relearn how to make decisions for myself. I'm so happy I never have to see those people again. I would never go back. I can't say they never did anything for me but they definitely didn't treat me with respect a lot of the time. I'm really surprised that our last conversation was amicable considering what a nightmare it was trying to get out of there. Lately I have been thinking about all of the bad things that happened to me during the time I spent with him and I know I made the right decision to leave. I don't think he ever truly loved me because that's not how you treat someone you love. I'm so thankful we never had any children together despite him pressuring me to do so. I couldn't imagine trying to raise a child in that environment. It wasn't healthy at all. I spent so long questioning my reality and wondering if I was as evil as he said I was. Unfortunately those memories have been resurfacing in my nightmares and I feel like I need to talk about it because it has been bothering me. I definitely have PTSD from that situation. I'm glad that I feel safe here with my family because I never want to experience that again.

I know I will always have a home here. I know my dad has tried really hard to be patient with me and make me happy and I'm not sure where I would be without him right now. He stepped up and took care of us when my mom couldn't do it anymore while trying to work full time and take care of the house. I know that being a single parent isn't easy. He has a lot of responsibilities and things to worry about and I don't want him to be super stressed out all the time. He doesn't show it but I know he is. I'm thankful that he has helped me take care of the cats too because it has been difficult for me to do anything. I wish I could do more for him and help him more and maybe I will be in a place soon where I am able to do that because he deserves it. He hasn't had an easy life and has worked really hard and I think he needs to take a vacation soon. I definitely feel like I owe him a lot for helping me get my life back.

I just can't wait to get out of this slump because I don't think I have ever been this bad. I know I'm capable and I'm not giving up on myself. I think I am also getting stir crazy because I have been cooped up in here for a long time now. The weather has been really nice lately and I want to go outside more because my vitamin D is extremely low but I don't really like going for walks by myself because of past experiences. I really hope I can get out and do something fun this summer because I really need it. I'm going to enjoy the rest of my day and try to stop thinking about bad stuff so much.

[snakewiththegrass]

I stay at a hotel now. In a room your parents offered me. Free. I can save money now, but how come it goes by so fleetingly?

I had to take my dog to the vet. The apartments charged me out the ass. My dentist visits from me smashing my teeth in were so frequent, I finally get a break from them. Hopefully I'll be caught up with other things soon so I can finally leave this hotel... I need my own place. A safe space. A place for my dog so I can actually let him be a dog. I feel like a neglectful owner but I'm doing my best for the moment... I can't get rid of him because he's kind of a dick and at least I know when he's with me he's safe and being treated well. This is only temporary after all.

I thought me being out here would give me more time with you but feels as if I get even less time with you.

When we went downtown that was really fun but it made me miss home even more than I already do. I don't think I'd ever want to move away from home again once I can finally make it back. I know it's not the greatest place to everyone else but to me I feel like I'm supposed to stay there and grow with it like I had been. It hurts to be away from it. I'm not even THAT far but it feels like it. I miss all my friends even though we don't get along like we used too. I miss all the random dumb stuff we'd do. I miss skating at night. I miss exploring the alley ways and stopping for donuts at 3am. I miss music and dancing around my room like the white girl I am. I could still do that but the hotel room is so small and I can hear everything so I know they can all hear me too.

My teeth are much better. I can eat almost normally again. My Dad's back from Mexico. I wish I had the will power to shoot him a text back but I've been so shut down. When will I be able to really bring myself out of this funk?

Mental illness is a bitch. Or maybe it's just trauma. Or is that the same thing?

I made some dope playlists when I was alone in your car.

I wish you acted like you love me as much as you say you do. It sends very mixed signals. I know you say, "Why can't you trust me like I trust you?" But you trust me so much because I'm so transparent with you. You're foggy to me. You're not the same. I know your past makes it difficult for you to wrap your head around that stuff, but c'mon... It's not hard. I won't compromise my boundaries so you can feel more in-control of our situation you know. If this isn't meant to be then it isn't meant to be and I'll happily skip a long until I find someone just right for me. I hope it's you, I love you, but I will never again pull down my boundaries for you. You can respect them or move along. I'm not even asking for much at all. I'm so patient with you. I've done so much for you to prove I'm all in & I continue to do so. You buying cute little pretty things for me doesn't prove anything except you spend money and everyone does that. Your whispers in my ear are sweet but again, they don't prove much of anything when I mention things you do that I don't like and you continue to do them. It'll make it a lot easier for me to move on if this doesn't work out because I see you so little.

I see your potential. Why do you hold yourself back? Are you afraid of something?

[feelingisshit]

Katsuki Bakugou - Shut up, You're Beautiful.

Before we get to the fic, I just wanna say that this is (hopefully) going to be a part of a collection of oneshots of different characters I write with the same sort of premise in each one. So if you aren't a fan of Bakugou romantically I have more in store for this prompt and hopefully it'll be to some people's taste! Also I apologize that this is so short...

WARNINGS - swearing(this is a bakugou fic), (kinda?) body image issues, ill-fitting clothing, (affectionate)namecalling, Nicknames used: Dumbass, Princess, and Baby

I had just gotten home from the post office, having to own a PO Box instead of having our address be readily available due to Katsuki’s popularity. After picking up my package of new clothes I had bought online with the money I had taken care to save up I took the large parcel home to try it all on. After a long ride home due to messy traffic, I ran inside and placed Katsuki’s stack of regular fan mail on his desk. I rush to our shared bedroom and toss the package onto the bed before making a U-turn to go look for some scissors. 

As I’m rushing by the front door, scissors in hand, Katsuki enters our home. “What are you in such a rush for hah??” My long-term boyfriend recently turned fiance questioned. “Also you shouldn’t be running with scissors you dumbass.” He scolded lovingly. “I’m gonna go try on the clothes I ordered last week, they just came in earlier!” I exclaim, lightly jumping in place and I grab his hand with my free one. “Wanna join me?” I ask and he thinks on it for a moment before heading off towards the bedroom without even giving me an answer aloud. I follow closely behind, scissors ready and buzzing with excitement at all the new outfits I’ll be able to arrange.

Katsuki gets comfy on the bed and sits at a good angle to see our full-length mirror. I start to unbox the clothes and sort them into piles before even thinking of trying them on yet. “You pick the pile for me, Suki, I have no idea where to start!” I offer and he looks carefully at all the piles before finally settling on the smallest one of all. As time goes on and as I try on more and more clothes the worse I start to feel. My movements become lethargic and I start to get frustrated with myself the longer the activity I was once so excited about drags on. Before I get to reach for another piece of clothing Katsuki stands and walks to stand behind me.

“Hey, princess, I can tell you aren’t having a good time anymore. What’s on your mind?” he wraps his strong, built arms around my midsection and rests his head on top of mine. “Just… Nothing is fitting the way I wanted and I feel fucking gross. I even made sure all my measurements matched with the ones on the size charts but barely any of it looks good. I don’t know, I’m just sad that I wasted all this fucking money on this shit.” I admit and he chuckles a bit making me turn in his arms and glare up at him. “Sorry baby but we could just go to the store right now and I can just buy you stuff that doesn’t make you feel shitty. It’s bullshit that some shitty company is making my baby feel bad. Hell! I could even get my hag of a mother to custom make you whatever you want!” He confesses and I slap him at his insulting Mitsuki. 

“Hey, I’m just telling the truth! Some company that’s just grabbing for peoples’ cash without a shit given about the actual quality of their products shouldn’t have the right to make the most beautiful woman I have ever met feel shitty. And honestly, if you really care about these clothes enough I even can get my mom or dad to tailor them for you.” He continues, placing a loving kiss on my forehead before grabbing his phone off the mattress.

“Just say the word and I’ll do whatever I can to make you feel as beautiful as you are.”

[freakynct]

tw: mentions of su*cide, sh and ed

hi babies!!

ive been meaning to make a post about everything that has been going on lately but i haven't had the time yet. not that anybody cares about my life but oh well haha.

ok so the past few months have been extremely difficult for me. my anxiety and depression got to one of the lowest points it had been and i was starting to struggle with su*cidal thoughts and self harming. i almost attempted to end my life twice, i found myself laying in bed all day, i was struggling with a severe ed so i was starving myself everyday, i had mood swings constantly, i cried all the time, i got infected by a virus and got bit by a dog on the same month, i was having family problems, i wasn't being able to find a job and when i did, i lost it a short time after due to covid and my relationship with my ex was really bad and it eventually ended so overall i was feeling really really down and i wasn't being able to deal with everything going on at the same time.

however i was able to pull through and im now on my journey to self-love and healing even tho that sounds kinda cringy haha but yeah, lately ive been doing a lot better! ive started working out regularly which has been helping my mental and physical health a lot and it also encourages me to get out of bed and take showers everyday which with depression were things that became really hard for me to do, so im glad it's helping on that too and im really falling in love with it in a way. i wake up excited to work out and it makes me feel amazing and energized! ive been trying to eat all my meals and practice intuitive eating which is listening to the body and eating when im hungry and not eating when im not which has been helping my ed a lot. im working once a week now which is good for me because it's not overwhelming and it doesn't stress me out and im still able to make some money. ive also been going out and hanging out with my friends more which has been nice and it helps me distract myself and keep busy. ive been trying to be more in control of my emotions too and not letting them take over me which is still something i struggle a lot with but all of these things ive mentioned before have been really helping with that and everything takes time so it's a work in progress.

one thing ive also noticed has helped me a lot is staying away from negative content online. i didn't even notice this before but following blogs and watching tiktoks that constantly mention things about kys and sh and sad content was really affecting my mental health. i looked back and i noticed that every time i was having a good day it only took one sad quote or tiktok to make me burst into tears and put me in a slump again. so lately ive been trying to stay away from it as much as i can. ive been following and watching content creators that inspire me to do better and put me in a good mood instead. yes it's good to relate to people that are going through the same hardships but sometimes it's too much and we need to take a break from all the negativity.

and speaking of negativity, this week im gonna buy sage and some crystals to cleanse my house and room and to do some healing. this might be something some of you don't believe in and that's ok but i do and since unfortunately i don't have the money to seek professional help from a therapist, ill be trying crystal healing and see how that goes and hopefully ill make some improvements.

im sorry for such a big rant but it feels good to let it out and hopefully some of you can read this and feel inspired to get better too because i promise you it really does get better. i used to not believe that at all but now im having proof of it, and im ngl, the first few days are tough but if you pull through there's gonna be a lot of bright days ahead of you that will make everything worth it. i really hope you guys are taking care of yourselves and please remember that you matter and you're important and you're not being selfish for putting yourself first. be the source of your own happiness!

i love you all so much and more writing is on the way, i promise haha ♡

— jo

[beebubbly]

Ever After

Prince Ethan x MC  

A twist on A Cinderella story 

SUMMURY: Casey, a beautiful young woman, is treated as a servant by her stepmother and stepsisters. One day, she crosses paths with Prince Ethan, heir to the kingdom, who falls in love with her.

There are those who swear that Perrult’s telling of Cinderella with its fairy godmother and magic pumpkins would be closer to the truth than many of the other versions, one including the legendary slippers to be made of fur.

Perhaps its time to set the record straight; what’s that phase?

Once upon a time...

There lived a young girl who loved her father very much. Her father was a merchant who went abroad and often brought a tribute back for his darling daughter. Casey missed him terribly when he was away, but knew he would always return. 

Casey’s mother had passed away not long after Casey was born. Her father had started to believe it was time for change, hopefully for the better. Upon his travels he met and fell in love with Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent and the two married quickly making their little family complete with the addition of Rodmilla and her two stepdaughters.

But like all stories, there is an unhappy event. One day as Casey’s father was leaving for a new trade, he had a heart attack and sadly passed away. It would be ten years before another man who would enter her life, a man who was still a boy in many, many ways.

In the years that passed since her father’s passing Casey became more of a servant than a member of the family. She worked hard, allowing the hard chores as a distraction from the grief of losing her father.

Luckily, she still had the other servants who she had grown up with and loved like family. Unfortunately, Rodmilla was used to the luxurious lifestyle and the household fell into debt, one of the servants- Elijah had been sold in attempt to pay off some of the debt.

Casey found herself in the forest that was near the house, she picked apples for the household to enjoy. Casey picked an apple and was studying it when the sound of hooves caught her attention. The palace guards rode past her paying her no heed.

Once satisfied with the apples Casey made her way back to the house when a horses whining caught her attention. Curiously, she paused in her walk.

“Come on, you stupid beast” she heard a man’s voice follow.

She watched as a man on the back of one of the families horses jumped the hedge and galloped near.

“Oh, no, you don’t” Casey shook her head running towards the man, dropping most of the apples from her hold.

Taking one of the apples Casey threw it hard at the man effectively knocking him from the horse. The man tumbled from horseback and fell into the hay. Casey grabbed more apples from the ground.

“Thief!” she yelled at the man, attacking him with apples. “This will teach you for trying to steal my fathers horse!”

Another satisfying hit to the man, who attempted to scrambled to his feet, a cloak covered his head and face.

“Please, my own slipped his shoe. I have no choice” The man said as Casey attacked him with more apples.

“And our choice is what? To let you?” Casey asked him.

“I was borrowing it!” 

“Get out, or I’ll wake the house” Casey warned him pelting him with another hit.

“Ow!” 

The man managed to get the cloak from his head, and stand up enough for Casey to see his handsome face, dark hair and blue eyes. Imminently, she recognised him to be the prince. With a gasp, Casey fell to her knees, dropping the apples.

“Forgive me, your highness. I did not see you” Casey said bowing her head to the ground, not daring to look up at the man before her. Prince Ethan looked down, realising he was wearing the royal coat of arms- clearly visible.

“Your aim would suggest otherwise” Ethan said, rubbing at the welt that was forming on his head. She had a powerful arm.

“And for that I know I must die” 

“Then er-” Ethan hesitated, he was not about to be caught by his guards. “speak of this to no-one and er- I shall be lenient”

Ethan climbed back onto the horse, he glanced down at the young woman. She had long dark brown- almost black hair with a thin braid. She glanced up at him for a split second.

“We have other horses, Highness” she told him. “Younger, if that is your wish”

 “I wish for nothing more than to be free of my gilded cage.” he found himself telling her. “For your silence”

He tipped a number of gold coins onto the ground in front of her, with one last look at the young woman he clicked his tongue and rode off.

Casey looked up watching the dark haired prince ride off with her horse. She wondered what had brought him to  run away from home. Glancing down at the coins before her, Casey sucked in a deep breath.

There was a lot of money, quite possibly enough to buy back Elijah! But the only problem was her stepmother, if she caught wind of money- it would be gone in a heartbeat. Casey picked up the gold coins, carefully tucking them into her dress before she stood and started to pick up the apples.

This might just be her lucky day, first the prince speared her life and now she would be able to help her family, with Elijah back, his girlfriend would be reunited with him and that would mean the world to her.

Casey made her way quickly to the house once she finished picking up the apples. She had just entered when she heard her name being yelled by her stepmother.

"Coming!" Casey called back, tipping the apples into a basket.

"Ooh, she's in one of her moods." Jackie warned her as she entered the room with the two older women.

"Did the sun rise in the east?" Sienna asked looking at Casey's bright smile.

"Yes, Sienna, it did" Casey said tipping the gold coins onto the table. "And it is going to be a beautiful day."

The two women gasped at the sight, taking a step closer to the table.

"Look at all those feathers! Child, where did you get this?" Jackie asked.

"From an angel of mercy. And I know just what to do with them." Casry smiled at Sienna.

"Elijah?"

"If the baroness can sell your boyfriend to pay her taxes, then these can certainly bring him home." Casey told her. "The court will have to let him go."

"But the king has sold him to Cartier. He's bound for the Americas." Sienna shook her head.

Casey moved around the room, picking up a cup of salt and the bread.

"This is our home, and I will not see it fall apart." Casey told her firmly, putting a hand to her shoulder.

"We are waiting!" Rodmilla called.

"Oh, take heed, mistress, or these coins are as good as hers." Jackie warned her putting the coins back into Casey's dress handing her another plate.

"Morning, madam." Casey greeted as she entered the room where her mother and two stepsisters sat eating breakfast. "Marguerite. Jacqueline."

"Hello." Jacqueline replied softly.

"I trust you slept well."

"What kept you?" Rodmilla questioned as Casey put the salt carefully on the table.

"I fell off the ladder in the orchard, but I am better now." Casey told her.

"Someone's been reading in the fireplace again. Look at you, ash and soot everywhere." Marguerite commented in distaste.

"Some people read because they cannot think for themselves." Rodmilla said as Casey put the bread onto the table.

"Why don't you sleep with the pigs, cinder-soot, if you insist on smelling like one?" Marguerite told Casey.

"Ooh, that was harsh, Marguerite. Casey, come here, child." Rodmilla grabbed Casey's hands. "Your appearance does reflect a certain crudeness, my dear. What can I do to make you try?"

"I do try, Stepmother. I do wish to please you." Casey told her. "Sometimes, I sit on my own and try to think of what else I could do, how I should act-"

"Oh, calm down, child. Relax."

"Perhaps if we brought back Elijah, I would not offend you so." Casey suggested.

"It is your manner that offends, Casey. Throughout these hard times, I have sheltered you, clothed you and cared for you." Rodmilla said. "All that I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that such an extraordinary request?"

"No, my lady."

"Very well. We shall have no more talk of servants coming back. Is that quite understood?"

"Yes, my lady." Casey nodded as she turned to leave.

"After all that I do, after all I have done, it's never enough." Rodmilla turned to her daughters as Casey left the room.

If Rodmilla wasn't willing to help get Elijah back, then she was going to do it herself. Casey had a plan.

Dressed in a nice light blue dress and her face clean, Casey made her way to the castle where she knew Elijah would be. She spotted the cage where men were being pushed into. It set off.

Casey ran up stopping the men from leaving by grabbing the rein of the horse.

"I wish to address the issue of this gentleman." Casey told the man on the waggon with the cage, motioning to Elijah.

"He is my servant, and I am here to pay the debt against him."

"You're too late. He's bought and paid for." The man told her.

"I can pay you 20 gold francs."

"Madam, you can have me for 20 gold francs. Now drive on!" the man ordered but Casey stood her ground.

"I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the king." Casey demanded.

"The king's the one that sold him. He's now the property of Cartier."

"He is not property at all, you ill- mannered tub of guts." Casey said furiously. "Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel?"

"I demand you release him at once." Casey repeated stepping closer to the cage.

"Get out of my way!" the man yelled in her face.

"You dare raise your voice to a lady, sir?" a voice called out to them.

Casey turned to find Prince Ethan sat on a horse watching them. She bowed her head at him respectfully.

"Your Highness." the man chuckled. "For- Forgive me, sire. Uh, I meant no disrespect."

"Uh, it's just, uh, I'm following orders here. It's my job to take these criminals and thieves to the coast."

"A servant is not a thief, Your Highness, and those who are cannot help themselves." Casey turned to look at Prince Ethan. The attention of the many people were now on them.

"Really? Well, then, by all means... enlighten us" Ethan motioned a hand for Casey to continue.

"If you suffer your people to be ill- educated, and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them" Casey told him passionatly.

"What else is to be concluded, sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?"

"Well, there you have it. Release him." Ethan ordered the man after a moment.

"But, sire-"

"I said release him."

"Yes, sire. The man nodded getting down to release Elijah. Casey followed behind, but sent Ethan a thankful smile over her shoulder.

"I thought I was looking at your mother." Elijah said as he hugged Casey, she handed the man the bag of gold coins.

"Meet me at the bridge." Casey whispered to Elijah.

"Prepare the horses. We will leave at once." Casey announced in a louder voice. Elijah, curious nodded and walked off quickly.

Casey made her way over to Prince Ethan, she curtsied slightly.

"I thank you, Your Highness." she told him sincerely before she set off wanting to get away in case he recognised her or someone realised she wasn't a courtier.

Ethan climbed down off his horse and followed after the woman that had peeked his intrest.

"Have we met?" Ethan frowned at her.

"I do not believe so, Your Highness."

"I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province." Ethan told her.

"Well, I am visiting a cousin" Casey said thinking quickly as Ethan walked alongside her.

"Who?"

"My cousin."

"Yes, you said that. Which one?"

"Th-The only one I have, sire."

"Are you coy on purpose, or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?" Ethan almost huffed.

"No. And yes."

Casey paused for a moment before she continued walking briskly.

"Well, then, pray, tell me your cousin's name, so that I might call upon her to learn who you are." Ethan said walking in front of her and backwards so he could still see her.

Ethan stopped for a moment letting her brush past him.

"For anyone who can quote Thomas More is well worth the effort."

This made Casey stop and turn to face Ethan. She was intrigued that he knew of the book.

"The prince has read Utopia?"

"I found it sentimental and dull." Ethan told her as he took a few steps towards her.

"I confess, the plight of the everyday rustic bores me."

"I gather you do not converse with many peasants." Casey noted as Ethan stepped closer again.

"Certainly not. No, naturally." Ethan gave a light scoff.

"Excuse me, sire, but there is nothing natural about it." Casey shook her head lightly, frowning at him as she walked away.

"A country's character is defined by its 'everyday rustics,' as you call them. They are the legs you stand on, and that position demands respect not-"

"Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?" Ethan raised an eyebrow as he stepped in front of her again, standing close to her.

From this distance Casey could see the prince had bright blue eyes and feel the warmth from his body.

"Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?" Casey glanced back at the others who were still imprisoned, Ethan followed her gaze.

She had a point.

Casey started walking again making Ethan follow.

"Please, I beg of you. A name. Any name."

"I fear that the only name to leave you with is Comtesse Sophia de Lancret." Casey told him.

"There now. That wasn't so hard." Ethan smiled at her.

"Ethan!"

The pair paused again for a moment, Ethan turned to find his mother heading their way.

Casey used this distraction to slip away from the prince. A small smile stayed on her face as she and Elijah made their way home.

[kitkat1003]

For the Love of, and Full of Hope

Wakko isn’t book smart, or social smart, not by any means, but even he isn’t dumb enough not to know that his family is worn thin.  Threadbare and dying.  They need more.

So he goes to get it.

Or: A 12 year old spends a year getting a single hay penny.  Wonder what happened there.

Warnings: Death, Violence

Edit: this is part of a series, here is the Ao3 link

@asilcorner here 

The decision to leave isn’t an easy one, and he can tell Yakko wants to argue.  Of anyone in their family, Yakko is the one least likely to mention a want, but Wakko can tell that there’s one on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t want you to go.

If Yakko said that, Wakko would stay, because Yakko works so hard, Yakko deserves his wants.  But Wakko knows, and Yakko knows, that they both want Dot to be alive far more than Yakko doesn’t want him to leave.  So he thanks the world that train fare is practically free and buys himself a ticket.

“Why do you have to go?” Dot asks, the night before he leaves.  He’s resting right next to her, and her voice sounds hoarse.  Tight.  Weak.  The reason he’s going, to make her better, cements in further.

“We need money,” He tells her, honest.  “Besides, the ticket’s already paid for.  It’d be a shame to waste it now,” he shrugs, smiling despite the ever present ache, from starvation and exhaustion and the chill.

“I wish I could go with you,” She whispers, and he sighs.

“I wish you could too,” Because if she could, he wouldn’t need to leave in the first place.

The next day is joyously morose affair.  He leaves with the hopes of everyone on his shoulders.  Yakko hugs him tight, and Wakko can feel Yakko’s hands tremble against Wakko’s back, balled up in fistfuls of his sweater.

“Stay safe,” It’s phrased more like a plead than a simple farewell, and Wakko would like to be able to make promises, but...

“I’ll try,” he says, and he means it.

“See you in a year, sis,” He ruffles Dot’s hair, and she smacks at his hands, but she’s smiling.

“Not a day late or early,” She orders, and he grins.

“You got it.”

And the train departs, and Wakko sits all by himself as the place he knew as his home for all his life gets smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther away.

He lets himself cry when it disappears, because he’s young, and alone, and afraid.  But he has to do this.  He has to try.  Dot and Yakko need him.

It’s not hard to fall asleep.  Compared to the abandoned orphanage they live in, the train seats are far more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up a town over, and the train offers hot food, but he declines.  He doesn’t have the money for it, even though his stomach screams for food.  He nibbles on the jerky Yakko bought for him before he left.  Wakko knows just how long he can not eat for before his body rebels against him-earlier than most people.  Yakko says he has what one would call a ‘Chronic illness.’  All Wakko knows is that it makes him more of a deadweight for Yakko to carry, because despite Yakko trying to be slick, he could see at home that his older brother was giving him bigger servings while Yakko got less.

Hopefully, now that Wakko is gone, Yakko can actually eat like a normal person.  With how Yakko is, though, Wakko expects he’ll take that extra food and give it all to Dot.

People come off and on the train at every random stop, but Wakko’s ticket is for a long ways away.  Five towns over.  He’s heard stories there, about how there are always jobs open.  He’s going to do them all.  He’ll work himself down to the bone, and come back with a fortune, and Dot will get better and everyone will be happy.

Days pass.  He gets up, on occasion, to stretch his legs, because the last thing he needs are his muscles atrophying because he couldn’t be bothered to move.  He loses his seat once or twice, but he is very adept at annoying people into moving, so he never loses it for long.  He makes the piece of jerky last, so that even on the last night before he gets off of the train he still has a quarter of a piece left.  It’s easy to not be hungry when you don’t move much.  That must be why Dot hardly has an appetite.

He’s asleep when he reaches his destination, practically thrown from the train by a conductor who holds no pity for a half starved child.  This town is prosperous, due to it’s industrious mining community.  He can see the ‘Help Wanted’ signs plastered on certain storefronts, and tries to figure out what to do.

Yakko had told him that under no circumstances was he to even think about going into the mines.  The mines are where people go to die, and Yakko told him it was better if Wakko came home empty handed than not at all.

They’d had the conversation far away from the house, where Dot couldn’t hear.  She was already near bedridden most days, looking half dead.  She didn’t need to hear about how dire things were, when part of the reason things were that is because she was so sick.  It isn’t her fault, but she wouldn’t see it that way.

He tries first, at the bakery.  He’s young, spry, and wiling to do whatever they need him to.  He’s made to be the janitor, because he doesn’t know how to bake and they don’t need anyone to learn.  When things go in the oven, he clears the work space, sweeps the floor of the spilt flour, wipes down trays, cleans dishes.  It’s not easy work, but Wakko would like to say he works well.

He does not, in fact, work well.

It was probably a bad choice to pick a place filled with food for his first job when he’s been half starved for most of his life, but it seemed a good option at the time.  He can’t help but try and sample some of the goods, so hungry it hurts, and the owner of the bakery doesn’t have time for charity cases.

He gets caught on his third day, and after getting yelled at so loud that his hands shake and his ears ring, he’s unceremoniously thrown out, sliding across cobblestone so hard his skin scrapes and he’s glad that black fur doesn’t show off blood well.  Three day’s pay is a pittance, but it’s enough to get him some food for the night.  He sleeps outside, in an alley, by the dumpsters.

The next day he goes to the general store.  It doesn’t sell food more so than it sells equipment.  A lot of its sales comes from supplying the mining sector with its equipment, and the rest is from the random items the townspeople need.

Wakko is a stocker.  It suits him fine.  He’s always been almost abnormally strong for his age, and he works hard not to mess this up.  It’s a nice routine, though his brain gets ever so slightly bored.  He’s someone who craves unpredictability, who loves chaos.  The doldrum does very little for him, mentally, but he shoves it down and keeps working.  He takes a breath every moment even though the cold air makes his lungs wince and puts his personality on the shelf and works and works and works.

He manages well for about four months.

And then, one night, he gets cornered in an alley.

“Hey, kid,” There are three men surrounding him, tall and lean.  Men is a strong word-they’re teenagers, older than Yakko but nowhere near and adult.  “Heard you’re the new stocker at the general store,” Wakko has no idea why this guy cares, but he just nods, because it seems polite.

The response he receives is having his sweater be grabbed before he is slammed into the wall, head knocking against stone.

“You think you can step in on my job while I’m out of town?  Huh?” He shakes Wakko, as if Wakko can reply when he’s still dazed from having his head knocked around.  “I own that job.  I can come and go as I please, and make money when I want.  That’s how it works here.”

And Wakko hates that.  Hates the cavalier that this teen holds, to be able to come and go as he pleases, to always have a job waiting for him.  Has this guy ever had to wonder if his sibling was going to survive the night?  Has he ever even gone hungry?

It’s the same entitlement Plotz has, and it brings out a fire Wakko didn’t know he had.

“It said help wanted,” he responds, shrugging nonchalantly.  “Not my fault that you were gone.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say.  Wakko has never been good with his words, and that’s why Yakko always did the talking.  He gets a fist to his jaw, dropping to the ground.

“What a smartmouth,” The leader sneers.  “Why don’t we teach this kid a lesson?”

“Well, I’ve never been to school before,” Wakko wheezes, grinning like nothing’s wrong, and he gets a kick to his ribs for that.

He should really stop trying to be Yakko.

“Shut up,” One of the teens say, and he does.

It doesn’t stop them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he goes to work the next day, he has a black eye he can’t see out of and a limp.  Black fur doesn’t show off bruises, but he’s pretty sure one of his fingers is broken with how purple it is.  He shows up to work anyway.

When he does, the owner looks over him appraisingly.

“I see you met the town boys,” He says.  “The leader is the mayor’s son,” Wakko frowns-of course he is.

Wakko gets to work, but the owner follows him.

“I thought he was staying out of town for another week, figured I’d fire you then,” Wakko freezes, holding three boxes of pickaxes.  “But I can’t have the mayor down my neck.  Find somewhere else to work.”

And Wakko isn’t vindictive, not by any means, but he feels a little too good when he says “Okay,” and lets the pickaxes all drop to the floor, hearing the crash and running out before the owner can catch him.

From there, he goes through jobs like they’re candy.  He trips at the candlemaker’s and nearly burns the whole place down.  Tries the printing press, but he can’t really read well, so he can’t tell if there’s any errors, and makes too many mistakes.  Works at a family farm, but one of the animals kicks him into the fence and the family says that it’s a sign that this isn’t his place to work.

No wonder this town has so many help wanted signs , if these are the guys hiring.

His favorite job of the bunch is the inn, because they let him sleep in a spare room so long as he cleans it before he goes to work, and it doesn’t count towards his paycheck.  However, the mayor’s kid comes in one day, sees him, says something to the owner, and Wakko is back on the streets again.

He wants to break down and cry and go home.  He’s trying so hard, he’s doing what he’s supposed to.  It’s been eight months and he never has more than enough to buy dinner because he can’t save when he’s losing jobs a couple months in.

He needs something stable.  Something no one would fire him from.

He looks toward the mines.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He remembers the promise he made to Yakko, to not work there.  Knows he shouldn’t.  But he’s out of jobs, and he’s out of options.

He promised, but Yakko’s broken promises too.  When Dot first got sick, Wakko was nearly in tears with worry.  That’s his little sister, why can’t she play?  Why does she keep coughing?  What’s wrong with her?

“It’s just a cold,” Yakko had said.  “She’ll get better soon.  Promise.”

But she hadn’t, and that’s why he’s here, so if Yakko can lie to make Wakko feel better than Wakko can break a promise too, to make sure that when he comes home he’ll have something to give.  Because, as much as it would break Yakko’s heart if Wakko never came back, Wakko would rather that happen then come back with nothing and watch Dot wither away.

He goes to the mines, and puts on a hard hat, and gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The mines are a grueling place, and Wakko understands very quickly why Yakko never wanted him to work in such an environment.  Half of the time he has to stop and cough, because every breath is coal ash in his lungs, every time he moves he feels like he’s going to drop dead.  Lunch time is fifteen minutes and he doesn’t have anywhere to prepare a lunch so typically he buys some salted meats or preserved vegetables the night before and sticks it in his sweater pocket so he doesn’t starve to death.  He supposes the upside to having been poor all your life is that you’re good at eating quickly.  

You never know when the food you have could be taken away.

They get coal, and then they lug it to the minecarts to be taken out of the mine.  Rinse and repeat.  He doesn’t even have time to be zany when he’s so exhausted, so he’s just as dead eyed as the rest of the toons and men around him.

Every once in a while, there will be a rumble from above, and the whole cave will shake, and they will all freeze and hold their breath, because one wrong move could mean collapse.

One of the older men asks him, one day, “Why are you here, son?” in the soft, kind way that brings back a far faded memory, more a feeling, of a warm crackling fire, and someone large and familiar holding him, of feeling safe and full.

“I need the money,” he responds, and the older man’s eyes go soft and sympathetic.

“Don’t we all, son,” He tells him, patting him on the shoulder, and Wakko half smiles, because kindness is rare like gold and he’s dreaming of diamonds.  “Don’t we all.”

Three months in, and he’s gotten the hang of it.  Nearly made three hay pennies, because the older man, who asks him to just call him Sir, tells him about the safer tunnels, directs him to the areas least likely to collapse.  He takes Wakko under his wing, and if he finds something exemplary, he lets Wakko take the credit for it.

Sir is here because he sends the money back home to his grandkids.  His daughter’s husband ran out on them, and she’s getting ill from the stress and work.

“Don’t have much left in this world,” He says, heaving the pickaxe down against stone.  He teaches Wakko how to hit it just right, and Wakko copies his movements and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father who is more than a few years older than you.  “But I ain’t losing them.”

“Yeah,” Wakko agrees, thinking of the small shack that is his home, five towns away, with the two people there that are his entire world, that he’s spending his days suffering and working for.

It’s nice, though, to have company.  Sir listens to Wakko’s crazy antics, claps when Wakko has the energy to sing him a song during lunch, and says “you remind me of my grandkids” one day, and Wakko doesn’t want to admit how happy that makes him.

Four months in, and Wakko is venturing into an older tunnel, with a bunch of experienced miners.  That’s the only reason Sir says that Wakko could come with, because he knows this is Wakko’s last month and a big pay off from a new mine would be really helpful.

They get to work, and an hour or so in the ever familiar, paralyzing rumble from above starts.  Only this time, the floor starts to shake, and the ceiling cracks, and rocks start to fall from above as the whole mineshaft collapses.  Wakko is jumping out of the way of debris, letting his pickaxe drop as he moves towards somewhere safe, so focused on the different falling pieces and the people running around him he misses the rock falling above him.

“Kid!” He hears Sir shout, and he’s slammed into by denim overalls and flesh and bone and hits the floor.  There’s the sound of a crack, and then he feels, hears, sees nothing at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko wakes up to the feeling of something on top of him, covered in dust and soot and something wet and sticky.  He blinks out the dizziness and realizes the thing on top of him is someone, someone he recognizes.

“Sir?” he says, asks, hopes.  Carefully, he crawls out from under the man, and looks around.

The cave is dark, and he hears groans from the other men, but he looks back at Sir, and shakes him.  A slab of stone falls to the floor with a loud thud, from Sir’s back, and neck.

Something is dripping from Sir’s mouth.  It looks suspiciously like blood, but Wakko won’t think it is, no.

“Sir?” he tries again, and he shakes him harder.  The older man drops, limp, laying face first on the ground.

Wakko.  Stares.

“Is that the kid?” One of the other men says.

“Sounds like it.  The old man must have got on top of him to save him from the rocks.”

“Poor guy,” The first one says.  “Hey, kid, c’mere,” Wakko stands, on trembling legs, and walks toward the sound of the voices.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he flinches, and the hand disappears.

“Hey, it’s just me, kid,” He hears.  “The old man told us about you.  There’s been a cave in,” As if that wasn’t obvious.  “We’re seasoned, so they’ll look for us.  They don’t always for the newer guys.”

“Okay,” Wakko says, instead of anything else, because he can feel the wet and sticky on his cheek and it isn’t his blood, and he can’t turn around because if he does he’ll be facing it.

He can’t.  He just can’t

A hand leads him to a spot to sit, and Wakko does.

Time slips through his fingertips, and all Wakko can do is wait and breathe.

They consider making a fire, but it would waste their oxygen.  The find a miraculously non broken flashlight, and Wakko can finally see.  The cave is about half the size it was before it collapsed.  There’s a pile of rocks at the entrance, and some of the men take their pickaxes and try to hit it, but it makes the walls shake so they stop.  Wakko walks around the room, and stays away from one area.

He misses Sir.

A day passes.  He nibbles on the old, near moldy piece of jerky he has, offering it to the other men.  They rebuff him.

“You look like skin and bones, kid,” One of the guys says.  “This isn’t our first cave in,” Wakko wonders when he became their kid, but he supposes it could be worse.

It’s two days and they’re running out of air.  Wakko wheezes in thin, shallow breaths through chapped lips, and tries not to cry because he’s dehydrated enough.  He doesn’t want to die.  He has Dot and Yakko to go home to, he can’t leave them now.

Eventually, he just starts humming, because the silence hurts and he doesn’t want to think anymore.  Isn’t this whole movie supposed to be a musical?  Maybe it hasn’t started yet.

“There's always tomorrow,” It comes out wispy and small, like a a breath, but it sounds unbearably loud, in the small space, “For dreams to come true.  Believe in your dreams, come what may,” His voice cracks on the final word, and he coughs, but the men are all staring at him, a tiny shrimp of a kid way in over his head, singing because there’s nothing else he can think to do.

“There's always tomorrow,” He mumbles out the words, barely keeping up the tune, because he’s so tired. “With so much to do,”

“And so little time in a day,” One of the men finishes the line with him, and Wakko blinks.

It seems that one joining in spurs on the others, because one by one they’re all singing too.

“We all pretend the rainbow has an end,” Wakko sees some of the miners leaning on each other.  A couple of them have broken a bone of some sort, but that’s all forgotten in the ever thinning air, singing because what else is there to do, in times of despair.  

“And you’ll be there, my friend, some day,” Wakko’s eyes flick to Sir, the still body looking pale and the blood dried on the ground, and he forces himself not to cry again.

“There’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true,” Wakko leans his head back against the stone, coughing a little.  There’s thudding in his ears, he thinks his heartbeat, growing ever louder.

“Tomorrow is not far away...,” They trail off, and then there’s a crack, from the wall behind him.  He jumps, stumbling back from the wall, and he can see light peeking through the rock wall.

Standing was a bad idea.  His legs shake, weak, and while he can see the light as he hears men from the other side calling for him there’s darkness at the edges of his vision, and before the the wall breaks he starts to fall and everything goes black to the sound of the men shouting for someone to catch him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up at the local hospital.  The mine is paying for the stay, so he gets to eat.  He’s given 10 hay pennies for his trouble-the three he’d already made were lost in the collapse, but he doesn’t care too much because he lost far more important things there, too-, with the incentive not to take legal action against the mining company.  As if he could.  He asks around, asks if Sir’s family will be getting anything.

“Likely not,” One of the men from the cave says.  “He didn’t have enough tenure for that, and his family lives far enough away and are poor enough that the mine won’t bother.”

“Do you know where he lives?” He asks, and he finds out.

He places 9 hay pennies into the envelope.  He is not good at writing, but he knows how to write ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘he was a good man’, and ‘he protected me’, and the sentences hardly make sense with how his hands shake but that doesn’t matter.  He has one of the older men write out the address and sends it off.

It’s not enough, he thinks.  But it’s something.

He tries to go back to work for a little more money, but every time he looks into the yawning pit of the entrance to the mines he can’t breathe and he thinks of the sticky and wet and red that stained his fur until he washed it off two days later.

He knows how to get it out of his clothes, too.  Now.  He knows now.

He didn’t think he would ever need to know, but the past year has been full of learning experiences, he’s sure.

A week and a half later, he walks out of town to that same train, and like the end of a circle heads back to where he started, sitting on that same seat.  The taste of jerky as he chews makes him want to vomit, too familiar, too entrenched in memory to be anything other than unpleasant.  

He comes home, and when he arrives he sees the smiling faces of his family and town, and they don’t need the depressing tale of cruelty and hardship, so he smiles and dances on aching feet and sings about silly jobs that seem more fun than difficult and shows off his earnings and lets himself feel hope because even if it hurt it was enough, because Dot is going to be happy and healthy.

Later, when he is playing a mournful tune on a makeshift harp, he wonders if there was even a point to trying.  If he should have stayed, should have just taken his time with his sister before she was gone, because regardless of everything that happened he’s right where he started.  Except, someone is dead and he’s the reason, and his lungs ache and will spend months to get close to normal and he has to pretend because he can’t let Yakko know he lied, and he was beaten and his youth has been stolen and Dot is still dying anyway.

He’s tired of the cyclical, he needs change, and he looks up the stars and searches for something, anything, to make the hurt worth something.

The Wishing Star gives him a reply to his song, like beams of light through the rocks, like hope in the center of a blackhole of despair that refuses to be swallowed whole, and when Wakko makes the homestretch he asks for the people to get what they deserve, what is fair, what is right, and hopes the mother miles away with two kids and no father or grandfather gets something, too.

[carewyncromwell]

Is that a Cinderella AU part I see? Yes, yes, it is! And one hopefully not as dark and devoid of hope as the last part...

Charlie’s castle carpenter tunic is based on this design; Bill’s castle guard uniform, referenced in a previous part, is based on this real uniform from 16th century France, though with a Royaumanian-worthy blue/red color scheme. My headcanon is that Charlie (who’s described as stocky in the books) is 5′5″, only two inches taller than his “unofficial twin,” Carewyn, while Bill is a friggin’ giant the tallest of the Cursebreaking squad at 6′1″ (one inch taller than Ben Copper at full height and the same height as his actor, Domhnall Gleeson!). The entire Cromwell family is on the smaller side, with Charles as the tallest at 5′10″. Oh, and yes, the Cromwells are all a piece of work, but Charles is indisputably the worst apple in the bushel. 😒

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy! 

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was discovered outside by her aunts Pearl and Claire and uncle Blaise and brought inside. When they interrogated her about why she had returned to the estate in the middle of the night, however, Carewyn was unable to answer them. She was unable to speak at all -- nor was she able to eat, drink, or sleep. Instead she simply settled down in a huddled ball on her old cot by the fireplace and stayed there, her arms around her knees and her eyes devoid of all light or awareness. 

Whatever had happened, Charles seemed to have determined Carewyn would be of no use to him in the palace, the way she was -- and so, at dawn, he sent a messenger to the King and Queen, telling them that she’d taken ill and would have to remain at home in the interim. 

Carewyn’s cousins at first took some vindictive pleasure out of bullying her, now that she was back under their roof. Arsen and Kain actually picked Carewyn up off the ground and pushed her around like some human-sized doll while Elmer sang a mean little song he’d written about her --

“Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn, the finest of her class --

The duchess of the dust and soot, her kingdom’s made of ash!

She went to court; oh, did they chortle, snicker, and guffaw --

So Cindy-Cindy-Cinderwyn ran home, crying, ‘Mama!’”

Before long, though, her lack of a reaction seemed to make it not so fun of a game. Within two days, Tristan, the youngest of Carewyn’s cousins, actually threw a tantrum because Carewyn completely ignored him splashing his paints all over her. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” the boy screamed, beside himself. “Why won’t you get mad at me?! Why won’t you run away and cry?! Why are you so -- so -- WEIRD?!”

Blaise was most perturbed when his son actually burst full-on into tears. Clenching his jaw furiously, he brought an arm around Tristan and swept him back inside and away from the vacant-eyed Carewyn. Then he went straight to the dining hall to speak to Charles.

“Father, something must be done about Winnie,” he hissed. “This is not normal.”

Pearl leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Her behavior is shameful. To think the Cromwell blood runs through the veins of that girl...”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what it is,” said Claire in sycophantic agreement. 

“Winnie may be a pathetic thing, but she is our thing,” Blaise shot back fiercely, “and she’s practically dead as she is.”

He turned to Charles. 

“We’ve already lost Lane and sent Jacob off,” he said in a quiet, cold voice. “Are we to simply let Winnie waste away?”

Charles had his hands folded in front of him on the table. At Blaise’s words, his own almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to his children’s and nearly all of his grandchildren’s -- narrowed. 

“I must admit, it is a shame that Carewyn has stopped being useful,” he said lowly. “Iris may still be a set of eyes for us inside the palace, but she’s hardly clever enough to do much of anything on her own that’s useful.”

Claire actually looked hurt. “Father...Iris just sent us a letter this morning. Was it not useful to you?”

Charles’s eyes were very cold upon his daughter. “Hardly. She spent a good chunk of it complaining that Carewyn did something to the Prince, before leaving the palace...clearly trying to make excuses for her own failure to hold Prince Henri’s attention.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with shame and she hung her head. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Iris has blamed Winnie for stealing one of her suitors’ attention,” said Pearl seriously, “but we have yet to get any explanation about why she’s returned to us against your instructions. And Claire and I did hear a horse galloping away, that night. Could it have been Prince Henri?”

Blaise scoffed. “Doubtful. You think a Prince would ever favor a plain girl with no dowry or status?”

“You warned Winnie yourself that the Prince could want her as a conquest,” Pearl said darkly. “Heartbreak would more than explain her current state...”

The idea made Blaise flush with rage. 

“Whoever rode that horse, it was not the Prince,” said Charles very smoothly. He rose to his feet, picking up his dragon-headed cane and strolling over to the window to look out. “From what my informants have told me...Prince Henri was at the Royaumanian army camp that entire night.”

His children all straightened up, taken aback. 

“At the war front?” said Pearl, shocked. 

“Yes,” said Charles. “It quite upset their Majesties. Even more so when he returned to the palace in the morning dressed like a commoner and declared to them and the entire royal court that he intended to open up peace talks with the soon-to-be King of Florence.”

“Soon-to-be King?” said Blaise, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Then the old one kicked the bucket?”

“Yes...and it turns out the replacement Crown Prince is something of a populist. From what I’ve heard, his very first decision as future monarch was to ask every Florentine nobleman to -- should they wish to remain at court -- donate a portion of their wealth to him, so that he could then use it to buy a feast and custom-tailored clothing for his soldiers.”

Charles was clearly offended by the idea. Blaise was too.

“Uppity brat,” he sneered. “I guess that’s what’s you get, when you choose a bastard peasant as your future king...”

Pearl, however, looked a bit more cynical. “Seems rather unwise, to antagonize those who come closest to you in status...”

“On the contrary,” said Charles. “It’s most shrewd. As Blaise said, the boy was the King’s illegitimate son. That would offend the standards of just about anyone of good breeding...thus it would be foolish to try to court them for approval. A rat can communicate best with other rats -- and sadly, a swarm of rats is just what you get, when they gather: a band of filthy, hungry, disgusting creatures who will eat away at what we hold dear.”

His blue eyes flashed. 

“And now our Prince fancies becoming allies with such vermin.”

Claire looked uncertainly at Pearl and Blaise. Both of them looked perturbed. 

“If the War ends, there’ll be less money in the future for us,” Blaise growled. “Our investments in armaments built this estate...”

“My investments, Blaise,” Charles said in a very cool voice. “Do not forget that even the ones done in your and my son-in-laws’ names were still orchestrated by me.”

He pushed his palm down into the top of his cane, his long fingers trailing over the metallic snout of the dragon-head handle. 

“It’s far worse than that, however. The Royaumanian royal family’s financial troubles was what has lent me their ear from the beginning. Gave me access to their decision-making -- gave me some leverage in coaxing them to join our two families. Should the King and Queen become friends and allies with Florence’s new royal brat, they may get the idea to redistribute their courtiers’ wealth as he has, to alleviate the nation’s debts...meaning we not only won’t be bringing in as much money as before, but that we’ll also have to submit to parting with what we already have, just to indulge in petty charity.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed upon his reflection in the ice-trimmed window. 

“Our family’s chance at ascending into royalty...at the absolute, irreversible power owed us...is slipping away.”

Claire got up and tried to comfort her father by taking hold of his shoulder. “But Father...surely there’s still some hope? If Iris -- ”

But Charles warded Claire off with the back of his hand, sweeping across the room. 

“If your daughter thinks that a mere maidservant was able to captivate the Prince more than her, then perhaps it’s the maidservant who I should enlist in getting our family what we deserve.”

He shot a look over his shoulder at Pearl. “Fetch Carewyn and bring her to me.”

Pearl dragged Carewyn up to the dining hall by her arm. The ginger-haired Cromwell hadn’t changed clothes or washed since she’d returned home, so her face was covered in cinders and her forest green and white dress was still splashed with the paints Tristan had thrown on her. 

At the start, Charles feigned concern, saying he hated seeing his granddaughter looking so ill and unhappy, but his words barely penetrated Carewyn’s mind. They were just more lies -- just like everything else out of his mouth. She should know...being a liar herself. So she didn’t say a word in response. She made no response at all. And soon enough, Charles did come around to what he really wanted. 

“His Highness is set to make a fatal error...but you have his ear. We need you to return to your duties in the palace and ensure that he does not trust the Prince called Cosimo.”

Carewyn’s lightless, empty eyes ran over her grandfather’s face for a long moment...but she did not answer. 

“This is a noble duty, child,” said Charles. Although he put on a smile, it did not touch his eyes. “This is your chance to protect both your family and your country. The Florentines have been our enemies since before your mother was born...and now they seek to feign honor long enough to lure our Prince into their jaws...”

He brought a hand down onto Carewyn’s shoulder. 

“Jacob would be proud, knowing you were helping him in his fight against them.”

Carewyn stared at Charles. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were as dark and turbulent as two miniature hurricanes. And yet, she did not speak.

Charles tilted his head, raising his eyebrows and considering her expression with that cold, detached smile. “Come now, my dear...will you not speak to your grandfather? I do so hate to see you like this.”

Carewyn’s gaze drifted away as Charles’s eyes bore into her -- and yet the silence dragged on with neither breaking it.

Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, for their parts, were becoming all the more unsettled by Carewyn’s lack of a response. Blaise actually strode forward and shouted at her.

“You will speak when spoken to, you ungrateful little -- !”

He made as if to strike Carewyn, but Pearl grabbed his forearm and held it back, flashing him a warning look before turning her righteous anger onto Carewyn. 

“Your grandfather requires your services, Winnie,” Pearl said very sharply. “Don’t you have something to say to him?”

Even with this, however, Carewyn didn’t say anything. Then, with as much energy and emotion as a ghost, she stepped back and out of Charles’s grip and turned to go. 

Something flickered in Charles’s expression. 

“I did not give you permission to leave,” he said very softly. 

But Carewyn didn’t answer or turn around. Claire had to block the doorframe to keep her from leaving the room. 

“Your grandfather said you’re not allowed to go,” Claire said, her voice trying to be sharp but instead sounding rather unsettled. 

Carewyn stared at Claire with those hollow, empty eyes in silence as Charles approached her from behind. 

“You will do your duty to this family, child,” he said. It was striking how much scarier his voice sounded, when it was quieter -- Charles Cromwell was the sort of man who didn’t need to shout in order to be intimidating. “After all...that is the pact we made when I took you and your brother in, is it not?”

He took hold of Carewyn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do not forget that everything you have is because of my charity. I have no desire to punish you...but I shall withdraw my kindnesses, if I must.”

Carewyn was very still. Then she once again broke out of Charles’s grip and tried to move past Claire. 

Before she could get far, however, Charles snatched her up by the hair. With a strangled cry of pain, Carewyn was thrown to the ground with astonishing force, Charles’s fist clenched fast around her hair. 

“Your head is not the only thing in my hands, Carewyn,” he reminded her very coldly. “I hope you remember that.”

He wrenched her up onto her feet by her hair, and Carewyn had to clench her teeth to keep herself from crying out again. 

“I have been very patient with your theatrics...but I grow weary of coddling you. Should I send some message to Jacob, so that you behave? Perhaps if your head is not one you will defend, perhaps his is...”

“Liar.”

The word escaped Carewyn’s mouth as a wispy, hollow rasp, and yet it was enough to make everyone in the room stiffen. Somewhere out in the hall, one might’ve caught a quickly stifled intake of breath. 

Carewyn’s eyes, although so dark, seemed to have gained an odd gleam in the back of them, like flaming cinders in a dying fire, as she stared up at Charles. 

“You’re a liar,” she said again, her broken voice as rough as sandpaper in her throat as it rose in volume. “I know your life isn’t bound to Jacob’s. Any spell you could’ve had cast on him would have broken at midnight, the very night you sent him away -- the very night you ripped him away from me and sent him off to War against his will!”

Her blue eyes flared with hatred. 

“That’s why you’ve never once gotten word from him -- because there’s no word you could receive from him at all! Admit it!”

There was a horrible silence. Pearl, Blaise, and Claire all looked from Carewyn to Charles and back. 

Charles bore down upon his granddaughter, his face as cold as some ivory mask with hard, diamond-like eyes. 

“So that’s what this is about,” he said softly. “Assigning blame. Very well, Carewyn...let us discuss this. You came to me as a child, sobbing and distraught beyond words...begging me to save your brother’s life when he was already on death’s door. You had nothing to offer me at that time, nor did your brother -- and yet I, out of the goodness of my heart, agreed to take you in. All I asked was that you show proper gratitude...a term you accepted at the time, and yet now have seen fit to break.”

He yanked Carewyn up by her hair and threw her into the table with a WHAM. Carewyn cried out in pain, before crumpling to the floor in a heap. 

“I spent a good deal of my own money and discarded my own honor to try to find someone to save your brother’s life, if only to bring the light back to your eyes. Jacob was brought back to health and you were reunited with him, just as you’d hoped. And yet now you seek to demonize my wish that you show gratitude? That I collect on the debt owed me?”

He brought the heel of his shoe down on Carewyn’s shoulder with force, slamming her face down against the floor. 

“And worse,” he whispered, “you wish to demonize the fact that, all these years, I was too grief-stricken to tell you of your brother’s passing?”

Blaise, Claire, and Pearl all stiffened. Only Claire, however, looked shocked. 

“Jacob is...dead?” she whispered shakily. 

“I knew such a revelation would be crippling to a fragile, weak heart such as yours,” said Charles, his diamond-like eyes very hard upon the back of Carewyn’s head. “I knew that the knowledge that your brother died the morning after his departure, and that his body had to be burned with every other prisoner in those barracks instead of receiving a proper burial...would break your heart.”

Carewyn had started to shake. Her face had lost all of its color, and the flicker of rebellion she’d shown mere moments ago had gone out. 

“You’ve never been a stupid girl, Carewyn. You really should have figured it out years ago...and yet, like a child who believes in Yuletide gift-givers, you latched onto your brother’s memory even when all logic said you shouldn’t. I’m certain everyone else in this family saw through my pretense -- knew that it was merely something to placate you, soothe your temperamental emotions. They always have made it difficult for you to see things clearly.”

Charles's eyes narrowed. 

“You were the one who disregarded your duty to the man who put a roof over your head, clothed you and fed you. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so crippling if you had simply done as I wished...rather than chase after a ghost.”

Tears streamed down Carewyn’s face. Although her eyes were so hollow and she shook so badly, however, the grief inside of her was not just numbing. It had grown to such an extent that it for a moment made her lose her head completely. In a violent move, she wrenched herself off the ground with a mad scream and threw a fist right at Charles’s face. Unfortunately Carewyn had never been particularly strong -- and so Charles was able to seize her wrist, twisting it away from him and holding her back with little difficulty. 

“Blaise,” said Charles icily. “Fetch the whip.”

Blaise looked stricken. “Father -- ”

“The child requires discipline,” he said without looking at his son. “I will not have her thinking that following her brother’s example is acceptable behavior.”

Blaise closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, with a grim look on his face, he swept from the dining hall. 

When he entered the hallway, he found all of Carewyn’s cousins (excluding Iris, who of course was still back at the palace) huddled up against the wall. They’d clearly been listening to every word...and for once, none of them looked the least bit amused. Their faces were all very pale. 

Blaise considered them all for a moment in silence. Then he brought an arm around his son and led him away. 

“Come, Tristan. You will return to your room and stay there until I come fetch you.”

Everyone at the Cromwell estate tried to block out the screams of pain that echoed out of the dining hall. After just under an hour, Charles finally stopped, whether out of physical tiredness or just having finally spent his temper, and bid Pearl and Claire to carry Carewyn up to the tower room at the back of the estate. Charles didn’t want her to leave that room again until she was prepared to behave appropriately. 

Carewyn had expected Pearl and Claire to simply throw her on the floor and leave her there. Instead, however, Pearl sent Claire to go fetch some towels and cold water, and she hoisted Carewyn up onto the worn feather cot on the far end. Her aunts then removed her torn dress so that they could clean the open gashes Charles’s whip had delivered to her back. 

As far back as Carewyn could remember, her aunts had never liked her. Her mother Lane had even told stories about her siblings and how Charles had pressured his children to compete against each other their whole lives. When Carewyn had moved in, Pearl had refused to look her in the face for over a month...and thanks to her daughters’ dislike for Carewyn, Claire had always treated her niece just as coldly. And yet, now...for some reason, they sat with her.

“...Why are you doing this?”

Carewyn couldn’t see either Pearl or Claire’s faces while she was lying on her stomach, but she heard the mattress give a light squeak, as if Claire had shifted slightly to look at Pearl. 

“Don’t you think you’ve questioned your elders more than enough already?” said Pearl in a very hard voice. 

She brought a cold cloth up to the largest gash on Carewyn’s shoulder, dabbing at it lightly. 

“You may be a stupid, arrogant, pathetic girl, Winnie,” she said quietly, “...but I know the pain of losing one’s sibling.”

Carewyn felt some pity in her heart despite herself. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

Pearl scoffed. “Thank me by doing as your grandfather says.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. Then she turned her head away from her aunts and didn’t reply.

Taking her silence as a refusal, Pearl withdrew quickly and hoisted herself up off the worn mattress. 

“Come, Claire.”

Claire hesitantly inched herself up off the mattress too, fetching the bucket of water from the floor as she went. Carewyn could see her glance back at her, when she reached the doorframe. 

“Your grandfather bid you stay in here until you behave,” said Claire, and her voice sounded almost reproachful. “Please don’t make him punish you further.”

But Carewyn did not make any move or sound. And so Claire closed the door behind her, and Pearl locked it with a loud CLACK behind them. 

Once Pearl and Claire descended the stairs of the tower, however, they caught the sound of raised voices from outside the open manor door. One of the voices they recognized as Blaise’s -- the other, they couldn’t have known, belonged to Charlie Weasley.

When Carewyn’s friends learned that she would not be returning to the palace, they all reacted with concern. They knew how crippling the revelation of Jacob’s death had been, but the knowledge that she was back with her family, rather than at the palace where they could help her heal, well...that only made the whole affair worse. Clearly, as KC pointed out, the King and Queen probably wouldn’t have been that lenient toward a servant who was unable to work and had no reason to suspect anything malevolent in Charles wanting to “take care” of his granddaughter. After all, Andre himself had also presumed Carewyn was well-treated by her family, before he’d been forced to conclude otherwise. 

“I’ll tell them the truth -- ” Andre had said forcefully, but Badeea only shook her head sadly.

“It won’t help, your Highness,” she murmured. 

KC nodded grimly. “Carewyn is Lord Cromwell’s ward, Andre. Her only possible legal guardian and benefactor. That means she belongs to him, whether we like it or not. No matter how badly she’s treated, or what she’s told you about him, he’ll still have that power over her. And as long as he’s a Lord with more financial capitol than our entire family does combined...the King and Queen won’t want to discipline him.”

Bill and Charlie, however, just couldn’t accept this. So after their scheduled duties, they visited the Cromwell estate themselves, requesting to see Carewyn. When Blaise tried to turn them away, the exchange got more heated.

“I’ve already told you that Winnie will not see you,” Blaise said, his blue eyes flashing at the two brothers. 

“We’d like to hear that from her, please,” said Bill, but his politeness had a noticeable edge to it. 

“She is in no condition to entertain anyone, least of all a pair of peasant boys who presume to trespass on our land and make demands. Now get out.”

“We’re not leaving until we see Carey!” Charlie said fiercely. 

“You will leave now, or I shall see to it that you are thrown out,” snarled Blaise. 

“Go ahead and try it!” said Charlie, getting right up in the blond man’s face. 

“What’s all this now?”

Charles Cromwell had emerged from the open door of the manor. Dashing out after him were Pearl and Claire. 

Blaise’s eyes flared. “A couple of troublemakers who’ve come looking for Winnie. ‘Westley,’ they call themselves -- ”

“Weasley,” corrected Bill. His eyes were narrowed as he faced Charles. “Bill and Charlie Weasley. We worked in the palace with Carewyn -- we heard she was sick and came to see her.” 

Charles glanced at Pearl and Claire out the side of his eye, before his eyes swiveled back over to the two Weasleys. 

“...I’m afraid my dear Carewyn is resting upstairs.”

“May we see her, please?” Bill said. Once again, his words were polite, but his voice was very firm and pointed. 

“No,” said Charles. “You may not.”

His eyes narrowed upon Bill’s freckled face. One could wonder what he saw in Bill that day -- whether it was the protective “big brother” affect that reminded him of his deceased grandson Jacob, the sincere devotion Bill felt for his granddaughter Carewyn, or simply the pure distrust and dislike toward him -- but whatever it was, it served to make the Lord’s face that bit more mask-like as he considered the ginger-haired castle guard.

“‘Bill Weasley,’ you said your name was? Well, Mr. Weasley...you can be rest assured that Carewyn is being quite well taken care of, here with her family, where she belongs.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Charles raised his eyebrows very coolly. 

“We know all about what you did to Carey, Cromwell,” said Charlie. “We know full well how you ‘take care’ of your family...unless you think Jacob would actually speak on your behalf, if he were still alive?”

Charles, amazingly, didn’t react at all to this, but it only served to make his mask-like face that much more unsettling. 

“No one feels Jacob’s loss more than I. And I should thank you not to question that, boy.”

His eyes flickered from him to Bill. 

“I don’t know what Carewyn has told you...but I’m afraid I must apologize for it, all the same. The child has always had a difficult relationship with the truth...she’s often spun tales to...try to make herself seem more appealing, to the people around her.”

“Takes a liar to know one, I guess,” spat Charlie. 

Pearl’s eyes flared. “You have some nerve to speak to a nobleman thusly -- ”

“Pearl,” Charles soothed her, but his voice was hardly warm or comforting. Instead his eyes bore into Charlie with a darker glint. “You do yourself and your brother no favors in insulting me. I could have been kind and offered to send word, when Carewyn was well enough to see you...but I can see clearly that the both of you would be a toxic influence on my granddaughter, should I allow you to associate with her.”

“Toxic?” repeated Charlie, his voice rising. “You son of a -- !”

“Noble bloodline, unlike you,” Charles Cromwell said in a very low, foreboding voice. “One with enough money and influence to force you to comply with my wishes, if I must.”

Charlie wasn’t intimidated. “You do that, and we’ll tell the whole world about what you did. Reckon you won’t have quite so much respect from everyone, once they learn you used magic to trick Carey into staying under your thumb -- ”

“A dangerous accusation for anyone to make,” said Charles, his foreboding voice deepening further. “More still for a boy relying solely on the flawed testimony of a maidservant...and belonging to a family so impoverished by its size that they’d have no means to rebuild, in the event of some unforeseen tragedy...”

Charlie’s eyes widened dangerously. He looked like he wanted to punch Carewyn’s grandfather right in the face, but Bill took hold of his brother’s shoulders from behind, in a gesture that seemed to be both holding him back and expressing support. 

Charles’s eyes -- the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, but infinitely crueler -- flashed up at Bill.

“I can tell that you -- like me -- are the sort of man who wishes to protect his family, Bill Weasley,” Charles said coldly. “If you wish to do so...then you will ensure that neither you nor your family comes near mine again. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill and Charles glared at each other for a very long moment, silently burning brown on icy, diamond-like blue. 

“Crystal,” Bill murmured at last. 

Charlie looked up at Bill, horrified. “Bill -- ”

“Come on, Charlie,” Bill cut him off quietly. “Let’s go.”

Bill steered Charlie away and off of the Cromwell estate. Once they’d cleared the gate, Charlie whirled on his brother.

“Bill, you can’t be okay with this! If old Lord Cromwell won’t let us see Carey, then something’s gotta be wrong! We can’t just -- ”

“I know,” said Bill.

Glancing over his shoulder, he walked with Charlie a few more feet to make sure they were out of earshot. Then he said quietly, 

“Charlie...make up an excuse for the King and Queen about why their carriage is going to need more time to fix than you thought. We’re going to need it.”

[jackidy]

To Star Lake - Chapter 2

Rating: T Pairings: Todoroki Shouto/Sero Hanta Characters: Various Universe: Howls Moving Castle Au

Summary: A day of impossibilities starts with a mystery man, with mismatched eyes and cold hands, rescuing him in a dark alleyway as he attempted to go about his business and the pet name sweetheart being said a little too tenderly. It ends with another stranger cursing him in his own store after telling them to leave.

Things like this don’t happen to people like Sero Hanta.

AO3  Previous Chapter Next Chapter 

---

He’s all too aware of his body when he wakes up, the dull thrum of pain in his joints and back that was not too different from every time he’d fallen asleep at his desk whilst working. Only he’s not at his desk, he’s in his bed, staring at the off-white ceiling as Sero willed himself to get up, mind combing through the events of yesterday in a bid to find the source of why he ached so much.

Went to see Kaminari. Was literally swept off his feet by a wizard. Came home and met another one who –

The attempt to sit up quickly is beaten by the stiffness, Sero grumbling to himself as he stumbled over to the mirror and wash basin in his room, blinking at his appearance before sighing in resignation. “So, I didn’t dream that after all.” He mumbles, voice deeper and croakier than it had been before, eyeing his now older features warily. How was he going to explain this to Urakaka and the workers or to Mina when she turned up later?

Wait, Mina. Moving with speed that leaves him winded, Sero locks the door, knowing the other would barely hesitate before slamming the door open to announce her presence the moment she realised he wasn’t downstairs. But how could he go downstairs?! He’d aged fifty years over night due to some guy whose life mission last night seemed to solely be tormenting Sero.

Had he been the person following them through the alleyway? He wasn’t caught up enough on magic practises to know if blue fire was a common thing, he just now knew that curses burnt through you like fire. Presuming that his current state was reversible at all, gods he hoped it was.

“Pass that on to little Shouto, would you.”

Why did everything keep coming back to Shouto? He’d never met the man. Surely, he’d remember meeting a supposed heart stealing wizard, even if Sero was far from his usual target. He’d entertained the idea of his rescuer being him, of the renowned heart eater saving him, kissing the back of his hand before he was stating he was his Hanta. But things like that don’t happen to him, regardless of what yesterday have proved, it was simply a case of mistaken identity that had resulted in all this.

At least, that was the truth he believed until a better idea came up.

The jostling of the door handle startles him, an all too familiar annoyed noise before loud, impatient knocking sounded against the door. “Sero Hanta! Open this door so I can see your lovely face.” There she was, tehre was Mina, Sero tempted to open the door and greet her only to stop himself. How does he explain this? It had been a struggle in and of itself trying to play down the events of yesterday to keep Kaminari from stressing out and that was before the additional ones that left him twenty-three going on seventy.

“Maybe next time, I’m not feeling too great.” Not an entire lie, he didn’t feel great. He felt confused and anxious more than anything. Please buy it, he mentally pleads, hoping it would be good enough cover as to why he sounded so old now. “I must have caught something at the parade yesterday.” I caught a series of impossible events, he adds silently, waiting with bated breath to see if she buys it and leaves.

“Do you need me to get you anything? We can bring you some soup at lunch time?” We? Oh, Urakaka. No doubt as soon as Mina returned downstairs with news he was ill she’d be in the same concerned boat as Mina, the pair a force to be reckoned with when it came to any worker feeling a little off colour or, more often than not, whenever Sero over worked himself.

It happened more often than he cared to admit.

“Sure, you know my favourite.” What time was it now? How long until the lunch break and how long did he have to leave? It was ten, lunch began at one. 3 Hours was plenty of time to dress, pack some food and money and leave before they all came back. As much as he would love to stay, he doesn’t know how to explain any of this, the idea of disappearing for a while and coming back himself a more attractive idea.

Kaminari is probably going to laugh at the fact the thing that got him to stop following his self-imposed expectations of himself was being turned into an old man. This all after, of course, the blonde would shout about how he’d been right about Sero’s day only getting stranger.

His clothes still fit, though what they gained in length they lost in looseness, fitting now more snugly against him. Perhaps that’s a perk in and of itself, if this is what he was going to look like when he was older, at least his metabolism had slowed down enough to let him gain weight. “At least your clothes fit you better now.” Sero whispers to himself, shrugging on a jacket and jamming his signature hat on like always.

First stop is the kitchen, taking his bag and cautiously unlocking the door, heading downstairs, breathing a small sigh of relief to find the kitchen empty, grabbing bread, cheese and some cured meat before pausing at the sight of the tart on the table and the small note beside it of ‘Hanta’s, don’t touch!’. Oh, the temptation to take it, arguing with himself for a little too long before sighing and walking over, grabbing the nearest pen to scribble a quick ‘thank you! – Hanta’ on the note before taking it.

No use adding to the panic they were going to feel when they realised that he was gone, Sero hesitating, unsure of if he should go through with his plan before shaking his head, shoving the entire bite sized pastry in his mouth. He was leaving. He was going to the wastes to find someone, anyone, willing to tell him how to break this curse placed on him and, with any luck, hopefully break it.

Shoving the plundered food into his bag, he makes a quick escape as the dawning realisation of how much tea the shop went through during the day set in. Leaving through the gate in the courtyard behind the store, Sero slips into the alleyway, thankful as the stiffness of his joints seems to ease up but noting with some annoyance how it still remained, as if a lingering reminder of the mess he’d gotten himself in.

Maybe he should get himself a walking stick? If anything, it would add to the look, Sero politely turning down the off of help down some stairs before going back to his thoughts, did he have enough to buy a walking stick? Did he have enough money at all? He hadn’t really checked his wallet before leaving, he’d just assumed he’d have enough to get by on. Did recklessness come with being older or was this just another side of the curse that he was only just now becoming aware of because, sure, he wasn’t always the most careful of people but he’d always been careful when it came to his finances.

He’ll find a stick to use when he gets to the wastes, nothing was so sore he needed one right now anyway but it would be a safe bet he may need something to assist walking when he made it to the moorland wastes. But he was getting ahead of himself, it was all fair and well planning what he’d do once he reached the outskirts of civilisation but he first had to get there.

---

He should have bought a walking stick.

Sero makes it to the wastes, hitching a ride with a farmer whose farmland backed onto them, who felt the need to remind Sero he was crazy for going up into the wastes alone, how nobody who went there ever came back and that he hoped whoever Sero was looking for was worth it. He doesn’t have the heart to tell the man that he’s aware of the first two, just smiling a little sadly and informing him that, yes, the person he was looking for was important. Even if Sero didn’t know who that was just yet, silently hoping it was the man from the alleyway just so he could point out with annoyance at just what he’d inadvertently caused by not letting him be mugged.  

That’s what he tells himself anyway, knowing it in part to be a lie.

He still wants to know how the man knew his name, how he treated him like they not only knew each other but were close. Sero has met many people through his work but he knows full well that whilst he remembers people, they rarely remember him and yet, Mr Mystery was not only unknown to him but also knew enough about Sero to not only call him his given name but kiss his hand. How could he not be intrigued enough to seek him out and demand answers to every question the wizard had been the source of?

Sero shivers as another breeze goes through him, noting bitterly he should have picked up a thicker jacket than the one he wore as well as a stick, huddling down into a small outcropping of trees, pulling the flimsy jacket tighter around him before blowing into his hands. “Biggest I’ve ever been and I still can’t keep fucking warm.” He mutters to himself bitterly, digging into his bag for a bite to eat before setting himself to thinking of warm things.

The hearth in the work room that made the winters so much more bearable. The hot cocoa Koda made for everyone during his breaks at the bakery, including Sero if he happened to be visiting Kaminari. Urakaka and Mina’s attempts at making soups or stews and failing miserably, Sero always eating them despite the way his stomach protested each time, thinking fondly on how they’d improved over the years to the point what they made was now truly edible. How hot the alleyway had been even with the ice cold hand on his waist, how warm the wizards hand had been in comparison when it-

No.

He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that right now, Sero’s stomach churning. It was his fault he was an old man, his fault he was currently sat in cold moorland and not in his workshop, his fault that everyone he was friends with were probably panicking over his sudden disappearance. No, that one wasn’t his fault, it was Sero’s decision to leave, no matter how much he wanted to blame someone else.

“I should have left a note for them.” He wonders idly, staring at the town in the distance, mouth pressed into a thin line as opposed to one of his usual smiles. They’ll be fine without him, he won’t be gone forever and then he’s return so they can all, rightfully, express their annoyance at him for just absconding into the wilderness without so much as a word never mind a goodbye.

The sound of something rustling makes him jump, Sero scrambling to his feet in a way that wouldn’t have affected his younger body but he’d definitely be feeling later on at this age, turning a little too sharply only to find not a beast but a stick, or should that be a branch, sticking out of the bushes. Had that been there when he’d stopped here earlier or was this just the world granting him a boon to make up for his own personal hell he was experiencing?

Putting his bag back on, Sero moves round to the other side of the outcrop, preferring the idea of not tumbling down the side of the hill should he fall, knowing full well there would be no way he’d manage to get back up the hill with any new pains he’d gain from it. The cold breeze is still present as he grabs the stick in both hands, muttering small curses as he pulled the stick, going as far as to put his foot against a tree for leverage.

“This branch better be damn worth it.” He hisses through clenched teeth, toppling backwards as the branch comes free, revealing not a walking stick like he had hoped but something entirely different. Sero isn’t too proud to admit he screams, a scarecrow that looks more akin to a crucified bird balancing perfectly at his feet, a tattered dark suit covering the frame embellished with red and black feathers that stretched from arms to a flour sack head in a way that made it look like a crown. It’s almost laughable how it looks like a mocking rendition of the missing Prince from the neighbouring kingdom.

Pushing himself to his feet, grunting in pain from his sore back and knees, Sero offers the scarecrow a withering glance before sighing. “Well, there goes my hopes for a walking stick. At least you’re not upside down now.” He grumbles, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness settling into them, sighing before setting off again, hands gripping the bag strap as a sense of unease filled him.

He needs to find a place to stay, eyeing the clouds above wearily as they rolled in slowly, thick and dark, the smell of lightning and rain in the air. Kaminari would be happy, he was practically lightning made flesh, but Sero was not his short friend, Sero was not too fond of being caught out in a storm, more so now he knew how cold the wastes were. If only he had actually found a stick in that bush, maybe then he’d move faster than a snail’s pace and have at least a diminishing hope of finding a place to stay tonight as opposed to the none existent one he held onto now.

Sero jumps as something is dropped in front of him, looking down at the offending object, a walking stick, before turning his attention upwards to the looming figure oh the bird turned scarecrow. If this had occurred any other week, Sero knows full well his response to a moving scarecrow would have been one of abject horror, more so down to the thing’s effigy like appearance. “Umm…thanks.”

His back cracks as he bends to pick up the cane, noting with mild amusement the bird head like handle, looking up at the scarecrow again and letting out a breathy laugh. “You must be so proud of yourself, huh?” His response comes in the form of a couple of bounces, Sero not entirely sure why he thought he’d get a verbal one beyond it feeling like a natural conclusion to come to after the day or so. “If you want to find a place for me to stay in tonight too, that would also be helpful.”

The scarecrow bounces away, a lot faster than Sero expected it to move, the cursed man silently wondering just how the scarecrow had come to be and just how it seemed to understand what he was saying to it. Was it also cursed like him or was it simply the product of unspent magic that found its home in an inanimate object? Though, what did he know, his only experiences with magic in life had resulted in the situation he was stuck in.

Hobbling forward, Sero heads in the direction the scarecrow had gone, his legs all too thankful when the ground evened out into something less steep, the lessening ache in his joints feeling heavenly even if he was still in some discomfort, preferring the mild discomfort over the sharper pains that had seemingly haunted his ankles knees and hips on inclines.

He’s not too sure how longer he’s walked for when he smells it, the all too familiar woodsmoke, Sero relaxing and moving forward with as much vigour only for the excitement to come to a crushing end when he hears it. Metal clanks and creaks against itself, the smell of smoke almost suffocating as the sight of both the scarecrow and the house it had found come into view.

Only it wasn’t a house.

That was Shouto’s castle.

“When I said find me a house, I didn’t mean that!” Sero yells, watching as the castle seems to slow its pace, passing the cursed man and scarecrow slowly but never stopping. This had to be a sick coincidence, right? Surely this bird headed scarecrow hadn’t intentionally led a magical walking castle to him, right? He might have come to the wastes looking for a witch or wizard willing to help him out but this was something else entirely, he was hoping for one that didn’t walk hand in hand with a reputation for heart eating.

Any further protests to using the castle are interrupted when the sky rumbles to life, a loud roar of thunder and the crack of lightning somewhere behind him but all too close for comfort. Breaking and entering into a castle owned by a wizard of known incredible power or staying out in a storm? It was an easy enough answer for him to find, stumbling after the castle as the sound of raindrops began to make the metal sing. Why does the castle seem to be speeding up again, had Sero missed his opportunity to enter? Rain biting into the back of his calves as he attempted to catch up, not sure if the sound in his ears was the rumbling thunder or his frantic heartbeat from the sheer effort of trying to at least keep up with the castle.

“Could you decide if you’re letting me in or not already?!” He wheezes out, the burn in his legs almost unbearable, each step feeling like he’s walking on glass as opposed to the rain-soaked grass. It’s unexpected, the way the castle seems to come to a near halt, swinging back on its legs to meet Sero’s next frantic step, the old man stumbling and falling against the stone stairs due to the momentum, hissing from the impact and the pain blooming in his shins and forearms.

He was going to be sore in the morning, shakily pulling himself up with help from both the ramshackle railing and his cane, eyeing the blue door before him before turning to regard the scarecrow, still bouncing after the castle, Sero wondering vaguely if it wanted more praise or if it was simply concerned for his wellbeing. “Thanks,” he says softly, half convinced the scarecrow hadn’t heard him only to witness the scarecrow perform the same bounce it had upon bringing him the stick.

The warmth that hits him upon opening the door is a welcome embrace, Sero walking in without a second glance to the scarecrow, closing the door softly as to avoid alerting anyone to his presence. He may be cursed, worn, far beyond the point of caring anymore but he by no means wished for more misfortunate upon himself, not today at least. Wooden stairs almost feel like a mountain as he climbs them, twelve steps feeling like twelve thousand, yet his lungs feel free, the squeeze of exhaustion having slowly eased out of them.

Sero spots the stool in the dim light of the fire, choosing to ignore the unkempt state of the room he’d entered for now, his sole focus being to sit down and just bask in the heat of the fire. His stick tapping against the floorboards and his grunts whenever he miss stepped where the only thing breaking the silence, Sero using what seemed to be the last of his energy to pull another couple of logs onto the fire before sinking onto the stool, full weight against the stick so he didn’t ultimately fall off.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” The voice is as groggy as he feels, Sero staring at the slowly awakening fire, vaguely registering the grumpy face staring back at him from it. A fire with a face, off putting but not at all surprising, Sero too relaxed under the heat that seemed to melt his muscles and bones in peaceful welcome. It would take an act of god to move him at this point, that much he was sure of.

“I’m not supposed to be a lot of things.” He’s not supposed to be old. He’s not supposed to focus on work too much. He’s not supposed to attract the attention of witches and wizards. He’s not supposed to doubt his friend’s compliments. He’s not supposed to be sat in the castle of Ice Prince Shouto, having a conversation with the fire place about where or not he should have walked in from the wastes.

The fire regards him, a strange expression on its flames akin to impressed and humoured by Sero’s current state and, in all honesty, he isn’t sure which is worse. “Who the fuck did you piss off to have that happen?” The fire’s voice is gravely, like the crackle of burning wood, Sero finding himself slowly falling asleep only to jolt awake when there’s an annoyed shout of ‘wake up’ followed by an insult.

“I don’t know, didn’t think to ask for a name during the entire exchange.” He jokes, ignoring the unimpressed look on the fire’s flames, feeling the exhaustion begin to creep in once more. Would he still have been this fatigued if he were still his true age? He’s not sure, knowing he’s had stressful enough day to exhaust anyone. “If I can stay the night then I’ll be on my way before-”

“Do you want to break it?”

“Break what?”

“The curse.”  

The silence stretches on, the fire returning Sero’s dumbfounded look with one of mild annoyance. How does he answer that? Of course he wants to break the curse but what could a fire, sentient or not, do to help him? Sure, he had had his doubts about the scarecrow but this was different, the scarecrow could at least move but the fire was well and truly trapped in the hearth. “How do I know you actually want to help me and this isn’t another trick?”

It smirks at him, a little too on the feral side for Sero to feel fully comfortable with it, flames burning a little brighter with what he could only guess to be excitement. “Because you’re not the only one with a curse to break.” That made sense, he supposes, a fair trade of one broken curse for another, Sero wondering just how someone managed to curse a fire before it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, the fire was in the same position as he was. “Do we have a deal?”

“Sero. My name is Sero.” He replies sleepily, all too ready to fall into the embrace of sleep as he yawned widely, slumping further onto his cane.

“Bakugou.”

“You’ve got a deal.” He mumbles more than says, finally giving himself over to the exhaustion.

[thefact0rygirl]

Vee? May I ask for some soft words on your blog? I feel like a total loser because, due to my mental instability, I’m not able to work and therapy is a very slow process. And even if I might end up being healthy enough to work, it might not be a “normal” job but a workplace for disabled people where I don’t even make enough money to pay for my rent. I just feel like it’s not worth fighting for if I end up needing money from the state anyways. And everyone else here seems to be building a normal adult life while I don’t have an education

Hey babes. I’m sorry this is so late, but I hope you can still find some comfort 💖

You are not a loser.

Your mental instability does not take away from your value.

Your existence is not a burden. It is not a mistake.

Society has warped us into thinking that mental illness and disability are associated with being lazy, a loser, ugly, a nobody, etc. It’s so, so fucked up. And the farthest thing from the truth.

I don’t want to say I understand how you feel; all I can say is I can relate to feeling hopeless through my own struggles. I spent a majority of my life dealing with undiagnosed mental illness and eating disorders until a couple years ago. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder a few years ago and while it’s been helpful, it's also been fucking hell to deal with.

You've spoken such true words when you say therapy is a very slow process. It's slow and it fucking sucks. I feel no one likes to admit how challenging it can be. It’s not all aesthetic tiktoks and pretty pastel colors like it’s made out to be. It’s messy and dirty and hard as hell.

When I started going to regularly, it made me angry. I put this unnecessary burden on myself that I had to be “cured” in a certain timeframe. I didn’t realize until recently that this is not how therapy works. In fact, it is only unraveling all of the work I’ve done so far. And I’ll be fucking damned if I have to redo the progress I made.

What helped me come to terms with progress (and hopefully you find some comfort!) is that we are trying to dismantle a lifetime worth of unhealthy habits and cycles. These habits and cycles are familiar for us. They’re comforting in a really fucked up way, because it’s all we’ve known. It’s what we had to do to survive. And the human mind hate change, especially if this change is perceived as being a threat to our well being. Our bad cycles and habits (no matter how damaging) are familiar and comforting. We don't really see them as threats to our well being, even when they are.

We can’t expect to fix a lifetime of habits in a certain timeframe. To be honest, I still find myself waiting for that big moment where I wake up and my head isn’t fucked up and I can like what I see in the mirror and eat a meal and not feel guilty about eating and actually take out the trash and not have a panic attack. When I’m having a bad episode, not having that big beautiful moment is crushing. It makes me want to say fuck it to the world and stay in bed. It takes a lot to get me to move, but I have to do it because, like you said, therapy is slow. Don’t go back in time and lose time by unraveling the work you’ve done. No matter how small or insignificant you may think it is, that is still time that you are losing.

Even the tiniest steps are progress. You may think there is nothing substantial you can do. But you don’t need to. Small things become big things. I spent over a year in weekly therapy session and a shit ton of medication thinking that it wasn’t doing anything until I realized that I allowed my partner to hug me. This was a massive step for me and something I would have never been able to do.

And progress includes asking for help.

Needing assistance is not a sign of failure. If you need help, then you need help. End of. Fuck the opinion of people who don’t truly know what it means to be hungry or not know if you’re going to have a home.

You are not a failure, society is for perpetuating this feeling of failure.

The government is not set up to help its people. I don’t care what government it is, who is in charge, or what your political beliefs are, it all operates the same. Especially in the United States. You are not Jeff Bezos and you need help to pay your rent. You need help to buy food.

Getting assistance, whether it be from a friend or the state or wherever, will help you get to a better place. Denying yourself help is only validating your feelings of worthlessness and honestly, it’s taking away from any progress you may be doing. You are worth it.

And fuck a “normal” adult life. It doesn’t exist.

We are constantly bombarded with seeing other people’s success and viewing other people’s lives through the filtered and picturesque filters of social media. Everyone glamorizes their lives. All that this does is send us subliminal messages of toxic productivity and misleading beliefs.

Life doesn’t come with a map, and everyone experiences different twists and turns and events the shape us. But we don't see those struggles, all we see if what we want people to see. We fall into the rat race and trying to catch up with others without realizing what we are trying to obtain isn’t even real. The people who seem to have that normal adult life don’t even have it.

Normal looks different for us all, and it is constantly changing. The only thing I can say is find what normal looks like for you right now. And if you’re wanting to create a new normal, take small steps. Baby steps. Take steps that just involve twitching your big toe. It doesn't need to be significant or mean anything to anyone except yourself. Be selfish when it comes to your well being and progress.

I hope this helps, or at least distracts you for a minute 💖

And to reiterate from before -

You are not a loser.

It doesn��t take away from the fact that you are a living being.

Your existence is not a burden. It is not a mistake.

[tema-makes-art-sometimes]

Just saw your vent post and I think diving into your self indulgent stuff might help. For me personally, when working on original stuff, that's when I'll think about things like appealing to others/marketability/etc, but when it comes to fandom stuff, the only audience I care to pander to is Me, Myself, and I. Other people sometimes end up liking it, mostly it just goes ignored, maybe a like by a mutual if they see it. I prefer it this way, since worrying about appealing to more people when writing fanfic makes it feel too much like Writing I Do For Work, and I even never use betas for that same reason, it makes it feel too much like Work Writing, when fandom is Fun Writing.

I'm not sure what you do outside of fandom, but you have so much creativity, I've kinda assumed you've either been doing creative work or are studying to go into it--I can see you in a character design shop tbh, I can see Pin being a villain people would just eat up and love or love to hate.

If you're in a creative field, I feel like it's just good practice to go into Work Creative Space and Fandom Creative Space with different intents, if anything for the sake of mental health, as I've been in a very similar place, where silence on my fandom work would make me rethink what I'm doing, make me want to retcon WIPs, thinking "Maybe if I change this to that or this ship to that ship or change this character to be closer to fanon, more people will want to read/will comment/whatever".

You sound like you already very well know this isn't a healthy mindset, so I'm not going to go into that. I'll just say dive into that self indulgence, whether or not you're doing original creative work in the background as a job/part of study. You have great stuff, but audiences can get burned out just like creatives do. Sometimes it's because they're also creatives. Sometimes it's just burn out from seeing so much art/writing/media ALL THE TIME.

Something a professor told me was that if you got to go to an art museum, and you tried to really appreciate each piece, you'd end up exhausted before finishing even one section of the museum. This can lead to the 'mindless scrolling' a lot of the time. Fandom is becoming a large part of a lot of people's lives, but for most people, it's secondary or even tertiary media, and they're already putting a lot of energy into enjoying and appreciating the media they're in fandoms for. (Yes, there are some people who 'set fire to canon' and are in the center area of a fandom, but most people are closer to the sides, occasionally popping in from time to time but not setting up tents, if that makes sense.) So many of those people just don't have the energy to really get involved with a lot of media produced my fan creators, especially if they follow a lot of them and can only comment or otherwise get involved with a few posts/creators at a time. This can be what often leads to some 'visiting' the same 3-4 creators more often than they may go to another creator.

Setting up a place and waiting for more people to filter in can feel exhausting all by itself, especially when you're trying to create more to fill more of that space and hopefully entice more people to pop in and see what's going on.

When you focus on self indulgence for a while, you're not always looking at the door, since you usually don't expect people to walk in (at least, I never expect it), so when people actually do come in and tap you on the shoulder to see what you're working on and if they can see, it can really help offer that extra boost you need.

I really don't think you're doing anything wrong. A lot of artists who don't do what those "How to get more followers" tips still find an audience, sometimes due to the niche, sometimes starting out niche but expanding as more ideas get tossed in. Some artists who by the book, seem to do everything right, don't get nearly as much. There's really not a right or wrong way to create or share your creations. There are just a /lot/ of creators, so a lot of times, it boils down to how people find your door.

These are all really good points so I am going to share. Honestly a lot of my GerCanMano stuff is pure self indulgence but you're honestly right I think I'm probably gonna focus on some self indulgent shinanigans for a bit, and stop worrying as much about getting things out on time and making it perfect

but I do wanna point out this cause it hit me;

I'm not sure what you do outside of fandom, but you have so much creativity, I've kinda assumed you've either been doing creative work or are studying to go into it--I can see you in a character design shop tbh, I can see Pin being a villain people would just eat up and love or love to hate.

I was in school, but I never declared my major so I had to stop temporarily because I honestly don't know what major to be. There's so many things I like to do, but I don't know if I want to make a career out of them if that makes sense.

Like art, I love art and video games, I'd love to do things like animation or graphic design or be my own indie developer, but I worry if thinking about a game like a business slash whats making me money will ruin the creative process. It wont be making things for the joy of making things, it would be for my job because I had to, and idk- that just isn't as fun. Im worried about that mentality sinking in. I like them but idk if I wanna have to take them full on seriously as a career.

I'm trying to get a minimum wage job right now but its hard to find a job right now in the US job climate, especially with the fact that I have to find job willing to cater to a disability I have currently offrecord because my doctor wouldnt listen to me. Which is even harder because Ive had to walk away from jobs before because they wouldnt give me accomedations without doctors recommendation.

I am planning to set up a Etsy shop right now actually. I need to get a printer, but otherwise hopefully soon I will have a store up with stickers and preorders for keychains. One day I plan to get a button press and make my own buttons. I have hetalia merch planned, as well as my ocs. I'd love and have designs for all sorts of stuff, custom tshirt designs- like subtle hetalia fan stuff like pockets on the chest witht he character "sticking out" with familiar hetalia patterns. I have miraculous ladybug stuff planned. My friend gave me the idea of aster's heart as a friendship necklace and I love it, I could imagine all sorts of needle and thread themed pin merch I have a lot of ideas its just designing and making them and seeing if people would buy them.

I dont quite know what you mean by character design shop if thats something different or not, but yes.

Ill save a ramble about pin for a seperate post this ask is long and so is my response so Ill stop

[asexualstorywriter]

Covid-19 Update

Hi, in light of the Covid-19 situation, there are a few things I'd like to share because I am aware that I have a slightly significant follower count and I know that not everyone has access to the information that I do. So hopefully, this helps at least some of you stay calm and safe.

I will start by saying that I am from Singapore. And while I can't speak for my entire country, I feel that we're managing the situation decently well. We've had 0 deaths and have done an admirable job of contact tracing in my country. Part of it comes from strict crackdowns of those who break the current rules in place to self-quarantine and travel declarations. We do not take rule-breaking lightly and anyone who has have already faced the consequences of being deported if they're foreigners or charged in court if they are Singaporean. Please also keep in mind that the amount of news reporting on the virus is hugely out of proportion, which leads to a little mass hysteria.

Please keep in mind that this advice, while applicable in Singapore may not always be suitable in your country. However, this is what Singaporeans are doing and we are currently one of the few countries who no longer have mass hysteria or any deaths as of 13th March 2020. 

A bunch of tips from Singapore: 

1. Don't wear masks unless you're already sick. Wearing the mask lowers your caution and increases chances of putting the virus close to your face because you think you're safe with a mask. I am unable to give a full and not summarised explanation for this but know that there are articles out there that can explain this better than I just did. The bottom line is: reverse psychology. Please, just frequently wash your face and hands instead.

Here’s a link to show you how and when to use masks

Here’s a link to explain why we don’t wear a mask unless sick

2. Continuing from 1, Wash your hands the normal amount and with soap. Meaning before meals and every time you go to the toilet. That is perfectly fine too. This is actually how often people should be washing their hands but have not been doing so, either not washing enough or with soap. Please wash your hands properly, now is the time to pick your hygiene back up.

Here’s a link on how to wash your hands properly, especially for caretakers and people with children

3. Social responsibility. If you have a cough, fever, sore throat, runny nose or multiple of these symptoms, go see a doctor and isolate yourself. DO NOT hope for the best and tell yourself you probably won't get infected. I cannot stress this enough. The virus does not discriminate and denial helps absolutely no one. This is not "other people's problem". It's everyones. Any form of discrimination or tribalism will not keep you safe from the virus. 

Chinese people are one of the biggest populations globally, but not all of them are from China. If you see a Chinese person, they may not be from China, they could be citizens of your own country. And if you discriminate, it just means that you have allowed the pandemic to be an excuse for your racism. Please be understanding. If you come across anyone sick, don’t judge them too harshly because they probably didn’t ask to suffer their illness while becoming a social pariah. 

That being said, you don’t have to put yourself at risk to be kind. A commiserating smile, sliding them a packet of tissue or whatever is appropriate is fine. Then go home and clean yourself before you touch anything else. 

4. Please do not hoard. You waste money and it doesn't actually save you from the virus. Especially toilet paper. If you must, buy some alcohol wipes if there happens to be no toilet around for you to wash your hands. Hand sanitisers are okay too. 

REMINDER: If you have all the soap, no one else can keep clean, and you are now surrounded by only dirty people. If anything, make sure your neighbours, friends and family have enough for themselves too because these are people you would likely meet regularly. Don’t forget, they would have their own social circle outside of yours, so if you have hoarded in a panic and have too much, donate what you don’t need to people who don’t. If they get sick, you probably will too. This is a thing we call Herd Immunity. 

Side note: Herd Immunity usually applies to vaccinated groups of people. However, since there is no vaccine for Covid-19 yet, the same idea applies. Your best bet is to make sure your community practices good hygiene and social responsibility. If one of you gets sick, I guarantee it spreads to at least one other person in the same community. You must ALL practice collective hygiene and social responsibility.

Here’s a link to explain Herd Immunity

5. Avoid crowded places. I cannot stress this enough. While social responsibility seems like an obvious thing, there is always going to be someone who won't take responsibility. In Singapore, most cases have come from clusters which means 1 or 2 people were infected and then went to an event with a huge group of people, subsequently spreading the virus. All our clusters were traced back to that 1 or 2 people who decided to participate in a mass gathering event DESPITE feeling mildly unwell. 

Fact 1: This virus is not deadly.

Fact 2: All fatalities have been caused by secondary illness (mostly people with heart problems), which means a persisting cough or mild fever could be an infection. 

Here’s a link to which groups of people are at risk fo infection to COVID-19

Go see the doctor and stop thinking you’re probably fine. You do not want to be in big groups and you do not want to be the spreader. If you are afraid of become a social pariah for coughing in public, imagine how you would feel if you became the spreader. This includes religious events like Church Masses or Mosque Prayers. I say this because some of our clusters came from religious gatherings, so let this be a warning. No one is safe from the virus.

6. Lastly, don't panic. It's not the first disease sweeping the earth, it will not be the last. In a few years, another virus will come; learn from this one.

I hope this huge chunk helps at least one person out there. And if anyone has anything else to add on that helps, please do so.

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

I’ve been thinking about pricing. My aunt told me, back when I was first starting my etsy store, that that my 10.00 necklaces were too cheap but I was reluctant to increase the price because those were the only ones that actually sold and it was only because they were cheap. I could afford to sell them cheap because my mom has a lot of jewelry-making supplies that she doesn’t mind me using, so I don’t have to buy every little piece I need myself. I’ve been given a grant of free clasps, headpins, etc. But when I get a bunch of orders at once, for a necklace I haven’t made up in advance because it has two color options and I can’t know how many of which color people will want, I really start to wonder if the price I’m charging is worth it for the amount of labor I put in. Maybe it’s just the holiday rush coinciding with mental fatigue, but the money I’m getting doesn’t feel worth it. I increase the price--only by a few dollars, after much deliberation. I don’t want people to stop buying entirely. Hopefully I’ve got enough of a following now that I can feasibly do this. I don’t know. The 25.00 and up necklaces still aren’t selling. I’ve already lowered the prices as far as I could stand. Beads cost more than people realize, and that’s not counting labor, time spent deciding on a pattern or finding the right combination of beads. I increase those prices a bit too, just so I can make something back if they ever do sell. 

I’ve been thinking about money. I’m working retail, trying to save as much as I can so I can move out of my emotionally abusive parents’ house, but it feels like a sisyphean task. I’m paid so little and cost of living is so high and when I go I want to burn my bridges but what sets me free will also leave me without support. I’ve never lived entirely on my own before and my mental health is not the best and the thought is terrifying, yet I have to force myself to deal with living here just a little longer, a month at a time. Every time I buy myself a small treat (a shake. a fun tie for my collection, from goodwill.) I have to grapple with my guilt, justify to myself that I’m going to burn out if I don’t find ways to cheer myself up while I’m stuck in this situation. It takes 2 hours of work to make back the gas money it takes to commute to work every few days. Probably more now, I believe I got those numbers when gas prices were still low. Every day I go to work, the radio says that coronavirus cases are rising, and there are people not wearing masks and I have to walk right next to them to do my job. 

I’ve been thinking about systems. “this is barely worth it” I think while I’m making necklaces. “Yes it is” I say to cheer myself up, and “hey I can use some of this money to buy those cosplay glasses I’ve been thinking about without feeling guilty about dipping into my Job Money which I’m Supposed to be Saving, that’d be fun. They’re pretty cheap on Amaz*n.” I hate Am!zon. Aside from all their other sins, they own the company I work for now and get blamed for the increasingly soulless, corporate and no-fun-allowed dress code, so it’s personal as well as moral. The glasses are cheap there because someone is not being paid nearly enough to make them. I, a person also not getting paid enough, can afford to buy them because they’re extremely cheap, thus continuing the cycle. 

I’ve been thinking about what I’d do if I had the money, the independent artists I’d support and the gofundme’s I’d top up, the gifts I’d be able to buy for my friends. I’ve been wondering if the rest of my life is going to be scraping to survive, or if my choice is between that and staying with my parents and suffering a slow death. I’ve been wondering how long I can keep up with any of this. I don’t think my mental health could stand taking a second job even if there was enough time in the day. The etsy store is technically a second job but it barely feels worth the effort at times. It’s just the burnout, I know, because it is making me money, it’s just sort of the hopelessness of it all. I haven’t made enough through etsy in this whole year to cover one month of rent at the cheapest place I could find. At least work pays enough to cover that, if I’m getting long hours, but that leaves me scared to do the math on how much else I’d need to survive. And here I am, a bit better off than I was last year because I’m working and my mental health is a bit better (for one thing I don’t have the internalized Unemployment Is a Moral Evil Even if I’m Mentally Ill guilt to contend with anymore) and I at least know who I am now, but it feels like I’m not making progress anyway.