thepenultimateword

[thepenultimateword]

Thanks for the tag!

Favorite Color: Either pink or yellow, it kinda depends. I like yellow clothes but I like pink things

Currently reading: The Rhythm of War by Brandon Sanderson. In the queue is Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins, Challenger Deep by Neal Shusterman, and All Systems Red by Martha Wells.

Last Song: Manchild by Sabrina Carpenter. A coworker was telling me about yesterday so I went and looked it up.

Most recent film: Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Most recent series: The new season of Phineas and Ferb!

Sweet/savory/salty: Sweet. It’s why I like to bake!

Tea or coffee: Tea. I have an herbal apple spice I’ve bought for a party that I’ve been meaning to try.

Working On: A screenplay for my screenwriting class, two of my novels, my Star Trek Fanfic, the next part of Love Thy Enemy and a zillion other things 😅

Tagging:

@piplupfluffwritingstuff2 @creweemmaeec11

Thank you for the tag @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories!

Favorite color: Green. I could wear green, dye my hair green, paint my bedroom walls green, eat all things green, marry green, and have green's babies. Just package me up and send me to the Emerald City I guess.

Currently reading: For fiction, I am rereading The Host by Stephenie Meyer (actually really enjoy it!) and for non-fiction, I am reading Good Boundaries and Goodbyes by Lysa Terkeurst. I also just finished Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie.

Last song: "Things I Didn't Know" from the musical Daddy Long Legs

Most recent film: 27 Dresses

Most recent series: Blue Bloods

Sweet/savory/salty: sweet paired with salty

Tea or coffee: tea, 100%

Working on: heh....everything. My George Weasley fanfic, my Obi-Wan fanfic, my Edmund Pevensie fanfic, and a new Bucky Barnes one-parter

No pressure tags: @writing-on-the-wahl @sassysaxxy @valiantlytransparentwhispers @thepenultimateword

[thepenultimateword]

Hello! I hope you are well <3

Will you be continuing Love Thy Enemy? It's my favourite series of yours!!

Hello! Yes, I will be continuing it at some point. I have the next part started, I’ve just been pretty busy these last few months with work and school and such. I have a few asks for this particular story in my inbox so I really hope to get on it soon once I have more time. Sorry that I don’t have an exact date to give you, but rest assured it’s not abandoned!

Thank you so much for letting me know you like it! It’s always good to hear and that one is a favorite of mine too so that makes me especially happy!

[thepenultimateword]

Oooo love this! I made my OC Sable from one of my novels and my baby boy Waylon from my other novel!

Put Your OC's in a BALL tag game! >:D

Got my current Picrew to the point were I feel ready to post it. It's way smaller than the other once but I'll keep working on it as I do have parts of it I want to add over time. (btw. if you have any style of clothing you want me to add, please tell me!)

Also, thank you to everyone who voted on this Picrew and all of you who helped me underway!!! 😊💖

But enough about that. Let's get to the tag game! Please use this Picrew to put some of your beloved OCs in a ball (It's for their own good after all)

https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2676970

Tagging: @heroes-villains-side-blog, @piplupfluffwritingstuff2 @puddleslimewrites @thepenultimateword @tratieisdabest and everyone else that wants to join ✨

I put Kim in the ball. Was a bit hard to make them since the Picrew dose not have either red glasses nor brown colours. but the vibe is still there. :P

[thepenultimateword]

A03 Fanfic

I did a thing!! I wrote the first part of my new Star Trek fanfiction! It's a Klingon x Vulcan enemies-to-lovers slow burn set on the Enterprise during The Original Series. If anyone is interested in checking it out, here is the link!

qamuSHa'

P.S. Though this is a Star Trek fic, I don't think you need to have seen Star Trek to still enjoy! If you like interesting relationship dynamics, enemies to lovers, fun banter, or space settings, this has it all. Basically, if you've ever read my Too Tall or Human Captain series, you'll probably like this too. Even though those are set in my own original universe, the vibes were heavily inspired by Star Trek.

[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #291

Antihero looked back and forth between their friends begrudgingly. Hero waving a fry in the air, chattering away endlessly about heroing politics and the newest law on artificial power enhancements, and Villain on the other side of the table, leaned eagerly forward on their elbows, hanging on every word. No one on the outside would have imagined they had only met a mere thirty minutes ago.

“You two weren’t supposed to hit it off!” Antihero blurted. “You wanted to hang out with me today, Villain! And Hero, you’re here because we already had plans! You both graciously agreed to put aside your differences for an afternoon.”

“And so we have,” Villain said, not taking their eyes off Hero, “differences waaaay set aside.” They motioned vaguely to the other side of the room as if to give a visual of just how far their differences had been placed.”

“You’re my friends!”

“If it helps,” Hero said, “my interest in Villajn goes a bit beyond friends. Excuse me if that’s inappropriately bold.”

“No, no,” Villain grinned. “I like bold.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Antihero complained. “I feel like I’m third wheeling a first date right now.”

“Apologies,” Hero said, tipping their head with sudden understanding. “Villain and I will dedicate our attentions to each other at a more scheduled time. We can continue our current scheduled ‘hang out.’”

“I’m free tomorrow at 7,” Villain said.

Antihero rolled their eyes. “Oh for heavens sake.”

[thepenultimateword]

This looks very fun! My semester is about to end so I might actually have time to join a writing challenge!

Avast Ye April: Sea Shanty Challenge!

Hey howdy, y'all! I got inspired recently to do something similar to @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge from a while back. In this case, it'll be focused on a single song genre: sea shanties!

Anyone interested in taking part can send me a message or an ask from now until 11:59 on Thursday, April 10th. You can send along a shanty you'd like someone else to use, or you can just ask for one for inspiration! I have my own list of songs that can be used, aside from any of the one's sent in. On April 11th, I'll randomize the songs to be used and then match them to people who are participating. Although the song genre is set in stone, whatever y'all want to write won't be. Write whatever you want! Heroes and villains, whump, romance, space opera, fantasy, whatever calls to you. The shanties are there purely for inspiration (although I'm sure they'll stir up some nautical thoughts for some!). Also, please do let me know if you want to participate but want to opt out of any specific types of topics that might crop up (i.e. violence, alcohol, etc.) and I'll do my best to try and get you something you can still enjoy writing with!

[thepenultimateword]

29? :]

What was your first fandom you were in? Did you make any art/fanfic for it?

Ooooooh lemme think…technically I’ve been watching studio ghibli since I was like 5 and Lord of the Rings since I was like 6 so those would be the first, but since I grew up with those they felt just like a natural part of my life, so I’m going to go with my first hyper-fixation fandoms instead, which were Merlin and Sherlock. I got into them when I was in Jr High when both were still releasing (Sherlock only had one season at the time). I never did any fanfic or art of either of them, but I dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for Halloween, got Sherlock Holmes books, starting watch the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies, had the “I AM SHERLOCKED” phone screen, lots of Benedict Cumberbatch pictures, lot of Sherlock and Merlin Pinterest board stuff, etc.

I did, however, make Doctor Who fan art, which was my very next fandom hyper-fixation. I think I was a freshman in high school when I made this in honor of the 50th anniversary. I also did a Star Trek/Doctor Who/self-insert fanart...but it's making me cringe just looking at it, so maybe I'll just keep that one to myself...

OH! I also started a Doctor Who Fanfic on Wattpad when I was around 18... It was called the Time Convict, and it is one of the two fan fictions I've ever written. Though I've very recently been thinking about trying my hand at fan fiction again.

[thepenultimateword]

2, 6, 18 for the writer and artist ask!

Who is your newest OC? Why did you make them?

My newest OC is The Strawman. (He'll get a real name later). He's in my newest novel/novella The Crow and the Strawman that I started writing for my fiction class a few weeks ago. It's a premise I've had in my head for a while but now I'm finally writing it! He's basically an animated scarecrow who protects the garden of the witch who created him.

Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

I do! But they're ooooold. I created a whole family of magical siblings with a toxic father. Basically, they would be the evil antagonist family with their father as the big bad villain of the story, but I developed each sibling to be sympathetic. I created them all in high school because one of them was meant to be a love interest for some generic protagonist girl that I never created, but I never got around to creating an actual plotted story for them, but it was fun to build their backgrounds. I don't think I'll ever write their story, at least I have no plans at the moment, but I still think about them every once in a while.

There might be other moree current ones, but I can't think of them off the top of my head.

Describe the setting of one or more of your wips

One of my new novels (currently named The Worst Kind of Medal, but that may change; also, you can find parts one and two here on Tumblr) is set in a steampunk world, and that has been a super fun setting to play around with. I have set it in a small borderland city and so there are shops and steam-powered trams, but the manor where the main characters live is on the edge of a meadow and forest. It's meant to be a very calming, peaceful setting away from the hustle and bustle of the capital. Basically I've decided that it's a fantasy steampunk equivalent of the 1880s, so it's been very fun looking up fashion and hair and technology that would've existed at the time as well as adding new advanced technology like steam-powered prosthetics and such.

[thepenultimateword]

My lucky number, 15. :)

And if your lucky number is on there, that one too. If not, whatever question you want to answer the most!

How many projects do you have going on right now? Are there any that you doubt you’ll ever finish?

Oooof, so many. It kinda depends on what you count as a project. If we're talking novels, I am currently writing two, but I have three others that are abandoned and unfinished but I hope to someday return too.

If we're adding tumblr series into the mix I've got...let's see...62. At least, that's what I counted from my masterlist of stories that still don't have endings. Out of those stories, there are definitely several that I have no plans of returning to such as End of the World Arrangement or Supernatural Roommates or Void and Sentinel (basically anything I wrote in 2021 probably won't be continued), but many others I'm just waiting for the right idea/motivation to continue. Like I really want to get back to Too Tall sometime, but I'm still trying to figure out who is the culperate for the station attacks, so continuing has been a bit hard because I need to start clue dropping.

What are your favourite relationships between your OCs? (romantic or platonic!)

(I ended up using Google to calculate a lucky number because I've actually never thought about it before!)

Ooooo ok, some of my favorite OC relationships, let's go with tumblr first:

Lav and Floran from Old Bones

Unai and Hayes from Too Tall

Civilian and Villain from Eyeteeth

Henchman and Villain from Sweet Dreams

Vorrin and Callista from Love Thy Enemy

To mention one from one of my novels:

Luu and Lann. They're from my novel To Play the Game and they actually haven't met yet, but I have lots of tiny snippets in my notes written with them. Basically, Luu was hired as a duelist for these political wargames that make up the plot of the novel, but he breaks his back and is unable to duel anymore. Lann is his replacement, and she's spent the last...tenish years of her life disguised as a man in an illegal dueling arena. Because she's used to straight out brawls and doesn't know the intricacies of dueling, Luu (who can know longer duel) becomes her mentor. He finds out she's a woman pretty fast, but keeps her secret since she still has trauma about being perceived as a woman since it was much safer to be a man when she was trapped in the arena. They end up hitting it off super fast and catch really strong feelings for each other, and it's just mega cute.

[thepenultimateword]

I've been a bit MIA on Tumblr these last few months, but I'm trying to get back into posting. Since I don't have any WIPs ready for posting yet, here's an ask game!

Writer (& Artist) Ask Game

Reblog this and let your pals ask about your OCs, stories, or about you! Remember to check your inbox, and feel free to tag someone you want to see play :)

* Who was your first ever OC? Do you still “use” them? How have they evolved over time?

Who is your newest OC? Why did you make them?

Biggest self-insert OC?

What kind of music do your OCs listen to?

What are some of your OCs biggest fears?

Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

What are your favourite relationships between your OCs? (romantic or platonic!)

Do you have any OC family trees?

Favourite OC?

OC you most struggled to make?

* Sum up one or more of your wips!

Which story took the most research?

Which story has the most lore?

Current word count of all your main wips?

How many projects do you have going on right now? Are there any that you doubt you’ll ever finish?

What was you first major project? How far along is it?

What are some tropes and character dynamics found in your wips?

Describe the setting of one or more of your wips

What are some things that inspired your stories? Real events? Maybe a dream?

What story are you the proudest of? Why?

* When did you start considering yourself a writer/artist?

What are all the “kinds” of writing/art you do? (short stories, poetry, screenplays, digital, painting, clay, etc.)

Are you in any writer/artist groups? (Ex: discord server!)

Do you have/want a career in your medium? If not, what do you do/want to do instead?

What’s your favourite genre to write? Is it also your favourite genre to read?

What are your favourite books?

What are your favourite movies?

 Favourite songs at the moment?

What was your first fandom you were in? Did you make any art/fanfic for it?

How are you doing? <3

Ask away!

[thepenultimateword]

Not really related to anything I think (sorry for lack of coherency, it’s late and my literacy is dead /j) but I just wanted to say that (and for context) that I read that story, the “please don’t leave me” and it was so freaking good and then I checking forgot who wrote it and it was you this entire time holy heck—

This is very much me screaming into the void of your inbox (apologies) but that storyline went hard and was epic and all those other English synonyms for those words because I am about to die (sleep) but your stuff is amazing and I mean that from the bottoms of my heart

I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night and are taking care of yourself and staying hydrated and continue to create fluffy stuff (I’d cuss but I don’t know if that’d be uncomfy for you since I know some people are and ‘fluffy-stuff ’ is better than ‘fluffy-poop’ so—) and absolute gems of literature and all that jazz :]

-idk (aka bookshelf person aka @idkanonymystuff because clarification on who this person is. Also very much apologies if I’m coming off as unhinged I mean all appreciations from the bottom of my heart and words are hard, so feel free to ignore this but just know that your stuff is epic and stop rambling me this is long enough as it is—)

Awww thank you so much!! I was so happy to get this message! I always love to hear that someone is enjoying my work! And I’m really glad you liked Please Don’t Leave Me!! You have a good rest of your day too!

[thepenultimateword]

Please Don't Leave Me

A response to @some-messed-up-writing-for-you's prompt #447. The prompt made me laugh. My response did not :). Original post HERE

CW: Blood

“And what do we have here, hmm?” - a voice asked from behind the group of heroes, making them whirl around in surprise. They stared at the newcomer in shock, which swiftly turned into terror as one of them began yelling.

“IT’S SUPERVILLAIN! RUN!”

The heroic team scattered like a bunch of startled mice while the supervillain giggled to themself with a wicked grin. “Oh, I just love it when they run~.”

Beginning heroes were Supervillain's favorite. They had such a firm and decided plan of action in their minds but a completely opposite response in reality. Seeing the blood drain from their faces, their little egos crumbling as faux confidence melted into pure panic, nothing else compared.

You just never knew what they'd do either. Some left immediately, some went into shock, others held their ground just long enough to make a show of their bravery, and every once in a while someone was dumb enough to actually try confronting them. Supervillain didn't kill fledglings, doing so was like melting ants with a magnifying glass, cruel, unnecessary, and certainly bad karma, but they did give them something to have nightmares over for a long time.

No Superhero copycats in this little batch. They all ran. They probably hadn't expected to run into the most dangerous person in the city on their field trip to Villain's grounds. Supervillain sauntered after them, unable to fight the grin splitting their face as little heroes tripped each other and crawled in the dirt. All is fair in love and war.

It all became decidedly less funny when a hero stepped into one of Villain's traps.

SNAP!

The sharp crack of metal jaws closing sent a sick lurch through Supervillain's stomach. Superhero would have been a different story. They deserved to be flayed alive, but these little strays were different.

For a second the rookie only laid there, arms sprawled out in front of, blinking confusedly at the disappearing heels of their companions. Another second later they were screaming. It tore out raw and harsh, violent enough to rip that slender throat apart.

The hero scrambled upright and clasped their hands numbly over the wound, staring sightlessly as the blood soaked through their skintight pants and slicked their palms. Little drizzles ran down the curves of their forearms.

Supervillain reached for the trap and the hero sprang back into action, dragging themselves into the grass with gasped pathetic cries

"No," they begged, streaking a trail of blood behind them. "No, no, no."

Supervillain stepped out ahead of them, swooping down and gathering the hero against their chest before they could protest. Their thin limbs pulled and fought uselessly against their grip, only succeeding in smearing blood on the front of Supervillain's white cape. They were a full-grown adult, so why were they so little?

"Shshshshhhhh," Supervillain soothed, rubbing one hand up and down their arm. "You're ok. It's all ok."

The hero's struggling dissipated--whether out of relief or surrender Supervillain didn't know--and sobbed scratchily into Supervillain's collar.

"I know. I know. Just let me take it off you, ok?"

Supervillain loosed their arms from around the hero and bent to inspect the trap. It was a toothy metal clamp meant for something much bigger and much more invulnerable than the fledgling clinging to their shirt. Supervillain pressed their palms hard against the protruding levers on either side of the trap, the jaws slowly drew back their teeth. As soon as the thing was fully open, Supervillain threw it away like a venomous snake.

The leg itself was destroyed, twisted out to the side unnaturally, muscles and tendons barely holding together, and blood, so much blood. Supervillain unclipped their cape and wrapped it staunchly around the hero's leg while doing their utmost to ignore the pained wails.

"I'm taking you to the emergency room," Supervillain said, rising to their feet and hoisting them up into their arms. When they reached their car outside Villain's gates, they had to pry the hero's fingers off them to lay them down in the backseat.

The drive was a blur and so was the sprint to the emergency room counter. They probably looked a sight in their costumes, but Supervillain ignored the gawking stares. They heard themselves rapidly explaining, rapidly lying, a scenario where they came across the hero in a random trap outside of town. They didn't know if anyone believed them, but they didn't care. The next thing they knew the hero was torn from their arms, stretched onto a gurney, and wheeled out of their sight. Supervillain stood at the edge of the waiting room with their arms frozen out in front of them, their mind drawing a complete blank on what to do next.

They couldn't leave. This rookie's wellbeing was their responsibility until the doctors declared them fit for discharge. They forced their limbs to move them over to one of the maroon, paisley printed chairs and collapsed into it. Mechanically, they pulled their shirt out in front of them and studied the browning fingers prints stamped into the fabric. They expected to be struck by some big, dramatic emotion, but it was more like a steadily growing hollowness in the center of their chest. They didn't know how long they sat staring down at themselves before a nurse told them they could go back and see the hero, but their neck resisted when they raised their head and stood up.

Hero looked...not good but more stable lying in their hospital bed. The IV was probably pumping them full of morphine, so that was something. The hero gazed up at them from their pillow through heavy lids. What was sad was they didn't even react. A complete 180 from the healthy fear they'd expressed just an hour or so ago. What was Supervillain even doing here? Did they have to torture this person even further for their own closure?

"Do you have any way to contact your team?" they asked.

The hero tiredly lifted the phone in their hand. "I... No one's picking up." Tears pricked the corners of their eyes. "I think... I think they're worried it's a trap."

Supervillain nodded. "And your leg?"

They rolled their eyes back toward the ceiling, blinking the tears back but unable to keep them out of their voice. "It's really bad." Supervillain stepped closer to the bed to hear. "Doctor says... the bone below my knees is shattered...and my blood vessels are crushed... They can't do anything to repair the circulation. I need to amputate...or it'll infect."

Supervillain felt like someone had seized their heart in their fist and started squeezing it. The hero looked at them, big doe eyes wet and shiny.

"What am I going to do?"

They weren't really asking them, Supervillain knew that, they just needed to voice the question out loud to process what was happening, but Supervillain answered anyway. They understood what it felt like to watch all your plans and expectations swirl down the drain.

"There are options. Prosthetics. It'll be ok."

"I can't afford that. I don't even know how to...to pay for this. I haven't even gotten my first paycheck."

Supervillain closed their eyes. This rookie was brand, brand new. Another desperate idiot lured in by the promise of a massive pay rate. What the hero agency never mentioned was that less than half of their recruits survived or remained fit enough to receive those payments.

They took a deep breath and squeezed the hero's shoulder. "Don't worry about that now." No way was Supervillain allowing them to pay the hospital costs out of pocket. They had caused this, however indirectly.

"I didn't expect you to be like this," the hero said.

"Like what?"

"Nice. Orientation painted you like some sort of monster who eats babies for breakfast or something. When I got caught, I thought you were going to kill me, but..." They waved a tired hand around the room and flopped it back at their side. "Thanks."

A light knock sounded on the door, and a nurse stepped into the room. "Have you made a decision?"

The hero chuckled humorlessly. What other decision did they have? To die? "Let's do it."

She strained a smile. "The doctor will be here in a few minutes to prep you for surgery."

She made an obvious effort to keep her voice upbeat, but she still left a heaviness in her wake when she left.

"Well..." Supervillain said. "You should rest. If you need anything..." They cleared their throat. "I'll slip some info to your agency. They'll take care of everything."

They only moved a couple steps toward the door before the hero caught them weakly by the hand. Their eyes were wide and their bottom lip trembling.

"Please. I don't want to be alone."

Supervillain slowly returned to their side, offering a short nod and clasping their fist in both hands. "I'll stay."

"Until I wake up?"

"Until you wake up."

Part Two

[thepenultimateword]

The Worst Kind of Medal Part Two

Part One

Absolutely nobody: …….

Me: Alright, you’ve convinced me, I’ll post part two

***

Umbra sipped at the bitter mug of coffee and rubbed her blurry eyes. Unfortunately, last night's tea had not calmed her stomach or her nerves. She'd spent the entire night tossing and turning, wondering if this was a mistake, debating whether to write to the King–a stupid idea really–and insisting to herself that Prince Waylon’s…heritage, was nothing to get so worked up about. After all, he only looked Auskerian. Underneath it all, he was still Lyrissi. And the war was over anyhow, so there was no reason to have problems with the Auskerians. To have her heart race so over a simple tail and fangs was silly.

The consequence of all this thinking was the exact opposite of last night’s problem: she had to drink something to stay awake, and she was more nervous and on edge than ever.

Umbra dropped her face tiredly into her hand, but a firm, polite knock on the door jolted her back to attention.

"Enter."

To her surprise rather than Arlin or Madeline the door opened on Ryann, stiff as a statue in a crisp olive suit, hair slicked neatly back, and smelling strongly of vanilla and amber. Umbra expected this was his usual look when he wasn’t disembarking from an 11-hour flight.

"Ser Umbra," he said with a short bow. "Do you have a moment?"

Umbra’s gaze flicked to the wall clock. 6:45.

"I don't leave for the military headquarters for another hour, so yes."

She motioned to the wooden spare chair alongside the window, and Ryann smoothly grabbed it by the back, setting it down right at the lip of her desk, before settling primly on the seat.

He cleared his throat genteelly. "I'm sure yesterday was a shock.”

His voice was measured. Gauging.

So that was the purpose of this visit.

“A slight surprise,” Umbra said. “But I never requested a picture of the prince, so I had no preconceived expectations.”

“You don’t need to pretend diplomacy. The King is set entirely on the match, and His Majesty the prince has grown too attached to the idea. No matter your response, I won’t say a word, and even if I did, I doubt it would make a difference.”

Umbra took another sip of coffee, pinning her lips together as she swallowed in case the wrong words pushed out from under her practiced professionalism.

Ryann stared at her expectantly.

Fine. Why not? The truth was unsaid, not secret.

She set the coffee mug on its saucer and folded her hands in front of her.

“Alright then. Yes. Prince Waylon was a more surprising match than I bargained for. I understand why King Esmond would want to remove him from court with the war so freshly ended, but he must have had some idea of how I–a soldier who has been fighting the Auskerians for the better part of six years–would receive this. Not only that but sending him here, right along the border of Auskeran, where tensions are highest, doesn’t make any sense.”

Ryann tapped his index finger idly on the desk—was it idleness? It almost seemed like a practiced filler between statements.

“King Esmond has kept Prince Waylon at an arm's length his entire life. Extending that distance to half a country’s length is not much of a surprise to anyone who has spent more than a week at the palace.” He offered the barest of shrugs. “Kings and their children.”

“Even so, surely someone informed him of the dangers.”

“Ha!” Ryann smiled humorlessly. “Yes, well, it turns out pointing out such things are what get you escort duty. The King is not so oblivious as to not know the political standings of his own cities; he merely doesn’t want to think about it.”

“Does King Esmond wish him to die?”

Ryann frowned severely. “Don’t be garish, Ser Umbra.”

Umbra checked herself internally. She’d let her annoyance get the better of her, but she couldn’t afford to be so blunt with a royal servant, especially not when talking about the King.

“No,” Ryann proceeded. “I don’t think he actively wishes him harm, but he certainly would rather not worry about his existence. However, that is what I want to talk to you about.”

Umbra raised her brows.

“You saw how people looked at Prince Waylon in the port. And I’m sure you know how it may escalate. Dirty looks only last so long.”

“Yes.”

“In the capital, no one could say anything to his face. He certainly felt the disdain in other ways, but direct disrespect to a prince meant death. But here, without the King’s presence looming overhead, and more, on the border, where people are familiar with Auskerians, it’s more dangerous.”

“What are you asking me?” Umbra said. She had a good idea already, but she hated all this talking around the issue. Obviously, Ryann wanted to hear something specific from her, so why didn’t he just come out and say it?

“I need you to promise that you will protect him.”

Umbra frowned. “You don’t need to make a personal request for something I assumed was self-evident.”

Ryann folded his hands on the desk and fixed her with an intense stare. “In two weeks, I’ll be back at the capital, and he’ll be here amongst the wolves. I need to hear the words directly. Promise you will protect him. Promise you will use all the influence and physical power necessary to do it. Even if you never come to care for him.”

Umbra didn’t like demands, but there seemed to be little point in resisting other than her own hubris.

She picked up the coffee cup once more. “I promise.” She downed the last gulp and winced at the bitter dregs settled at the bottom. She should’ve waited for Henrietta to get up and make the pot for her.

Ryann relaxed a fraction. “I can tell you aren’t noble born, Ser Umbra, but in spite of that, you seem the honorable sort. So, I will grant you my trust. Until you prove otherwise.”

“An honor,” Umbra said, summoning any scrap genuineness she could find. “Now, if you’d excuse me–”

A new knock sounded on the door, this one fast and rhythmic. She didn’t know a knock like that.

“Enter,” she called out and braced herself for the inevitable visitor on the other side.

The door cracked open slowly and then swung wide all at once.

“Ryann! You’re visiting Umbra too?” Prince Waylon cried.

He was the picture of dishevelment: his long silver hair, so perfectly braided the day before, was now collected in an ill-kempt tail and tossed over one shoulder. The frizzy kinked tangles reached well past his waist and several stray locks tickled at his face and neck. It looked like he’d attempted to dress himself, but the cuffs of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned, and his vest, a burgundy leather sort with straps instead of buttons, hadn’t been closed tight enough, so now the straps hung in loose u-shapes, showing gaps of rumbled shirt underneath. Even his locket hung a little crooked on its chain. Did he wear it to sleep?

“My prince!” Ryann said, shooting to his feet. “Come with me at once.”

“I’m fine, Ryann.” He tilted to look around the escort. “Good morning, Umbra!”

“Good morning, my prince. I hope you slept well.”

“Waylon,” he corrected. “And yes! I could hear crickets out in the meadow all evening, and the bed is so quaint!”

Ryann fussed over Waylon’s sleeves. “You should have waited for me. What are you even doing up at this hour?”

Waylon allowed Ryann to begin tidying him up, even spreading his arms a bit wider to give him better access. It showed how accustomed he was to having someone dress him. Was Umbra going to have to hire a manservant once Ryann left? Would Arlin be willing to fill that roll? He already had far too many duties. And what other intimate tasks did the prince need help with? She really hadn’t thought through the finer details of his marriage.

“I was so excited I woke up early,” Waylon said. “So I thought I might as well get ready.”

“‘Ready’,” Ryann harumphed under his breath. “What a mess. Just look at your hair, did you even brush it before mangling it?”

Waylon shrugged. His tail swished leisurely back and forth, the long curtain of hair on the end practically sweeping the floor. Umbra had never seen an Auskerian with their tail hair unknotted.

His eyes flicked to Umbra. “Now that it’s morning,” he said casually, as if there wasn’t a man tightening the straps of his vest right now. “perhaps we could get to know each other better. We could tour the house, or take a walk into town, or chat in the drawing room by the fire–no, wait, that’s better for the evening. Oh, we could have a picnic!”

Umbra stood and offered a short bow.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” she said, “but I’m about to leave for headquarters.”

He drooped a little, but she averted her eyes to look past him instead of directly at him.

“I will return around 5 o’clock. Feel free to explore the grounds in my absence. Henrietta will prepare any meals you require, and both Madeline and Arlin can answer any of your questions.”

“I thought you didn’t have work for another 45 minutes,” Ryann said, tightening Waylon’s last strap and turning on her with raised brows.

Umbra fought the urge to glare. Did he want to ruin the prince’s image of her or was this just his idea of fun?

She drew her shoulders straight and stared the escort right in his glinting eyes. “The drive takes some time, and in light of my absence yesterday, I would like to arrive a little early to look over any reports. If you’ll both excuse me, I will take my leave.”

She offered a bow to each of them, and Ryann tilted his head in return. Waylon followed her.

“We’ll talk when you return then?”

“Yes.”

“And we can take a walk? Maybe into town?”

“It will be evening by then. But we will have dinner together. I will show you the town on the weekend.”

“Oh, that’s good. I was thinking we could buy some things for the wedding.” He panted a little trying to keep up with her stride.

By this point, Umbra had reached the backdoor, the exit closest to the garage. She rested her hand on the door handle. “I believe your father and the Lord Streiss have already arranged most of it, but we may shop if you wish.”

“Only if you want to too,” Waylon said, staring at her earnestly. His eyes were less gold in the morning, more muted, but they still felt like they were piercing right through her.

“Of course.” She eased open the door and edged one foot onto the porch. “I’ll see you at 5.”

“At 5,” Waylon repeated clutching his locket.

Umbra spared the barest of bows, barely a head tilt, and closed the door quickly. She couldn’t get those watchful eyes out of her head the entire drive to headquarters. She thought if she avoided being near him after dark she’d be fine, but for whatever reason just the intensity of his stare made her uncomfortable. As adoringly as he stared, it was almost like he was picking her apart at the seams.

She turned the automobile through the barred iron gates winding around the circular drive to her designated space along the side of the long, long rectangular building.

She slipped through a side door and up the first climb of the platformed staircase but only managed to make it halfway to her office before a loud voice called, “General!”

Umbra turned begrudgingly toward the rangy man approaching her, auburn hair tied up into the shortest of tails and mechanical hand flexing twitchily at his side. “Lieutenant Osgood.”

The man frowned. “Lieutenant– You know, General, when I let you promote me I didn’t realize you were going to start calling me Lietenant all the time. Are you ever going to go back to calling me Os?”

“When I’m demoted or you're promoted. Or if we’re ever bleeding out on a battlefield again.”

“You know we were in training together.”

“Of course, how could I ever forget.” Umbra turned back to the next set of stairs. “In the first week of training you over-cranked your gun until the water chamber shattered. You cried for days.”

Osgood followed behind her. “You’re conveniently forgetting the part where General Jarvest made me take apart and clean all the gun valves for the entire armory until the new chamber piece for my gun arrived. A burnt arm does not go well with body aches.”

They breathed in silence for a moment. Lost in memory and exhaling too much to keep hold of any words.

“You were looser then,” Osgood said eventually, drawing up by her side. “Never cheery of course…but less…”

He didn’t finish. Maybe he couldn’t think of a word that encapsulated her current self. She was just…less.”

“Yes,” she said. “You lost your arm and I my heart.”

“Ever the dramatic.” He peered at her sideways. “Does this romantic metaphor have to do with a certain engagement to a certain prince? You met him yesterday, right?”

Umbra knocked his twitching arm with the back of her hand. “Your meter’s too high again.”

Osgood clapped his hand over the metal circle embedded into the wrist. “It’s fidgety.”

“It’s overworked. You're lucky the king’s engineers manufactured it for you, so be careful with it.”

“These fancy rich people ones have so many valves and tubes to keep track of,” Osgood complained. “It’s a lot for a palm and some fingers. I would’ve been happy enough with one of those clawed ones on Steambell. Those only open and close. Or better yet, tying a knot in my sleeve and let it be.”

“Alright.” Umbra pushed into her office and sat down behind her desk. “I’ll write the engineerial doctor to have it removed, and we’ll be sure to keep you stocked with plenty of long-sleeved shirts.”

Osgood jolted. “Well, hey now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Like you said, it was an expensive gift. It would be rude to simply discard it. No, a gift like this needs to be used for–” he counted on his fingers. “–a good 7 to 10 years before it can be thrown away inoffensively.”

“Your sense of decorum wins out again,” Umbra said, flipping through the first few pages of yesterday's reports. They were all fairly short. Good. No emergencies or major discipline issues in her absence.

“Did the prince not arrive?” Osgood asked, hovering at the edge of her desk.

He wasn’t going to let her escape this, was he? She was certain he was acting as informant for half the troops anyway. Probably better to get it over with once now than have the entire base gossiping. She couldn’t really blame their fixation. Aside from her, Osgood, Langdon, Rhoda and Tram, none of the soldiers had witnessed royalty. Many probably deserved to. It had taken many soldiers…many lives…to accomplish what they had. But they’d only awarded medals to the five who’d physically crossed into the enemy camp. And only she had sat face to face with the King.

“No,” she said, setting the pages back down. “He did. He’s at Graystone.”

“How is he? Dreamy? Covered in jewels?”

“He’s fine.”

Osgood raised a brow. “The prince. The King’s son. The heir to the throne –”

“Fifth heir.”

“--is fine?”

“Yes. The engagement had to be pushed back two weeks because the royal officiant has been delayed, but there haven’t been any other issues.”

Her second tilted his head to the side, gradually reading her expression. “Is he ugly?”

Luckily, he’d never been very Umbra-literate.

“...No.”

“You paused! Wow, what’s wrong with him? Too short? Weird face? You know apparently, he doesn’t move in and out of the palace like the other princes and princesses, and he wasn’t at the celebration banquet while we were in the capital. Is he possibly too deformed to be seen?”

“His appearance is of no concern,” Umbra said firmly. If she really broke it down and thought, that was the truth. He might have looked Auskerian, but no one with such a delicate face and lively spirit, could be called ugly.

“Ah, is he a snob then? Did he complain about downsizing from a palace to a country estate?”

“On the contrary, he’s rather taken with the estate.”

“Ok, so he’s being cold with you? Was forced into this marriage. Hates every moment in your company?”

Umbra hesitated.“He gifted me a locket…and wants to go wedding shopping… I’m telling you he’s fine.”

“Then why don’t you like him?” Osgood asked incredulously.

“I never said I didn’t. The subject simply isn’t of great import to me.”

Osgood took a few steps back toward the door and leaned his shoulder on the frame.

“‘The subject simply isn’t of great import to me,’” he mimicked haughitly. Anyone else and she would have censured him, but Osgood’s respect ran deeper than what he showed in words. He’d been in constant trouble with their first general because of his mouth, but by the time he’d ended up under Umbra’s command, she had come to the conclusion that curing his loudness was infeasible and of little importance.

“I wish the king would have awarded me a beautiful princess for my bravery.”

“It was never about that,” Umbra said.

“I know, but come on. Royalty. Even you have to get excited by that.”

Umbra set aside the reports and procured a sheet of paper an a steel-nib pen from her desk drawer. She jotted down a short note stating that Prince Waylon had arrived safely. “I’m more anxious to hear from the military council.” She folded the paper and held it out. “Deliver this to the telegraph room for me. Be sure to tell them to send it directly to the palace line. That way the council will intercept it. ”

Hopefully that was enough of a nudge to begin moving things forward.

***

Waylon rested his head on his arms, watching the little mantle clock in the drawing room tick away.

5 o’clock was taking forever.

After Umbra left, Ryann had dragged him back to his bedroom to brush, oil, and braid his hair for an excruciatingly long time. Waylon had comforted himself with the thought that at least once it was over he’d be closer to Umbra’s return, but as Ryann tied up the end of his braid with a burgundy ribbon and released him downstairs, he’d found only 30 minutes had passed. Breakfast lasted another mere 30 minutes and then they’d retired to the drawing room, the most boring room in the house, and not romantic at all, despite what The Gentleman’s Cottage had implied.

Ryann sat in the armchair beside Waylon’s sofa, quietly reading a book from one of the shelves. He’d encouraged Waylon to do the same, but after a quick perusal of the titles, he’d decided none of these books seemed like novels. Pointing this out had only prompted an imploration for patience. How could anyone be patient when true love was on the line?

Waylon flipped onto his back, tilting his head backward over the armrest. “I’m going to give myself a house tour.”

Ryann snapped his book shut. “I’ll notify one of the staff.”

“You don’t need to. This will be my house too in a couple of weeks; I’m allowed to walk around.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t be encroaching on Ser Umbra’s privacy.”

“Umbra isn’t Father. She wouldn’t keep secrets.”

“You’ve known her a matter of hours. In any case, it’s impolite. Aren’t you trying to make a good impression?”

Waylon sighed. “Fine, I won’t open any closed doors; I’m just going to get a feel for the layout.” Ryann moved to rise with him, but Waylon held up his hand. “Read your book. I’ll be right back.”

Ryann must have been tired because instead of resisting, he settled back in his seat. “Don’t poke into anything you shouldn’t.”

Waylon nodded and slipped out of the room before Ryann could press him for a verbal promise. It wasn’t that he planned to be intrusive, but if he happened to end up somewhere off-limits by accident while exploring, he couldn’t be blamed.

He padded down the hall, peeking into a broom closet and a privy before reaching the great oak door of Umbra’s study. The maidservant, Madeline, had pointed it out to him this morning, and it seemed he’d found it again subconsciously.

He hesitated over the door handle. Somehow the door was more nervewracking now than this morning when Umbra was on the other side. Maybe that was because the staff had reacted so normally to him being here. No one shooing him out of the way where he wouldn’t disturb. No sneaking; they’d given him directions. The door was just a door. But now, in this moment alone, it felt more like standing outside Father’s office. Feeling small. Hoping nobody saw. Too worried to knock. Wondering if the door would even open for him if he did.

Waylon let his hand fall to his side. He wanted to look more closely at the sort of things Umbra kept in her space, but that would definitely be poking…

Instead, he forced himself to the main foyer with its main staircase and crossroads of halls. Standing at the center, he mumbled the handful of rooms he remembered under his breath. Drawing room and study to the right, dining hall to the left, who knew what else straight ahead.

Time to find out.

His exploration of the first floor quickly revealed the kitchen, a laundry room, another privy, and the servant quarters. While in the kitchen he’d found a strange door with a downward staircase, but he’d only descended a couple of steps before deciding it was too dark to continue. Apparently, those two steps had been long enough to activate the ‘fireglow’ in his eyes; when he reentered the kitchen, the sight had made the cook curse and drop her basket of onions. After she’d calmed down she’d explained that the dark room was the cellar–“A cellar? The kind with ghosts and bodies and tortured prisoners?” “No, nothing but storage down there.”

Waylon wasn’t certain if that was disappointing or not. He probably didn’t really want anything horrible down there, but it would have been interesting.

The upstairs was more uneventful, mainly bedrooms, though there were two more privies, these ones with deep porcelain baths. After exiting one such washroom, he found himself at the end of the hall in front of a sliding double door. Rather than solid wood, the doors was a crisscrossed skeleton with cloth panels within each space.

Waylon pressed his palm to a square, the white cloth yellowed by the light inside, soaking in the warmth.

It looked like the doors did have a latch, but when he pushed one side, the door folded in on itself like an accordion.

Waylon only opened it wide enough to slip through sideways.

It was another sitting room, though much smaller than the drawing room and considerably brighter. One wall had an enormous rectangular window, while the wall adjacent sported a large circular pane above a window seat.

What a romantic reading spot. No books in here though.

He sat down at the small round table in front of the hearth and traced his finger around a faded water ring on the wood. Oh, it was a morning room.

Waylon inhaled a deep breath through his nose, searching for notes of coffee or breakfast. Burning wood in the hearth. Dry, dusty sunbeams.

Eyes closed, he imagined a presence in the chair across from him. A clink of cups in saucers. A hand over his own. No talking, but a warmth in simply being.

When his eyes opened again, he was alone.

“Oh, well,” he said aloud as he pushed to his feet, not totally sure what he was ‘oh welling.’

He didn’t think about it long because as he stepped away from the table, his gaze landed on a great white sheet draped over a piece of furniture by the window. He cocked his head and, when he was close enough, took the sheet by the hem, whipping it off with a flourish.

“A pianoforte!” he cried, blinking in the dull rosewood and ivory.

Immediately, he dropped the sheet on the floor and pulled out the music bench from underneath the instrument. He gently tested a scale.

Hm, a little out of tune, but it had been under a sheet. The servants at the palace did that to his siblings' rooms whenever they were away for a long time to protect against dust. Perhaps Umbra didn’t play the piano. But if she owned one she must at least like it.

He played a downward scale. Then a few notes from one of Asparin’s songs.

A thought struck him: maybe Umbra would like it if he played something for her. A surprise something. He could write Asparin to send him some sheet music, something not too hard but pretty enough to look impressive.

Waylon stood up from the bench. If a surprise was what he was after, he shouldn’t let anyone hear him playing until he had a chance to swear them all to secrecy. He’d only met three servants so far, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more. Servants were great at being unseen.

He grabbed up the sheet and did his best to spread it back over the pianoforte the way it had been. As he stretched on tiptoe over the wide lid, he noticed a second door beside the hearth.

Strange. He didn’t think he’d missed any hallway doors.

The knob turned easily, so he pulled the door open wide and stepped inside.

He blinked in the dim lighting. A wardrobe. A bed. A nightstand.

He sighed heavily.

Another bedroom.

He stepped in a bit further. It wasn’t much different from his room, bigger maybe, but less decorative. A sword hung above the head of the bed, and a vanity was pushed against the adjacent wall, but it had none of the fresh-cut flowers or wall art, and the oxygen was stale like it hadn’t been aired in a while.

Waylon crossed over to the vanity and picked up a wooden hair comb, turning it over in his hand curiously. A little bowl of jewelry sat further in the corner, a pair of half-hoop earrings that looked made of iron, a robin egg blue broach, a gold locket with its chain hanging over the side of the bowl…

He stopped. He knew that locket. He’d spent two weeks agonizing over it and choosing that floral engraving on one side and on the other…

He tentatively turned the locket over.

W/U

Waylon dropped the locket abruptly, backing away so quickly that his tail lashed the vanity chair, knocking it to the ground with a dull thud.

Stupid. He was so stupid. Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Why hadn’t he been paying attention? He’d looked inside every single guestroom on the floor, only avoiding one, and it was right next door to the morning room: Umbra’s bedroom.

His heart picked up speed.

He should leave. He should leave now. He would not be like Thom from The Duchess’s Rose, creepy and pushy and intrusive.

He hurriedly bent to upright the chair. As he did so, a glimmer of gold on the floor caught his eye.

Great, had he knocked a piece of jewelry on the floor as well as the chair?

Tucking the chair back in, he dropped to his knees.

It wasn’t jewlery. It was a little black box underneath the bed, its latch blinking in a sunbeam that leaked through a crack in the drapes.

Waylon squinted. The box had the royal coat of arms imprinted on the lid–two swords crossed over the neck of a grinning wolf.

No. You’ve looked around too much already.

He swung his body back to ward the door, half-rising before stopping again.

What if it had something to do with him?

More reason not to look at it, he scolded.

But Umbra did say that Father had already arranged most of the wedding things. And there were only so many things small enough to be kept in a box this size.

Waylon had his cheek pressed to the floor before he could think about what he was doing, gripping the box in his fist.

A small peak wouldn’t hurt, right? It might even set him at ease. It seemed a bit like Umbra was avoiding him. Of course, that didn’t make sense, she’d agreed to this marriage wholeheartedly, Father said. As a general, she was simply busy.

And yet…if there really was a wedding band inside, some proof beyond his own memories and his father’s words…

He’d just open the box a sliver.

He flicked open the latch with his thumb and held his eye up to the box’s seam. He raised the lid slowly, catching a glint of gold.

Agh, he couldn’t help it, he opened the box all the way.

Waylon blinked at the contents.

A medal. Not just any medal, the medal of honor she’d received for ending the war. Why in the world was that under the bed? Did it fall from somewhere and get kicked under? A medal like this should be displayed in the open where everyone could see it, not hidden.

Waylon thumbed over the raised laurel leaves.

“Your Majesty!”

Waylon jolted at the sound of Ryann’s voice in the hall.

“Com–” he started then threw his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t supposed to be in here!

“Prince Waylon?” Ryann repeated.

Waylon snapped the box shut and shoved it back beneath the bed then scrambled for the door.

“I’m coming!” he called grabbing the door handle and swinging it behind him. He caught himself before it slammed, easing it slowly shut so it only made a light click.

“Waylon?”

The main doors made a shushing sound as they slid against the floor.

“What are you doing in here?” Ryann said.

“Just looking around,” Waylon said, feigning interest in the window. “It’s a nice view.”

He did not have to feign for long. The meadow was beautiful, not uniform and trimmed like the palace gardens, but wild with long bright grass and colorful flowers,

“Maybe out there next.”

“No.” Ryann caught his arm, “It’s lunchtime.”

One cheese and tomato sandwich and glass of tepid milk later and Waylon excused himself to his room to rest. Truthfully he was a little tired after getting up early and walking the house, but he mostly couldn’t get the pit of deceit out of his stomach, and he didn’t want anyone to ask him what was wrong. He’d been excited to see Umbra, but now he wondered what she’d think of him if she knew he’d trespassed into her private quarters. He’d promised himself he’d become better here, but it seemed doing things he shouldn’t was embedded into his very being.

He flopped his head onto his pillow and clutched his hands together around his locket as he stared at the wall ahead of him. He couldn’t get the image of the medal out of his head, then unexpectedly, the locket in the jewelery bowl.

Maybe Umbra didn’t like to accesorize.

Or perhaps he and medal were one and the same. Reminders that needed pushing away.

I’ll be better now, he thought purposefully. Then everything will be alright and no one will have to hide me away.

He closed his eyes tightly and repeated it like a vow. I’ll be better.

[thepenultimateword]

Having a slice of life fantasy romance is so fun because even though there’s drama, the physical stakes are so low and the scenes I’m planning are so soft. I don’t have to plan any big battle scenes or heists or anything too crazy outside of backstory stuff. It’s just healing from trauma and learning to fall in love.

Some scenes planned so far:

Umbras gifting Waylon a baby rabbit because she feels bad that they had a really, really awful wedding.

Waylon trying to get Umbra into reading romance novels

Umbra picking Waylon up from work everyday

Waylon preparing a piano piece for Umbra

Umbra teaching Waylon how to drive

Waylon’s sister coming to visit and asking to be taught to shoot a rifle. Umbra teaching her but since Waylon tagged along, spending a lot of time doing the whole standing behind and holding his hands over the gun to show him how to shoot properly thing.

Waylon learning to make lunches so give to Umbra for work.

Sharing their worst secrets that they fully believe should make them unloveable but validating each other.

Getting a redo wedding now that they actually love each other.

🥰

[thepenultimateword]

FOR ANON WHO ASKED ABOUT THE POLY THING SHIT WITH VILLAIN, HERO, AND SIDEKICK(or henchman i don't remember) CHECK @ saltydumplings !!! They posted a few stories that match your description!!

Oh! Looks like we have a possible answer for that story! :)

[thepenultimateword]

Hi! This is gonna be random as hell but I feel like I'm having a stroke: Did you, at some point, write a multi-chapter piece about Hero x Sidekick x Villain?? Because I was pretty sure it was you, because I vaguely remembered the turquoise theme you used to have, buuuut I can't find it? Was it someone else? Was it a fever dream???? I'm at loss of braincells so sorry because this is too long already but I hope you have a great rest of the day <333

Hey anon! I haven’t written any hero x sidekick x villain stories so I don’t think it was me, but I hope you find it! If anyone has any ideas of what it could be, feel free to comment to help anon find it!

I hope you have a great day too!

[thepenultimateword]

This is so sweet and helpful I have to reblog as well. I have anxiety, so I usually try to google as much as I can to figure out what it’s going to be like when I go somewhere new and sometimes the little details of how things work that people think don’t matter, matter a lot to me. I think sometimes people get a tad exasperated with me over it, so it’s really nice to know other people feel the same way and that there are people who are nice to enough to explain things.

the problem with autism is sometimes you want to do something (brave) but you need someone to gently walk you through each step so you know what will happen. and people don’t like doing that