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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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What’s in a Name? Pt. II

A/N: So I know I said that the first part was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done...but this takes the cake. The softest, cheesiest thing I’ve ever written and I will apologize for nothing.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? A few smooches or two.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to propose and the one time he actually does.

(Beautiful art by my bb @bucketheadredacted)

Read part one!

Marcus Pike was finally a man lucky in love.

Maybe. Hopefully. God, he really needed to be lucky. Just this once.

He had bought the diamond ring three months after she had moved in—that was him moving slowly! Honestly! He had felt the urge to look at rings only a month after she had kissed him in the park but had refrained, his past failed relationships whispering at the back of his mind. He didn’t want to push her away. Didn’t want to scare her by moving too fast. Didn’t want to break his own heart again. It had been a strange uphill battle to just learn her name—and now he wanted to give her his name, too.

But he loved her. Truly.

And he knew that within a month of stealing kisses and slipping into overpriced hotel rooms between briefings and meetings and auctions across the country. And Marcus hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking her if she wanted to move into his Washington D.C. apartment six months later.

The words had tumbled out of his mouth while they were still half asleep, his alarm blaring in the background, alerting them both that she needed to get up to fly back to New Orleans.

And she…giggled and rolled over to press a kiss to his lips, uncaring of his morning breath. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

And it had been perfect. It had been good to come home and see her jacket slung over the back of the chair, to smell her perfume lingering in the bathroom as she dashed out the door, to wake up next to her when they both had a reprieve from their chaotic jobs and not have to worry that they would have to separate again within a handful of hours. It was good even when she tried a new recipe and the entire apartment smelled like burnt noodles for two days.

But he wanted to call her his wife and he wanted to be her husband. He wanted to have a family with her and maybe buy a house a little further outside the city—she had mentioned that she wanted a dog and a cat. “With room for them to run around!” She said with a smile.

And that all circled back to the ring. The platinum ring with the princess cut diamond. The ring he had been hiding for ages. The ring he wanted to put on her finger—if she said yes. Or he would have to tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs (again) and nurse a broken heart (again) and listen to his coworkers well-meaning condolences (again).

“When are you gonna ask her, man?” One of his fellow agents asked as they parked the agency-assigned SUV in the underground lot. Marcus had made the mistake of mentioning how he had a ring waiting at the back of his sock drawer and this agent—and honestly? Marcus couldn’t even remember his name—latched onto that and had spent the last three hours trying to ‘help’ Marcus come up with a plan on how to propose.

Marcus had a plan already. Thank you very much.

“I am going to take her to see the fireworks over the river.”

“Romantic. Good choice.”

Marcus felt himself puff up a bit at that. It was romantic, wasn’t it? This would be fine.

It was not fine.

The spot Marcus had picked was already crowded by the time they arrived—he was still grumbling about the flat tire he had to fix on the way there but his mood shift when he heard her sigh. It was a happy sound that had a smile pushing at his own lips.

“This is a good spot. Good choice.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek before turning and grabbing the cooler from the back of his car.

Marcus quickly patted his pocket and felt the ring safely in its confines. This could work, right? He just needed to wait for the fireworks. He set a checkered blanket on the warm grass and helped her unload their cooler, filled with her favorite picnic foods and maybe a bit of alcohol too, hidden away in two tumblers. The wind off the river was nice, keeping them from getting too overheated and someone further down the bank had set up a radio, letting music provide a backdrop to the quiet lapping water and the conversations from the strangers around them. He was not the best conversationalist, Marcus had to admit, he was busy rehearsing what he was going to say in his head over and over, trying to imagine if she would cry or smile—or just…say yes. But he made her laugh and earned a few more kisses when he managed to contribute to the conversation and fed her a few of the grapes from the cooler.

It was good…it was fine…until it wasn’t.

It started with her swatting at something on her arm just as the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. That wasn’t uncommon; the East Coast was notoriously buggy during the summer. It was probably a mosquito.

But then it happened again and again and again until she was standing up with a shriek, wildly hitting at herself. “Marcus! Marcus!”

“Honey?”

“There’s ants everywhere!”

He glanced down and…yes, there were ants everywhere. And then he felt his first bite.

They quickly gained more than their fair share of attention as they both scrambled to get the hundreds of ants off of them, knocking over their food and cooler with unpleasant groans and gasps as they gained more ant bites.

In a rushed haze, still swatting at themselves, they gathered up their belongings and all but dumped them in the back of the car. When their tires hit highway, they heard the first boom of the fireworks.

“How’re you feeling?” She whispered as she rubbed a bit more cream onto Marcus’s back. It had been almost a week since the ant incident and his body was still covered in small red bumps. A testament to his failure.

He reached back, a little awkwardly from his angle on his stomach, and grasped her hand. “I’m okay, honey.” He hummed when he felt her pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Marcus turned his head just a bit and looked at her hand. Her ring finger was still bare. The ring had been tucked away in his bedside drawer after they both scrubbed themselves clean and then all but bathed in calamine lotion. But Marcus was a man on a mission. Having brunch, just to the two of them, all calm and relaxed, was just as good as fireworks.

When she’d been showering earlier, he had called in a delivery from her favorite breakfast restaurant, the florist down the block, and snuck around the apartment to try to tidy up a bit. Not that the apartment needed much. He had set a new set of candles in two overly-priced candle holders and lit them…and then quickly snuffed them out, deeming it too early for candles. He had slipped back into bed just as she emerged in a puff of lavender steam from the bathroom, looking much more comfortable than she had in days.

He rolled over and sat up to steal a kiss against her smiling mouth before coaxing her down onto the bed to apply her share of the strangely scented lotion to her matching set of bumps and bites.

“You know,” she started, face squished in the pillow, “for what it’s worth, I did have a really good time.”

“Yeah?”

“You know I always like spending time with you.”

“Even if you get eaten alive by fire ants?” He asked, a smile pushing at his mouth as his fingers trailed down her back.

She laughed. “Even then.”

He leaned down to press a kiss behind her ear before finishing her layer of lotion and his smile only grew when he heard the familiar, satisfied hum rumble in her throat. A knock at the door had him rising. “I’ll be right back.” Marcus pulled on a shirt as he moved toward the door and opened it, happily seeing two delivery men. He paid them both quickly and moved to the kitchen to set everything up as he heard one of his least favorite sounds.

Her cellphone ringing.

Marcus placed the flowers in her favorite vase but didn’t even move to plate the food he’d had delivered. What was the point?

She came out of the bedroom, rubbing at her temples and her phone in her pocket. “I-”

“You have to go,” he said, finishing for her. “Where to this time?”

She grimaced. “Nowhere fun. But apparently a Pollock has surfaced at an auction set for tomorrow night.” Her eyes darted to the flowers and her grimace softened. “Are these for me?”

Marcus smiled and handed them to her, chuckling as she all but shoved her face into the blooms to inhale their scent. He tightened the knot on the top of the takeout and handed that to her, too. “Here, you can eat this on the road.” And when she opened her mouth to apologize, he kissed the words away. Marcus would never fault her for her job and its uneven schedule, just as she never held his strange hours against him. “Home by Wednesday?” He murmured against her lips.

“Home by Wednesday. I promise.”

When he closed the door to her taxi and waved as he watched the yellow car disappear around the corner, Marcus sighed. Strike two.

Patrick Jane was not who Marcus wanted to see right now. And neither was Lisbon. But that was beside the point. The point was that Marcus hadn’t seen his Honey in almost three weeks because of a demanding client wanting more and more art work so she was flown all over Europe to different auctions and private sales.

He had remembered how he heard her sniffle over the phone when she told him that this client was asking her to pick up more art. “It is good money, really good. I can probably take a few months off after I do this but I…” she hiccupped and his heart broke. “But I just really miss you.”

And that was why he had booked a table at this beautiful and romantic restaurant after she had managed to sleep off her jet lag and rinse the grime of the plane from her skin.

Marcus ordered expensive wine that she knew she only ordered when she closed a big deal and asked the chef to place the ring on the top of the tiramisu he had scheduled to be brought out in exactly 47 minutes.

But that plan had been fantastically derailed when that obnoxious blond man spotted him from across the restaurant and then had the gall to ask the hostess to seat them near each other. (What were they even doing in DC?) For her part, Lisbon looked uncomfortable, too, as they made small talk.

With each passing word and each forced anecdote, Marcus felt himself deflate. There was no way he was going to propose to the love of his life in front of his ex-fiancée and her husband.

“You know,” Jane started and Marcus felt his teeth grind, “Marcus always struck me as a family man.”

She smiled and reached out to wrap her fingers around Marcus’ and squeezed. “He is.”

“Oh?” Jane continued, leaning forward in his seat. “Is a congratulations in order?”

Marcus could hear his teeth grinding but her grip tightened on his hand while her smile remained steady. “That is none of your business. I am sure you can fill your time poking and prodding into other people’s lives. Now, please, you have interrupted my long overdue date with the love of my life with your prattle. I’m sure you’re lovely, but I am done entertaining you.” She raised her other hand and asked for the check which was quickly given. The hostess, for her part, did glance to Marcus to make sure it was okay before he subtly nodded. The ring was slipped back into his hand by a sly waiter.

“Marcus,” Lisbon murmured, “we didn’t mean-”

Marcus stood and buttoned his jacket before helping his Honey into her coat. “Have a good night, Lisbon.”

And they left the restaurant, flagging down a taxi as thunder rolled overhead. Marcus made sure to open the taxi’s door for her and let her slide in before joining her in the backseat. The pair was quiet for a moment, and then two before she started to giggle. The giggle grew into a full-belly laugh that had tears gathering in her eyes and Marcus had to laugh, too. She always made him laugh.

“God!” She said. “He’s so full of himself. And truly, Marcus, I’m sure Teresa is lovely but she has terrible taste in men. Choosing that over you? I would never.”

Marcus felt a selfish bloom of pride swell in his chest. “Yeah?”

She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”

And you know? That made Marcus smile just as much as putting a shiny ring on her finger. She wanted him forever.

He could propose tomorrow.

He did not propose tomorrow.

Or any day after that for the next three months. There just…wasn’t the right time. The ring he now kept in his suit jacket pocket seemed heavier by the day. Even his fellow agents seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering him.

“Fighting with your lady, Pike?” One of them asked as they were huddled around a table in the art storage room, trying to devise a plan to catch a thief who had managed to disappear with fourteen million dollars’ worth of some blueblood’s family heirlooms which included an Artemisia Gentileschi original. It was a brazen heist and obviously a huge case that needed to be their sole focus.

But sometimes his group of agents were a little nosey.

“We don’t really fight,” Marcus muttered as he looked over the blueprints of the family’s home, trying to find a way that the thief had come in and out. The official police report said a downstairs window was open but he didn’t believe that. “We have our disagreements but she is the most levelheaded person I know. The most heated conversation we had was over which diner had the best waffles.”

Another agent gagged. “You two are disgusting.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘perfect,’ actually.”

Marcus shook his head and bit back a laugh—they really needed to focus on this case. “We’re not perfect.” And they weren’t. No one was. But that didn’t mean he loved her any less.

“Still haven’t proposed, eh?”

“Shut up, man.” There was no heat to his tone as Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face before looking at his watch. It was almost eleven at night. “Go home. It’s late. We can pick this up in the morning.”

The rest of the group grumbled their thanks and disappeared to the upper levels of the building, probably in search of their forgotten dinners before going home. Marcus tapped his pencil on the blueprints, his eyes constantly moving to the door leading into the ‘piano room’ which then led down to the wine cellar. He wasn’t sure why, but something in his gut just told him the answer led to that set of rooms.

“Marcus?”

He jumped at the sudden noise but quickly righted himself as he saw her entering the fenced off storage area, carefully skirting around a prized Greco-Roman statue they had just recovered in Philadelphia. It was no longer a surprise to see her down here, the front desk guards knew her by face and name and all but gave her security clearance, easily letting her through when they knew Marcus was working late. He stood and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips and then forehead in greeting, listening to her hum in contentment as her hands wound around his waist. “What are you doing here, Honey?”

She smiled as she looked at him and shrugged. “I knew you were working late. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d keep you company instead of tossing and turning.”

“You know I’m always happy to see you.” He led her over to the table and told her a little about the case, as much as he could without truly getting in trouble, and let her look over his notes.

She frowned as she turned the blueprints around and looked at them. “These people are like…billionaires, right?”

Marcus confirmed it with a frown but let her continue.

“Right. So, last time I was in LA, I was at that big, private auction at one of the gaudiest homes I’ve ever visited. Remember me telling you about that? The host got so drunk that he demanded he show everyone his three panic rooms and the private tunnel he had requested be dug behind his laundry room in the basement. Apparently he bribed the city inspector to keep it off the official blueprints so that a thief couldn’t use that tunnel.” She held up the blueprints and tapped at the wine cellar. “Ten bucks says there’s more to this wine cellar than just some ridiculous vintages.”

Marcus could feel his face lighting up. She was amazing.

They spoke a little longer, about possible suspects and how there was probably more than one thief—or at least a getaway driver—before their conversations shifted.

“The guys upstairs said something funny.”

“Hm?”

“They called me Mrs. Pike.”

His next breath nearly choked him. He was going to kill the guards upstairs. “O-oh? Really?”

“I think it sounds nice,” she said, her tone a little embarrassed. “Not that I haven’t thought about it before.” She smiled a bit, almost nervous. “We’ve talked about it, me and you, but to hear someone else say it…makes it sound…really nice.” She hid her embarrassment behind her hand and shook her head.

“I think it sounds nice, too.” He could do it. Right now. He could do it. They were surrounded by beautiful art. All by themselves. There was a light in her eyes that made his heart squeeze. His hand patted the pocket where he kept the ring and-

-it was gone.

“Marcus?” Her tone was filled with worry and she reached out to trail a finger over the crease that had erupted between his eyebrows, a gesture she did often when he brought work home with him. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, honey.”

He most certainly was not but it wasn’t like he could tell her that or propose. ‘Yes, honey. I lost your engagement ring. Will you marry me?’ Fuck.

The next day Marcus was stopped by the man at the front desk as he headed toward his office. “Everyone’s been telling me about your big plans. Can’t do it without this.” He handed over a small bag and inside…was the ring.

“Where’d you find it?” Marcus asked, stashing the ring in his briefcase this time.

Apparently his pocket couldn’t be trusted.

“Parking lot.”

Marcus could only sigh.

This was it. This had to be it.

If it wasn’t? He was sure the universe was telling him to just give up. They were happy, right? In love? Maybe they didn’t have to be married. Maybe…

No. No, he wanted to be her husband and he wanted her to be his wife. And that was why the ring was (safely and securely) stowed away in his wallet. He just needed the right time.

She was sitting across from him at their favorite diner, a stack of pancakes and a plateful of waffles between them and half-finished milkshakes abandoned near the saltshakers as they tried to guess which type of syrup was in each little carafe from a single bite. It was a game they played a few times before—one they had played on their first official date, actually. It had lasted well past the dinner and museum visit he had planned and into the morning where they had landed at the diner as the sun rose.

“This has to be strawberry,” she said as she finished her bite. “What do you think?” She asked, holding out the fork for him to take.

He took his bite and nodded. “Strawberry, definitely.”

She lifted the carafe and smiled as she read the tape on the bottom. “Point for us!” They high-fived across the table, laughing. The waitress who always served them shook her head with a smile from her place at the counter, knowing their game too well.

Marcus poured the syrup on their next bite and guessed its flavor before letting her take a guess.

“Um…blueberry?” She licked her lips, contemplating. “Maybe?” As Marcus lifted the carafe and confirmed that it was indeed blueberry, she continued. “Oh, a display of Alphonse Mucha is coming to Georgetown.”

Marcus smiled. Over an hour of their first date had been filled with soft whispers and shy smiles in front of a wall of Mucha sketches. They had been asked to leave by a polite but tired museum guard, not realizing they were there past closing. It was one of his fondest memories. One of the first times he realized she was truly special. He fell a little (more) in love with her that night. “We should go.”

“I’ll get tickets!”

This was the time. This was the moment. He pulled his wallet out under the table and curled his finger around the ring and watched as she smiled, wiping a bit of syrup from her chin. “I love you.”

She paused and looked at him, smile continuing to grow. “And you know I love you, too.”

“And I’ve loved you for a long time. You make my life better, make me better. I know our jobs are crazy. But they’re beautiful. Filled with art and excitement. But you’ve really…made my life a masterpiece.”

“Marcus?” Her voice was soft, eyes narrowing just slightly.

But Marcus pressed forward. “And I know that’s cheesy but I-”

And his phone was ringing. Why of all times was his phone ringing? And worst of all, it was the ringtone he had set for his boss. He had to answer. And she knew it, nodding just once with a fading smile.

He stood from his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before slipping away with his phone pressed to his ear.

Marcus was tired. Tired.

He had been to New York to Miami to Orlando to Atlanta and then finally to Rio. The band of thieves, making a run for it with millions of dollars of art—including a da Vinci sketch. But he and his team caught them before they disappeared into the wind and the art was lost to the black market.

But he was tired.

He yawned as he drove through the mostly-quiet streets, ready to slip back into his apartment and pull his honey into his arms and then…sleep for three days.

That sounded wonderful.

But then his phone rang again.

And he had to answer it.

Thankfully, it was a short call. Someone had just broken in to one of the smaller museums in Georgetown and they wanted Pike to catch the thief in the act. Marcus sighed as he tossed his phone in the passenger seat. If this went well, it meant less paperwork. And then he could sleep.

The museum was dark when he arrived. There was only a faint bit of life coming from around of one the corners and he slunk around in the shadows, a hand on his gun. He was ready. He could stop a theft before it happened. He could-

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks as he realized what he was looking at.

Standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by (electronic) candles and priceless Mucha originals, was his Honey. His Venus.

“Hi Marcus.”

He took one step forward and then two and then three-

And she dropped to one knee and gently grasped his hands in hers, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “You make me smile every day. Even when I feel the need to hide all your socks after you make me mad. You have given me a new way of seeing art, appreciating it. You, Marcus Pike, have helped me grow, helped me breathe when I thought the world was just too much, helped me learn what strawberry syrup tastes like.”

Marcus had to laugh at that, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes. “And pecan, too.”

“And pecan syrup, too.” She squeezed his hands again with a growing smile. “I’ve never known love like this. And I never want to be without it. I never want to be without you. I just…” she hiccupped, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “I just love you. Will you marry me? Can I be Mrs. Pike?”

Marcus pulled his hands from hers and quickly pulled his wallet from his back pocket, pulling the ring (finally), from its depths. “Can I ask you, too?”

She all but tackled him to the sparkling marble floors and pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, chin, brow, and lips, a laugh on her tear-stained lips. “Ask me.”

“Will you marry me?” The words finally came out in a rush, his heart beating wildly behind his ribs as he watched her smile. Her beautiful smile.

“Yes.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think!

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike #the mentalist

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ponyguru · 3 years

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Hi, can you help me? I really like my little pony dolls and ive been wanting to start a collection of all the generation four gals if I can (i would settle for the mane 6 and a few others), however i have no idea where to start or how to find any, and on amazon i have only find weird knockoffs that have hard silicon hair. I also want to have an archive of all thr launched dolls, both mlp and equestria girls, but again, i have no idea how to research or really do any of this, do id really really like some pointers, or if you dont have any, for you to point me to someone who does.

Hi! Oh gosh, sorry for the late reply!! I'm not great about checking my Asks, and I only seem to get notifications for messages about half the time! >.>

So... it's a funny thing! Because when I was building most of my early collection in the early 2000s, the way to do it was to buy big eBay lots, and sell/trade any extras you didn't want from there. But now with eBay prices skyrocketing, and more folks getting into collecting/flipping pony lots, prices are all over the place - mostly ridiculously high.

Prices for G4, at least, seem to still be pretty low! More people are selling than buying. So if you're looking for G4 ponies, I highly recommend looking for eBay lots. I've still gotten some good deals there, even on harder-to-find ponies like G4 Minty. There's a fair amount of people just flipping them from the thrift, or selling childhood/post-fandom collections, so you can get good prices for them still. (G1 is less so! And G3 seems to be creeping up as well.)

I also suggest Mercari! Mercari is, unlike Facebook pickups, generally assumed to be for mailing items, so although there's some stiff competition, you can still find good deals! You can use that as an app or on their website! (If you are good at IRL stuff, you could always try the thrift stores yourself, or try local flea markets/toy fairs/Facebook sales! G4 is plentiful among toy collectors, especially those who trade secondhand, and you might be able to get some deals!)

I'm curious about what hard silicon hair ponies you're finding! I took a quick look, and I think you may be seeing the Ponyville/blind bag figures, which are minis. When I look on Amazon I still see some G4 stuff, but it's mostly 3rd party sellers, so it's very expensive. I still scroll through the Amazon Warehouse from time to time - you won't find older ponies, but if there's any newer releases you like, they may have those a little cheaper with a banged-up box! I found a cool Cutie Mark Crew set for $6 on there recently!

The most well-organized and comprehensive site, at least for the first few years, was Strawberry Reef (here's her release list by year), but I believe she fell behind in the past few years, since it only goes up to 2013. (She may have skipped G4 in favor of G4.5? I see links for G5 stuff there now.) MLP Merch is keeping up admirably, but I'm not sure if they have a chronological guide. There may also be some stuff in the various MLP wikis, but I haven't done a lot of research on that yet!

I suggest eBay by and large, but I also suggest checking out the MLPArena - it's one of the last remaining pony forums, and there's still folks selling and trading there! MLPTP is also still going, but they seem to be less busy than the Arena. I'd suggest Facebook, but the crowd there is Real Bad, and a lot of the folks who've become popular there were previously banned for being scammers on the forums. So if you join MLP groups there, be wary, and pay very strictly with Paypal goods/services - no friends/family, no Facebook pay. (Neither will give you ANY level of buyer protection!) There was once a feedback group for Facebook, but it turned out that it was run by some of the same scammers who got banned from the forums.

I'm trying to think of what else to say - I've found some nice and cheap G4 ponies on instagram flash sales, and I've also found some overpriced G4 ponies there! It really just depends on who's selling and how popular/packed their sales are. Jupiter.magia, for example, is a very popular, friendly seller; I got some great basic G4 ponies from her! But her sales posts would get claims within like .05 seconds. Ditto for Kristwoforks, a popular thrift reseller. She does a lot of sales, and has a LOT of fans! (And then of course, there's the classic "super popular seller who everyone loves but will occasionally scam people out of their items and attack anyone who speaks up", which I've personally run into in the past, as well as witnessed my friends get scammed by multiple Big Names.) Instagram, sadly, isn't a real sales platform, so there's no protection if things go south; your only recourse is through Paypal, and there's no real way to leave feedback, so scammers thrive there, as they do on Facebook. You have to be very careful and mindful of your claim deadlines, so I generally warn beginning buyers away from there until they gain a little more experience, and can pick up when someone's giving off bad vibes. I've found most of my IG buys from people I follow; they'll say, 'oh I got this last week from X!' so I'll go follow X's page for their next sale; or Y will get their sale post boosted on my friend's story, so I'll go check them out too. It's much safer IMO to find sellers by this sort of word-of-mouth, because then you know someone who had at least one good interaction with them.

I gave you a LOT of information here, ha ha, but I'm doing my best to be comprehensive! You've decided to collect G4 at a very good time, because with the end of the series, folks are losing interest, and selling off their collections. Not everyone of course, but quite a few! I wish you the best of luck in your future collecting adventures! And feel free to pop back around if you get stuck or have more questions!

#asuugarbooklover #ponyguru advice #idk if that's a thing but why not #long post

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keltonwrites · 3 years

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I bought a house in the middle of nowhere

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.” It was something akin to that, at least. He didn’t mean any mischief, no deceit or planning. It was an honest take on what, at the time, was true. I saw the road into town on Google Maps, noted that it was closed during the winter, acknowledged the reality that a person can own a snowmobile, and I said, “we are not moving there.” But, all good truths are just dares in the making.

And here I am, living in the “there” I said I would not. Two years ago, I left my job at Headspace for a life reset. It was pre-pandemic, and Ben and I were planning a big road trip. Our perfect paradise in Topanga, CA, had crystallized itself as many people’s perfect paradise, and those “many people” all had more money than us. Our options to buy a home were nil, and home-buying was essentially all we wanted. Ben’s a builder and I’m a world builder, and we wanted somewhere to invest that didn’t belong to someone else. We packed the car with the tent and the bikes and the dog and all the things that come with tents and bikes and dogs, and off we went on our own Tour de l’Ouest, looking for a place to call home. We knew what we wanted, knew our odds of finding it, and hit the road anyway. Here was the dream list — concocted by two pie-in-the-sky dummies who married each other:

Not rainy or consistently windy

Notable access to the arts

Remote and challenging to get to/close neighbors

Wild West influenced architecture

Progressive community

Exceptional trail access out the front door

High-speed internet

In our budget

And my personal favorite: had to “feel right” Good luck to us with a list like that, but thus began our hunt. We camped in the snow, tried every dirty chai in the Rockies, and explored every town we could. Whatever a good time it was, it felt useless. Every town Ben was OK with, I hated. Every town I was OK with, Ben despised. And the few places we both loved required money we just didn’t have. We came home with our sails down, limping into the harbor of our rental. But as is the way with romantics, our dreams began to slowly eclipse our reality. Books fell victim to Zillow and Trulia. TV was replaced by the MLS. All writing time was dedicated to Realtor.com. Hours were spent pouring over maps, county records, and updating spreadsheets that tracked price per square foot compared to beds and baths. Over time, all that internetting led to one singular town of 180 people at 10,000 feet in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado with a road that said “Closed Winters” on Google Maps. Look, I don’t know what happened. Ben found this town on a map, I said don’t be ridiculous, and after a year or so of him telling people I'd never move here, here I am, being ridiculous. Was it reverse psychology? Maybe. Was it the charming “town plan” that mandated all houses be rustic cabins and forbade AirBnB? Could be. Was it the fact that when I looked at Strava’s Heatmap, it showed what seemed like thousands of miles of trails just out the front door? I mean, yes. All these things played a part, but all I know for certain is that one day I woke up and said, “we’re going to move there.” Ben doubted this conviction (and the realities behind it) thus cementing it into place in my head. In a town of 180 people there’s only ~60 houses, which means maybe 2 or 3 get listed per year — but my spreadsheet had the proof: we hadn’t missed our chance yet in this tiny town. The data showed a strong likelihood there would be at least two houses listed within the calendar year. This, however, was also our last chance. The spreadsheet also showed that if we didn’t find a house this year, we wouldn’t be able to afford one the next. We called a realtor, made our case, and harangued her until she believed us that we were truly the kind of yahoos who would move to an avalanche field and stay there. And then it happened. A pocket listing. It was a darling home built in 1890. It had the beds, the baths, and the views. We were the first and only to know. We put in an offer, they agreed, and we would come to see the house in a few weeks. But in those few weeks, the circumstances changed. The sellers lost their own sweet deal, and they couldn’t sell yet. Their agent promised we had right of first refusal, it was only a matter of time. Ben lamented, I preached patience, and we went to see the house that was no longer for sale anyway.

It was a quiet winter morning in Covid when we drove across the packed snow to meet our realtor outside the house. The sun was out and the 13 degrees Fahrenheit felt warm. I unzipped my jacket, mask on my face. I took long videos and talked about where I would set up my office and where we’d put the bikes. As we closed up and I settled into a future where this house would eventually be mine, our realtor told us there were comps in the area — other residents quietly interested in potentially closing out. Would we like to see them? Sure, let’s.

One home came with an incredible commercial kitchen. The whole house was a whopping 3500 sq ft if my memory serves me correct, which falls under the category of “houses too big to find your cat in."

Another home had an open-air-to-the-kitchen bathroom.

The third was dark and overpriced with cracked windows and open beer cans scattered about.

And then, plans changed. “Hey guys, there’s actually one more house we can see.” The last house we saw was a log cabin, nestled in the hillside by itself, with massive A-frame windows looking out onto the peaks beyond. Inside was a labyrinth of a life lived long and large. The cabin was built and loved by a man we’ll call Jack. Jack was 82, and as we walked toward the front door on that sunny winter morning, he exited with two beers in his pockets, headed to the mountain to ski. Jack was an attorney — in his life he’d been both criminal and defender — and from the stories, somewhat interchangeably. There were artifacts from running in the same scenes as Hunter S. Thompson and Willie Nelson; there were stuffed birds, bad books, sheet-covered couches, smoked spliffs, and piles and piles of mouse shit. Every inch of the house was lived in, and not just by people. You think millennials like plants? No. This man likes plants. The biggest monstera deliciosa I’ve ever seen, spanning some 10 feet wide and 15 feet tall. Draping cactuses, spider plants, massive aloes, and an ambitious hoya carnosa clawing its way to the top of the massive fireplace. But there were problems. I’m trying to be diplomatic saying the house was lived in. The wood by the door handles was dyed black from years of hand grease rubbing against it. The carpet in the upstairs was soiled almost everywhere with bat scat. Newspaper was stuffed between the massive logs to keep the wind out. There was cardboard taped over almost every window, blankets nailed over the others. Half the doors wouldn’t open. It was unnerving to touch the crusted light switches. It was early enough in the season of Covid-fear that touching anything felt like gambling. On our way back to our rental in the bigger neighboring town, we shared our awe and our no-ways, lamenting how long we’d have to wait for the little 1890s fixer upper. That night, I sent the video I took of the cabin to my parents. “Can you believe this?” I asked. And do you know what my dad said? “Great log construction.” After that, the cabin was all we could talk about. “Could you believe those plants?” “Did you see how big those logs were?” “I just googled Jack, look at this.” “Do you know what the insulating factor of logs is?” “How much did he say he was asking?” It came down to the plants. Amidst all the chaos in that house, the tender care of those decades-old plants sung the clearest. This wasn’t just a place Jack lived in, it was a place that wanted to be lived in. We made an offer the next day.

Jack had six months to clear out his 30 odd years of collecting, and the town had six months to speculate about the worrisome Californians moving to their high-altitude, high-risk town. The town itself is an old mining town. It rests in a high valley, surrounded by peaks over 13,000ft, and is over six hours from the nearest major airport. Five people died around this town in avalanches this past year. The dirt road into town is littered with avalanche fields, warning visitors to not stop when driving in. The other way out is a pass road, only drivable in the warm months, but you could skin out if it was dire. Most August days, the high is in the mid-60s. The valley is blanketed in wildflowers, and the aspens littering the mountainsides suggest a promising fall display. The town had a heyday, a low day, and now it’s a community of preppers, adventurers, appreciators, and “get all these idiots away from me”ers. We don’t know these people yet, but the ones we’ve met have the same like to live hard attitude we do. Heli-ski guides, ex-CIA agents, woodworkers, bakers, teachers, just a general can-do group of people. The kind of people that see a California license plate and peer with skepticism between the thin gap over their sunglasses and under their caps.

You might say I’m romanticizing the place, but the residents are worse. Like all good old-timers, they’re full of threats: “wait’ll you see the snow drifts,” “let’s see how you do outrunning an avalanche,” “good luck with the winds,” “the last Californians didn’t last a year.” God, what does that remind me of?

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.”

With every taunt, my teeth ground more enamel, fingers rolling into a clench. And maybe Jack recognized this intensity, because on the day of closing, he hosted a gathering for us in the town's open space. He had us introduce ourselves to the skeptical locals, and I made my case in court, eyes narrowed and lips curled. “I’m the daughter of a smokejumper and wildlife biologist. I grew up watching the wind and the door. I’ve lived in big cities, small boats, and more than one cabin. I always take the stairs, I never use air-conditioning, and I’m a very good shot.” I’m just a girl, standing in front of a town, asking them to give her a fucking chance. Jack stepped forward to speak. “You know, I had my doubts about a couple Californians coming to look at my house. But these people? These are the nicest people you’re ever gonna meet.” And then I helped Jack set up his cot so he could spend his last night under the stars in the town that kept him young. Cooper ran circles with the other dogs. People brought homemade cocktails and bowls of dip and we felt welcomed. Even the mayor, a fellow writer, came and she struck up a conversation. “I hear you’ve got a little bit of a following on social media!” She teased. “I guess, nothing wild.” “Well I just wanted to let you know if you ever geotag this town, I’ll drag you out of it.” She grinned. This was a special place. And every visitor who couldn’t handle the realities of being here threatened the very wellbeing of the people who lived here. This town survives on a delicate balance. They source their own water, manage their own roads, and fervently protect the land and the people around them. Their stories about racing avalanches, snowmobiling in the dark of night to the doctor’s house, hunkering down in each other’s homes as the storms pass — these stories were bylaws. You can join when you’ve proven you’re ready to join. By their own projection, they are hardy and steadfast people, and when they see a Californian, they see something fleeting. Many years ago, I worked in the British Virgin Islands. The people born and raised there were called Belongers. At the customs office, the placards above the lines literally read, “If you belong, stand here” and “If you do not belong, stand here.” Whether or not we belong isn't up to the town council, and it's not up to these residents. It's up to years spent drifting my old Mustang in the snow on the way to school, up to Ben's months and months spent in the backcountry, up to my years of reading fire reports and assisting with evacuations, up to Ben's ability to read the landscape and the weather, up to my doggedness, his diligence, and our pathological love to do difficult things well. It’s up to us, to these old logs, and to this valley. Doesn't mean we'll belong, but it does mean we'll try. And for the record, the road is open in the winter. But do these sound like the kind of people who’d tell Google that? Next week, a tour of the house that we get to call ours — stuffed with newspaper, run by plants, and filled with mice. P.S. Here's where we get our mail.

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#newsletters #amwriting #relocation #home renovation #cabin life #cabin living #colorado #log cabin

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libraryofloveletters · 4 years

Text

Christmas With Luke

Luke wasn’t one for Christmas

They didn’t really celebrate when he was younger and when he enlisted, he didn’t celebrate then either

You, on the other hand loved Christmas

From the moment Halloween and thanksgiving was over, the house was in holiday mode

Garland on all the railings, a 8 foot tree with all the ornaments

When you and Luke started dating, you started taking pictures from your year and putting them on the tree

You have a picture of the two of you from each year on the tree

There was no holding back on the Christmas gifts

You loved to shop and you especially loved to shop for other people

You didn’t work at the BAU but you hung out with them enough to know what they liked.

You got gifts for all of them and their kids

The week of Christmas, you and Luke made the rounds

If they were away, they would get their presents before or after

For Penelope, a new keyboard for her computer at home that was customized with her favourite colours and characters, plus you made sure to bedazzle it

You got Sergio a new bed with his name on it to match Penelope’s new keyboard

For Spencer, a gorgeous mahogany bookshelf that would fit across the span of his wall, so he would be able to get rid of the mismatched ones he had that was falling apart

You had no clue how to put it together so you asked Spencer out for lunch while Rossi, Luke and Matt snuck into his place, put it together and signed a note “Merry Christmas from Luke and y/n”

For Matt, a new tool set (which you thought was totally boring but Luke chose it) Matt seemed to really appreciate it

You bought Kristy’s gift which was a new Micheal Kors purse that she was admiring the last time the two of you were out

The kids got toys and clothes, Matt had sent you a list of their favourite characters so each of them go a set of pjs, toys and some other stuff Luke chucked in there to match their favourite characters

For Tara, you got a signed and limited edition copy of her favourite album, as well as a bottle of her favourite tequila

For Rossi, a new set of cuban cigars to replace the ones Luke and Matt smoked without realizing (they were way overpriced, Rossi got that coin coin to be buying those)

For JJ, you settled for a household gift as something for her and Will. You got them a brand new set of kitchen dishes with just about anything you could think of, there were 125 pieces in the box.

Now you weren’t exactly sure what was included with the 125 pieces but the lady at the store said it was “a steal”

Her boys got the same thing as Matt's kids. JJ’s gave you a list of characters and they got things to match their favourites.

For Emily, an engraved set of wine glasses. A few had her name and the other ones had “Unit Chief of the BAU” on it.

You bought her a case, yes a case, of her favourite wine to go along with the glasses

After all the gift giving, the two of you were ready to crash

You had gotten Luke into the matching pjs thing for Christmas Eve

It was always some overly cheesy ones just because why not

You slept in for Christmas morning

Usually you’re the first one up but this year, Luke beat you to it

The house smelt like pancakes and coffee

You roll out of bed to find Luke in the kitchen with Roxy, singing long to Christmas music and cooking

“Well aren’t you two cute”

After breakfast, which was surprisingly good considering Luke can’t cook to save his life, it was time to open gifts

You got Luke a new watch, because he lost his old on on the job

This one was engraved on the back, it read “you’ll have a piece of me with you. Forever yours, y/n”

You kind of went overboard on the shirts this year too, Luke looks especially good in polo shirts and they were having a sale

You ended up getting in 6 different shirts in 6 different colours

Luke got you a beautiful locket which had your initials engraved on the outside, inside had a picture on him and other side was empty

“How come there's no picture there?” you asked him

“That spot is for when we have a kid”

You almost cried

You guys got Roxy a bunch of new toys, a new bed with her name on it and a few new collars

Her auntie Penelope had bought her a light green on with some little army patterns on it for Christmas which Luke absolutely was in love with

The two of you spent Christmas together, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

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inquisitive-mess · 4 years

Text

Tarts of Remembrance

This connected to the drawing I did for it. I know it’s kind of late to do a story about it, but I was in the mood to do one. Plus I feel like this would give some light on Ann felt about Anne Boleyn’s death.

Jane Parker by @altairtalisman

Mentioned Katherine “Kath” Tudor by @ellielovesdrawing and Amalia “Mali” by @pandora-dusk

What should of been a normal day for Ann turn into experience she wouldn't forget. It started when she was in her shop finishing a work order. She was rebuilding laptop from scratch for a customer. They want high definition screen, large RAM, longer battery life, additional USB port, and latest computer programming. This took her some time to do with many countless hours of her sitting and looking at the screen to make sure it was running right. She also took necessary breaks from the computer to avoid straining her eyes. She got up from her stool she was sitting on, moved her shoulders around, took her glasses off to place them on her head, and decided to walk around her shop a bit as the final program was uploading. She walk into the storage room to see if she has enough inventory in stock or need to order some. As she was doing that, the front door chimed indicating that customer walk in to the shop and she head to the front of the store to greet them. When she walk to the front, she saw it was Jane P and smile a bit. What started as Jane accidentally walking inside Ann’s shop to get her radio fix turn into a small friendship. Sure there was small hiccups where Ann got little emotional seeing her due to their past history where Jane was kind of responsible for Howard’s death later her own death when they redeem her crazy, but they were able to talk out civilly and forgive each other. And the incident where Jane and her girlfriend, Mali, decide to burst into her shop half naked to avoid Mali’s sister wrath. That would be a day Ann isn’t going to forget about. As far as Ann knew, Jane and Mali were the only people who know she was back and working here. Jane promise Ann that she will keep it a secret, until Ann was ready to tell the queens she was back. She also told Mail the same thing too and she agree to it.

Ann walk to the counter as she said in a calm tone “Hey Jane, what brings you here? Did your radio break again or some else broke that needs repair?” Jane shook her head and walk to where Ann while answering her “Nothing like that. I don’t have anything broken yet and radio is running as fine as it could be thank to your repair. Just on my home from dance rehearsal and figure I’ll drop by here on the way. Do you have time to spare?” Ann crossed her arms and reply “Fortunately yeah. I just got finish with an order and wait for last installment to load completely, so I call the customer to let them know it’s ready. After that, i’m free for the rest of the day.” Ann notices something Jane was holding a white box, turn her head, and said “What’s in the box?” Jane place the box on the counter and told her “Well, Kath, a reincarnated you wouldn’t know and owns a bakery, came to the theater with this box. It’s test samples of treats she want to sale, but I guess she wants an opinion on how they are. I offer to test them and was going to share with Mali.” Jane then said as she rub the back of her head “I’m still bad about how that turn out. I didn’t think we would have to run all the way here half naked and hide in your shop from her sister.” Ann sighed and reply “It’s not like it the first time I seen someone half naked. I work at the palace, so it doesn’t fazed me. You guys were lucky I didn’t have anyone in here when it happen. I couldn’t imagine the problem this would have cause, if someone was. And already forgave you guys, so it’s okay. And I hope Mali like them.” Ann smiled a little after saying this.

Jane look at Ann, place her hand on the box, and ask her “Do you want one? I'm sure Mali and I can’t finish all of it. Plus it would nice for Kath to have more input on them and have outside opinion, rather then friends thoughts.” Ann raised her hand and told her “Sorry, but I have to pass. I really don’t have a sweet tooth. Plus I don’t want to intrude on your guys lovely snack.” Jane shook her head and said “ No, I insist. And it’s the least we can do for hiding us in your storage room.” Ann knew she isn’t going take no for answer and would lead to back and forth talking, so she sighed and answered “Fine, but only one. I don’t want to ruin my dinner later on. I do need to eat a proper meal.” Ann begin to walk to the back and ask Jane before she left “ Can’t eat these without something to drink. Do you want me get you canned coffee or bottle water? Sorry I don’t have many choices. The shop doesn’t have a kitchen, but I do have fridge to keep my drinks and food when I bring some.” Jane look little confuse when she heard canned coffee. She didn't know you could get coffee in a can, but remember that there canned tea, so it shouldn't be too far off. Jane replied "Coffee, please." Ann nodded and head to her workspace, where the fridge was. She took out two cans, closed the door, and head back to the front. She place the cans on the counter near the box and hand one to Jane. Jane took it and thank her. She crack open it, took a sip, put it down, and said "It's not bad. I prefer my caramel macchiatio, but this is acceptable." She took another sip and said " You know was funny, your sister has coffee addiction and can't live without it, so I'm wondering if it runs in the family." Ann chuckled a little as she open hers and answered " I see that happening. She always stay up all night writing or learning something when I used to serve her. Unfortunately to tell you that I don't have coffee addiction. I only drink these whenever I feel like it and only get these because they're convenient and lot more cheaper to buy than those overpriced coffee shops. Don't get me wrong. I do go to them, but I can't imagine spending that much money and waiting in those line for cup of coffee everyday." Jane heard this and kind agree with her on that part.

They both turn to the box, Jane open it up, and look at all of sweets. There were different types of it and Ann didn't know which one to get. As Ann mentioned before, she didn't have a sweet tooth, so she didn't know which one were too sweet for her. Ann decide to grab a tart because it look the less sugary and look at it before taking a bite into it. As she chewing on it and enjoying the taste of it, this remains her of something, but can't remember what. She know this can't be from her current life, since she would remember that due to that she wasn't allow to get any sweets growing up and when she was able to, it make her feel a little sick. She look at the tart to see what was in it and something clicked in her head. She stare at it and thought "It can't be..." She took another bite of it and sure enough it was it, but how. She remember that no one was allowed to these, except for him and the family. She remember that perfectly when it happen and how sad she was because she really like them. Jane noticed Ann react and ask "Are you okay there? Did you get something you didn't like? You can choose something else. There a lot to pick from." This snapped Ann out of it, she shook her head, looked at Jane, and told her "It's nothing like that, but you should try this tart though. It's something." Ann hope that Jane would taste them and remember what these are, since she was there too when it happen. Jane looked confused on how Ann was acting, but she listen to what she said. Jane grab the tart and bit into it, which Jane had reaction from it and looked at Ann. She ask "Are these...." Ann smiled a little and answered "I guess they become public after our lifetime. The tart we used to eat when we served as ladies/maids in waiting at the palace." With that, they didn’t say anything afterwards. How could they? They used eat these after hard days work and talk to other maids/ladies as they enjoy them. These were made for them, but that ended when the king found about them and forbid anyone from eating them, unless it was made for him and his family.

After thinking a bit, Jane ask “ So Ann, what was your first time having these?” Ann crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and reply “It was a couple of weeks when I first started working at the palace. I was so young and innocent back then. I was so eager to learn everything and be as good as mother. I worked day in and day out trying to figure things out without messing up. Once day when I was done with my work, I was so tired and was ready to rest, but I was also hungry. I forgot to eat lunch that day and knew the kitchen didn’t have food left, so I was going to rest with an empty stomach when I smell something good. I follow it which lead me to the kitchen and saw Anne was baking something in it. I hide behind the wall and spy on her to see what she made. When I saw what she made, it made my mouth water and I wanted to try it, but knew I couldn’t since it was unladylike to invite yourself to something when you’re not welcome. As I was thinking, my stomach growl, which catch Anne attention, and she told me to come out. I came out and Anne smiled at me. She ask me if I want one and I politely decline, until my stomach growled again. Anne told me I can take one since she made it for other eat too, so it would no harm down. I then took one and ate it. It tasted so good and made Anne chuckle a bit. She ask for my name and she told me hers. We soon walk out the kitchen with tarts in hand and head to other were to enjoy them.” Jane listen to Ann’s story and thought it cute. She wish her story was that enjoyable, but it was just bland and boring. Jane said happily “That sounds amazing. To think you were there when Anne made them all though years ago. Bet you had some more stories about you two” Ann shook her head and answer “ Not really. I just follow Anne as we did our duties and I help her out with tarts to share with everyone, until the king found out them and banned us to eat them. I was sad when it happen and didn’t think I would eat them again, until Anne become queen and found a way for sneak some for me since she knew I like them. She became a role model to me and wanted to be like her. I took in all of the teaching she taught me and became devote to the religion she was in. Of course that where it all end” When she said, she lower her arms and open her eyes with a sad look.

Jane notice this and spoke sadly “ Ann...” Ann interrupt her as she raise one hand, place on the counter, and talked “ I know what you are going to say. You’re going to tell me it wasn’t my fault that she died, how there nothing I could of done to stop her beheading, or I shouldn’t had this guilt, since I was child when this happen, but I can’t. I look up to her as a role model, I want be like her, and I let her died. How am I suppose to feel? I feel like I let her down and her blood was on my hands. I know there nothing I couldn’t done to stop it, but I feel like I could of done something. Talk some sense into you, find the person who falsely accused her of adultery, anything would do. I fail her as a student and a terrible friend” As she was saying this, he crutch her hand tight and started to cry. Jane saw this and felt bad about it. She already felt bad for what happen to Boleyn and knew she was partly blame for it. She walk around the counter where Ann was and hugged her. She then explain to her “I don’t think Anne blame you for what happen to her. She know who to blame for that and I still have some guilt for it. I pretty sure she doesn’t expect a child to stop a king and the whole court, but I do know that she would be trilled to see you again when you are ready and she don’t want you to carry this guilt. I know my words isn’t much, but I can saying as a friend that you are not a failure or terrible person. You forgave me for what happen to Howard and took on this burden that you shouldn’t taken. That alone tells me that you are a better person that anyone in that court and people who condemned her.” This made Ann smile a little and said “Thanks” Jane replied “Just paying back the kindness you gave me.” Jane let go of Ann and said “Now that over with, do you want to continue enjoying these sweet or are you done?” Ann look at the box of sweets and look at the tarts. She turn back at Jane and answered “ Well, I do want you to save some for Mali, so I take one more tart and leave you guys the rest.” Ann grab a tart and bit into it as she drank some of her drink. Jane smile a bit as Ann went back being happy. Jane still has some guilt that may take time to heal, but it nice to see that she isn’t alone with it and has someone to talk to about it. Jane walk back to her drink and drank some of it as they talk about bittersweet memories. Maybe they can both overcome the guilt they have someday.

#six #six the musical #Sixtended verse #Ann Parr #Jane Parker

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did-i-do-this-write · 3 years

Note

Hey -the self indulgent anon- there was a family emergency (but its all good now) (and I can't remember if I sent something like this already but oh well)

So about two years later aku and Liam find luca -and he is a wolf Demi-human- and basically the wolf tribe kicked him out for failing the coming of age ritual/challenge -which think like what they did in black panther but - as per tradition (cuz if you cant complete it your too weak or something)

and so aku and liam find him half dead and take him in and aku helps train him to be stronger. (And he Wields a sword because I said so)

and then we have prince kuro who is the heir to the cloud kindom and basically the angels and demons had made a truce and were going to be equals but some angels didnt like that and killed the king and queen and took over (and the bad angels broke kuros wings and chucked him over the side of the cloud kindom figuring it would kill him)

but aku stole like a bunch of books and kept stealing them over the years -mostly maps and history, gardening and like -those plant identity books so he doesn't eat something poisonous - and some docter type books from his 'parents' second library that they never use (because rich ppl lol) so he Was able to patch Him up.

and then aku got his story and promises to help him get his kindom back. -if he would stop trying to escape and go back , you 're already almost half dead damn it!-

so then Aku decided to head to this town That sells and trades goods to maybe sell his own stuff that he grew

And everything looks fine -lots of people coming to see what this town has ya know?- But the town ppl are like hella poor and most homeless because the person who owns the town -who also work under aku's 'parents'- are underpaying and overpricing everything. -Cuz like you need a permit to sell things And setup a stall and its expensive and then the person also takes a large cut if the sales that was made-

And aku is like....why is everything so corrupt? The wolf tribe? The cloud kingdom! Here?

-and this is before he finds out about what the noble are doing to the spell books and such-

So then he decides to do something about it and goes to a different town -or maybe a nobles house and sells an invention for a lot of money plus a royalty- And uses the money to buy the town from the current owner -but since he doesn't want His noble parents to know he's there he has Luca Do it under his name instead of aku-

So i haven't figured everything out about the restaurant.

But I'm thinking Aku kinda just makes normal recipes but better because they've been improved in his time -and also things from other countrys-

So like maybe pizza pasta sushi? And like condiments -like ketchup mayonnaise and things like that-

(which (free history lesson) ketchup Used to be a fish sauce and wasn't actually Made from tomatoes until the 1700s!)

And the recipes get really popular with the people who come to buy stuff so then the word gets out and more and more people come and like the town is becoming more popular then before!

And then he Makes a Better orphanage and ends up taking in a few Of the homeless kids: owen and voilet which are panda twins and maple who is a racoon) and gives them jobs.

-like maybe gathering the firewood Needed (I mean he doesn't exactly force them too but they wanted to help) And Helping with the cooking and he pays them for it-

Which is basically the start of aku slowly taking down all the corrupt systems

And then a little bit later aku meets an aracnia In the woods named Adrian who is fixing up a birds wing right?

And so they talk and Adrian wants to be a doctor but racism says no (and I haven't decided if I want arachnids to have like 6 spider like legs or 6 human arms but I'm leaning towards the latter) so aku -who now is the mayor of a town that doesn't really have a docter But has a bunch of medical books- is like "I have the perfect place for you"

Oh and I forgot so Adrian and kuro are oldests at around 17ish I think

And then aku is also 17 but the youngest off the three of them

And then Luca is about 15-16 ish

And liam is 15

And then the panda twins and maple are about 8-10 I'd say

(no worries! And you did already send this but this one has more detail so it's the one I'll respond to 😅 I just got caught up today and couldn't answer, sorry!)

First of all, loving the concept of the first step to ending corruption being opening a restaurant. That's just a god tier concept, well done 👌🏻

All of the rest sounds really good, too! A very captivating fantasy world you seem to have created! It sounds like you have a lot to work with! Even tho you mentioned it being more self indulgent, I would love to read something like this (and I have a feeling I'm not the only one)

If you have more to share, I will offer you the same thing I offered the other anon which is you can always DM me about your WIP if you'd like to talk about it more! These long asks can sometimes clog people's dashboards and it can be a little much sometimes 😅

#ask and you shall receive #thank you for the ask!#isekai anon #zac speaks #writing #wips of others #long post

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missholoska · 4 years

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due to what counts as popular demand by my inbox's standards: here's Swap MH Muffet and Grillby! I hope it's not too disappointing that there wasn't much I felt the need to change from Canonswap’s designs, just tweaked a couple things to my liking :’>

I’m only making proper character sheets for the main 12 characters, but I’ll compile the info I’ve previously shared about them (plus a couple new details) into this one post under the cut!

also this is literally the first time I’ve drawn either of these two, please go easy on me if they look a bit wonky oTL;;;;;

Swap MH Muffet:

Initially quiet and stoic towards new customers, fixing an intense, unblinking 5-eyed stare on anyone who takes too long to order, but the second she receives money she’s immediately sweet and welcoming. Regulars are treasured guests, but don’t expect a discount.

In a hypothetical game you would be able to actually buy from her unlike UT Grillby, because as if she'd pass up a potential customer. She's still pretty overpriced, especially for early-game, but she does at least recognise she won't sell anything to anyone at 9999G.

In-game her menu would only consist of 4 items at most, but I just like coming up with fictional menus SO her drinks menu features: webspresso, arachnoccino, tarantulatte, purple tea and spider cider, while her food menu includes: spider doughnuts (with a different flavour each day), croissants, spider cider cheesecake, savoury spider tarts, and carrot cake for the Rabbit Guards. are you hungry yet

Her café has a cutesy and cozy atmosphere, as long as you don’t mind the spider staff constantly crawling along the walls. Doggo is one of her regulars since he likes being able to see the spiders moving all the time, but she often has to kick him out for trying to smoke dog treats indoors.

Neptune’s first hangout after his battle takes place here, similar to UT Sans inviting Frisk to Grillby’s, but the event remains in the style of UT Papyrus’ hangout/date. (side note, Muffet doesn’t let him or anyone keep a tab)

Design-wise, I pretty much just brought back UT Muffet's ribbon so she and Grillby don't have such similar bows on their outfits. although I didn't even know heeled roller skates were A Thing until I went googling for just a generic image reference, and like. how could I not give her heeled skates after that discovery

Swap MH Grillby:

Much more lively and animated than his UT counterpart, but even a partial personality swap won’t make him talkative. Instead of talking during his battle, there are little fire elementals who live with him and speak for him.

Tea and baked goods are Muffet's thing, so he runs a barbeque in place of a bake sale and I switched the teapot Canonswap Grillby holds with a spatula. The fire elementals trapped in the Ruins also run a tiny barbeque, selling food made by fire, with fire, of fire.

His version of UT Muffet’s purple soul mode is orange, which causes the soul jitter uncontrollably with the feeling of standing on hot coals, making accurately dodging attacks much harder. On the plus side, failing to move through an orange attack results in it dealing far less damage - you’re already on fire, after all.

In place of the doughnuts and croissants UT Muffet attacks with, he fights with orange fire attacks and throws around burgers and fries. Haven’t decided yet if he gets a pet or if Muffet keeps hers, but in the case of the latter maybe he’d just throw you onto the barbeque for those bigger attacks.

After the barrier is broken and Chara wanders the Underground again, he still breaks his silence to tell them they did a good job.

#undertale #underswap #underswap mh #muffet #grillby #underswap muffet #underswap grillby #undertale art #holoskart #holoskart asks #anonymous #paulgrobe #lordnindroid #honestly canonswap's designs for these two were already incredibly good and it'd feel like a shame if I didn't mostly stay true to them #a spider butler lady who wears roller skates and glasses that cover less than half of her eyes is the perfect character design #and grillby's suit colours are a beautiful eyesore. he looked weird without the green from the teapot so he got some small green details #swap mh background characters

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thisislizheather · 3 years

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June Jaunts 2021

July always feels like one big long nap to me. There’s never really anything going on, kids are off school, adults seem to work less, it’s kind of great in that way. Maybe I won’t hate it this year? In any case, here’s what went down in June.

I compiled the best tweets of June over here and here.

I visited and wrote about the new Rockaway Hotel and pool.

I did Nathan’s podcast amidst his hiatus.

I recapped what I did from my spring list and made an upcoming summer to-do list, which I really encourage you to do on your own.

I read and reviewed The Happiness Advantage by Shawn Archor.

I’ve almost finished watching Living Single and seasons one through four are definitely the best ones. Love the episode where Kyle says goodbye to an old jazz venue that gets demolished, such a solid show.

I just saw the latest issue of the LCBO magazine and someone needs to pick me up that dill pickle vodka immediately.

Dying over how good the Strawberry Pound Cake candle smells from Bath & Body Works. Also picked up the Whipped Coffee candle for later this year from their semi-annual sale.

I went on an impromptu day trip to Connecticut.

I met up with Irene in Chinatown so I went early to walk around because man, I love that area.

Above Photo: Chinatown NYC, June 2021

Above Photo: Doyers Street, Chinatown NYC, June 2021

Above Photo: Irene!

Above Photo: Me!

I ate at dell’anima and it was insanely disappointing. It felt like being in a cafeteria at the mall, it’s just a terrible location. I wasn’t expecting much since I knew it was on 11th Avenue, but still. I had no idea it would be so deeply casual (which is upsetting for an NYC restaurant). The food was as average as could be. Also, can we stop with the plastic cups at restaurants? It’s time.

I also stopped by Anfora which is a pleasant little spot, especially before or after dinner.

I went to Daily Provisions and tried their roast beef sandwich and salted caramel brownie and does everywhere just suck this month? And I support Danny Meyer, but he truly is the master of overpricing food. Also - on what planet can a brownie taste bland?? Tell me??

I’m on the lash extension train again (I know, I’m weak) and I just got them done at Lash Princess in the city and they look incredible so I’m definitely going to return.

I rewatched Baywatch: Hawaiian Wedding and yep, still great.

Love the stationary/toy store Modern State on the Upper East Side.

I’ve heard about cotton candy grapes for years and have never been able to get ahold of them, but I just found them and whoa! Everything you want them to be and more. Am I bothered by the fact that they’re 1000% modified and MUST be terrible for humans to eat? A bit.

I finally ate the Wednesday sandwich special at Mama’s Too on the Upper West Side and it was pretty incredible. It was a roast beef au jus with horseradish cream on top of their house-made pizza crust. It was a little heavy on the fatty pieces of meat, but once those were taken out, it was insanity to eat. Take a look.

Above Photo: Roast beef au jus with horseradish cream at Mama’s Too, NYC

We saw A Quiet Place 2 in theatres and yes it’s an okay movie but it was too suspenseful for me after not seeing a movie in theatres for so long. I don’t think I want any more suspense in my life

We also watched The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It at home and meh. Patrick Wilson can still get it, though.

Yet another great song off of Olivia Rodrigo’s album.

I finally got a reservation at Forsythia and it was looooovely, I can’t wait to go again. The restaurant itself is beautiful and such a perfect date place, the chairs are gorgeous and comfortable, the service was flawless and the pastas were phenomenal (the garganelli was a standout for sure). And god knows how much I love a place that serves their bread with olive oil as well as butter, WHY DOESN’T EVERY PLACE DO THIS?

I had to try the panzanella salad at L’Artusi and of course it’s great, but it’s also just so genius to put the cheese ON THE BOTTOM of a salad like this one. (Also, I’ll forever support whatever this team wants to do.)

Above Photo: Heirloom Tomato & Burrata Panzanella with Stonefruit, Sourdough, Basil, Yuza, Nigella at L’Artusi, NYC

Above Photo: Bucatini with Pancetta, Tomato, Chiles, Pecorino at L’Artusi, NYC

I tried the new Milk Bar cookies at Whole Foods and they truly taste like the cake truffles at their stores, so watch out.

The two best gelato flavours at il laboratorio del gelato? 1) Peach 2) Ginger. I’m telling you.

I’ve been looking for the perfect navy raincoat for years and I finally found her at J. Crew on sale for $71.

I tried the gelato at Anita Gelato and even though the wild strawberry with ricotta & mascarpone was really good, there’s no way it’s worth waiting in line for twenty minutes.

Above Photo: Wild strawberry with ricotta & mascarpone with a vanilla scoop, Anita Gelato in NYC

A great piece, with great photos on NYC reopening.

I made hash browns at home and does everyone do this already? It’s ridiculously easy and satisfying and I had no idea.

I’ve been on a real orzo bender lately and this tomato one was great. So was this lemon basil one (I added a ton of fresh parmesan and it was nuts).

This sketch is old, but I just saw it for the first time and man it’s great.

The new Halloween trailer is out and I want to love it but can’t we just let some things die?

This Target candle reminds me of Florida vacations and I want to buy ten.

I stupidly ate at Eataly (don’t do it, especially if you live in New York, you should know better) and of course it was bad. What a smart idea to eat at a place called Le Pizza & La Pasta, I’m a moron. Even smarter, I got the steak tartare and it was as bland as the day is long (and look I know I’m a clown for not even ordering pizza OR pasta when it’s in the name). The basil vodka cocktail was pretty good, though.

One thing that Eataly is good for, though, is selling really good dried pastas. I finally tried the brand Afeltra (the pasta as well as their canned tomatoes) and wowza. Definitely will be buying again. Best dried brand I’ve tried so far. Oh! I also bought this Ponti Balsamic Vinegar that tastes like candy, it’s so good. It’s thicker than other balsamics, so maybe it’s more of a finishing vinegar but I highly recommend.

I made these white chocolate apricot scones (and then later that week some white chocolate strawberry scones) and they were phenomenal. I did use cake flour because that’s all I had and I think that might be the reason they tasted so great. Also, it’s a wildly easy recipe to follow incase you’re intimidated by the word “scone.”

Above Photo: White chocolate apricot scone

I started watching the new season of Dave and it’s so well done I could scream (do you remember how good this part was from last season?). Such a good show. I do sort of hate men more by the end of each episode, so I don’t know what that’s about but I think I’m okay with it.

Bought a new nonstick frying pan (the GreenPan) and it’s incredible. Sometimes the answer is new cookware, no matter the question.

Nathan bought a new filtered shower-head and it’s making me excited for every shower now. Just a powerhouse. Feels like I’m at a hotel in there.

Since it’s summer, I’d love to make these summer recipes:

Grilled Caprese Skewers with Halloumi and Sourdough

Pan-Seared Scallops with Chorizo and Corn

BLT Pasta Salad

Summer Coconut Chickpea Curry

Strawberry Crumble Coffee Cake

Some things that I’m looking forward to: I’m not usually into miniseries but Nine Perfect Strangers looks pretty good so I might watch that, we’re going to TWO weddings this month so that will be wonderful, and I really need to get back in a pool so I’m working on that happening.

If you have any interest in reading what went on in May, come on over here.

#June 2021 #June Jaunts 2021 #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #monthly post #monthly roundup #NYC June 2021 #NYC summer 2021

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

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Rules For Falling In Love: #2

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: The love for this fic has really made my heart ache in all the best ways! I hope yall love this update and I look forward to all your feedback of any and all kinds, as always ♡

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You had a week from hell, one where you seemed to live and breathe your work against your will. When you were free to do as you pleased, all you wanted was to do was absolutely nothing.

When you got home to find George seemed to have been waiting there all afternoon like a puppy, you rolled your eyes, entirely too exhausted to consider having fun. But before you had the chance to give that speech, George ushered you to the sofa.

"The last season, it's starting right now." He explained, turning the volume up on the telly that was already on. The show in question was one of those horrifically trashy ones. A silly little show you both got hooked on when you had the same cold, nowhere to go, and nothing else to watch. Now you needed to know what happened next.

The days weren't always like this. Between the years, you'd drifted apart from each other, floating back together for odd dinners and weekend getaways. It wasn't even like this when you started living together. But it seemed like in the blink of an eye you were spending more and more free time side by side, planning more than a few shared breakfasts and rainy afternoons.

Nights like these were expected by now, and you realized you'd be amiss if they ended anytime soon. George had called off dating some year or two ago, shaken by the Hollywood scene and the popularity contest he seemed to be in on, during films and even off set, in local shops he'd gotten recognized in. You'd forgotten that dating was a part of social life, far too preoccupied with your work and the plans you always had with George after hours to get to know anyone new.

It all made too much sense. So when the first commercial break kicked in and George passed the snacks he was holding over to you, as if he just remembered you were there, you spoke up.

"I'll do it."

You took the snacks, holding George’s eyes as his searched yours. You knew that he knew what you were agreeing too. Just when you thought he was about to speak, the show came back on and both of your focuses shifted entirely on the screen. You hadn't known what to expect... But the way everything seemed so vastly normal, sort of jarred you.

And for the next couple of days... neither of you talked about it at all. Sure you're busy with work and George had been fretting over a couple of important telephone interviews. But you thought surely he'd be more anxious to discuss logistics, or bring up the subject he invented, at all.

It wasn't until the next weekend, that the conversation picked up where it left off, again.

You'd spent the early Sunday morning roaming through the storefronts of an overpriced market. You ducked inside to relish the air-conditioned sales before dipping back out every few feet to admire the booths full of flowers, handcrafted gifts, and expensive decor. You'd buy absolutely everything here if you could.

You did have a mission. It was to pick up something to bring to dinner, a Sunday evening tradition with George's family. You'd been invited for as long as you could recall, and you'd never shown up empty-handed. Usually, flowers and desserts did just fine. But you were entirely too indecisive over what to purchase, this morning.

You'd become lost in a conversation with a woman who sold soaps and lotions, locally and expensively made. You rambled with her for so long that you'd lost sight of the person you'd come here with.

When you spun away from the lady selling soaps as new customers flocked closer to inspect her products, and you went on the hunt for George. You spotted him from behind, leaning in to speak with a vendor nearer inside. And just as you start to drift in his direction, he noticed you, too, through the crowd. And as the people part and you're nearly toe to toe, George doesn't greet you like usual.

There is no jab about where you'd been missing for so long, there isn't even a hello. Instead, you watch as George's smile grows mischievous, before bending at the knee.

Between his thumb and finger is a ring, just your unique style. It's from the booth he knelt in front of now, where hundreds of other delicate and novel jewels were displayed.

"What's all this then?" You laughed, standing in front of the guy you'd known longer than how to do simple maths.

"Marry me?" George asked, for the hundredth time, it seemed. You hadn't ever expected the question. But after this week, it came again at long last. You wondered if he'd ever bring it up again. But this time was different. This time, he smiled softly and held a real promise in his hand, looking up to you with a squint to block out the sun.

"I suppose I will." You grinned, answering quietly as George beamed up at you.

A couple of old ladies gasped from a couple of steps away, turning to watch on as George rose to his feet, grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Thank you, y/n. I cant wait." He said as if he'd been planning this for longer than he'd been pestering you about it.

"Why, we're practically already married." You laughed, mocking the statement he kept returning back to over the weeks. You watched as George slid the ring on your finger, with a pretty little design you couldn't have chosen better if you tried.

"Kiss her!" One of the elder spectators demanded like she was watching a wrestling match and coaxing on the fighters.

"I suppose I should," George remarked, mocking you, from moments ago. When he dipped down to place a teasing, chaste kiss on your lips, the old ladies cheered. When you swatted his arm with a playfully furrowed brow, the old ladies grumbled, completely let down by the way you ruined the moment.

"Don't blow it, Mackay. Go pick one for yourself, now." You warned your friend who was already giving you a playful smirk as you pointed to the collection of rings he was meant to choose from.

He found the perfect band, with specks and flecks that matched your own. And he liked it, best of all. The two of you walked out of the shoppe with matching rings, in fits of laughter as you imagined all your friend's reactions.

To celebrate, you stopped at a stall selling frozen yogurt and ordered one big container; because it was extremely overpriced, and George didn't mind sharing, because according to him-

"We're official." George boasted, digging into the dessert as you walked back toward your neighborhood, enjoying the perfect morning weather.

"Not quite." You reasoned. "We've still gotta get the worst part over with."

"The worst part?"

"Throwing a faux wedding. Lying to our guests. Drawing far too much attention to ourselves. This feels so much more like a business interaction than an event. Not that I'm not glad to do business with you, of course." You laughed, stepping in time with your closest friend.

"We don't have to make it a whole big thing. I only asked to be married, not for a garish wedding. We could stick to signing a few papers and call it a day."

"Are you serious? I want you to be explicitly clear about what you want because whether we make it one or not, this is a big deal."

"I'm okay with it." George chuckled, forcing the frozen treat in your grasp for a turn. "Either way, we'll need some witnesses."

You grumbled, remembering he was right. You weren't ashamed to marry him. Only embarrassed at the slightest bit of misjudged attention, and worried that your decision would be mistaken for something it wasn't, by anyone you explained it too.

///

"I've forgotten to get something to bring! I've never not brought something to dinner." You panicked, feeling your pockets in a last-ditch effort to find something to keep the tradition alive. George let out a little chuckle as you stalled in his parent's driveway. You reprimanded him for not being just as panicked as you, but he just laughed harder as he reached for your hand.

"Well how about this time I bring you."

A new set of nerves danced on end when you remembered the ring on your finger. You'd walked into the entry of his parents lavish countryside home like clockwork, without a gift but with very big news. But even in the strange twist of events, the familiar setting and George's calming presence meant nothing was out of the ordinary. You were only making the decision to keep it that way. Surely everyone would understand.

As you waltzed further into the home, there was no grand greeting. His father was sat in the living room, focused on a game that flashed across the telly. He turned his smile to the pair of you just before shouting back at the team he was rooting for. George's mother was in the kitchen, and upon hearing the pair of you come in, started rambling about how dinner wasn't quite ready and how hectic her day was.

You and George stalled in the entry of the kitchen, sunbleached wallpaper and worn old furniture welcomed you. When George's mother turned from the stove with a huff and a hand on her hip, she glanced between you and her son and asked why you were both just standing there.

"Has something happened?" She asked in a grave low tone.

George glanced to you as if to ask you for permission to say something. Or maybe to warn you he was about to, anyway. You knew it was best to rip the bandaid off. So you gave the smallest nod and held your breath.

With a look across the way to his father clicking the telly off in perfect time, George made his announcement.

"We're getting married!"

Despite George's sound excitement and the glowing smile on his face, his mother let out a breath with a hand to her heart.

"Oh thank God, I thought someone had died." She explained, reaching back to turn a knob on the oven. Her relief was comical, and just as she spoke up, you realized all the excitement you'd expected, was stored away in the girl bounding down the stairs.

George's sister nearly tripped over herself as she squealed into the room. You might have wanted to plug your ears, but the girl bound your way, babbling incoherently, grabbing your hand to see the ring she expected to see there.

"I knew it. I can't believe this day has come but I knew it would." She gasped like she'd just become a billionaire, as if her very own dreams had just come true. George's father sauntered closer, glancing at your ring with a pleased hum, offering a simple and pleasant congratulations on his way to steal a bit of dessert before dinner.

"So now I can finally expect some grandchildren, yeah?" George's mother shuffled toward the cabinet full of wine, a place she only searched through when the very best and worst news hung heavy over your weekly dinner parties.

"I don't think that's possible." You choked out in a hurry, as George's sister dropped your hand, spinning to face her brother who was holding back wild laughter at your expense.

"You can always adopt, dear." His mother pushed, spinning back to the oven when it dinged. George was in the middle of explaining your plans to his sister, who was shaking her head in disapproval.

"No! No way will I stand by and watch you get married without throwing a party. Can't we talk about a big white wedding? Oh please." She turned to you with big pleading eyes.

"No, no no no. I can't do that. I'd pass out before saying I Do and what's the point of that? We're just gonna get it done." You pointed.

"I'll just see about that." She stormed deeper into the kitchen at the sound of her mother asking her for help finishing your traditional Sunday meal.

"I'll try and thwart her plans to decorate the register's office with rose petals." George brought his hands to your shoulders with a smile you shared, as he led you to the table. His parents argued over what bottle of wine to open, while his sister went on making plans of her own, just for you. Normalcy remained.

///

"You two cannot be serious." Dean sat slack-jawed across a high tabletop in your very favorite pub. He'd barely touched his scotch, but you and George were on your second round of drinks you'd been downing while waiting on your friend to show up to tell him the news.

"Who else would we ask, Dean? You're our third wheel." You laughed, leaning in to shout past the music overhead. You'd already told George's family and asked his sister to be one of your witnesses. The girl was more excited than you and George for your big day. Dean was the only other person you could imagine inviting along, whose presence wouldn't make you break out into a nervous sweat.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about getting married!" Dean laughed, keeping his wide, dark eyes boring into yours.

"We've already worked most everything out. Will you please come?" George leaned in closer, taking his turn at coaxing his best pal into being there for the two of you.

"Yeah, fine," Dean softened, his smile reaching his eyes. "But I'm bringing a cake. Not to celebrate, but to stress eat." The fellow raised his glass in a silly toast. You laughed as you clinked your glasses together, then swiftly ordered another round.

"Well I don't want to steal your thunder but I've been meaning to tell the both of you something..." Dean shifted in his seat as you and George settled into a quiet focus on your friend.

"I've been seeing someone. Only been out a couple of times, but I quite like her already" Dean explained, a blush creeping under his eyes. George encouraged his friend to tell everything about the girl he'd been dating. You urged Dean to bring her around some time, thrilled at the prospect of having a fourth wheel to join in your nights of fun.

As Dean went on telling the tale of his first date with his new girl, your drinks came.

"Won't you miss dating around?" Dean seemed to worry, after thanking the waiter for his drink.

"I haven't missed it this far." You shrugged, sipping your fresh cocktail all the while. As free as you'd been till now, the thought of getting to know someone new, letting your guard down, building trust, just thinking of it all exhausted you.

When George leaned over you to accept his new drink, he flashed the waiter a tipsy smile.

"We're getting married!" He chuckled, and you did too. As you two broke into drunken giggles, the waiter offered unimpressed congratulations. Dean slammed back his new order in time to ask for another; either to catch up with you and George or to deal with the pair of you, you couldn't tell.

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taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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CAPTURED BY THE CLANS : Part 9 of 10 : Science Fiction

Return to Science Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

CAPTURED BY THE CLANS

Part 9 of 10

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

18231 words

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. Part 1 is HERE.

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Lezon turned her attention from T’cass alone to include the others. She told them all, “I was given the task of finding possible ships for your consideration. This morning, I used your comm unit to conduct a rough search. I stored the results in the file, SHIPS. The results are tiered by price in Clan Credit. I am not sure of your resources or I could have done better.”

K’ress and M’rel both thanked Lezon for her work. They had already learned that T’cass expected Lezon to be treated like a member of the clan, not a slave. They were truly amused that Lezon had already found the kitchen and set out serving cages with snacks to start their day.

They spent the morning looking over Lezon’s research list. Even with the end of a war, it was depressingly small. Less than a hundred appeared to be usable choices. One was a true antique.

Lezon pointed to the antique. “It is cheap and the information claims that it is flyable. Even with the cost of a refit, it will come to less than any of the others. Also, I can get you a discount on the refit.”

Now all three of the others gazed at Lezon as if her fur were falling out in patches. T’cass pointed out, “No shipyard on the planet will even touch anything over a hundred years old. Do you have any idea just how old that thing is?”

Lezon nodded, “If I remember my class information from the war correctly, that ship was made about one hundred and seventy-five to one hundred and fifty-six years ago. If it really is flyable, that’s why we want it.”

M’rel looked at K’ress and remarked, “Perhaps you were right about that psychiatric evaluation.”

T’cass asked, “How can you get a refit if no yard on the planet will do it?”

Lezon pointed out with a smile, “I know the Feront. It has two ring fusion city ships here for Treaty Commission scrap work. It has already agreed to do a scrap based refit of this ship, the D’ancer. We pay for parts at scrap price and it will give me the labor.”

Skeptically, M’rel asked, “Why would it forgo the profit? Friendship?”

“Partly,” Lezon grinned, “and partly sense of humor.”

All three gazed at Lezon as if they were trying to see inside her skull and figure out what was there. It was an interesting effort. T’cass spoke up first, saying, “I know the Feront too, and I never realized that it had a sense of humor.”

Lezon grinned hugely. “It most definitely does. Remember when it presented itself to be made a member of the Treaty Commission? All those gaudy uniforms and titles? They mean nothing to the Feront. One of its organic units is the same as any other to it. It was laughing at our rank system, which it still thinks is hilarious.

“That sense of humor worked to our advantage this morning. While I was on the comm to the Feront, a bureaucrat from the Planetary Resources Committee interrupted our call with a priority override. The Feront took her call and we switched to one of the twelve empty channels. The Resources Committee changed their call frequency to kick me off again. She told the Feront that no slave had anything to say that should distract its attention from the needs of the Planetary Government.

“When we could talk again, the Feront told me that the ‘needs of the Planetary Government’ were now firmly placed on its priority list. Just below mine.”

T’cass suddenly grinned wide herself and exclaimed, “Well managed Conflict! That is beautiful! Now, explain to me why we want a ship that dates to the earliest days of Inertial Drives. The spec sheet says that it can generate less than one standard G of acceleration. That is why that old hulk needs a reaction drive with a huge tank of liquid mass just to get off the ground. The interstellar fusion ramjet igniter is disassembled and less than half the ship’s volume is habitable. The power capsule can barely hold enough energy to get us to a close star, let alone the long range trading that we are planning.”

Lezon heard T’cass out, nodding agreement at every point. When T’cass ran down, she added, “Actually it can’t get out of the system, yet. It only has liftoff and in-system flight certificates. What makes it valuable is that it was built to lift off routinely at six G’s of uncompensated acceleration. It has a nine G red line which includes lateral maneuvers in an atmosphere as well. Only a System Siege Cruiser or a Battleship can take as much.

“Besides, because it’s such an antique, it’s dirt cheap. You should get out of the refit to Clan Family Class B Freight with a total cost of Clan Cr 250,000.”

Three heads turned to each other, eyes narrow in calculation. K’ress started to ask, “Where is all that cargo space coming from?” She suddenly got it and answered her own question, “The reaction mass tank, of course! It’s huge!”

The others began to nod in understanding. “We could at least go and look at it,” they agreed.

On the scrap field, they stood and looked up. The D’ancer still stood solidly on her landing jacks. The personnel port near her tail was gaping open. Lezon left the group and began to critically examine the seals on the port. K’ress joined her followed by T’cass.

The salesperson began to show nervousness and smiled ingratiatingly saying, “Really, now that you’ve looked at this thing, I have several good ships that have current certificates. They will pay themselves off in only a few years!”

Dryly, M’rel responded, “We saw. Clan Family Class J Freight. Way overpriced in this market, too.” She then called over to them, “What do you think, Guys? Will it make a good amusement park ride?”

The salesperson nearly choked. “You mean to actually fly this thing? With customers?”

M’rel looked brightly at her and said innocently, “Why your advertisement, dated only two months back, says that it comes with liftoff and In-System Flight Certificates. With only a little refurbishing of the interior it should make an exciting ride for the kits! Lots of noise, clouds of steam and an uncompensated three G blastoff to two hundred thousand feet! I can’t imagine a more exciting ride! Can you?” She batted her eyelashes at the salesperson, who was suddenly looking sick.

K’ress poked her head out the port and gestured to the salesperson, “Come in here, please!” she demanded. Inside, they all climbed the ladder over a hundred feet up to the engine control bay.

The power capsule lay heavy in its cradle. The big superconducting cables were laying like snakes across the floor, out of their clips and racks. The case of the Inertial Drive Control Computer was open and cables with empty connectors hung out. Several boards were clearly missing. Lezon was busily sorting the boards and components of the ramjet fusion ignitor.

“Madams,” she said deferentially to T’cass and the others, “the advertisement claims that the fusion igniter is complete but disassembled. This is not true. The entire ignition injector and initiator are missing. There are at least three control boards missing as well.” Without waiting, she swung agilely up the ladder to the control room.

T’cass, M’rel, and K’ress saw Lezon’s tiny ‘thumbs up’ signal as she reported, “Madams, this vessel was misrepresented. They have claimed In-System and Liftoff certificates. The entire navigational computer, the detection system and the life support control panel have been removed.”

K’ress turned to the salesperson and addressed her almost compassionately. “Yanking that stuff proves that this bird was headed for scrap. At scrap she’s not worth Cr 45,000. We’ll do you a favor. We’ll take her for Cr 60,000 but you have to earn that fifteen.

“We supervise all the work. Run us some tests. Charge the power capsule to ninety gigawatts. Run chill and superconductivity testing on all the cables. Replace the nav computers and detection system with anything that works well enough for orbital hopping. Put in any Inertial Drive Controller and program it for a .75 G max push. Run the Inertial Drive at .75 G for one hour. Replace the lock seals and pressure test the hull.”

The salesperson saw profit fleeing out the exhaust and started to retort, “Cr 100,000! That’s saving you ten grand! Strictly an as is sale at that price. You want certificates, they’re extra. Cough up!” Her eye caught T’cass inputting a connection on her comm. She had selected for a vision and speaker connection.

Several reptilian heads appeared in the vision field. Two homed on Lezon and one on T’cass. The others were looking about at what they could see of the control room. They all spoke at once in the typically polyphonic voice of the Feront, “Friends! T’cass, I have not seen you since your battle input at M’onafar! Most clever. I have made many notes in the Treaty Commission Archive about that battle.

“I was informed by servant Lezon that you will be buying a ship soon. Is this it? Shall I send inspection for T.C. certificates?”

Pleased, T’cass responded, “It is good to see you again, friend Feront. Yes, this is the vessel. It is advertised with certificates. The advertisement was forwarded to you under a T.C. seal already.” The saleswoman made a choking noise.

The scanning heads of the various units of the Feront scrutinized the cabin through the comm field and it responded, “This vessel is presently in violation of its advertised certification. The fine will be Cr 250,000 if it is presented in this condition. I hope that the missing equipment is merely out for repair or replacement.”

Desperately, the salesperson said, “Of course! We are still negotiating on details. There may be a down grade of certification, for a reduced price, of course!”

Several of the Feront had wandered out of the transmission field and others had wandered in but it spoke seamlessly, “This is reasonable. How much time is needed for flight certificate issuance?”

Glaring at T’cass, the salesperson said, “About a month. The vessel is an old one and we need to sure that equipment interfaces are safe.”

The polyphonic voice said, “I will see you in a month’s time, then, unless you call sooner, friends T’cass and servant Lezon.” The field went snowy blank and faded.

T’cass folded her comm smiling. To the salesperson she said, “The way I see it, giving us this ship with the repairs I stated would save you about Cr 190,000. Still, you have an investment to recoup and some profit to make. Cr 65,000?”

The salesperson avoided T’cass’ hand as she stalked for the ladder muttering, “We have to go to the office for the paperwork.”

It is hard to sulk while climbing down over a hundred feet of ladder but the salesperson managed it. With ill grace she waited for them to board her flitter for the run to the office. She tried to shut out Lezon but T’cass simply blocked the flitter door open with her body until Lezon was securely aboard.

In only three weeks the D’ancer was ready for her first liftoff in over sixty years. The Feront sent four of itself down to conduct the Treaty Commission inspection. It scattered throughout the ship, testing equipment in skilled claws. After a short time, one of it closed the ports.

“Pressure test,” observed K’ress calmly. Turning to the salesperson, she said, “Your people did a first rate job. Second hand parts but all serviceable. Clean mating of new gear and old, too.”

Resigned to the situation, the sales person replied, “Thanks. It was a dirty trick, getting that thing volunteer to do the inspection right off the bat, that way. It takes us from two weeks to three months to get the T.C. off their butts and over here. How come it’s so prompt for you?”

K’ress jerked a thumb at T’cass and Lezon. “Them. They both know the Feront and call it just to make small talk. I gather that they are among the few friends that it has. It was no coincidence that the Feront sent two fusion ring city ships to this system. It wanted to talk. Godesses! How they talk! Hours at a time!”

The hatches opened and all four of the Feront hopped out and swarmed down the crew ladder. Some of it facing M’rel and K’ress, some the salesperson, the Feront pronounced polyphonically, “The vessel, D’ancer, now has certificates installed for assisted reaction drive launch and high orbit work near to inhabited spheres.”

All four of its units turning as one, it descended on T’cass and Lezon like a pile of happy kits. “May I play with your entities again? I have thought of a possible strategy that may put you to a disadvantage!”

The sales person unbelievingly saw the slave that she’d snubbed so meanly at first meeting, leap to the back of one of the Feront creatures. She was calling, “T’cass, can we? It will only delay launch by a few hours!” Wheedlingly she added, “It will help our goodwill with the Feront. That could pay us well.”

M’rel ran it down like an accountant. “We have pad space paid here for two more days. The house lease isn’t up for four more days. A few hours? Go play, you kits! Just be here in six hours to lift this clunker into orbit for the rest of its refit.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#CAPTURED BY THE CLANS #Part 9 of 10 #Science Fiction #Written by De Writer

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whippedforqueso · 4 years

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Summary: In which both Mark overcomes his internalised homophobia to ask Donghyuck to live with him during the coronavirus lockdown. (This is heavily inspired by JP Saxe’s ‘If the World was ending’)

Word count: 1036

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“As you know we’ll be moving to online learning starting from next week in order to cooperate with the Government’s new policies for Coronavirus…..” the professor went on as the students hurriedly packed their belongings.

Online school, thought Mark, still not fully comprehending how quickly things had gone from normal to panicked as people started to prepare for lockdown.

Mark, not used to feeling spontaneous at all, suddenly felt the need to take a detour on his way home. Just a small detour. It’ll be good exercise. He tilted his face towards the sky, closing his eyes as he took in the sunshine, and tried to convince himself that he was just here to enjoy the scenery. But, like clockwork, his eyes eventually began to search for a boy with glowing, tanned skin. Skin that was like gold, pure, twenty four carat gold.

It had almost been almost a year since they’d talked. Properly talked.

He’d talked to others throughout this time. Girls. Perfectly nice girls who his parents would’ve loved to meet.

But somehow, Donghyuck managed to always slip in between the silences of his thoughts. What was the current album he was obsessed with? What was his new food discovery?

What would he do now that the dorms were shutting down? Mark knew that Donghyuck had a difficult relationship with his parents, and that it’d been one of the reasons he’d been desperate to get out of Jeju-do. Would he go back? Or would he find a way to pay for an overpriced room in Seoul?

Or he could move in with me, Mark thought momentarily, before slapping himself back to reality and feeling his cheeks heat up with shame at the thought.

Somewhere along the way, Mark had begun to accept the fact that those thoughts would never go away. It clung to him like sand to feet after a beach day. He’d think that they were finally gone, but then he’d find himself buying Donghyuck’s old coffee order, or watching the youtubers who’d remained on his algorithm even after they’d stopped seeing each other.

How was he supposed to stop thinking of him, when even the sun reminded him of Donghyuck? But no one else needed to know. Mark was sure he could continue living, living a normal life as a normal person that is, even with these thoughts at the back of his mind.

It had been unbearable for Mark when Donghyuck had suggested to ‘take a break’. They’d both known, when they’d awkwardly made eye contact that this ‘break’ would be forever. This was them ‘breaking up’. Not that they’d really been together in the first place anyway.

No. They hadn’t been dating. Merely…acquaintances with the same needs, as Mark had always liked to think of it. Needs that nobody else had been able to meet after Donghyuck had left.

They’d both known how it would end when they started. They’d known in the way that Mark had locked the bathroom door while pretending to be drunk before pushing Donghyuck against it. They’d known in the way that both their lips always tasted like alcohol for the first few months. They’d known in the way that neither one of them had ever suggested a date during the day.

They’d known as Donghyuck softly asked for his sweater back, and Mark had handed over his toothbrush along with it. Mark had known as he’d not pretended to see when Donghyuck left his spare key on the kitchen counter, because that would make it less real.

Mark had bought that exact sweater a week after they’d stopped seeing each other, justifying that it was on sale, and that it looked nice. He’d argued the same when he bought Donghyuck’s cologne, and later when he’d sprayed it onto the same sweater and wore it to sleep.

Neither of them had ever said anything, but there had always been an unspoken, mutual understanding between the two. An understanding of two people who wanted something they couldn’t have. Something against the laws of nature.

Sometimes, unbeknownst to Donghyuck, Mark would dream of a future together. Waking up to Donghyuck making breakfast on a Monday morning, going on dates that weren’t just dark movie theaters and convenience stores late at night. They could run away. Just the two of them. Maybe to Canada or even Netherlands, anywhere would be fine really, as long as they weren’t judged too harshly and no one could find them. But he’d known that it was just wishful thinking. The world didn’t work like that. He had a duty to his parents, to give them grandchildren, and to be the perfect boy.

Mark had denied the fact that he missed Donghyuck, saying that the sweater was comfortable, and that the cologne had a relaxing scent. He denied it when he kept Donghyuck’s number in his contacts, arguing that it might come in handy one day. He denied it every time he took a detour after class so that he might catch a glimpse of Donghyuck with his friends, saying that it was good exercise.

And today was no different as Mark’s eyes found Donghyuck amongst a circle of friends. His skin shining under the sun, a contagious smile on his face as he joked around.

He had newly dyed hair. Ash purple, just like what Mark had suggested last year. A part of Mark couldn’t help but think it was Donghyuck’s way of saying he still thought of him.

It couldn’t happen before. They both knew that, despite the way their lips perfectly aligned, and the way their hands somehow always found each other, they weren’t meant for one another. They both knew they couldn’t be forever. But now… the world was ending. People were dying. Never seeing each other again could be a reality.

Mark checked the time on his phone.

2:39 am.

Would Donghyuck even be awake? And even if he was, would he pick up?

It could’ve been the caffeine rush from the coffee, or the hope still lingering from when he’d seen the two boys holding hands in the park earlier, but Mark opened his contacts list, and with trembling fingers, found Donghyuck’s number.

“Hey Donghyuck?”

#markhyuck #mark lee #haechan #donghyuck #nct dream #nct 127 #nct #nct fanfic

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heavensauras · 4 years

Text

MIMI GRANT AURA | SKY SPRITE | SHE/HER | EIGHTY-SEVEN | BISEXUAL

defining traits

( + ) charming, personable, flirtatious, optimistic, confident, creative

( - ) cowardly, flighty, sensitive, dependent, haughty, begrudging, fake

biography

She was born Marie Grant, but she was always their little Mimi — a fitting name, for it was most of what she’d she’d grow to care about; me, me, me.

Her father was a widower; her mother bore the shame of a divorce behind her. Together they began a new chapter, but their love was one that found them later in life. By the doctors’ words, conception at her age was nothing short of a miracle. Mimi was their miracle, and they raised her to know it. She was destined for things beyond the ordinary, they affirmed. Lackluster crayon drawings of stick figures were framed like masterpieces, hung with pride in the hallways. Songs chirped off-pitch received thunderous applause. With mediocrity exalted, there was no need to try, so she never chose to, and they’d never dare force her.

Shielded by a set of parents whose love was strong enough to cripple, her heart was kept safe for a long, long time. The world was such a hard, cruel place.. They only wished to soften parts of it for her, to offer her comfort in the form of pretty white lies — that the family dog left to live on the dog farm, or that she really could go to princess school when she grew up. Any tear she shed was quickly wiped away, and soon forgotten as her attention was redirected somewhere shiny and new. She’d never solved a problem, never faced a consequence. When trouble found her, she had but one maneuver — to pull out her perfected pout, let the tears fall, and pray someone who knew better would save her. They always did, and she never learned a thing.

The Grants had been at the cross section of hard work and good luck after emancipation, among the few Black families in Georgia fortunate enough to acquire property. Her father inherited a small farm outside of Atlanta, and it was on that farm she was raised, gazing out her bedroom window at crops of peanuts, pecans, and blueberries. Of course it had been assumed that any child of theirs would lend their hands to the farm — but an hour of her work, hasty and careless, often required an extra hour of her father’s, as he doubled back and corrected her mistakes. Soon enough, she was no longer asked to chop wood for the stove, or weed the fields. It was better for all of them that way, and the indoors had always suited her better. She found joy in sneaking sprays of her mother’s perfume bottle, slipping into her coat, trying on her ring, and dreaming of a life that was soft and warm and easy and beautiful, dreams her heart had latched onto long before her mind could find the way there.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been out to the barn; the scent alone was enough to keep her far from that edge of the property. The day the flames brought it to the ground, she’d been safe in her room, trapped only in the daydreams of a sixteen-year-old girl while her parents, trapped inside.

In hearing of their deaths, she learned what it meant to be shattered. She’d never cried a tear that one of them hadn’t wiped away, and for weeks, she cried an ocean. Taken in by an aunt, her mother’s sister, in that house she was no longer a miracle, but a burden — another child to feed in a family of six already.. and one who couldn’t make a bed, or scrub a pot, or fry an egg. Gone were the days where her burnt toast received glowing reviews; what she faced instead was a barrage of sharp critiques her sensitive heart didn’t know how to process through any means but tears.

Most days, something would leave her crying — a memory of mom and dad, a snide comment from her aunt, a suspicious whisper exchanged between cousins as she passed in the hallway. She grew accustomed to fixing her mascara in bathroom mirrors, wiping black smudges from under her eyes each time she lost control. That new waterproof formula surely made more sense. She bought her first tube, and it lasted through the tears — but no one had warned her it would sting as she slicked it over her lashes, or how putrid the smell was, or how she’d have to scrub her eyes until they burned red to take it off. All that work, for what? Just in case she’d cry? And if she didn’t, then for nothing? If given the choice, she’d always defer discomfort, and so every day she’d make a bet with herself she knew she’d lose as she reached past the cry-proof tube for the easier choice — and every day she found herself wiping away those telltale black smudges.

The Grant estate fell to her as she came of age, and she made quick work of selling the farm. She’d never be able to sustain it, and her parents surely wouldn’t want the land wasted. It was the right thing to do, she reasoned, to put it in the hands of a family who’d cherish it. How convenient, then, that the sale of the property would also pad her pockets comfortably. Had she been a practical woman, she’d have had the funds to live a modest life without worry. Of all the names she’d been called, practical was never among them. Her heart bore a hole in the shape of a family, incomplete without the support she’d always known. Perhaps money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could fund a distraction. The city called to her, and under Atlanta’s lights she found an overpriced apartment and drowned her sorrows in silks, champagnes, and unadulterated excesses, spoiling herself too silly to even remember to be sad.

She never lost the blind confidence that she’d succeed at whatever she chose to try; her parents could be thanked for the cliche. As she saw the way men and women alike fawned over those beautiful girls in the photos they pinned up, with their ruby lips and coquettish grins, she decided that was what she wanted to be, too — a model. She was beautiful. She knew it as simple fact, even took it for granted, and like a fool, she assumed beauty was all it took. No one had told her, before she stepped on set for her first booked shoot, that it really was work — that it hurts to hold those poses in high heels, that the lights are scalding and the hours are long, or that the photographer’s job is to tell you everything you’re doing wrong until you run for the back door in tears.

She darted for the alley out back, desperate for fresh air and a moment to dry her eyes. It was there that she met him, an executive for the cosmetics brand she was surely busy disappointing, with his tie in a perfect Windsor knot, a cigarette on his lips, and his eyes mesmerized. By her. “They don’t know what they’re talking about in there. Just look at you — you have this aura about you..” She didn’t know what it meant, exactly, but as his thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek and his, she knew that all she’d wanted was to be looked at like that, to have someone wipe her eyes and call her something spectacular. It brought a smile back to her lips, brought color back to a world that had faded to monochrome black-and-grey. He wanted to help her, and if she was good at anything, it was being helped.

They abandoned the shoot hand in hand, down the alley and to a neighboring bar for a drink. One mai tai turned into another, her flirtatious giggle bouncing off the lounge’s walls as she slipped easily back into the familiarity of being fawned over. In the coming weeks, a relationship would bloom between the two of them — one that could’ve been plucked right from those sixteen-year-old daydreams she’d lived so comfortably in. She abandoned her overpriced apartment, making a home in his instead. By day she lived a life of leisure and ease, gossiping at the beauty salon and shopping at exclusive boutiques while he holed away at his office. Each night was a new society event they’d light up together, and in the beginning, the role of arm candy had been the cushy lift her ego had needed. She took naturally to being shown off, and he’d introduce her to society folk with glowing compliments, telling charming anecdotes as they sipped from champagne flutes.

It would take years for her to realize the way he recycled all of those compliments with every woman he met, that she’d heard his dull, predictable anecdotes so many times they might as well have been her own. She’d set out to be loved. Instead, she’d become another pretty thing on his shelf, mistaking possession for adoration while the void she sought to fill remained hollow and empty. She wanted out, but what would happen when she cut the cord? She’d be back to fending for herself, back to a world of mascara-stained handkerchiefs and an empty apartment? What little courage she had was far from enough to have the difficult break-up conversation. Instead, she and her cowardice sought to push him away, to force him to leave her. She was sour where she’d once been sweet, bitter in the places she’d once let him savor her, a brat with demands the size of the world — and he paid her so little mind as a person that, so long as she shone like the diamond he’d polished her into, he didn’t care what frivolous nonsense she spouted. She got away with it all, and it only further infuriated her.

She’d find the guts to break it off soon, she’d keep telling herself, moving the goalpost with a nervous gulp every time she failed to muster the nerve to follow through. She’d do it after their dinner date with the Thompsons.. No, after the gala the following week.. No, after their weekend in Palm Beach. She was sure of it.

She said little to him the day they boarded the yacht party, making a point of icing him out in favor of the starlets and models whose light she hoped to absorb. As the storm carried them away, dizzied and terrified, she thought only of her own survival, and as she pulled herself from the wreck on a deserted island, he was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she should’ve felt anxious, should’ve ran the island’s shores in search of him, but all she could feel was relief that she’d never have to have that difficult talk with him at all. He was gone, and the only guilt she felt was about her lack thereof. When her fellow survivors asked about the man she’d boarded with, about her shocking indifference to his disappearance, she’d tell them, “we barely even knew each other,” and she knew there was enough truth in that lie for her to believe it herself, too.

It took but one look upwards at the sky kingdom for the blurry memories of him to fade to black.

The sky sprites were everything she’d ever aspired to be, had everything her fantasies were built from. They were the answer. She’d been a fool to think that human pleasures could ever make her feel whole again, that there was a solution to her problems out in the cold world that had created them. No, she’d always been meant to live somewhere softer, amongst the clouds, where there were no sharp edges on which to prick herself. She found her family in the skies of Caelum — a group that knew their worth, who saw that she did, too, and loved her for it. Amongst them, she ascended, and Aura was born.

She took naturally to Caelum, her ego as large, fluffy, and delicate as the clouds she lived amongst. She wanted nothing more than to fully embrace the powers of the heavens, but none of the sprites had told her just how difficult it would be — that it required diligence, perseverance, training. It was work, and each gust of wind she tried to summon left her more flustered and frustrated than before she’d begun. It was easier to simply not — to sit back and let the other sprites show off, basking in the fruits of their labors rather than embarrassing and exhausting herself with her young, fledging magics.

It was a cruel trick of the universe, she’d lament, that the barrier had sealed her away before the world could see the way she now sparkled. From the little cloud she liked to rest atop of, she’d sing of the injustice of it all, how she dreamed of the day the island’s walls would fall for long enough for her to fly back to the real world — and as they finally do, she remains frozen on that very cloud. She simply has so much to teach these new humans, she’ll reason with a laugh; to leave now would be a disservice to them. But what does a sprite whose powers can be outmatched by an angry wind have to teach? Not a thing, but she’d never dare let the humans know she’s done little more than twiddle her thumbs for sixty-five years, while her equals can move mountains. Instead, she purses her lips and bolsters herself the way she always has, convinced by pure will alone that, before her first audience as a sprite, she will dazzle.

headcanons

A majority of her powers are very, very weak. She’s generally unwilling to exert the energy it takes to strengthen or use them. Her strongest are all relatively superficial — manipulating the sky and wind’s colors, summoning glittering stars, and floating, either on her own or while lounging on a cloud. During the times all of the sky sprites are doing things together, like lifting a plane over to the Wrecks, she’s usually faking it — like when you’re moving furniture, and there’s that one person who’s just pretending to hold the corner of the couch, without actually carrying any weight. That’s Aura.

Because she usually gets around by floating, she’s grown relatively clumsy on her feet over the last sixty-five years. Her leg muscles are weak, and will often buckle under her. Naturally, she finds it quite embarrassing, and will almost always choose to float, unless she has no choice.

She’s more likely to forget before she’ll forgive. She’s often flitting from one thing to the next, and will more often than not simply forget about a disagreement she’s having because her emotions are so caught up in another one. She’s a very resentful person, and her old grudges will often manifest in pouty comments whenever she happens to remember how someone wronged her.

potential connections

found family: Her Caelum family!! Aura has never felt more at home than she does in the sky kingdom, so I’d love to explore where her relationships with her fellow sky sprites have gone.

fellow passengers: I’m also super interested in seeing how she’s gotten along with the others from the 50s yacht! Maybe she met them that day, or maybe she already knew some of them from previous society events, etc. Would love to explore how that group bonded together after the accident, and how those bonds have changed as everyone went their separate ways and joined their kingdoms.

enablers: She’s notorious for doing The Least while simultaneously being The Most, so I’d love to explore the connections with sprites who inadvertently enable this kind of behavior by helping her out with things when she asks/charms/flirts/pouts/wears them down.

frenemies: She’s incredibly social, and generally friendly to most.. but she also looks down on most, and absolutely talks shit behind every one of her friend’s backs. Gimme some on-again-off-again friendships that Aura absolutely fucks up on the regular!!

migraines with aura: Ok this is just an excuse for some dumb wordplay and I’ll OWN IT!! You know the “aura” that comes just before a migraine? Like a warning sign that you’re about to be in a world of pain? Gimme someone that thinks of her like that lmao, that she’s an absolute headache.

human interests: The responsibility of turning a human is probably something that’s too much for her right now, as she barely knows how to take care of herself, but I’m sure she’s very curious about what she’s missed in the outside world and is eager to befriend and gossip with the new arrivals. And, of course, she wants them all to think she’s ethereal and otherworldly and all that.

flings: She’s a fickle-hearted flirt at her core, and she craves attention like Tinkerbell. I’m sure she’s had various flames throughout her time on the island.

#heights: about.

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