#What's nice about edible glitter is that it has no taste which means you can add it to anything. You want gay spaghetti

[millenniumfae]

Video Game Cooking: Nectar (Hades 2018)

Nectar is one of the in-game items Zagreus can collect. By gifting these bottles of golden liquid to other characters, he raises his affinity with them, which in turn gives him powerup items and advances character questlines. 

Hades (2018) is a retelling/adaptation of the classical Persephone and Hades mythos. All items, settings, and characters are from classic Greek mythology; Zagreus’ foster mother is the primordial goddess of night. Achilles’ personal questline is about reuniting him with his lover Patrocles. Zagreus has spent his entire life sheltered underground in Tartarus, so he doesn’t know what birds are, or what winter is. 

In turn, ‘nectar’ exists in Greek mythology. It’s sometimes interchangeable with ambrosia; both are the legendary foods/drinks of the gods, said to grant immortality to anyone who consumes them, amongst other positive effects. In-game, nectar is the more commonplace counterpart to ambrosia; Zagreus finds nectar as a dungeon drop. But he needs to defeat the champion of Elysium boss to gain a single bottle of ambrosia.

Today, we’re gonna re-create the nectar of Hades (2018) for ourselves! It may be contraband in Hades’ domain, but it’s not like anyone pays attention to that rule, anyways.

Why are we recreating nectar, and not ambrosia? Because there already exists tons of ‘ambrosia’ drink recipes. Maybe not based off of the Hades (2018) version, but there’s nothing new or exciting in making yet another ambrosia drink. Nectar, on the other hand, gives us more room for invention.

Hades (2018) Nectar Recipe  (Makes One Serving)

1 1/3 cups Martinelli's sparkling cider

2 tablespoons orange flower water

1 tablespoon honey

1/4 teaspoon edible gold shimmer powder (make sure it lists all ingredients, and is certified food safe)

A pinch of coarse sea salt

A pinch of lemon zest

A drop of mint extract

The first times Zagreus gifts nectar to npcs, they describe honoring some sort of godhood custom and exchange with him with a ‘keepsake’ - an in-game powerup he can wear. Unlike with gifting ambrosia, their eyes don’t pop out with shock at receiving such a luxurious gift, it’s instead just something nice, even if relatively commonplace. But nectar is still prestigious enough that gifting the actual Olympic gods nectar goes over well.

If ambrosia is the equivalent of Zagreus gifting $30,000,000 Breguet watches to his friends and family, then nectar is the gourmet-wrapped basket of cheese and crackers you see in the ‘gift’ section of the grocery store. Something you spot while on errands, and impulsively buy so you have a hostess gift the next time someone invites you over. It’s a gift borne of societal custom, and implores the giftee to give you something in return, eventually. Everyone from your multimillionaire uncle Poseidon to your humble jailbird neighbor Sisyphus are pleased to receive such a gift, even if they might value its contents differently.

(In the early-access versions of the game, nectar was ambrosia. The final release wrote ambrosia as the coveted, rare prize you earn after defeating the champions of Elysium. True enough, Zagreus can only find ambrosia after defeating the Elysium boss.)

In original Greek mythology, ‘nectar’ and ‘ambrosia’ aren’t two distinct things. Homer describes nectar as the god’s drink, and ambrosia is the food. But in Sappho’s and Anaxandrides’s poems, it’s the opposite. There’s more recorded mentions of ‘ambrosia’, rather than nectar. Some take this to mean that both nectar and ambrosia can be seen as something both food and drink, like honey.

Both share canonical similarities. Ambrosia and nectar are fragrant foods/drinks, sometimes used as literal perfume by the gods. Makes sense that nectar smells good, if in the AD period we’ve taken the word to mean the sweet stuff within flowers.

Other than its smell, we’ve no canonical information about nectar (other than in the Odyssey, nectar is described as either ‘rose-red’ in color, or in scent). Hades (2018) rendered nectar’s appearance as an opaque, warm gold liquid in a cute little round bottle, wrapped with a ribbon to benefit its ‘gift merchandise’ reputation.        

Nobody in Hades (2018) describes the taste/smell of nectar. Ambrosia, on the other hand, is said to be rare ‘vintages’ that you’re guaranteed to like. Sometimes, gifting either results in a cutscene where Zagreus and co. hang out at the lounge, complete with a sound clip of uncorking a bottle and pouring it into a tall glass. You can also see characters drink nectar amongst each other, savoring both the occasion and the taste. Eurydice also offers a ‘Refreshing Nectar’ power up item, which just kinda looks like normal nectar but in a tall glass. 

There’s a clear alcohol equivalence. But nobody references drunkeness in-game. Even original classical Greek culture didn’t have a drunk culture like we do; wine was revered, but it was mixed with water to be savored, not to intoxicate oneself. Maybe nobody in-game can get drunk in the first place; everyone’s either an immortal, or a ghost.

(In my opinion, it’s always a bit weird when videogame characters can nurture deep, trusting relationships purely built upon a system of gifting items. But Hades (2018) does make it clear that Zagreus already has established relationships with most of the cast.)

Ambrosia’s a rare vintage. So what does that make nectar? We need to make something sweet, pleasant, attractive-looking, and also tangibly related to its rarer sibling. So we’re using another liquid that’s distilled and sometimes fermented; apple cider. 

A bit of this decision comes from the soundbite of opening up a nectar in the lounge; it’s a thin viscosity with a slight hint of foam, almost sounding like beer. And the color matters too, since different distillations of apple cider can result in different colors, ranging from dark brown to a light, bright gold.

Apple juice, when fermented, can have alcohol contents going from light apple wine, to brandies that have 10-25% alcohol. As a culinary ingredient, its modest fructose content means a higher temperature tolerance, and its citric acid can be used as a brine. It’s a popular ‘new world’ ingredient in cooking and baking. 

It’s also an ‘old world’ food. Hades (2018) doesn’t take itself super seriously, with its foil-wrapped gyros and french fries as in-game healing items. But any character/worldbuilding they do have, they keep it consistent. 

Zagreus says that Hermes’ symbol “almost looks like a bat wing”, when it’s very clearly a bird wing. Because he’s lived underground his whole life, he doesn’t know what a bird is. Weapons upgraded with the aspect of people like Guan Yu, or King Arthur, are time-bending powers that no one has ever heard of, with hints that these mysterious people live in places with their own gods/mythology. Zagreus catches a trout/bass/sturgeon fish for the first time, and it’s completely foreign to him, but Achilles fondly recalls these Greece-native fish fitting of his Nereid heritage. Characters have discussions about how mortals fear death, despite Thanatos being a gentle god represented by butterflies. There’s no sun, therefore no time, in the underworld. Hades is the god of minerals as well as the underworld, hence gems and diamonds being an in-game loot. 

Apples originated in Central Asia. During the Classical Greek era, they would have resembled what we call crabapples; small, hard, sour, cherry-sized. “At the Sammardenchia-Cueis site near Udine in Northeastern Italy, seeds from some form of apples have been found in material carbon dated to around 4000 BCE.”

It implores me to find ingredients that fit the setting, as with my other Video Game Cooking recipes. No pumpkins, no corn, potatoes, chocolate, tomatoes, vanilla. Instead, we have things like almonds, lentils, oranges, honey, garlic, onions (haha, suck it Achilles)

To reflect nectar’s ‘sweet smelling’ trait, we’re using an ingredient common in Persian cooking - and later the French royal court of King Louis; orange flower water. I found mine in my local Asian grocery. It’s a byproduct of making essential oil, and it’s colorless/flavorless, but with a strong aromatic smell that affects any food you mix it with. It’s also a known ingredient in modern day Greece, called anthonero (ανθόνερο). 

(Eeurydice is confirmed to use both nectar and ambrosia as a cooking ingredient, and her food is apparently amazing. Maybe one day, I’ll make another Video Game Cooking recipe based off of her Pom Porridge, or Ambrosia Delights.) 

And to really make it look like the food of the gods, we’re adding an ingredient found more and more in swanky bars worldwide; edible glitter powder. Originally, people only used this to decorate baked goods and candies, but come Instagram, people are making these really picturesque cocktails that shimmer rainbow. You gotta be careful when buying these for yourself, though; the tiny tins of decorative edible shimmer power you find at Michaels may not actually be as edible as they claim. I found Bakell-brand Luster Dust at a bake-supply shop. If it doesn’t list its ingredients, or certify itself as FDA-approved, then don’t use it for food.

And since it’s called ‘nectar’, we’re also adding honey. Which has long history of its divine status as a holy food. To take down the intense sweetness a bit, the tinest pinch of sea salt - another holy, pure substance. And to really bring out the brightness of the apples, we’re adding a sprinkle of lemon zest. A tiny drop of mint extract brings a complex depth to the orange flower smell.

To make a glass of nectar; cover the bottom of the glass with mint, lemon, sea salt, honey, and orange flower water. Then, pour the apple cider with the gold shimmer dust together, so that the two mix together a bit, to avoid clumping of the powder. Then you mix the drink a bit, so that the honey, zest, and salt aren’t sitting at the bottom.

It only now occurs to me that this recipe might actually be a rendition of Eurydice’s Refreshing Nectar item, rather than pure nectar itself. But just take my word for it; when you open up a bottle of nectar, you get that whiff of blossoms with the slight coldness of mint, and the sea salt/honey taste goes really well with the apple juice. I imagine that Eurydice’s somehow making a further delicious drink by adding a splash of Bailoni and ice. 

Enjoy! Just imagine that you’re hanging out with Zagreus and his three partners, cracking a cold one open over stories about how crazy the surface world is. Did you know that we have machines called computers that instantly relay information all over the world??

#hades game #hades #hades 2018 #hades (2018) #hades supergiant #video game cooking

[ladyknightleyisundercover]

A Baker’s Dozen

some saccharine sweetness because quarantine means time to write again and all i wanted to produce was hinny fluff :) read on AO3

“Something smells good,” Harry calls, on arriving home. He follows his nose to the kitchen, where Ginny is eyeing a cake she has clearly just pulled out of the oven. “Oh, yum. Is that dinner?”

She pulls a face, and swats him away when he tries to reach for it, so he settles for wrapping his arms around her waist, and they stand there, pressed against each other, surveying it. “It’s for Helen’s birthday,” she explains. “Which is tomorrow, and I don’t have time to bake another, so no touching.”

“I didn’t realise you and Helen were that close?” says Harry. Helen was one of three Healers the Harpies employed to ensure their team were at the peak of their physical fitness. As far as he could remember, though, she mostly worked with their reserve squad, so Ginny, who was always in the starting seven, didn’t have that much contact with her.

“It’s this new thing we’re trialling at work this year,” she explains. “We were just getting absolutely inundated with cake—whenever it was someone’s birthday, everyone would bake a cake and bring it in. Gwynog was starting to worry about our nutritional intake. So this year, she made us pull names out of a hat, and whosever name you got, you and you alone were responsible for baking their birthday cake. Everyone went in, all the players and coaches and Healers, and I got Helen.”

“Well if it tastes as good as it smells, she should count herself lucky,” Harry declares.

“It does,” say Ginny with confidence. “There was some stuck to the bottom of the tin that I helped myself to. And no,” she adds, “there is no more.”

“That’s terrible,” he teases, “I’m cake-deprived. You’re a terrible girlfriend.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Honestly, though, I’m more worried about how it looks. Last month, Jen brought this amazing cake done out in the Harpies colours for Miriam’s birthday, and when we cut it open, a load of confetti and fireworks burst out of it. This might taste okay, but it doesn’t look great, and I’m not exactly skilled on the icing front...”

For all the tempting smells, Harry has to admit it is very misshapen. Ginny isn’t going to win any marks for presentation, that’s for sure. “I’d never want to eat a green cake, though,” he says loyally.

Ginny smiles, and extracts herself from his arms. “Even though you’re cake-deprived?”

“Even though I’m cake-deprived,” he confirms. She’s digging around inside the cupboard now, and pulls out a jar of buttercream and some candles, each of which are shaped into the letters of ‘happy birthday’.

“I’ve got this—shop-bought, but don’t tell anyone—and some edible glitter,” she says. “If I pile it on, it should hide any lumps, and then I’ll stick the candles on. It won’t win any awards, but it should do, right?”

Harry nods. “Don’t overthink this,” he assures her. “If it tastes good, no one will care what it looks like. I just think it’s nice that everyone at the club will get an additional birthday cake on their birthday. A family-and-friends cake and a work cake. That’s great! When I was a kid, I’d have killed for just one cake. I mean, it’s not like the Dursleys ever...” He trails off, aware that Ginny is looking at him in that way she does sometimes.

Well, ‘sometimes’.

She only ever looks that way—shocked, even appalled for a moment, then quietly, utterly furious—when he mentions one thing: the Dursleys. She opens her mouth, closes it for a long moment, then, when she speaks again, her tone is very, very carefully controlled. “You never had a birthday cake, growing up?” she asks.

“I guess my parents must have, my first year...” he says. “I don’t know, there aren’t any pictures. But then I didn’t have one again until my eleventh, you know, when Hagrid turned up.” He’s trying to make light of it, to move the conversation on, but he can’t be doing a very good job because Ginny continues to look absolutely furious. “You know, on the scale of all the things the Dursleys did, not giving me a birthday cake is not that big of a deal—”

Ginny makes one of her angry cat noises. “When we were kids...well, you know how poor we were,” she says, a moment later. “Some years, our birthday presents were just hand-me-down clothes wrapped up in old newspaper because Mum and Dad literally couldn’t afford to get us anything else. Not even proper wrapping paper. But we always, always had a birthday cake. And Mum never skimped, either. It was always whatever flavour we wanted, nothing too much trouble, decorated however we chose!”

“Your Mum is really good at baking,” Harry jumps in, trying to head her off as her voice rises in agitation. “I mean, that Snitch cake she did for my seventeenth? Made up for all the ones I didn’t get!”

“And it’s not like Mum and Dad were doing anything unusual there. Every kid gets birthday cake. That’s your job as an adult,” Ginny carries on regardless, and Harry realises he hasn’t done a great job in calming her down. “Even if you go to the shop and buy it because you’re crap at baking. Even if you’re dentists like Hermione’s parents and don’t believe in sugar, you still get a cake. And maybe it’s not that big of a deal compared to the other stuff those people did, but it is just another example of how they are absolute, complete—”

“Alright,” Harry says hastily. “It’s okay, Gin, honestly it is. I’m over it. They’re the past, now, and I survived, and—”

“They are terrible people,” she says, shaking her head. “What you said earlier about being cake-deprived—”

“That was just a dumb joke,” he says. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly I’m not traumatised by it, I was just kidding.”

“I know, I know,” she says. She sighs, and puts down the tub of buttercream she’s been holding onto, waving it around in agitation as she speaks. “I know it was just a joke, but it is true. You were cake-deprived. And yes, like you say, on the scale of all the things they did to you, it’s not that big of a deal. But it’s just so representative of what despicable humans they are. You had eleven birthdays without a single cake—and I assume no cards or presents, too?”

“No cards or presents, yes, but not eleven birthdays—Hagrid came through for me, remember? So just ten. Well, nine, I guess, because my parents must have done one when I was one, like I said. It’s fine, I swear.” She gives him a look. “I guess next birthday, rather than a present, you can just bake me nine cakes, plus one for this year, so a nice round ten, and I’ll be all caught up, yeah?” he says.

Ginny still looks troubled, so he tries to make more of a joke of it by going back to the cake she made for her colleague, which is still on the worktop. “Actually, I could start by eating this one, and...” He flicks his wand at it, so it starts levitating, and he pretends to take a bite.

She pulls a face again. “Damage my cake, Potter, and I’ll make you pay,” she says, but her heart isn’t in the teasing like it usually is.

“Ooh, sounds fun,” he tries, but carefully lowers it back down nonetheless. Then he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her again, and she rests her head on his chest. “Honestly, don’t spare them any thought,” he says. “They are terrible people. I know this. The no-birthday-cake thing was an awful thing to do to a kid, and I used to get upset about it. But now, I’m over it. Really.”

She gives him a look—not disbelieving, as such, but still not completely convinced that he’s not just saying these things to make her feel okay. She thinks its subtle, but he, of course, understands. “Look,” he says, “I have you, and Ron and Hermione, and everything and everyone else, and I am happy. And they are sad, sad individuals living their sad, sad lives and they will be until the end. Who wins, really?”

“Well,” she says, “when you put it like that...”

“It’s obvious,” he agrees. Then he grins. “This summer, we’ll do a cake-tasting, or something. Like wine-tasting, but with cake. Much better.”

She laughs. “Cake-tasting! I am on board.”

“See, it’s almost like they did me a favour!” he says.

Ginny wrinkles her nose. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far…”

*

Her cake for Helen, while not one that sets the world on fire, goes down just fine at work. Harry, meanwhile, is normal. Happy. Busy with work, sure, but he shows no signs of lasting trauma after their conversation. Not that Ginny expects it: even after all these years, she’s still not used to the casualness with which he will announce something totally shocking about his past. Not being given a birthday cake is clearly not on a par with having bars put on his bedroom window, or being forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.

But it still shocks her to her core.

And she can’t shake it. She has half a mind to organise the cake-tasting he’d been joking about, but truthfully, baking has never been her strong suit, and she doesn’t want to let anyone else know, for Harry’s sake. She knows he mentions things about his upbringing to Ron and Hermione sometimes, but she also knows she has to let him drive these conversations. Her mentioning this latest revelation to them would only upset him. So she keeps quiet, until, one day in early June, nearly a month later, it comes to her.

“When do you come off nights, again?” she asks him, over breakfast-for-dinner.

“Wednesday, why?” he asks. “You want to do something?”

“I’m feeling a party coming on,” she replies. “Friday sound good?”

“Sure,” Harry says, “but what’s the occasion?”

“Well, we had our housewarming back in February,” she says, referring to the party they had when they had officially moved in to Grimmauld Place together. “But we never had a garden warming.”

“Well, no,” Harry says, “because the garden’s tiny. Not much to warm.”

“It’s big enough for our lot,” she replies. This is hard to argue with: ‘our lot’ can anything from the two of them, Ron and Hermione, to everyone. At their housewarming, ‘our lot’ meant assorted Weasleys (a houseful on their own); other ex-DA and Order members; some of Ginny’s fellow Harpies; a few colleagues of Harry and Ron’s from the Auror Department; anyone who’s ever been employed at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes; and a fluctuating number of plus ones as all of the above get into, and sometimes out of, relationships. Harry somehow senses, by the gleam in Ginny’s eye, that this time she’s means everyone.

“The forecast’s good,” she adds. “The garden is pretty big, plus we’ve got the kitchen—and the rest of the house if it comes to it. BYOB, we’ll get a few snacks in, get Lee to play for us... It’ll be fun!”

It would be fun, Harry had to admit. The parties the two of them threw were not usually anything special, really—they didn’t spend lots of money on entertainment, just invited people round, asked them to bring drinks, and left it at that—but this was what made them special. Their housewarming had been ace: why not a garden warming?

“If you insist,” he says, rolling his eyes like she’s asked him for a kidney, and she laughs.

“That’s settled, then,” she says, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let everyone know: party here on Friday. Get your dancing shoes out, Potter!”

*

Come Friday, Ron and Hermione are the first to arrive.

Harry’s in the garden, magicing up some extra chairs when they apparate in, and he waves them over, giving Hermione a hug while Ron carefully arranges a cake on the centre of the table Ginny’s set up. This takes longer than it should, and both Harry and Hermione watch, amused. “Behold,” he says, when it’s placed precisely how he wants it. “Pumpkin pie and custard cake.” He waits for a flourish which doesn’t come.

“Er…?” says Harry.

“I told you it sounded revolting,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes affectionately.

Ron looks mortally wounded. “How dare you!” he says. “I have spent hours concocting the precise recipe for a cake-pie hybrid, and this—”

“Oh please, not the cake-pie speech again!” she cuts in, throwing her hands up in front of her face in horror. “I swear, ever since he took up baking he’s become absolutely unbearable,” she adds to Harry and Ginny, who has just appeared from inside the house.

“You just can’t deal with the fact that I’m better at something than you,” Ron says smugly.

“Oh...whatever,” she replies, trying—unsuccessfully—to hide her smile. “Anyway, Ginny, how are you?”

Before she can answer, they are interrupted by Dean and Seamus, who have just arrived. Harry knew Ginny had invited them, so their presence is not exactly unexpected. What is unexpected is what is in the box they are holding, and the shriek Hermione lets out on seeing it. “Is that a Colin the Caterpillar cake?!” she squeals.

“Sure is,” grins Dean. Seamus gives an I-don’t-know-either shrug in the direction of the two Weasleys, but Hermione is all but clawing it out of Dean’s hands.

“I have never wanted something for my birthday as much as I wanted one of these,” she sighs almost dreamily. “But my parents were absolutely horrified by the sugar content and wouldn’t let me have one. Plus, they said it was rampant consumerism when a perfectly good, unbranded plain sponge cake would do just fine. Which probably wasn’t too far wrong. But...oh, goodness, you must let me have a piece.”

Dean laughs. “Of course! We always got one every year for our birthdays when we were kids.”

“Dudley used to love ’em,” Harry says. “One year, he had three. One just for him, and the other two to be split between the rest of the kids at the party. But he still ate the face from both of them.”

“What are they?” asks Ron, looking slightly displeased at the excitement Hermione is showing for a shop-bought cake in a box, especially after she was less than enthused about his own creation.

“Chocolate swiss roll smothered in chocolate, with a white chocolate face and feet, and smarties for decoration,” Dean says promptly.

“That sounds—” Ron begins.

“Incredible,” Ginny nods, and everyone laughs. Harry briefly wonders why the two of them have brought a muggle children’s cake to the party, but then Seamus starts ribbing Ron about the Cannons’ last game, Hermione disappears inside with Ginny in search of more plates, and Katie Bell arrives, distracting him.

“Hi, Katie,” he says, waving her over. She’s apparated into the yard like the others had, and she, too, is carefully carrying a cake on a plate.

“Hi, Harry!” she says. “Thank you so much for having us over, it’s great to see you again. Can I put this on the table?”

“Uh...sure,” he says. He eyes the cake with some confusion, which she sees, but misinterprets.

“It’s pineapple upside-down cake,” she explains. “Only,” she adds, sounding slightly worried. “I’ve never made it before. So I’m not sure if it’s actually pineapple right-side-up cake.”

“As long as it tastes good, right?” he asks, deciding to roll with it.

“That’s the spirit,” Katie says, laughing. “Anyway, how are you?” They chat about inconsequential things for a few moments, and it never seems to him quite the right time to ask why she’s brought a home-made, slightly wonky looking pineapple upside down cake to a garden party. But when Bill and Fleur, and then Susan Bones and her partner arrive almost simultaneously, both couples carrying cakes as well, he starts to suspect something is up.

Susan has brought a very neat Victoria sponge cake, dusted with icing sugar and layered with strawberry jam and cream. It is, Harry thinks, a very Susan cake. Bill and Fleur have bought Victoire (who is to go down a storm: later, they’ll say they’re only going to stay for a half an hour, but will end up staying nearly three, mostly because they get to nap whilst the baby is passed around and cooed over) and a galette des rois.

“Of course, traditionally, one only eats this at the New Year,” Fleur explains. “But Ginny said—” unfortunately, Ron, Dean and Katie Bell all burst out laughing at something Seamus has said at this exact moment, and Harry doesn’t hear exactly what Ginny said, though he’s starting to suspect, “—and so I could not not introduce you all to French culture.” She makes her you’re welcome face, but fortunately Victoire starts squawking and her attention is diverted before Harry has to come up with a response.

A few more people arrive: Oliver Wood, looking very sheepish with two muffins he confesses he stole from the Puddlemere staff canteen at the last moment, having forgotten Ginny’s request; Parvarti and Lavender, carrying a honey cake. George and Angelina arrive with a delicious-looking chocolate cake which everyone eyes with intense suspicion until Angelina rolls her eyes and loudly says that she made it at which point everyone relaxes. (When the first person to take a bite from it turns into a large cockatoo for a moment, a la the Canary Creams, she rolls her eyes again and says that she said she made it, not that she wasn’t also capable of creating a Wheeze. Fortunately, the cake itself so delicious that nobody actually minds turning into a parrot).

While this is all going on, Ginny remains in the kitchen, or else when she comes outside, she’s always deep in conversation with someone. At first, it seems natural—she’s always been sociable, but after a while, Harry starts to think she’s avoiding him. Glancing in through the window, he sees her talking in the kitchen with a couple of girls from the Harpies’ squad who have just arrived, with, it appears, a large cake apiece.  

Everyone wants to say hello to Harry when they get there, so he ends up taking up residence by the table on the yard for a while, welcoming everyone and watching the cakes pile up. He starts to feel like he’s ended up at the village show by mistake and will be asked to judge everyone’s offerings. Alicia Spinnett turns up with what is essentially a giant, handmade cauldron cake, and Percy brings something covered in buttercream with rows of sweet cherries on the top that are so neatly arranged Harry suspects he used a set square.

Lee Jordan brings his decks and an incredibly boozy trifle; Harry makes a mental note to not let anyone who has a helping also have any of Hannah Abbott’s Firewhiskey fruitcake. “Half the bottle’s in there, I swear,” Neville says, when they place it down among the growing collection. Hannah elbows him and makes a comment that the other half would’ve been in there, too, had he not helped himself to it, and they walk off, laughing.

The party already has a good vibe to it and it’s hardly begun—the weather’s turning into summer, and so the yard is warm, but not stifling and Ginny’s placed flobberworms in jars around the place which give the yard a magical luminosity. Lee sets up his music, everyone’s talking and laughing, drinks in hand, and Harry’s just about to go over to where Ron and Neville appear to be having a very animated conversation when someone places a plate down on the now bulging table. While Harry logically knows it must be a cake, if only because literally everyone else has bought one, it bares a startling resemblance to burnt toast.

“I’m sorry,” says Dennis Creevey, by way of a greeting. “It’s a travesty, I know. I wouldn’t have bought it, but I was too scared of Ginny to turn up empty handed.” He tips Harry a wink, and Harry grins back.

“You realise you could’ve stopped off at the corner shop and picked up something readymade?” he says.

Dennis makes a show of slapping himself on the forehead, like he forgot something really obvious. “See, mate, this is why you’re the Auror and I’m not. Can’t think on my feet, me,” he says. “No, seriously, that did occur to me. But I wasn’t sure what the rules were with non-homemade things.”

“The rules?” Harry asks.

“Yes, you know, after Ginny’s frankly terrifying invitation.”

“I seem to have misplaced mine,” Harry says, “remind me again what she said?”

“We bumped into each other last week in Diagon Alley,” Dennis replies. “And she’s all, oh, we’re having this party next Friday, are you free? And I said yes, and she said we’ll that’s great, we’ll see you around seven, oh and on pain of death, bring a cake. So I asked what kind of cake, and she said that any would do. But she said she was concocting a special punishment for anyone who turned up empty-handed. I mean, she sounded like she was joking. But d’you remember the fancy dress party, last winter? And what happened to Percy, when he didn’t turn up in costume?”

“I do,” Harry says, matching his grave tone. “Well, we can’t have a repeat of that.”

“Anyway, I asked: why cake? I mean, fancy dress at least makes sense, right?” Harry nods, and Dennis carries on, oblivious to his sudden focus. “And she just said, and I quote, ‘I just love cake, and so does anyone with a brain, so why not have a party where all there is to eat is cake?’”

“Why not indeed,” Harry says. It’s such a Ginny thing to do: make up something that sounds like a silly game, a quirk, a touch of whimsy. Let everyone think it’s just because that’s how she is, but actually, make it a secret present to him.

Truth be told, he’d forgotten about their conversation a couple of weeks ago, when his joke about being cake-deprived had accidentally become A Thing. But clearly she hadn’t, and not only has she now done all this for him, she’s done it in such a way that no one will ever know. She’s squared it so that no one will ever know about the Dursleys and their treatment of him, but he gets all the cakes he missed out on anyway. It’s the silliest thing—it’s just cake!—but at the same time, it’s the best thing.

“...think it’ll be okay?”

Harry blinks. “Sorry, what was that?”

“My cake,” Dennis says. “I know it’s a disaster, but do you think it’ll count?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll vouch for your monstrosity,” he says cheerfully. “Besides—and I never thought I’d say this—I think if anything we might have too much cake.”

“Nah,” says Dennis. “No such thing.” Harry laughs, and then Dennis is summoned over by George, leaving Harry free to do what he wants to most right now: find Ginny.

What he gets, instead, is Luna.

Despite the fact that she’s pretty much the last person to arrive, and so the table by which he’s still standing is now absolutely covered with cakes of all description, she still manages to look incredibly vague as she places one down next to all the others. It looks like a fairly basic sponge, except that it’s a rich purple colour and covered with a bright orange frosting. “Oh, hello Harry,” she says, looking slightly surprised to see him at his own house party. “Fancy seeing you here. Would you like a piece of my cake?”

Harry thinks he would rather eat a slice of Dennis’s burnt monstrosity—would rather eat the whole thing—but gamely agrees, then, with an overly-dramatic slap on the forehead, exclaims that he doesn’t have a knife to cut a piece. “Not to worry!” Ron and Hermione have appeared, both carrying several knives and forks, and a pile of plates. “Ginny sent us out with these.”

Harry looks over, and finds her now talking to Bill and Fleur, baby Victoire balanced on her hip. As he watches, she carefully hands Victoire over to her parents, then slides over to where Susan Bones and her partner are talking, saying something which makes them both laugh, then drops in to say hi to Lavender and Parvati, getting briefly drawn into whatever good-natured debate they’re having. She flits in between everyone’s conversations, and maybe it’s just him projecting, but it feels like everyone lights up when she joins them.

She catches him staring at her when she’s midway through a chat with Neville and Hannah, and even though they’ve been together for years now, it still makes him blush. She winks at him, and smirks, and he deliberately looks away, making a conscious effort to refocus on the conversation at hand. Luna is going into great detail about her cake, which appears to be made of Dirigible Plums, chocolate, and Gillywater essence, which both sounds revolting and, according to Hermione, is not technically legal.

“...should let her know that distilled Gillywater is a class-three non-tradeable—”

“What was that, sorry?” Luna says, and Hermione opens her mouth again, looking vexed.

“Hermione was just saying how delicious your cake looks,” Ron says smoothly, and Luna looks flattered.

“You should give Ron the recipe,” Ginny adds, coming over to join them. “He’s a fantastic baker, and he’d love to try it.”

“You must have the first slice!” beams Luna. Ron looks panic-stricken. “Is there a knife? And some plates?”

“Oh, look at that, we’re out of plates,” Ron says, quickly sliding a stack behind Alicia Spinnet’s giant cauldron cake.

Harry catches Ginny’s eye, then they both have to look away for fear of laughing.

Fortunately, Neville comes over and start asking Luna about some new species of Murtlap which has been bred by a team of Magizoologists in Argentina, and the conversation turns away. Hermione starts magically slicing the cakes, and Ron goes rooting around in the kitchen for all the cutlery he can find, whilst Ginny walks around the different groups, inviting people to dig in.

And dig in they do: everyone, it turns out, thinks a cake party is an excellent idea (“But then it would be, wouldn’t it?” Ginny says when Lavender says this to her, “I thought of it!”). The music is turned up, darkness falls, and the drinks flow, and it’s certainly well into the early hours before the last stragglers have left. Ron and Hermione offer to stay to help with the clearing up, but Harry and Ginny both wave them away. “We’ll do it in the morning,” Ginny says, yawning. “The proper morning,” she adds, glancing at Gideon Prewett’s battered old watch on Harry’s wrist. And, after a final round of goodbyes, it’s suddenly just the two of them in the yard.

Well, the two of them and the remains of upwards of twenty cakes.

Ginny lets out a huge, long yawn which leads into a full body stretch and Harry seizes the moment to reach out and pull her close, dropping a kiss down on her head. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“...mmm?” she responds, snuggling in.

He could brush it off, pretend he’s said nothing—or at least nothing of any importance—and lead her off to bed, but somehow that doesn’t seem right. “Thank you,” he says again, more clearly. She’s been burrowing into his chest, but she stops for a moment, not pulling away, exactly, but certainly not going any further.

“Harry,” she says, very very softly—and it’s clear that, as usual, she know exactly what is is he is saying, even when he’s not saying anything at all.

“Thank you,” he says, for a third time, and more firmly still. “Thank you for tonight, and for the cakes, and for...for everything. It means a lot.”

She pulls back far enough that she can see his face, and her own has never looked so loving. She gives him a smile so small as to be almost shy. “I’m glad,” she says, and he thinks, then, that it is impossible for anyone to have ever understood another person as much as she understands him, and that he must be the luckiest person living. She gives his arm the gentlest squeeze. “It was a good night,” she says, and he nods in agreement.

“There’s just one thing...” she says hesitantly. She seems to be pausing, collecting her words, and Harry turns his head ever so slightly to one side.

“What is it?” he asks after a moment, as she hesitates. He wonders if she’s leading up to a question about the Dursleys, something sensitive and delicate which leaves her reaching carefully for the right words.

“Oh...” she says. “Just...” It happens so fast that he can hardly credit it—but, he supposes, she is an international Quidditch star, known for her almost inhuman reflexes. Still, it crosses his mind that his boss, Gawain Robards, might be less than enamoured to know that the leading light of his Auror department can be caught out by a five foot one menace, shouting “Gotcha!” and shoving the remains of Percy’s buttercream sponge in his face.

He blinks for a moment, pulling his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt even as he can feel the rest of the icing sliding down his face. Ginny’s musical laughter comes from somewhere over to his right, as she’s sensibly stepped out of retaliation’s way, and he freezes in place for a few seconds. The laughter trails away, until: “...Harry?”

And then he moves, lunging towards Luna’s Dirigible Plum cake, grabbing a handful, and lobbing it in her direction. Her shriek lets him know he hasn’t missed his target, even shooting (practically) blind. He takes the moment to wipe his glasses clean, placing them back on his face just in time to see her eyes narrow.

“Oh, Potter,” she says, grinning in delight. “It is on.”

My thanks to Emily, for the encouragement, and everyone who’s ever re-written *that* HBP movie mince pie scene, for the inspo x

#hinny #hinnyfic #hpfic #my writing #*waves* hey hi hello i'm trying out this writing thing again bc i have some spare time bc i'm furloughed from the museum #and it's the easter break at uni so no teaching for a little while #and because i really REALLY don't want to write my thesis #how are we doing? #if you've read this far into my nonsense tags pls feel free to leave me prompts BUT ONLY sweet fluffy nonsense prompts #this is no time for angst

[perfecttimeseleven]

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 2 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE THREE

(REMINGTON’s writing something down on a sheet of paper. She puts her pen down and lifts it up.)

REMINGTON

(putting her pencil down)

There. I think that’s it.

(DR. MORELLO takes the sheet of paper.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, yes. These look good. Harvest, Ocean, Create, Change, Fight, Art, Family, Freedom...Joyce? Do you mean, like, the given name Joyce?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s Joyce.

DR. MORELLO

Not “choice” or “joy” or something?

JAY

Boyce? Like the actor in Jessie? RIP.

DAISY

(loudly, from another room)

What about, like, “guys” but in a really weird accent? Like, goiys?

REMINGTON

Nope. Uh, Joyce.

JAY

Hey, uh...

DR. MORELLO

What?

JAY

Nah, it’s probably unrelated.

DR. MORELLO

Um. Well, it’s a good leaping off point. Joyce, or whatever the word actually is, can be the first word you concentrate on.

REMINGTON

The word is Joyce.

DR. MORELLO

Jay here can lead you through how to do it.

REMINGTON/JAY

What?

JAY

Hey, you know I’ve been having some trouble with my head people...

DR. MORELLO

Which is exactly why you could use the practice.

REMINGTON

Jay? W-We’re paying good money — I assume — for you. The doctor. Not the random kid.

DR. MORELLO

She works as an, uh, unpaid intern. Remington, this is a seven-day retreat. Did you really think I, personally, would have the strength to lead you in everything twenty four-seven? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check on Daisy and take my medications.

REMINGTON

Oh! Okay, yeah, that’s...that’s kinda important.

(DR. MORELLO gets up and exits.)

JAY

Why the…pastels…on the shirt?

REMINGTON

For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe you’re nagging on my outfit when your friend Daisy is dressed like a goddamn tie-dye Fruit Rollup.

DAISY

(loudly, from another room)

It’s gay wrath month, dipshit.

JAY

Okay, man, I don’t wanna be here and you don’t either. So let’s just get this over with.

REMINGTON

Or we could take a break.

JAY

A break? From learning vital information about literal voices in your head?

REMINGTON

C’mon, lighten up a little! I’m spending the week here, so let’s, ah,

(leans in, makes a clicking noise with her mouth)

get to know each other.

JAY

What?

REMINGTON

Like, okay. Hmm...

(trying to think of an icebreaker)

when did you first become Dr. Morello’s patient or unpaid intern or whatever?

JAY

Uh, after my mom died in a fire that burned down our house.

(Beat.)

REMINGTON

Oh. Oh, shit. Um. Sorry.

JAY

Don’t be. You didn’t kill her.

(Beat.)

JAY

Dr. Morello’s been taking care of me since.

REMINGTON

That’s nice of him.

(Beat.)

Nice shirt.

JAY

Oh! You…you’ve seen Daisies?

REMINGTON

Ha! No. What do you take me for, an intellectual? The shirt makes you look angsty and hot. I mean, the movie I don’t give a shit about.

JAY

Oh, well, blame me for thinking complimenting a shirt that’s got nothing but a film still on it means you’ve seen the fucking film.

REMINGTON

I didn’t say nice screenshot, dumbass, I said nice shirt.

(Beat.)

JAY

You’re a little shit, you know that?

REMINGTON

Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.

(4. No Room.)

REMINGTON

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE?

WITH…MOODY VIBES AND SLICKED BACK HAIR?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO LOOK LIKE 80S FEMME FATALES?

GIRLS WITH CHIPPED BLACK NAIL POLISH AND A SCINTILLATING GLARE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO COULD BEAT ME UP?

AND, BY THE WAY SHE’S LOOKING AT ME, PROBABLY WOULD?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO COULD FORGET ME IN A WEEK

AND, KNOWING MYSELF, PROBABLY SHOULD?

RELATIONSHIPS ARE SHIT. LOVE IS A HOAX.

LOVE WILL BETRAY YOU AND LEAVE YOU OUT TO DRY.

ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY ME FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

ME, MYSELF, AND I!

AND, WELL, THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD.

CALL ME SELFISH! WELL, IT’S TRUE.

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

JAY

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO THINK THEY’RE THE SHIT?

WHO FLIRT WITH EVERYONE THEY SEE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS I ALSO WANNA PUNCH IN THE FACE

THE MOMENT THEY GET A BIT CLOSE TO ME?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO BEHAVE

LIKE A 2000S HIGH SCHOOL SITCOM TROPE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO ARE DUMB AND SHALLOW?

GIRLS WHO LACK ALL COMMON SENSE BUT STILL HAVE HOPE?

FEELINGS ARE SHIT. LOVE IS A HOAX.

LOVE WILL KICK YOU IN THE SHINS, SPIT IN YOUR EYE!

ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY ME FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

REMINGTON/JAY

ME, MYSELF AND I!

…AND THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD.

CALL ME SELFISH! WELL, IT’S TRUE.

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

SOME PEOPLE FIND ONE PERSON THEY GIVE HOURS OF THEIR LIFE TO.

ONE PERSON WITH WHOM THEY SHARE A BIT OF THEIR PRIME.

ONE PERSON TO CARE ABOUT MORE THAN THEMSELVES.

ONE PERSON WHO COULD BREAK THEIR HEART AT ANY TIME!

WHAT’S WORSE? MARRIAGE! GOD, THE LEVEL OF TRUST!

THE LEVEL OF ATTRACTION THAT EXCEEDS SIMPLE LUST!

ONE PERSON TO EXCHANGE VOWS WITH, ONE PERSON TO TIE YOU DOWN,

JAY

ONE PERSON YOU TRY TO CONVINCE YOURSELF WILL ALWAYS BE AROUND!

REMINGTON/JAY

IF ANYONE WERE TO

JAY

KILL YOU, LIE TO YOU,

REMINGTON

MOCK YOU, MAKE YOU FROWN,

REMINGTON/JAY

USE YOU, ABUSE YOU,

JAY

OR, ‘CAUSE OF A MESSED-UP KID, SKIP TOWN,

REMINGTON/JAY

DON’T YOU THINK IT’D BE THE PERSON YOU LET YOUR GUARD DOWN FOR?

LOVE’S THE BIGGEST LIE SOCIETY FEEDS US.

AND IF ANYONE COULD GET THAT, I FEEL LIKE SHE MIGHT

SHE KNOWS ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY YOU FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

ME, MYSELF, AND I!

REMINGTON/JAY

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

GUESS THAT’S WHY I LIKE GIRLS WHO DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING.

‘CAUSE I KNOW THEY WON’T CARE ABOUT ME.

EVEN IF THEY’RE ASSHOLES, THEY WON’T RUIN MY LIFE.

JUST FLIT IN AND OUT OF IT WITHOUT APOLOGY.

ACT ONE

SCENE FOUR

(There are sounds of DAISY moving around in a kitchen, baking cookies. DR. MORELLO enters.)

DAISY

Oh, hey!

DR. MORELLO

Oh, that looks pristine.

DAISY

(endearingly at freshly baked tray of cookies)

Ohh, she is.

(looks up at DR. MORELLO)

Escaped the masses?

DR. MORELLO

(tired)

Tell me why is it I have to put up with teenage girls for hours on end again? No offense to you. You’re the most bearable of the three.

DAISY

It’s your job.

DR. MORELLO

Ah.

(DAISY puts on oven mitts and heads over to the oven, before opening the oven and taking out another tray of perfect, round, golden-brown sugar cookies.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, that smells phenomenal!

DAISY

(taking the tray to the counter)

Look at us. Aren’t we little housewives. Making some cookies for them as they probably are making out outside.

DR. MORELLO

“Making out”? Oh, Daisy, get your mind out of the gutter.

DAISY

(getting plates) Better get used to the thought. It’s gonna be reality sooner or later if it hasn’t happened already and you know it.

(DR. MORELLO pauses and sighs.)

DR. MORELLO

I do hope you’re wrong. I don’t like the looks of that girl. Jay acts all tough, but she’s already been through so much...

(pauses)

Are you all right, by the way? I know none of us expected this, but —

DAISY

I’m fine.

(sets a plate in front of DR. MORELLO)

Really. Hey, do you want to try one of these? I upped the amount of vanilla extract, so...don’t hesitate to tell me if I’ve committed an atrocity against mankind.

(DR. MORELLO takes a bite.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, no, delicious as ever! Keep up the good work. I’ll go ahead and order pizza for dinner — cheese is safe?

DAISY

Cheese is safe.

(louder)

Hey, Remy Ratatouille, do you like cheese?

REMINGTON

(loudly, from another room)

Of course I do! What kind of depraved life do you assume I lead?

(DAISY shrugs at DR. MORELLO, who nods.)

DR. MORELLO

Cheese is safe.

(DR. MORELLO exits. 5. Sugar Cookies.)

DAISY

SUGAR COOKIES!

EDIBLE GLITTER ON TOP.

BOUGHT IN A COLOR CALLED “HOLOGRAPHIC SKY.”

GOT THE LAST JAR OF IT STILL LEFT IN THE SHOP;

GRABBED IT RIGHT BEFORE A REAL TOUGH-LOOKING GUY.

BEING HOMESCHOOLED IN A WAY,

I’VE FOUND ACTIVITIES TO WASTE MY DAY,

MY FAVORITE OF WHICH, I HAVE TO SAY,

IS MAKING SUGAR COOKIES!

(starting to spread the frosting onto the cookies)

SUGAR COOKIES!

THEY’RE GLUTEN FREE!

HAVEN’T MADE SUCH A BIG BATCH IN A WHILE.

WELL, IT’S A LITTLE EXTRA. Y’KNOW, FOR THE NEW KID

IN THE WEIRD SUIT, WITH THE WEIRD SMILE

WHO’S EXACTLY JAY’S CUP OF TEA.

GOD, WHEN WILL SOMEONE MY TYPE SHOW UP FOR ME?

SOMEONE TO IMPRESS WITH MY ONLY SKILL IN LIFE:

MAKING SUGAR COOKIES.

AND I’LL TRY TO KEEP IT OUT OF MY MIND THAT SHE’S AN ELEVEN.

BREATHE IN THE SMELL OF GRANULATED SUGAR INSTEAD!

IF I MEASURE THIS RIGHT, THEY’LL TASTE LIKE HEAVEN!

THE FROSTING’S GOTTA BE

AT THE RIGHT CONSISTENCY.

LET’S SEE HOW MANY I STILL NEED TO FROST!

(counting)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...11. God!

AND I’LL TRY NOT TO THINK OF WHAT THAT NUMBER IMPLIES.

SPREAD SOME GLITTER. “HOLOGRAPHIC”! GREAT, YES, JUST A PINCH.

STOP THINKING THIS GIRL’S DOOMED TO AN INEVITABLE DEMISE?

PUT THEM ON A PLATE ALL PRETTY — GOD, I’M FEELING SHITTY!

SUGAR COOKIES!

I CAN MAKE ‘EM WHOLE-GRAIN!

TRY TO MAKE SURE I’M NOT GOING INSANE!

SUGAR COOKIES ALL FOR THE GUEST —

HOPE YOU STAY ALIVE LONGER THAN THE REST!

STAY OUT OF SIGHT, DON’T MEDDLE, YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I’D SUGGEST!

AND OH...TAKE A SUGAR COOKIE.

#transcript #perfect times eleven #px11 #ep 2 #daisy noxx #rupert morello #jay mazziotta #Remington long

[bombshellsandbluebells]

The 100 Fic: On My Way Amongst the Stars

Summary: Otan used to say they were from everywhere. But Emori knows that's wrong. They don't belong everywhere; they belong nowhere.

Or: Emori struggles to find a place in the world, meets a boy who says he's from the Sky, and eventually visits it herself. Emori character study.

Relationships: Memori, Emori & Otan

Read on ao3

I finished one of those wips

“God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.” -The Old Astronomer (To His Pupil) by Sarah Williams

Otan used to say they were from everywhere.

He said it when the desert nights were long and cold and they were without shelter, lying curled together to stay warm. He whispered it as they left towns after trading, suspicious eyes pressing heavy on their backs until they were out of sight.

The reason they couldn’t root themselves in any one place, he’d insisted, was because they belonged to too many. They had bits of the boat people in them because they knew the smell of the sea and the bitter taste of salt water. But they also knew the sharp burn of the desert sun and the icy bite of mountain air.

Emori never knew if Otan truly believed his lie or if he said it only for her sake, but she had never been able to believe it. She remembered too well the hot flashes of shame and fear when her hand was exposed, or the bitter envy that grew like an thick, knotted weed in her stomach when she watched young children playing freely without care in the villages they passed through.

They don’t belong everywhere, Emori knows. They belong nowhere.

But Otan was right about one thing – they have been everywhere. In her earliest memories, she is small and young, draped on Otan’s back, her hands wrapped securely around his neck, as they move from forest to forest and village to village – in each place catching only the slightest glimpse into lives they could never have.

Most people, she knows, never leave the clans they’re born in – never even travel beyond their borders. There are people of the southern forests who have never seen snow or desert sand, and people from the desert who have never seen the ocean shore.

But it’s easy to travel when you’re unrooted.

She’s seen the lake people, located to the west on the lake shore, who build their houses on poles to escape the mud. Their boats are larger than her and Otan’s and run on louder, angrier motors. They traded old machinery there once for a fishing net and later had taught themselves to use it. Otan had ended up more tangled than the fish he was trying to catch, and Emori had laughed at him, loud and joyous.

“I will be forced to eat you for dinner,” she’d teased, then screamed with laugher when he pushed her overboard.

Soon they added fish to their usual diet, learned how to clean them and repurpose the scales and bones into jewelry they could sell in landlocked clans. Emori made herself a few pieces as well, sometimes hanging them from her ear or asking Otan to braid them into her hair, other times weaving them into her clothing. She doesn’t hold onto many personal belongings beyond necessities – the more you have to carry, the slower you move, and the slower you move, the faster death catches up with you – but sometimes it’s nice to own something just for the sake of owning it – just because it’s pleasant to look at and it makes her happy.

One winter, they traveled through Azgeda territory and saw snow for the very first time. Struck mute with wonder, Emori had cupped it in her hand and shivered at the sting of it. When Otan wasn’t looking, she’d snuck up behind him and shoved it against his exposed forehead, ducking away as quickly as a hare before he could retaliate.

Emori knows Sangedakru, too – the people that make the desert their home, as few of them as there are. There is a trading post and a small camp on the northern edge of the Dead Zone that deals in food and water instead of tech. Supplies that help them survive their harsh environment have great value there, and occasionally they give her pieces of tech they’d found in the desert in exchange for the meat and edible plants she brings from the forest. The people there have grown familiar with her and Otan; they pass word of interested buyers when they have it. Still, Emori had always kept her hand well covered and Otan, his face.

Familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed trust or safety.

There is another Sangedakru settlement towards the south. Emori has only been there once and vows never to return. She steers clear of it when she needs to cross the Dead Zone. It has been months, but sometimes she still wakes up with Baylis’s face in her mind. Otan had always been able to recognize when her nightmares were about him; he would silently wrap her in his arms, and, though on most days she would huff at his mothering and insist she was no longer a child, on those nights she would bury her head in Otan’s chest and let herself feel safe and loved.

She misses Otan like a misplaced part of her, like a limb that has been cut off and can still be felt but no longer used. She misses him with a painful desperation – if only I hadn’t let him go with Jaha, if only I hadn’t left in the boat – if only, if only, if only. She hopes he’s safe. She hopes he’s alive. She hopes John will agree to help her find him.

John is a mystery.

He’s different from any people she’s ever met. Emori can’t tell what clan he’s from, though she studies him closely when he isn’t looking, searching for details she recognizes. He wears no identifying marks on his skin or in his hair. His pale skin is covered in scars, but not the ceremonial scarring of Azgeda. His clothing is strange; he carries no trinkets.

One day, as they sort through their recent score, she decides to ask. “What clan are you from?”

He looks up from his pile. She’d taught him what can get a good price and what isn’t worth carrying, but he seems to instinctively have a good eye for what can still be reused. Sometimes when she sorts something as waste, he pulls it out of the pile and suggests another purpose for it, and she can’t help but wonder if he also grew up as a scavenger.

“I’m not from a clan,” John answers. Emori understands that – the sense that you can’t classify yourself as any one people, that you can no longer claim the clan you were born into. She knows he was banished from his own people, same as her. Still, she’s curious, so she waits, watching him expectantly, and raises her eyebrows in silent question. “I’m from the Ark,” he clarifies. “You guys call us, uh, sky crew, I think.”

Emori has never heard of the Ark. Skaikru sounds familiar, though. Perhaps she’s heard it in passing at a trading post. “I’ve never heard of the Ark. Is it far from the Dead Zone?”

John laughs. “You could say that.” His voice is light with amusement. Emori feels like she’s missed a joke. “The Ark’s on the ground now,” he continues, “but it used to be in space. Uh, in the sky.”

Emori stares at him without comprehension. “What do you mean in the sky?”

“Uh…” John looks unsure of how to phrase his reply. His mouth twists. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Guess you guys don’t really understand space, huh?”

The insinuation is insulting. She’s sure she would understand it if he would just explain. She continues to stare at him, expectant, slightly more peeved now.

“In the stars,” he says finally.

The metal cup she had been examining falls from her grasp. It clatters to the boat floor, spinning and rolling away. She stares at him. “You’re from the stars?” She doesn’t know if her voice sounds incredulous or just skeptical – she doesn’t know which way she’s feeling, either.

The stars are familiar to her. She has spent many nights staring up at them, from the gently rocking floor of her boat or the cold desert sand or the uneven forest floor. When she was younger, she would trace them with her hand, finding shapes and pictures hidden amongst them, and Otan would add to them, crafting stories to entertain her out of the glittering lights above them.

He taught her how to navigate with them, too – how to find her place and her destination, how to use them to guide her path. The stars are a comfort, because they’re a constant in a world that never lets her settle.

But she’d never thought of the stars as a place you could live.

“I don’t believe you,” she says finally, because ever since that first meeting, she’s never lied to him.

John bristles. “I’m telling the truth.” Emori knows she’s hit a nerve; his voice is sharp and tight, his shoulders hunched. He throws the shredded fabric he’s holding in the trash pile. “I’m not the one who goes around lying.”

It’s Emori’s turn to tense. She’d thought they’d gotten over that, honestly. He’s never brought it up again. “I apologized,” she snaps. “And I haven’t lied to you since.”

John doesn’t reply. Nor does he look at her. She watches him places a decent looking wire in the trash pile without hardly looking at it. When she leans closer to him to move it to the keep pile, he tenses.

Sometimes he reminds her of cornered prey. She can’t fault him for it; the world is hard and cruel and she’s often been made to feel like cornered prey herself, though she’s gotten skilled at hiding it behind a smile. The only time she lets herself appear vulnerable anymore is when she’s pulling a con.

“I didn’t say I thought you were lying,” she explains softly. With Otan gone, the thought of John growing angry with her and leaving is terrifying. “But I don’t understand how it can be real.”

“It’s not my fault grounders don’t understand science.” He still sounds defensive.

Emori scrunches her nose up at the unfamiliar word. “Grounders?”

“That’s what we call your people. Because you live on the ground.”

“I don’t have a people,” Emori corrects sharply. John looks up abruptly at her tone and locks eyes with her.

“Right,” he says, and something softens in his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Skaikru aren’t my people, either. We’re just from the same place.”

“The sky,” she says, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea. She looks up into the sky and images a city built in the clouds. It sounds impossible.

“You believe me now?”

Emori stares at the sky for a moment longer. She doesn’t understand it still, but, if nothing else, John believes it. He isn’t lying to her on purpose. She shrugs. “Well, you’re a terrible liar, so it must be true.”

“What? That’s not true.”

Emori grins at him. “It is. You’ll have to play a corpse in our next con because it was so bad. I thought I would have to come out of the trees early to save you.”

“You’ve just had more practice,” John snaps, but his tone is not truly angry. This is a friendly argument, like she would have with Otan, and it fills her with happiness. She’s glad that John is here with her; she’s glad he still seems to like her.

They continue to bicker playfully as they sort the rest of the stolen goods, and Emori can’t keep the smile from her face. She likes him, she realizes. She’s never had anyone to like before. It’s a wonderfully addictive feeling.

--

“So how do you live in the sky?” she asks one day as she’s repairing the boat engine.

“I don’t know,” John replies. He’s no help at all with machinery, so he’s lying in the shade of the boat cover, fanning himself with a spare piece of fabric. It’s hot with the sun beating down on them, but he’s still too scared of the water to jump in and cool himself off. “Same as down here, I guess.”

She stares at him, shrewd and unbelieving; seeing it, he falters.

“Well, not exactly the same. You can’t live outside in space because there’s no oxygen, so you have to live in a ship.”

“Oxygen?” she asks curiously, catching on the unfamiliar word.

“It’s an element in the air that you need to breathe.”

She takes that in, processes it. “And there’s lots of oxygen here?”

“Yeah, there’s tons on Earth. Lot more than the Ark had.”

When she asks him to explain further what oxygen is, he fumbles over his words, unsure how better to describe it. Eventually, she tires of both bombarding him with questions and messing with the stubborn engine and decides to teach him to swim instead.

--

“Everything floats in space,” John tells her one night when they’re cleaning fish for dinner.

“Why?” she asks.

“There’s no gravity.”

And then she has a new word and a new concept that John finds difficult to explain. She mentally adds it to the list.

--

“How do you travel to your home in the sky?”

“With a rocket ship.”

“Like a boat?”

“No, not really. It has a massive engine, and it just sort of shoots you up there.”

Emori tries to picture it, but the only image she can produce is their little boat fitted with a bigger engine, floating up towards the clouds, and she knows that isn’t what John means. It’s frustrating to be unable to fully understand him. She’s not stupid, but the concepts he talks about are so unfamiliar it’s nearly impossible to wrap her head around them. And John, much as he tries, seems unsure how to explain them so she can.

Still, when she asks questions, he answers them honestly and as best he can, and she appreciates it.

She understands better when the chip is in her head and ALIE is feeding information into her brain. Everything comes easier to her then, even the explanations that John had struggled to give her.

Still, she won’t fully understand space for nearly another year, not until she sits beside John in a rocket ship – not at all like her boat with a bigger engine attached – and leaves the only places she’s ever known behind for the stars. Suddenly, she can understand all of it. The lack of gravity is what lets Raven float into the air like she’s weightless. The lack of oxygen is what nearly kills them all. The concepts that John had tried his best to explain become real in a way they never had before.

Space is deadly, she learns. Perhaps more deadly than the deserts or the oceans or the fierce cold of Azgeda territory. It is cold and dark and empty and vast.

And yet, it feels safer than any place she has ever been before. None of the people there threaten to cast her out because of her hand; most of them don’t even treat her differently because of it. The Ring is small and confined, but she learns to be free in a way she has never been before. She stretches herself out and grows, one day, she realizes she's stopped covering her hand at all.

Otan used to say they were from everywhere, but the first real home that Emori ever knows is in the sky.

#emori #emori kom spacekru #the 100 #the 100 fic #memori #my stories

[winterknight1087]

Flower from the Fae (ch 17)

Chapter Title:  An Awkward Dinner

Summary: Virgil likes plants, but when he goes to investigate a plant his friend, Remy, tells him about, he doesn’t exactly check out the plant. Little does he know that the handsome man he meets there is a fairy who is about to challenge the world Virgil knows.

Word Count: 1883

Chapter Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Sympathetic Remus, cursing, (jokingly) mentioned stalking (coincidence and both characters know it)

Chapter Pairings: LAMP, Demus, Sleep/Picani

AO3 Link      My Writing

A/N: this is chapter 17, so read the first chapter here! 

“Well, Anx just texted that all of them are heading over to the diner,” Dee commented. “Guess Remy didn’t kill the fairies.”

“Dee,” Emile stated, disapprovingly.

“Don’t give me that, Emile. I don’t like fairies, at all. They are a whole lot of troublemakers who use common courtesy to their own advantage.”

Emile folded his arms, frowning. “You will behave yourself, Dee. Virgil cares about these guys a lot. I don’t even know why you are so against them. You and Remy get along well enough. Remy hasn’t just brushed these guys aside as bad as you appear to have.”

“Remy isn’t a blasted fairy. Remy hasn’t had to deal with them face to face. Remy didn’t have their father taken from them in a deal to save their life.” Dee frozen, before letting out a frustrated hiss. “Look, we all have our own issues. I have my own issues with the fae in general. I will not behave myself, not for those bastards. Though, I will behave myself because of Virgil, and only because of him. Come on, let’s just go.”

They managed to tempt Remus away from a documentary on John Wilkes Booth and started to the diner. The trio heard Remy before they saw them. Emile relaxed about this entire ordeal hearing Remy sound so normal around the fairies. When Emile saw them, the fairy in red looked to be in a screeching match with Remy about something.

Dee and Emile had to keep themselves from staring at Virgil, who was talking easily with the two blue fairies. Remy had taken Virgil and Remus costume shopping so they didn’t know what their friend would be this year. Seeing him now, Dee was utterly convinced Remy was trying to help their friend have an interesting night with the fairies. Emile couldn’t help but think about how much of a witch Virgil looked like, even if he knew supernatural beings dressed normally most of the time. It was still hard not to have ‘Vee’s a witch! Vee’s a witch’ blaring through his head.

Remus squealed as he launched himself at the guy. “VeeVee! Did you bring me…”

Remy pulled a tube of what looked to be glue. “No, he didn’t. We do, however, have a nice offering of glue for the rat-man.”

Remus snatched it out of Remy’s hand and poured some onto his hand, looking at it with a child-like look of curiosity and wonder in his eyes. “It’s even got green sparkles!”

“That it does, buddy. Let me know if you like it.” Virgil stated, grinning at him. “I added some of your favorite clay into the mix, so it should be good.”

Remus wiped away a tear, smiling brightly. “You understand me, VeeVee.”

“Alright, food! Then we head to the house and throw open the doors for people!” Remy stated, clapping their hands, decisively.

They grabbed the gleeful Remus and dragged him in with them. Dee gave Virgil a look. “And what did you just give my husband that I’m now going to have to suffer through?”

“Edible glue. It’s used on cakes and things. Added in some edible glitter and used flavored water to make it.” Virgil answered, grinning. “Anyways, this is Logan, Patton, and Roman. You three, this is Dee and Emile. The rat-man who went with Remy is Remus.”

After an awkward exchange of greetings, they followed Remy and Remus into the diner. Remus was showing off the bottle of glue to the hostess and server, chattering about how it tasted like dirt and how his friends were the best. Dee rolled his eyes as he took Remus’s hand, not really surprised to see a quarter of the stuff already gone.

“OK, so let’s see, Tiff. We have three fairies, a witch, a matching pair of Crowley and Aziraphale–those are perfect for the two of you–, a snake, and a rat. Looks like dear Anx is now mixing his troublemaking groups.”

Tiffany looked between Remus and Dee. “I know there’s some horrible and perverted joke here, but I can’t think of it.”

Dee, with as straight a face as he could muster in a bad snake costume, answered. “Snakes eat rats, mice, and other small creatures.”

Tiffany went red but started laughing. “Ah, there it is.”

“Just out of curiosity, do you two ever not work? I feel like every time we’re here, so are you two.” Remy asked.

Without missing a beat, Becca, in turn, asked. “Do you even work? I see you here and at the coffeehouse so often I feel like you are just everywhere I am, sometimes.”

Remy grinned. “Fair, I guess. Not sure you can call it much of a job, but I do have one as the night watch over at the library. No one is robbing a library whose most advanced piece of technology is a fifteen-year-old computer.”

Becca laughed as she got the menus. “I would have thought a high-end fashion boutique for you. Ah well, let’s get you guys set up.”

Soon, they were sitting down and sipping on their drinks, a tense silence meeting any attempt at conversation. Virgil desperately tried to keep the conversation, any conversation, going, which was not his strong suit. Remy occasionally offered something, but they were busy dealing with messages from people asking last-minute questions, which they all knew would happen.

Once Becca had taken their orders, Virgil stood up, finding him near the end of his rope. “I’ll be right back. Need some fresh air.”

Not really considering the fact he left his crushes alone with his best friends, Virgil left the diner. He didn’t even notice grabbing the cauldron on his way out, but he shrugged it off. Taking a seat on the curb, worrying about the split among the group, he noticed that there were two bright blue eyes staring at him from the cauldron.

“Gala! How… When did you get in there?” he asked softly, pulling her out.

Her fur was warm, so he knew she was probably placed in there. After examining the cauldron, he also realized that the herbs provided further insulation and soundproofing. He would probably stress about the diner finding out that he had a cat with him once he went back in, but for the moment, he just cuddled the kitten, wondering what he was going to do. This was supposed to help him ease some of the absurd thoughts currently plaguing him but if the night was going to continue like this, maybe it would be better to be stuck with those thoughts. It would be at least nicer to Lo, Pat, and Ro if he called this entire date off.

Back inside, Dee finally spoke up to the three uncomfortable fairies. “I’m just going to spit it out while Anx is outside. I don’t like your kind. Don’t expect me to change that opinion. If you lot hurt a single hair on his head, may your deities save your pesky little wings from my bite.”

“Dee,” Emile said, softly.

Dee ignored him as he turned to Roman. “I have my eye on you in particular, Prince.”

“You can set your worries aside, shifter,” Logan stated, simply. “We have no intention of ever hurting Virgil.”

“And what about when you lot taught him that little mind trick?” Dee demanded.

Logan paled. “So, it’s true. He did figure out what I did to that annoying pest of a woman. Which also means he is a natural already.”

“You admit it then! You taught him it. What are your intentions with our friend, pests!”

“Hey, don’t talk to my partner like that, you fanged fiend!”

“I did not teach Virgil anything. He observed my actions and learned by example. It is a minor trick and I only used it because he was close to a panic attack because some Karen was screaming at him. We have no intentions with Virgil, other than the courting that we have already been doing.”

There was an awkward cough, which jolted the group into looking at the server, who began setting down dinner bread. “I’m not entirely sure what you lot are arguing about, but I do know that there is an upset guy outside the diner, talking to himself about ways to get you lot to get along. It may not be my place, but I know half of you well enough to be willing to say it. If you lot actually care about Virgil, get your acts together and play nicely. If it takes his leaving the building to bring himself away from an anxiety attack to get you lot interacting with each other, you should tell him about whatever you lot have against each other and explain why he can’t have his friends and partners in the same place.”

With that, she went back into the kitchen, leaving the group shocked. Patton jumped up and went to peek out the window before announcing, distressed, “He looks super upset.”

Remy set their phone down, deciding to answer whatever else after dinner. “But go off, I guess. Just get all of it out of your systems. It’s not like any of you have anything in common, such as theater.”

“LEAVE THEATER OUT OF THIS!”

Roman and Dee started at each other in shock before once again saying in unison. “You like theater?”

Remy grinned as they started ticking off things on their fingers. “There’s theater, animals, obviously all of us have to be a little interested in plants because of Virge. If nothing else, we can at least agree that Virgil is oblivious and good at giving too much of his heart out. He has shared a lot about the three of you with us, and I can confidently say he’s done the same to you three about us. Find something to talk about or else I hurt both sides for hurting my adopted little emo. Gucci? Good.”

Roman huffed and his wings flittered. “You’re one to say he’s oblivious. He even commented that our wings look real.”

“We’ve been dealing with him longer, so yes, we know he is oblivious,” Dee commented.

Patton took a seat and his eyes fell on an awkward-looking Emile. “Hey, so VeeVee told me that you like cartoons! What’s your favorite?”

Slowly, but surely, the group managed to start talking. By the time Virgil returned to the table, even Dee was in a discussion about snakes with Logan, more as a pretense of getting along than actually wanting to talk to the flying pests. Only for Anx, Dee thought. Remy offered a wink at the confused man before taking a sip from their coffee, returning to discussing dreams with Remus and Roman. Virgil was so startled that he had to sit and stare for a minute before Emile and Patton got him to join their conversation.

The server came back with their food and was relieved to hear the chatter. She could see Anx relaxing as he got into the conversation. She couldn’t help the smile as she delivered the food. Anx was a sweetheart and he didn’t need his friends and partners arguing. She was a bit curious about how the group knew each other before Virgil introduced them all, but she decided that wasn’t her business.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @that-one-nb-kid, @hufflepuffxfox

#Flower from the Fae #romantic lamp #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #deceit #remus #cursing #Sage writes

[icecoldflames]

The Pinnae Flower Chapter 4, Part 1

Masterlist

Underneath Sidney’s Cloak?

We have made plenty of posts about this subject. The longest mystery in the Pinnae series, probably. What is under Sidney’s cloak?

If you just Google searched the topic you’d probably find enough posts and theories about it to make your head spin and take you weeks on end to read all of them through.

Previously, we’ve theorized that maybe Sidney was hiding some kind of tattoo that belonged to one of the rouge sprite gangs. We’ve also theorized that perhaps maybe Sidney wasn’t hiding anything under his cloak and perhaps it was the cloak itself that was important. Maybe a dead relatives' creation or a love interest. We also said that maybe Sidney was hiding a battle scar or something like that that he was embarrassed of due to the fact that he’s petrified of dragons and the thought of them.

But now we’ve got a new theory: what if Sidney used to be a fairy?

We’ve all sensed that Pinnae: Spelunca might take a turn to the dark side. What if Sidney used to be a fairy and his wings were ripped off? Maybe by a dragon (which would again explain his dragon phobia). Or another fairy or sprite ripped them off?

It would make complete sense.

Sidney’s cloak is used to hide the remains of his wings. His wings were maybe ripped out by dragons which would have an everlasting effect on him and making him scared of them.

Might I point out an excerpt from Pinnae: Exsul?

The tree is massive. It’s branches are thick and twisty and the leaves look almost too green. It soars above Exsul with it’s mushroom houses and I swear that I could probably see Magus and Parisa.

“Arel, come on,” Sidney calls out to me. When I turn to look, he has begun to climb the tree. The wind is ruffling his hair yet his cloak doesn’t move. For a split second I wonder what’s beneath it. I’ve heard the rumours from the other sprites.

But I shake those thoughts out and begin climbing the massive tree. I wonder how Sidney feels—that small and climbing this thing. I find it huge, I can’t imagine what it feels like climbing this tree while being a quarter my size.

It takes us some time (and some tree bending on Sidney’s part) to finally make it to the top. The sky is so blue I wish I had a camera and I can hear birds chirping nearby. It’s peaceful. It’s the most at peace I’ve been since the fairies’ pinnae flower was cut.

Sidney perches on one of the smaller branches and I sit on a thicker branch to hold my weight. The wind is stronger up here and I wonder what my kite at home would look like flying and soaring through the endless blue.

A raven flies past us and Sidney watches it, enraptured.

“Have you ever flown before?” I ask curiously.

Sidney’s face is shocked when he looks at me—almost panicked—and I wonder what I said that made him react so strongly.

“I mean, you know, on the back of a bird or something.” I add in quickly, trying to make amends. I run a nervous hand through my hair.

Sidney’s face relaxes and he turns to look back to the raven, now only a speck in the distance. “Yes.”

Ah, the famous tree scene. This is such a nice scene for multiple reasons. For one, Sidney isn’t as rude and closed off. It really shows how much Sidney likes Arel. Secondly, it’s just so beautiful.

In any case, we can see that Sidney has flown before. Although Arel suggests on a bird and Sidney says yes, we can all tell that Sidney might not actually mean on a bird.

When Arel first pops the question, he’s shocked. Only when Arel specifies on a bird does he finally relax and answer the question.

Which brings us to the conclusion that Sidney thought that Arel was talking about something else—something that he shouldn’t know. Like maybe how Sidney used to be a fairy with wings?

It would explain so much and why Sidney’s character is so bitter and cold. It also explains the cloak too.

So that’s the new theory for what’s underneath Sidney’s cloak: remnants of wings.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians,

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

A couple of days passed before Roman could bring it up. It was late evening and him and Logan were in their hotel room, sitting on their beds while silently looking at the screens on their computers. The TV was on the news for background noise.

“Logan, I’ve been thinking,” Roman began hesitantly, “I don’t think I necessarily want to figure out Raz’s identity anymore.”

Logan paused his typing and looked over at Roman curiously. He shifted his position on the bed and cocked his head to the side. “And what changed your mind now?”

Something told Roman that Logan already kind of knew the reason for the change of heart but just wanted to hear it from him.

“It’s just that, I was there when Jo was trying to flirt with Virgil. And I got to thinking that that’s what Raz feels like—all this unwanted attention that you don’t want. It must get scary, people constantly trying to figure your identity out.” Roman said, trailing off. Virgil’s terrified, pale face was burned into the back of his eyelids and he wasn’t sure if it would ever go away.

Logan pursed his lips and didn’t say anything for a long time.

Roman’s eyes widened as his thoughts came to the startling conclusion: Logan wanted to figure out Raz Keeran’s identity.

Roman knew Logan enough to know that he wasn’t in this for fame like he had been. He was in it for the sake of solving a mystery.

Roman’s favourite series was the Pinnae series. Logan’s was Sherlock Holmes.

Logan wanted to be Sherlock Holmes. He wanted to solve a mystery. And the mystery has presented himself once he was forced to go on a summer trip at Roman’s request.

Logan’s voice came out meek and Roman wouldn’t have believed it was coming out of him if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes. “I really want to find them though.” He looked incredibly conflicted with himself. “But not for fame—for me.”

Roman didn’t know what to say. Was this how Logan had felt when he was obsessed with Raz and finding his identity?

Roman no longer wanted to find out who Raz was. Yet Logan had no intention of releasing the knowledge to the public.

He crossed his arms and legs and then immediately recrossed them. “I’m not so sure about this anymore, Logan,” Roman finally said.

Logan looked flabbergasted. He didn’t speak for a long minute and Roman wondered if he too realized that the roles were now reversed.

They stared at each other, blinking occasionally.

Roman had no idea what to say. If Logan did continue his search, Raz wouldn’t be affected because Logan had no plan to tell the public. But it was still wrong. But Roman would feel bad if he barred Logan from trying to find Raz.

Logan seemed to be in the same boat—unable to speak and unsure what the next move should be.

Finally, when Roman couldn’t handle the thick silence, he managed to form some words. “I...I won’t tell you no but I won’t help you anymore.”

Logan nodded. “Okay.” Was all he said.

To be honest, Logan would probably find Raz quicker without him. He was smart all on his own and Roman got distracted easily. It was probably for the best anyway.

They soon went back to their own business—Roman rereading Pinnae: The New Era and Logan doing whatever he did. Probably research or work from home. Maybe responding to emails.

When Roman finished his book he closed the computer and stood up. He couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Even with the TV on and the clicking sounds from Logan’s computer, it still sounded like an empty room in the dead of night.

“I’m going to go over to Patton’s.” Roman muttered, grabbing his phone and wallet before exiting the hotel room. He breathed deeply as the door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as Roman walked into Patton’s, he wondered if maybe staying at the hotel was the better option because Jo was sitting in Virgil’s spot in the corner.

Patton emerged from the kitchen as he walked in and his eyes immediately looked over to Jo, quietly typing at the computer with such rigor Roman was afraid the computer might break.

“Hey Roman,” Patton said. His voice didn’t have the usual pep it did when he came in.

“Hi Pat.” Roman greeted, trying to walk normally towards the counter. “Could I have some churros?” He needed a taste of home right now.

“How many?” Patton asked, opening the sliding door and gripping the tongs in his right hand.

“Uh, three please.” Roman was tempted to ask if Patton had any edible glitter—preferably pink—but decided against it. He doubted Patton had it anyway.

After Roman paid he found a spot in the middle of the cafe. It’s wasn’t too close to Jo to make him uncomfortable but not too far away that Jo might think he hated her. Which he kind of did. But that wasn’t the point.

“Roman!” Jo exclaimed and both Roman and Patton’s head shot up. “Come here for a moment, I want to get your opinion on something.” Her voice was light—not noticing the tension in the cafe.

Roman glanced at Patton worriedly before taking his last churro with him as he crossed the room. “Yeah?” He prompted, taking a bite of his churro.

Roman glanced at Jo’s screen. The churro went down the wrong way and he began coughing up a fit. The screen. Oh my gosh.

Jo looked at Roman worriedly and Patton quickly hurried over. “Are you alright?” She asked.

“Do you need a glass of water?” Patton said.

Roman coughed one final time, pounding a fist to his chest before saying, “I’m fine. Really. It just went down the wrong way.”

Jo, seemingly not worried anymore now that she knew Roman was fine, gestured to her screen. “You look like the kind of guy to have a knack for dramatic and punchy titles, so what do you think? I’ve narrowed it down to two.”

Roman looked at the screen once again, feeling sweat beginning to pool at his hairline.

AUTHOR RAZ KEERAN: REVEALED

MYSTERIOUS AUTHOR, RAZ KEERAN, FINALLY UNVEILED

Roman felt Patton still behind him.

Jo cocked her head to the side, unsuspecting of everything. “The first one is shorter and gets to the point quicker but the second one is much more dramatic.”

The words came out of Roman’s mouth before he could think them through. “You shouldn’t do this.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Oh. You’re one of those Pinnae fans. ‘Raz should be able to do what he wants.’” Her voice went up a pitch in mocking. “Oh, he should have the freedom to choose, he doesn’t have to be in the spotlight, Raz has his freedom to do what he wants…” Jo gave Roman the death stare and he wondered how someone could be so rude to a practical stranger.

“It’s wrong.” Roman stated once again and it was like Logan’s brain was attached to his own. “Raz does have the choice to choose whether to stay out of the public eye or not. Just because they’re a famous author doesn’t mean they’re obligated to tell their real name and show their face. The public is so cut-throat. You should know this. Raz might not want internet strangers behind a screen picking them apart and stalking them and making them uncomfortable.”

Jo made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes. “Raz Keeran gave himself up to the press and any scrutiny on a silver platter as soon as he published his first book.”

“No he didn’t.” Roman shot back. Was this how Logan felt, trying to smack some sense into him when he has the same opinions as this woman? “Raz Keeran can do whatever the heck they want. Who’s the famous author again?”

Jo’s eye twitched. “If he has the right to hide under a pseudonym then I have the right to tell the world.”

Roman opened his mouth to make a biting remark but Patton beat him to it. “That is not the same thing.” His voice was the sharpest Roman had ever heard from the man and he was slightly scared. “You have the right to wear your hair however you want. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. As a child, you have the right to education. No one has the right to take that away from you. I have the right to express my opinions, you don’t have the right to silence me.”

If it had been appropriate, Roman would have applauded.

Jo pursed her lips. “If I knew you two were one of those fans, I wouldn’t have asked you for your opinions. Although, I suppose it makes sense.” She shrugged nonchalantly and if she had been chewing gum Roman would have expected her to chew it obnoxiously loud. “You are buddy-buddy with Raz anyway.”

“What?” Roman’s voice went hoarse. “What are you talking about?”

Jo put the face of pure innocence on but Roman could see the malice behind her angelic eyes. “Oh? Virgil hasn’t told you?” She put a hand in front of her mouth like she had just spilled something. “My bad.” She flicked her head around, her ice blonde hair smacking Roman in the face.

Roman felt stone cold and rooted in place. It was only when Patton began pulling him away that his feet finally decided to move, however clumsy.

Virgil was Raz Keeran? Virgil? Roman felt shocked and stunned yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

That was the reason why Virgil was hesitant about revealing his opinions about Raz. Because he was him.

No wonder he could afford to spend all that money to get 40 of the rock collectables. Because he was a famous author.

Patton dragged Roman into the kitchen. He looked panicked and frightened. “What do we do?”

Whenever Roman needed help he always went to the same person—his best friend Logan. He always seemed to know what to do.

Even though Roman and Logan weren’t on the best of terms at the moment, this dire situation trumped over everything.

So Roman dialled Logan’s number.

“Yes?” Logan prompted, always straight to the point. His voice didn’t sound annoyed.

“You have to come over to Patton’s immediately.” Roman hissed into the phone.

“Through the kitchen door.” Patton piped up.

“Yes. Through the kitchen door.” Roman repeated.

He could head the springs of the bed squeaking and the rustle of blankets on the other end. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? What happened?”

“No, everyone’s physically okay.” Roman said. “It’s just that Jo is going to reveal Raz Keeran’s identity. I don’t know what to do. I panicked so I just called you.”

Roman heard Logan suck in a breath. “What? When? How soon?”

Roman heard even quicker shuffling on the other end then a click of a door. “I don’t know. She asked me for options on a title for her article so I would say quite soon.”

“Keep her occupied until I get there. I’ll be over in a second.” Logan said and then the phone went dead as he hung up.

Roman glanced at Patton, his eyebrows drawn downwards. “You can stay here if you want.”

Jo was still at her computer, her forehead creased and her whip straight hair was pulled up in a messy bun. She was typing furiously. A still full cup of coffee was next to her, no longer steaming.

“What do you want?” Jo snapped, not looking up from her computer. Her voice was bitter and strained and reminded Roman of when Logan was immersed in a project. He always hated when he was disrupted.

“You can’t do this, Jo,” Roman pleaded, sliding into the seat across from Jo. “What are you trying to gain from this?”

“Fame. Glory. The title of first person to figure out Raz’s identity. The first person to get it right...” Jo’s voice trailed off.

Roman cringed—this is exactly what he had wanted back then. It was like looking into a mirror. Except, now he was better. He was a changed Pinnie.

If he changed, surely Jo could too.

“You should know how internet fame works, Jo,” Roman said, honing in his inner Logan, “you’ll be top trending on social media and maybe have a Twitter moment but, in a few days time, no one will remember your name. You’ll have a couple news articles about you but soon they’ll be buried by newer news. You’ll have fifteen seconds of fame. That’s it.”

Jo’s sucked in a breath, pausing her typing for just a moment. “Fifteen seconds is better than what I have now.” And she continued her vigorous typing once again.

Where is Logan? “Come on, Jo. Think about this rationally. It isn’t worth it. You’re ruining someone else’s life to give yourself fifteen seconds in the spotlight. Imagine if someone were to do that to you.”

“That would never happen ever because I will always embrace fame, no matter what.” Jo snapped.

Roman was beginning to get desperate. He couldn’t imagine Virgil being yanked into the spotlight like that. So unannounced and forcefully. So, he pulled out his last card. He reached his arm out and slammed the computer shut, Jo just managing to avoid pancakes for fingers. “What the—“

“—Please, Jo. I’ll do anything. Please. Just don’t tell the world about Virgil.” Roman pleaded.

Jo, who had been about to re-open her computer suddenly stopped. “Anything?” She repeated.

“Anything.” Roman confirmed. He cared so much about Virgil, he would do anything to protect him. “What do you want? Money? Life-long groceries using my pocket money? A personal maid—“

“—I want ‘The Prince’s Crown’.”

Roman blinked. “The—?“

“You heard me.” Jo said icily. “I want your blog. All of it. Forever. I want your followers. I want your email list. I want your place in the Pinnae fandom. And, you aren’t allowed to notify your followers of your absence.” Jo looked defiantly into Roman’s eyes.

Roman’s throat parched and his brain seemed to suddenly stop. “The Prince’s Crown”? His baby? This woman wanted that? His pride and joy?

But, through Roman’s halted yet swirling mind, one thought came through crystal clear. Yes. Of course. It makes sense. His blog was popular in the Pinnae fandom. They sometimes got sponsors. If Jo wasn’t able to get her fifteen seconds of fame, owning an incredibly popular blog was the next best thing.

Roman was tempted to say no. But then he thought of Virgil who chose to write under a pseudonym so he wouldn’t be under the scrutiny of thousands of people.

He thought of Virgil—who he really liked—and thought of that intimate moment in the alleyway when Virgil was touching his shirt. It would affect him so horribly. He could barely take Jo’s advances...what would happen when there were thousands of Jo’s?

While Roman could never really assume Virgil’s reaction to being dropped into the spotlight on his head, he could certainly guess. And guess he did.

Roman’s blog was pretty much his everything. But could Roman really keep his blog while Virgil’s life fell apart because of it?

“Deal.” Roman’s voice felt far away and he noticed Patton and Logan in the kitchen doorway. How long have they been there?

Jo grinned a winning smile. “Thank y—“

But Logan interrupted Jo, mid-sentence. “I’ll create the paperwork.”

“What?” Jo spun around to look at Logan. “Why would you need paperwork?”

“It’s good to have things official.” Logan sniffed, walking closer to Jo and Roman’s table. “And the deal set in paper.”

So he did know about Roman’s deal.

Jo frowned. “You don’t think I’ll follow through.” Her voice was accusative and she pointed a finger at him.

“No, I just think it’s good to have a paper copy of the deal. So you both know the limits and you both have something to show if you break them. It goes both ways,” Logan enunciated.

“Actually, that sounds like a great idea.” Jo chirped. Roman hated her happy-go-lucky voice.

Logan gave a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, just hold on while I go get my computer.”

He was gone and back again in less than a minute and, again, Roman wondered what had taken him so long to get to Patton’s the first time.

They talked through the terms of the transfer what Jo and Roman could and could not do.

The only terms Roman could come up with was that “The Prince’s Crown” had to stay a Pinnae series blog and Jo would never expose Virgil to the press or any other kind of media.

Jo, on the other hand, had many terms. Roman wasn’t allowed to tell his followers of the switch of ownership, he wouldn’t say anything about “The Prince’s Crown”, he couldn’t tell anyone about this he knew personally, the email list had to be given to her, he couldn’t do a lot of things.

“And he isn’t allowed to create a new blog surrounding the Pinnae series.” Jo added in.

Roman had every intention of just nodding and agreeing with everything Jo said like the past terms.

However, Logan spoke up about this one. “Oh, come on, Jo. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Jo sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She huffed. “He’s allowed to create another Pinnae relegated blog after...ten years.”

Logan glanced at Roman apologetically.

Roman shrugged apathetically. “Fine by me.”

Logan quickly typed this up. “Is that all?”

Jo thought to herself and Roman braced himself for another term to slap him in the face. “No...I think that’s it.”

Roman breathed a sigh of relief. It could be worse, he thought. It could be worse…

Logan smiled grimly and closed his computer, standing up. “I’ll go print this at the library. I’ll be back soon.”

Jo grabbed her phone. “While you do that, I’m going to book some plane tickets to get out of this dump.” She rolled her eyes and began dialing numbers.

Logan left and Patton must have retreated back to the kitchen so Roman was all alone in the cafe with Jo who was arguing with whoever was on the other end. Roman felt sorry for the poor bugger.

Roman flinched when his phone buzzed in his jean pocket. He unlocked his phone and glanced curiously at the text from Virgil.

Wait until she’s super impatient and seconds from blowing her head off. Then, text me “now”.

Roman read and reread the text over and over again.

What are you talking about?

Virgil’s text came back almost instantly.

Wait until Jo is about to blow her top. Then, text me “now”. Just trust me oh this.

Okay. I trust you.

Roman had no idea what Virgil was doing but he did trust him wholeheartedly.

Jo got off the phone and leaned back smugly in her chair. “I’ve got a plane ticket to Alabama in four hours. Enough time to get to the airport and through security.”

As the time ticked by, Jo’s smug smirk slowly fell away. “Where are they? I thought they were going to print a couple sheets of paper?” Her voice was growing annoyed but Roman could tell she wasn’t an overflowing volcano yet.

More time went on and soon Jo asked Roman to text Logan to see what was taking him so long.

What’s taking you so long? Jo wants to know.

The printer’s malfunctioning. I should be able to get it working in a couple more minutes.

“The printer’s not working…” Roman said. “But Logan said he’d get it working in a couple minutes.”

Jo huffed. “Show me.”

“What?”

Jo sighed and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hand. “Show me the text. I want to make sure you’re not lying.”

Roman flashed his phone screen to Jo who read it over at least three times before finally coming to the conclusion that the text was legit.

More minutes passed. Jo made him text Logan three separate times, Logan not answering either one of them.

“I’m going to miss my plane!” Jo exclaimed, furiously typing on her phone. She had her suitcases surrounding her, ready to go the minute she signed the contract.

Three minutes and 43 seconds passed when Roman finally thought Jo might blow.

She was cursing up a storm and Jo was about to stand up to find Logan herself. “I swear! I am going to find that man and—“

Now.

Roman texted the signal to Virgil and instantly Logan hustled in.

Roman blinked. Had Logan been waiting outside the door all along?

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…” Logan trailed off. He had his computer under his arm and papers in his hands. “The printer wasn’t working so I had to go all the way across town and—“

“Just let me sign the dang papers!” Jo snapped, her arms outstretched and a black ink pen ready in her hand. “I have a flight soon and I still have to drive to the airport!”

Logan gave Jo two sheets stapled together. “Here’s your copy.” He passed Jo another two stapled sheets. “Here’s Roman’s copy.” And another. “And here’s my copy.”

“Why do we need three copies?” Roman asked as Jo skimmed through the first paragraph and skipped through the lines and sentences before signing her name on the two lines. The “I have read the terms and agreements” and the simple “I agree with all terms and agreements”.

“In case one of you guys lose them. It’s always good to have a backup.”

Jo signed the other two copies in record time.

“Good doing business with you.” Roman said, signing his own name on Jo’s copy.

“Can’t say likewise,” Jo muttered, snatching the copy out of Roman’s hands and scurrying out the door.

The cafe felt eerily silent and empty. The fact that “The Prince’s Crown” was no longer his gourged a piece out of his heart. It was gone.

Roman should have been happy. Jo wasn’t going to tell the world about Virgil. And he was.

But his blog was gone.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a blog. Just a simple blog.

But it was his blog. Not just any blog. His.

Logan sat down in the chair Jo had just left and Patton emerged from the kitchen.

“I said to keep her occupied,” Logan said quietly. “Not barter away your blog.”

“It’s the only thing I thought of.” Roman muttered, hanging his head and crossing his arms.

The bell rang signalling a customer but Roman didn’t look up.

“Thank you for doing that for me,” said Virgil’s voice and Roman’s head shot up. “Your blog must mean so much to you.”

Roman shrugged, trying to play it off and ignore the aching in his heart. “Eh. I can make a new one in ten years.” He paused. “It could be worse.”

Virgil drew closer. “Seriously though, thank you.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to Roman. He grabbed a copy of the terms of transferral. “Listen, you phoned Logan the first time he came to find me.”

Roman nodded hesitantly, unsure as to where this was going. However, this now did explain why Logan was so slow getting to Patton’s in the first place.

“And I came through the back with Logan and heard everything.” Virgil’s shoves his left hand in his hoodie pocket and ran his right hand through his hair nervously. “And then I got the idea…” he trailed off.

Virgil passed the paper to Roman. “It isn’t much but...sixth paragraph.”

Roman took the paper and counted down to the sixth paragraph, reading the middle sentence.

Roman Falco will be able to create a new Pinnae series-related blog in exactly one month after the signing.

Roman blinked to make sure it was true and wasn’t a trick of the light.

But it was still there—in ink. On the official papers.

His heart soared. One month. That was nothing compared to ten years.

However, Roman thought of Jo and what she could do if she figured this out. This wasn’t one of the terms they had agreed on. “What about Jo?”

Logan smiled and pointed to the line where Jo had hastily scribbled down her name. “The line she signed says she read the terms of agreement.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised and he looked between Virgil and Logan. “Oh my gosh.” He said. “Oh my gosh.” He repeated.

[mysticsparklewings]

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 24: Fruit of Choice

spherical black voids hanging from ominous red vines leaves just as green pluck one, watch it bleed a taste tart and poison yet they grow like weeds ____ So today's prompt was fairly simple; Describe a fruit of your choice. At first, I was overwhelmed by options, as there are a fair amount of fruits I like that could've chosen to write about, but me being me I did want something slightly more interesting and deep than just describing the deliciousness of a nice hard Pink Lady apple or the fresh sweetness of a firm kiwi. And then I remembered a deceptive little thing that is a fruit by way of technicality; meaning this is one plant part you wouldn't want anywhere near your plate. The little monsters are known as Pokeberries/Pokeweed or Inkberries. As the poem says, they grow without much prompting in a weed-like fashion in more rural areas. The berries themselves are indeed as black as ink, growing on deep reddish-pink vines with yellowy-green leaves like you might find on a number of other less dangerous plants. If you pick a few berries off one of the sparse but grape-like smaller vines,  you'll probably notice immediately the vibrant, pinkish juice they produce. And if you were to pop one in your mouth, which you should not do, you'd be greeted by a strange kind of tart flavor that bites your tongue and would be considered unpleasant by most, though tart-lovers may find it endearing in its own way. Now, why do I know so much about how Pokeberries taste despite saying twice now that you shouldn't eat them? Funny story about that... I ate them a lot as kid, actually. I should probably be dead. (And for the record, I don't eat them anymore, now that I know better, nor do I condone doing so just because I got extremely lucky.) I live out in the middle of nowhere and have all my life. We have Pokeweeds all over in the Summer. I learned about the berries from my dad, who thought they were Elderberries. He would eat them sometimes, and I tried them and liked them. I would go pick little vines full of them and eat a good handful or so at a time some days. I never got sick, never felt ill afterword. The only ill effects I ever felt was that once or twice when I'd get a lot of the juice on my hands, my hands would be a little itchy. Which is a known and expected side effect, better known as "contact dermatitis." That's it. (Well, and some of my bathroom trips would be tinted purple later, but that wasn't any more concerning than a lot of vegetables tinting said trips green.) It wouldn't be until a couple of years ago that I looked up elderberries when someone asked me in a conversation if they were poisonous (short answer: Technically no.) and I saw the pictures and realized those were not the berries I'd happily eaten over the years. So, naturally, I jumped down the rabbit hole to figure out what I actually had been eating. Imagine my horror to find out I'd consumed a good amount, year after year as a small child, of berries that for all intents and purposes should've at least made me sick, if not actually killed me. After some deeper research, the best answer for why I am still alive comes in the form of, as far as I can tell, the poison in the berries is mostly in the seeds. (Although I'm still not completely sure what kind of poison it is, if it has a name besides "Pokeberry Seed Poison") And also from what I can tell, the seeds are so hard/thickly coated, much like Rosary Peas which contain abrin, that they usually can't be chewed open and aren't easily broken down in the digestive system. Moral of the story: Be extremely careful in identifying edible and non-edible plants in your yard before eating them or encouraging others to do so. Just because I got very lucky and didn't die doesn't mean there isn't real danger lurking there. After all that, I think it's fairly obvious why I chose these sneaky berries as my subject for today. It still baffles and amazes me to this day that I survived unscathed with how many of those I ate as a small child. It fascinated me that by all accounts on the internet they're so dangerous and yet...here I am, typing this very story. This isn't the most exciting "hey guys wanna hear about how I should be dead right now," story on the planet, but I think it's pretty compelling, all things considered. I think having described the berries probably explains more of the mandala, too. I had the immediate idea of making the main motif modeled after the little berry vines with accents here and there for the leaves and roots, and some for the juice. Which I honestly think would make for gorgeous use in dyes or pigments--I can't emphasize enough how pretty of a color it is, and I have no gel pen currently at my disposal that can mimic the color properly, but I did my best here. Same with the vines, actually. I used my "black" Sparkle Pop that shows up more as the rich red glitter in the ink, but it's still a bit dark and missing a hint of purple to accurately portray the Pokeweed vines. I hope we all enjoyed that surprisingly dark trip down memory lane.  At the very least, as scary as it is in reality, thinking of what could have happened, it does make for a good story and something to halfway-laugh about now. Hopefully, tomorrow's prompt will be something that just as easily comes to me and won't also be poison hiding in plain sight.  6 more days to go! ____ Artwork/Poem © me, MysticSparkleWings Inspired by FridgePoetProject ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#napowrimo

[tenpin-boleyn]

I procrastinated and this mess happened

It’s horrificly bad but it’s inspired by this doodle I did when I was, you guessed it, procrastinating :))

So enjoy this pile of Millie’s cat sick :)

“I’m glad I found Chocolate Milk now because if I found it before I wouldn’t be able to drink it.” Anne stated, her face the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Why? Are you lactose intolerant?” You replied back, blissfully unaware of the past Anne hid. “I was beheaded? Duh” she laughed.

You had known Anne for over a year now, but not once has she mentioned being beheaded in a past life. You had seen Anne in Six obviously but you’d just assumed that was a character she had taken on. Like that time you played the Virgin Mary at age 4, probably not the best decision eh Mrs Keeping but there we go.

Anne suddenly looked as white as a ghost. She had forgotten that you didn’t know. For what it was worth Anne was a great actor. Onstage she was competition to a gremlin, but to a select few she was Anne. Just Anne. Anne with no tragic backstory. Just a girl who liked milkshakes. “I’m so sorry Anne. I didn’t know” you said lovingly, placing a hand onto Anne’s. It was a small gesture but it made you feel better that you could bring a bit of colour back to her rosy cheeks again. “Shall we go to yours? I want to show you something that will open your eyes forever.” Anne nodded to this, happy that you hadn’t dragged out the topic anymore.

You had hoped Anne wouldn’t already know what you were about to show her. It might be common knowledge to most but she had a tickling feeling that Anne wasn’t part of that percentage. You took her hand and ran down the street, passing the Queens house, which made Anne raise an eyebrow. Jane liked everyone home by 9, and it was already half 7, so she couldn’t go on a wild adventure to oxford on a random bus. “Look Y/N-“

“Tah dah.” You stopped and raised your hands at the sign above you.

“Tesco? You brought me to Tesco?”

You smiled at the green minx, “ah my child this isn’t any normal trip to Tesco. This is a life changing trip”

You managed to pry Anne away from the chocolate bars- you had a feeling that the sugar from the milkshakes was already getting to her head- and led her down the dairy isle. While Anne was distracted with a carton of purple milk you grabbed the carton you were searching for. “What do you think goes into purple milk? Cow blood mixed with a taste of WKD? ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN DONT YOU DARE THINK ABOUT TOUCHING MY ALCOHOL CABINET. Well now I don’t have to” She laughed.

“Anne what I have in my hands will change your entire life.”

You presented her with a carton of chocolate milk and you smiled to yourself as you watched her eyes widen and start to twinkle.

“You. Can. Buy. Chocolate. Milk?”

When you finally went back to the Queens place, you couldn’t help but worry. You had literally bought Tesco out of Chocolate milk. You knew Jane was a strict mum so perhaps introducing Anne, loud, insane Anne, to a new sugary invention wasn’t the best idea. Especially when you are carrying 27 cartons. 26, Anne just drank one. “Shall we take these up to my room?” Anne was obviously thinking about not having to share, rather than what Jane would think. “You do realise you need to keep milk in the fridge right?”

“But I thought- cause its chocolate-“

She looked downtrodden. “Do you want to sleep round? It’s getting late anyway and I just changed my sheets after months so it’s not a biohazard anymore!” You giggled to yourself, Anne truly was special. “I’d love to. Will the others mind?”

“No they love you!” And with that Anne unlocked the door.

“I’m telling you they’re dating!”

“No, id have read about it by now.”

“Huh?”

“Am I the only one who reads her dia- hello. Welcome to the very normal and casual conversation we are definitely having.” Cleves exclaimed from where she was sat, having realised that both girls were standing in the hallway.

“I’ve missed you guys! How have you been?”

“Great, I’ve finished my book on why men are absolutely pointless and serve no use on this planet!”

“And I made cookies for the first time! Who would have known that chocolate cookies aren’t just overcooked cookies?”

Anna noticed the bags we were carrying. “Do you two care to explain why we now own a farms worth of chocolate milk?”

“To cure my lacking toes intolerance”

“To help feed children in Africa!”

You both panicked. Anne, because she didn’t want to share, and you, because you didn’t want to get Anne into trouble for spending an absurd amount on flavoured milk. “Put them Into the garage fridge before Jane sees them! Lord knows what she’ll do with 40 cartons of confiscated milk.”

You glanced at Anne and giggled, you had noticed that her eyes were just a bit more bluer today, a trait you learnt meant that she was happy, and a darker blue meant she was going through a rough patch. “Before Jane sees what?” A blonde figure asked.

Before either of you could panic out another excuse, Cleves piped up again. “ I was just asking the girls to take my deliveries upstairs into my fridge” Anne winked at you both “because my back hurts awfully”

Jane smiled sympathetically at Cleves, unaware of the truth she was hiding. “Alright hurry up you two, and it’s lovely to see you Y/N!”

“You too Mrs Seymour!”

“Call me Jane.” You smiled. Although you called her Jane to Anne, it was only because that’s what Anne used, Jane had never formally told you to call her Jane, so you didn’t think it was proper. It felt nice to know that someone liked you, even a tiny bit.

“I’m telling you it’s not going to fit.” You declared as Anne tried to stuff 25 cartons of milk into the tiny mini fridge Anna had in her room. Yes Anne had drank another carton and was nearly bouncing off the walls. To your surprise 23 of the cartons fit inside of the fridge. “Looks like we’ll have to drink these then” Anne smiled mischievously.

The pair of you had been sat in Anne’s bed for about half an hour, just enjoying each other’s company whilst sipping the chocolate milk when you couldn’t stop yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me you got beheaded?” You had to admit, Anne’s slip up earlier stung. Didn’t she trust you with that information? But she trusted a room full of strangers?

Anne couldn’t look you in the eye, she was quite engaged by the edible glitter she had poured into her milk. You didn’t think she heard you so you started to ask her again.

“Why didn-“

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. It’s just, I’m so happy when I’m around you, and I don’t want to waste a second of it talking about my last life- it was hell, yes, but I’m over it. I’d rather talk about scrunchies than kerplunkies” and with that she motioned a quick beheading with her fingers and tongue.

To be fair, you hadn’t expected that reply. You hadn’t expected a decent reply end of. You’d put it down to the fact that Anne was coming down from a 22 hour long sugar rush and was too tired to think about what she was saying. “I- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that you feel that you need to keep things from me just to have a good time. I mean we could do 95% fun and 5% family trauma because god knows I’ve got tons. But I like hanging out with you to Boleyn.”

Neither of you knew what to say next. Not much had been said but it was enough to build a bridge that wasn’t previously there. Out of nowhere Anne gets a text from Kitty. It contained an emoji and a word. Typical kitty. “💋 her”

Anne was shocked, 1. Where was Katherine and how did she spot the silence and sexual tension, and 2. How the fuck did she know that she was gay. Sure the queens were open and accepting of being gay, but it wasn’t something that Anne spoke about. But despite all of the racing questions, Anne plucked up the balls she stole from Henry and leant in and cupped Y/N’s face. You were shocked at this movement. How did a discussion about beheadings lead to this? But you weren’t complaining. You had realised you loved Anne the day she fell off of her bike. She had never rode a bike before so you had been teaching her, at first she seemed promising, but she fell over and scraped her knee, causing a war amount of blood to pour. To your amazement, she started crying and asking for Millie. You panicked, who was Millie?? You thought it could be a pet name for one of the queens but you couldn’t be sure which. So you ran inside to fetch Kitty. “Who’s Millie??”

Without even speaking Kat ran upstairs and returned holding a ragged old dog teddy. Just the thought of Anne being so vulnerable, clutching the years old toy made your heart wrench- more than when your favourite TV show got cancelled and definitely more than when Ben and Jerry’s decided to stop selling Cookie Dough at the cinema.

You leant in to annes hands, and placed your lips upon hers in a frenzy of sparks and fireworks. You had dreamt of this moment, but you could never have imagined it would come true. Just the thought made you smile, making Anne laugh whilst kissing you. You suddenly pull away, realising that you hadn’t been honestly with Anne either. “ I was murdered. By my father.”

“Where the actual fuck did that come from”

From outside the door the pair heard giggles and a muffled shout of “language Anne!”

Of course the other queens would be spying on the pair of you. You weren’t blind,or deaf. You’d heard the comments kitty and Cleves make when they think you can’t hear, and you’ve seen the silent arguments between kitty and Jane.

It did feel nice to have people who cared. Even if they were looking out for Anne. They felt like family. It felt like home.

“ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH MY BIBLE EVER AGAIN-“ Catherine of Aragon burst into the room, past the other queens listening intently outside the door and you suddenly realised that you were still locked in an embrace with Anne. You quickly pulled away before whispering

“That impression was spot on.”

#anne boleyn #six the musical #i wrote this on little to no sleep #i am the worst writer ever but theres a lack of anne boleyn fics do #im tired still nlg #ngl #millie o'connell

[larpgourmet]

How to Feign Alcohol

Every great LARP has some sort of bar or tavern, but most LARPs allow for people under the legal drinking age to play -- which means that serving alcohol is usually a no go. Where I play, in Southern California, it’d also be doubly dangerous to drink something so dehydrating in the heat while being so active. So, how do you serve alcohol without serving alcohol?

For this post, I’m going to focus on simple bottled drinks, liquor, beer, and wine. I’ll do some recipes for faked mix drinks in a separate post.

Amber Liquors (Cognac, The Whiskey Family, Rum, Resposado) If you (like me) enjoy bourbon or whiskey, and you only want to emulate drinking such a drink -- you can imitate it easily with iced tea. You may need to play with the brewing time so it’s the right color -- but that’s how they do it on TV! Bonus, if you have something with a little caffeine, it’ll help perk you up! Black tea is best for this, as the color will be the closest. Simply bottle in a pretty decanter of some sort, and you’re good to go.

If you don’t like tea, apple juice is also pretty close in color, and doesn’t have the caffeine!

If you’re hardcore about wanting a flavor to match your offering, consider finding a vanilla honey tea. Most amber alcohols get their color as a result of the oak they’re aged in, usually adding notes of vanilla, honey, or molasses to the drink. Getting a tea flavored in the same vein will help! There are also teas that are designed to taste like amber alcohols, shop around!

Silver Liquors (Vodka, Gin, Tequila, Rum) For the easiest trick, just use straight water. But for added benefit, a clear sports drink will give you extra electrolytes while you’re drinking. If you go with the sports drink option, consider naming your alcohol to match “Raspberry Vodka” or “Cherry Vodka” for instance.

Cream Liquors (Amarula, Irish Cream) The signature look of cream liquors is that they do have milk (or cream) in them, but they’re mixed with something else that carries the alcohol. Consider making something like a cold chai tea latte, or other tea latte. The slight brown color of the tea will color the milk and give it the right kind of look. If you go with a chai latte, consider naming it as a Spiced Cream Liquor, for instance, as chai is a very spicy tea.

It’s also very easy to get creamers in Irish Cream, Amaretto, and Hazelnut  flavors. Rebottle creamers in pretty glass bottles, and label appropriately for the best visual appeal!

Be careful to keep these cold!

Coffee Liquors (Kahlua, Coffee Brandy) This is a fairly easy one! I would just serve straight, cold coffee. If you can get away with a decent kahlua flavored coffee, it’ll add a very nice smell!

Other Colored Alcohols There’s a variety of other colors in alcohol. Absinthe and other herbal liquors, like Jagermeister are usually green (food dye is your best option here.) For an added bit of realism, get an anise flavored extract to make your drink taste like anise.

For other less natural colors, look no further than a booze like Hypnotique, which is an odd blue swirly color (try blue food dye and edible glitter in your bottles).

And some liqueurs are dyed to be more beautiful. (Liqueurs, for the record, are sweeter, less alcoholic drinks. They tend toward being more syrupy (higher in sugar) and are often flavored with different things, like berries, honey, or nuts. They can be either silver or amber colored, or they can be colored artificially to be pretty much anything else in the rainbow.)

Wine Honestly, I think your easiest wine trick is to go with the sparkling grape drinks, and sparkling apple juice that’s readily available at any grocery store. If you’re feeling extra, you can always paint the labels to make them come from a winery that would be appropriate to your setting!

There’s a wonderful woman at my game who mixes a little vinegar in with her drinks (I’ll have to ask her for the recipe sometime, if she’s willing to share), to give them a bit more of the wine bite. Bonus -- apple cider vinegar is very good for your system.

For some more esoteric wines, like mead, you’re probably better using apple juice. If you’re trying to get the right flavor, consider adding honey to the apple juice and boiling the mix down so it thickens a little. It’s not the healthiest thing in the world, but slightly syrupy apple-honey will taste good (mix in some cinnamon to be really bougie) and if you serve it in small glasses as a speciality drink, people will love it!

Beer I think my favorite for this is home brewed root beer, or sarsaparilla. Totally non-alcoholic, fizzy, and served in fun bottles -- this is a great booze alternative for anyone who’s looking to do something more creative with their faux alcohol.

Don’t know where to start? Check out the link below for a home-root-beer kit you can buy on Amazon for about $16.

https://www.amazon.com/Mr-Root-Beer-Home-Brewing/dp/B0033UX8A8/ref=asc_df_B0033UX8A8/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=167124686369&hvpos=1o1&hvnetw=g&hvrand=7605819140602283334&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9030820&hvtargid=pla-84579849446&psc=1

Final Thoughts The real win here will depend on how you sell the bottle. If you’re old enough to drink for real, save any interestingly shaped booze bottles and paint the labels to fit your world, then simply fill with whatever liquids it needs. I’ve also made a game of relabeling certain other juices and things so I could make a cocktail completely of sodas and juices. “Fire Whiskey” could be cranberry juice, as a for instance.

Home made labels on a home printer will go a long way to selling the effect. Avery sells printable labels that have a nice texture on them. For an added bonus, increase your in game economy -- hire an artist in game to generate the art for your label for you! Check out the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/Avery-Textured-Printers-2-25-Inches-22809/dp/B005IMARK8/ref=sr_1_6?keywords=avery+labels&qid=1564595329&s=home-garden&sr=1-6

If you’re running a bar or tavern in game, just make sure to leave a little note as to what is actually in the bottle, in case someone has an allergy or aversion -- or just doesn’t like the specific drink. A smaller sticker on the back of the bottle that is clearly marked with the real liquid will help a lot.

Another trick -- bring a funnel with you, and leave the larger bottle in your cooler. If you brewed iced tea, or brought apple juice for your bar, for instance, leave the majority of the tea or juice in your cooler, and simply pour a bit into the bottle based on how quickly it sells. That way it’s always pretty cold, and you don’t have to worry about it.

#LARP #TV Tricks #Alcohol #But Not Alcohol

[thelionshoarde]

For the prompt-a-thon I have a cheesy idea: What about Obi proposing to Shirayuki at the christmas tree? *-*

Uh. I would just like to say that I am not really a marriage person, but I did my best. Have a little angst with your cheese, tho?

12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PROMPT-A-THON, DAY 2

read here on ao3 if you prefer :3

“Hey,” said Shirayuki, tugging Obi to a stop on the busy sidewalk. Someone snarled something rude under their breath, bumping into Obi’s shoulder, and Obi tilted his head back, reminding himself to let it go. That a snide remark or left hook or clever pick pocketing rebuttal was not worth it, not anymore.

Instead, he ushered Shirayuki to the side, next to the storefront that had caught her eye. A bakery, full of many-tiered wedding cakes, exploding with iced roses and edible pearls. Obi eyed it, askance. For her part, Shirayuki merely raised a mittened hand up to rest against the window, the pom poms that dangled down catching on the intermittent breeze.

“You have zero situational awareness,” Obi chastised, resting his chin on the top of her head. The wool of her knit cap itched, but Obi ignored it. “Hey what?”

“Do you…”

“Honey,” Obi drawled, “if you want a cake we’ve got some sort of fudge monstrosity at home. I can bake it in a flash. No reason to go speechless with hunger. Though if you want iced flowers you’ll have to give me a day to practice, you know. I’m good, but I’m not a baking god.”

That got a laugh out of her. “You’re terrible at baking, don’t even. And – that’s not… Well. Hm.”

Standing there, laden down with bags of early Christmas shopping, the city a whirlwind of traffic, and chatter, bodies in bulging coats pressing all around, the sky as gray as the pavement – snow began to fall.

Obi jerked his head up, delighted, to watch it. Gentle, minuscule white flakes of biting cold to dust the rust red of Shirayuki’s hair where it spilled out from beneath her cap.

Then Shirayuki asked, “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

* * *

He needed – eggs. Right, eggs. And vegetable oil, probably. Sugar? Milk? Hot water?

Obi held the measuring cup in both hands, fingers slipping against the thick glass, and stared at the closed door of the refrigerator. Behind him, Shirayuki said gently, “The recipe is on the back of the box, Obi.”

“I know that,” he said. “I – yeah. I know. I was just thinking – pecans? Or walnuts? Which would you prefer? Maybe both? None? Coconut? I think we still have caramel drizzle somewhere. How about some caramel?”

She sighed. “Obi.”

“It’s just a question, Shirayuki,” Obi snapped, before he could stop himself.

In his chest his heart pounded, rabbit-fast. It still made his skin crawl, sometimes, fighting with her – but it was okay. They were past the point where he thought a fight meant the end. Were instead at a place where Obi could just get petty, and not feel like the world was closing in on him. Usually.

Obi set the measuring cup down onto the counter with a clatter, reaching for the pantry door, and the box of cake mix inside. “Just – let me make the cake,” he said into the cluttered shelves. “Please? Give me a bit, all right?”

He heard the shuffle of her stockinged feet on the floor. The hesitation at his back, barely enough space to keep from touching. He fought down a flinch, holding perfectly still, waiting, relieved when she didn’t touch. When she read the tensed lines of his body, maybe, or heard in his voice the things he was carefully holding in, and knew better than to push.

“Okay,” she agreed, and was gone.

When Obi heard the door to their bedroom shut, he let himself fall, hunched down between his knees, hands over the back of his head. It was just a question. Had he thought about getting married – had he thought about it – marriage – with Shirayuki –

He –

He hadn’t.

He hadn’t, but apparently she had. Shirayuki had thought about marriage, and him, at least enough to ask him about it. Which meant… What? That she wanted a proposal? That she wanted to tie the knot? Make it official? Happily ever after, and all that? Like he was – like he could –

Groaning, Obi squeezed his fingers into the tense muscles at the side of his neck, jaw working. His stomach felt like lead, like cement snakes weighing him down. The shopping bags were still on the floor by the entrance way, where they’d dropped them without care. Outside, snow fell, a languid flurry of silent white to blanket all the ugly things beneath.

It would have been nice to go outside, let each snowflake kiss his skin, his scars, numb him from the outside in. Hide him, at least for a time.

Instead he stood, grabbed the box of cake mix, and got back to baking.

* * *

When he opened the door it was two hours later, he’d burned the base of his thumb, and there was egg yolk on the ceiling.

Shirayuki was curled up in their bed beneath the throw Ryuu had knitted them last winter with Hana, their tortoiseshell monster, sprawled across her shins and purring like a finely tuned motor. Obi leaned against the door frame for a moment, hesitant to intrude. They looked peaceful, calm – a safe haven as pure and cleansing as the snow outside.

Shirayuki’s eyes flickered up to him from her book, and she crooked a timid smile his way. Obi saw the way her body language shifted open in welcome for him, reeling him in, instant and gratifying. Somehow, it dislodged his heart from his throat, allowed his feet to move again.

“Hey, there. Nothing exploded, so… one of your better ventures, I’d say.”

“You would think,” Obi agreed, grin just as crooked but far more sheepish. “And yet, I present to you – burnt, soggy fudge stuff. Your fork, milady.”

“Oh, my,” Shirayuki said, voice faint and face a curious puzzle of dismay and fondness. She took the plate and fork, setting her book aside. Hana opened one amber eye and twitched her tail before subsiding. Shirayuki prodded the cake, which oozed. “It looks…”

“Horrifying? Like an occult nightmare? Possibly Lovecraftian?”

“…delicious.”

Obi laughed, a sharp, wild thing. Shirayuki looked up at him from beneath her fringe, pleased, and Obi sat on the edge of the bed, taking the fork from her hand before she could quite dare be brave enough to try a bite. “Your stomach would murder you, and then me. Trust me – it tastes terrible.”

“You’ll get it right one of these days.” Setting the plate aside on her bedside table, she insisted, “You’re too good a cook to be this bad a baker, Obi. I have faith!”

“Mm,” Obi hummed, tilting the fork back and forth across his knuckles, watching the light shine along the tines, marred here and there with a touch of fudge. “You do. And –”

Shrirayuki’s fingers – tough with calluses, nails clipped short and painted a glittering purple, familiar and strong and kind – just brushed Obi’s wrist. A barely there graze of assurance. “You don’t have to answer,�� she murmured. “You never have to answer, Obi. So long as I’m with you, I’m happy. You – us? We don’t have to –”

When the words tripped over his tongue Obi thought they would taste like acid, or scrape the inside of his mouth like metal – but in the end they were just words, and it was almost easy. “I never considered myself the marrying type, so I never really thought about it, no.”

This time, Shirayuki’s fingers hooked over and around, a gentle pressure rubbing against the vulnerable skin on the underside of his wrist. Her thumb curled around to form a circle, holding him. “What do you mean?”

He raised his free hand in the air, then dropped it, shrugging.

“You know me,” he joked, even knowing that she would be able to tell that he wasn’t. That she could read between the lines by now, after all these years, and would hear the truth even where Obi couldn’t help but try and hide it. “Bad boy through and through. Juvenile delinquent, felon. Scruffy and handsome, sure, but – not the type to stick around, or be – be kept, I guess.”

Did that make sense? He wasn’t so certain. But Shirayuki kept silent, waiting, so Obi kept going.

“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, I never thought about marriage when I was younger because I never would have wanted it. Being tied down? Ha! And later… Well, I knew no one in their right mind would want to marry me,” he laughed, and tried to ignore the hollow echo in it, the way Shirayuki’s thumb dug in just slightly, in protest or kindness or empathy, Obi didn’ t know.

But it reminded him where the border of his skin was, and how he fit inside of it. His breathing steadied, and he explained, “I don’t think I ever bothered thinking about it again, to be honest. There never seemed to be any point.”

Eventually, when Obi was silent long enough that the words had settled, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders, Shirayuki tugged gently at his wrist.

Obi went to her, laying out on the edge of the bed atop the blanket, fork dropped carelessly to the floor, Hana a purring cocoon wiggling in between them. He kissed Shirayuki’s cheek, her eyebrow – she caught his lips, and held them, before pulling back. Hey eyes were green, clear and bright, and without expectation.

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

Obi quirked his mouth, not quite a smile, but almost. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Sure.”

* * *

Three weeks later in Zen’s office Obi was pacing. “I can’t get it out of my head,” he admitted. “I mean – marriage? Me?”

“You,” Zen agreed, flipping through his planner, sounding distracted. “More surprising things have happened. Why shouldn’t you get married? Izana did. And I never thought I’d see the day.”

“This is true,” Obi realized. “Izana got married. Anything can happen. I should – Should I –?”

“Aha,” Zen cried, looking up finally and grinning as he caught Obi’s gaze. “Tomorrow at 4pm I’m free for an hour and forty-five minutes. Meet me out front, got it? Don’t be late!”

Obi blinked, pacing halted. But he still felt the nerves in his veins, bubbling like champagne, and his heart was a restless wandering thing, something that ceased to stay still now that it had a glimpse of a new horizon. “For what?” he asked, exasperated.

“Ring shopping,” Zen said.

“…What drugs are you on and why aren’t you sharing?”

Sighing, Zen leaned back in his stupidly plush leather chair, looking smart and mature and infuriating behind his desk. “Obi, I hate to break this to you, but – you haven’t stopped talking about this for weeks. So tell me, is it that you can’t stop thinking about it because it freaks you out? Or does it freak you out because you can’t stop thinking about how much you want to marry Shirayuki?”

Obi squinted, tilting his head. “Stop it,” he complained, hand clamping down on his shoulder and squeezing. “You resemble your brother far too much in this moment. This is unacceptable. I will not allow it! Where is the drunken asshole I once carried home on my back at three in the morning? Where is the idiot who took me to the hospital that time I –”

“We promised never to speak of that,” Zen interrupted, turning faintly green. “Also: don’t avoid the question, Obi. You deserve to be happy. And someone should make an honest man out of you. May as well be Shirayuki, since you’re stuck with her regardless. She’s not letting you go, in case you were under any delusion otherwise.”

“Ugh,” Obi said, a giddy warmth suffusing him in a way that was positively embarrassing. “You brute. Four tomorrow, then. I hope you’ll have your smelling salts on hand, because I’m going to swoon. It’s going to happen.”

* * *

Obi didn’t swoon, but he did have a mild panic attack when he found the perfect ring and realized, without any lingering shred of doubt: he wanted to be Shirayuki’s husband so badly it hurt.  

* * *

Christmas Eve was utterly cliche, but Obi was – something. Something impossible, and reckless, and overflowing. He was all sharp angles and weak knees and a heart that wouldn’t quit, beating and jumping and breaking at every sleepy smile, too-loud laugh, or casual touch that Shirayuki gifted him with.

He was going to ask her to marry him.

He was almost certain she would say yes.

It was funny, he thought. Trust wasn’t something he had ever come to naturally. It was a prickling, ferocious opponent, something that had hurt him more often than not. He had never expected to ask someone to marry him. Had never anticipated wanting to. Yet here he was, dressed up in a cable knit sweater, his nicest pair of jeans, and his fuzziest socks. Ring in his pocket, plan reformulating every half-second in his fevered brain.

Because he –

He trusted Shirayuki.

And he trusted their relationship. Had more faith than he’d ever known his entire life in this thing that they had built together, through every awkward misunderstanding, every halting, inching step forward, every bump in their path that they surmounted because it was worth it.

Whatever her answer, Obi knew he wasn’t going to – to ruin anything.

Everything was going to be all right.

Wiping his sweating palms on his thighs, he just wished that meant he was less nervous. “You ready for spiked eggnog and A Muppet’s Christmas Carol,” she called from the kitchen, sounding distracted.

“Yep,” he called back, trying not to shiver with nerves.

For some reason he couldn’t look at her, as if seeing her in front of him would chase all his courage away, or knock him stupid. So he stayed standing in front of their Christmas tree, the bright multi-colored lights and goofy ornaments Obi could never resist buying, the shiny packages beneath. He rubbed his fingers against the ring in his pocket, and listened as Shirayuki set their glasses down on the coffee table.

Nothing fancy, he thought, trying to get his heart to calm down. Nothing impressive. Just honesty. Shirayuki would understand what this meant, what he was saying; and besides, he didn’t know if he could get through anything more than the most basic of questions – will you marry me? – without puking.

“Obi.” He heard her take a deep breath, like she was bracing for something, and a muffled thud. Her voice came again, insistent. “Obi, I have something to ask you.”

Right, Obi had to stop staring at the tree. He had something to ask her as well, after all. It was time. He could do this.

When he turned around, there was Shirayuki – knelt on the floor by one knee, a little red velvet box being turned nervously in her hands. And – oh. Oh, that was – that had to be –

A ring box, like the one in his pocket.

For just a second the whole world swam, vision dipping with the excited thrum of his pulse. Obi felt like he’d been kicked in the solar plexus, all the air rushing out of him at once and sending him reeling. She couldn’t – Was she actually –

“What are you–”

“Obi,” she started, and it was the tone she got when she was choked with nerves, but determined, and yet softer somehow, soft like the way she whispered to him at night in bed, when a nightmare woke him. “Obi, I–”

This was happening. Obi was being proposed to.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Maybe Obi should kneel, too, or pull her up from the floor? Do – something other than stand there like an idiot. The ring box was burning a hole in the pocket of his pants, and this was too much, too much. But somehow he couldn’t quite do anything at all, save stare, heart in his throat, waiting.

He hadn’t known how much he could want, how it could take him over and make him fragile, and how he would still feel perfectly safe, regardless.

Shirayuki took a deep breath, and met his eyes, steady and fierce, a little wet with the force of her emotions. Distantly, Obi realized his hands were trembling.

She said, “You can say no, Obi. We don’t need this. But I – I want you to know how much I love you. I wanted to show you with more than just – just words. That I have no intention of ever leaving you. That I absolutely think you’re the marrying type.” Pausing, she laughed a little, cheeks turning rosy. “I love you more than I ever knew was possible, you know? I just… I never really understood it, before. The idea of a single person changing the way you – you see things, how you think, you live. But now I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you. I don’t want to. I want – you, Obi. Only you. I want –”

She flicked the box open, revealing a gold band, beautiful and shining in the low light.

“Obi, will you marry me?”

He didn’t mean to, but he started laughing. A snorting, helpless kind of snigger that had him clamping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Shirayuki’s nervous, hopeful expression shifted into raw panic, and Obi went down onto his knees in front of her, graceless and eager, hands clutching at her forearms and forehead pressed to hers.

“Yes,” he gasped.

She whined, “Then why are you laughing.”

“It’s just,” Obi tried to calm the bubble of euphoria in his chest, and explained, helpless, “traditionally, aren’t I the one who’s supposed to propose? You even – on one knee, Shirayuki!”

“Well,” she said, grinning shyly. “Like I’m going to let something like that get in my way. I just… I wanted you to know that I choose you. Forever and always.”

“So you decided to put a ring on it?” Obi asked, laughing, and was glad this was private, glad this was just the two of them in the home they’d made together, because his voice was thick with emotion, eyes smarting with unshed tears, and his grin was so wide it almost hurt.

“I decided,” Shirayuki sniped, “on a symbol of my commitment to you, a – a promise. And a request, that you – that you will allow me the honor of marrying you, Obi. And – well, yes, basically. I decided to put a ring on it. Speaking of…” Shirayuki fumbled the ring from the box, holding it up towards him. Her eyes were wet, too, and shining, and beautiful. “May I?”

“You better,” Obi managed to squeeze out, throat tight. Both their hands were trembling a little, but Shirayuki managed to slide the ring onto Obi’s left hand, the band a snug, perfect fit. Tiny, tasteful diamonds flashed in the light, and Obi admired the way it looked, a physical claim, a declaration of intent.

Then Shirayuki took his hand in hers, and kissed the ring on his finger, a sweet, tender thing, and that was better, that was –

“I love you,” she whispered.

Obi had always, secretly, tried not to drown. Tried not to go so deep that he couldn’t survive it; but he’d fallen faster and deeper than he’d ever expected, a whole world opening up in front of him. One where he was wanted, and desired, and where Shirayuki had no intention of ever, ever letting him go, and wanted everyone to know it at a single glance. Wanted Obi to know it, that she trusted him as much as he did her, that they were in this together for the long haul.

He said, “I love you, too. In fact, I – I have something for you, as well.”

#akagami no shirayukihime #obiyuki #obi #shirayuki #fanfic #12 days of christmas promptathon #proposal fic #AHAHAHAHA SORRY GUYS #I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PROPOSE APPARENTLY #I HOPE YOU ENJOY ANYWAY??? #my fic #anon #prompt fic

[mercedes-muses-blog]

My Icelandic Experience

As I write this I am flying back to London from the beautiful country of Iceland and want to tell you about all the wonderful adventures I had and send across some photos.

My flatmate and best friend, Dorotea, and I booked these tickets months in advance spontaneously (it was procrastination to be completely honest..!). So on Saturday we made our way to Luton airport and off we went, both incredibly excited and neither of us have been before and it's been on my bucket list for quite a few years now.

We arrived in Reykjavik airport at about 7 in the evening, however only arrived in the actual city centre at about 9pm and went out to eat right after dropping our luggage off in our little room (very little: a double bed, small desk, and radiator.)

After some initial problems with the cash point (it didn't let me take any money out, then spat out 30000 IKR) we went down one of the main streets of Reykjavik and found a little cafe called Babalu Cafe. There I got traditional Icelandic lamb soup (it's absolutely delicious!) and Dorotea got vegetarian lasagne. We also both ordered delicious hot chocolate. Whilst we were eating and content a group of Icelandic teenagers came in, we, naturally, observed them. They each bought themselves a pint of beer and/or hot chocolate and sat down, opened their bags, and took out board games. A few minutes later three more guys came to join them. I thought it was the most charming thing I have ever seen - lads on a night out in Iceland consists of board games, good friends, and hot chocolate. Already my love and affinity for Iceland sparked. We walked back home, in weather that was surprisingly warmer than London! Safe to say, we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

The following day we woke up later than anticipated because even at 9.30, when we awoke, it was still pitch black outside! We went to the sister guesthouse, guesthouse aurora, for breakfast that came with the price of our hostel! It was absolutely charming. Simple, hearty, filling food. I had fresh bread with ham and cheese, a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of muesli. Dorotea and I also made sandwiches for later so we wouldn't need to spend a large sum of money on dinner (it's beautiful, but super expensive in Iceland!)

During breakfast we were reading pamphlets and books with travel guides and recommendations. Dorotea found one titled "Extreme Iceland" - there she found an excursion which involved lava caving/tubing, a trip round the golden circle and the northern lights. Of course we booked it for the next day.

After booking it we walked to the city centre where we went on a free walking tour of Reykjavik. It was windy weather but well worth it. We had a summary of the history of Iceland, I didn't realise how young of a country it was! Also did you know, the way the Icelandic people protest is with pots and wooden spoons, and whenever they protest it works each time. Maybe we need to bring this method to the British Parliament...

After the walking tour, we went to a little flea market. Here I bought myself a gorgeous faux-fur coat for the equivalent of £7 and Dorotea bought herself lava rock earrings that had "anti negativity properties" apparently! I also bought lava salt, blueberry salt, and "northern lights" herbal tea. We then tested the food. First on the list was, of course, fermented shark - hákarl.

The taste is... Interesting. Firstly, it's not as bad as people make it out to be. However I doubt I'll have it again. The texture just feels like chewy raw fish, and the first few bites it actually tastes alright. Until this burning sensation makes its way from the pit of your stomach, up your chest, through your throat, hitting your cheeks and taste buds, then making its way up to your nose. Then the flavour kicks in. I think it tasted a little bit like paraffin oil mixed with mould.. If you can imagine what that tastes like. Not pleasant, but edible I suppose. We quickly washed the flavour back down with dried fish (cod and native Icelandic fish, of which I can't quite remember, but was truly delicious and salty).

We then walked to what is apparently the best hot dogs in the world. I mean, there was a queue..! We ordered one each. They were nice, really good hotdogs, but to be completely honest not worth the hype. Although in hindsight, especially hungry, they were tasty. The winning ingredient was crispy onions.

Afterwards we walked back to the Reykjavik equivalent to the South Bank Centre, where the windows are representative of fish scales and the ceiling are in hexagonal shapes, inspired by the two founding pillars of Reykjavik (which are formed into hexagonal shapes naturally due to the volcanic heat combined with the cold air I believe is what we were told). We got some internet there and researched museums we wanted to see, and the two that caught our eyes was the Museum of Iceland (historical) and Iceland's Phallological  Museum.

The first one was super interesting, had lots of history on the culture of Iceland, and random facts, so for example, Viking women were legally not allowed to carry arms. Isn't that so odd? Patriarchy has existed for so outrageously long!

After that museum closed we walked to the Phallological Museum. However! When walking there we were lured into a little bakery by the gorgeous smell of cinnamon buns. We bought one to share. It. Was. Amazing.

With our new found energy thanks to the cinnamon buns we made our was to the museum. To be perfectly honest it was a little bit nauseating... It was a load of jars filled with animal genitalia. The highlight of that museum was the feature from the Icelandic handball team. In the 2008 Olympics they won silver. Their way of celebrating? Mould their erect penises into silver and display them in the museum, of course, isn't that the way all people celebrate getting silver in the Olympics? Haha!

We walked back home afterwards and made ourselves some toasties with the sandwiches we prepared earlier. Whilst we were there we looked up a band who was playing in Reykjavik, we saw a poster of them in 'our' coffee shop. After listening to their music and deciding that it was beautiful we headed there.

The venue was in the University of Iceland, and we managed to sneak into the uni without passes. It is so swanky! I think I want to do a masters degree there! We weren't sure how to get to the venue though, so I ended up asking some guys who were sat around a table. They directed us there, and we ordered a pint each and sat down to watch the band. They were really good, lovely vocals. Throughout Dorotea and I got a few more pints, so we were sufficiently tipsy. We ended up chatting with the band, they were from Denmark, but one of them studied in Germany so we were speaking German for a while, was so fun! We were all going to go out for a drink, but by the time they had dropped their instruments off and tried to catch up with Dorotea and I (who had made our way to an Irish bar where we got an Icelandic mint shot and another pint (didn't drink the pint though, and had water instead)) we were too tired and the bar was closing. We walked home and fell promptly asleep, not sure whether we were ready for the 7 am wake up in five hours....

We managed to wake up bang on time though! We were both slightly hungover, but got over it and headed to the breakfast room. After breakfast we went outside to wait for our pick up to go on the extreme Iceland excursion. The bus picked us up and out of what felt like a snow blizzard (there was so much!) and we made our way towards the volcanoes to go lava caving.

I can't even begin to describe how unreal those sights were. Everything was dusted in snow. The sun was shining and you could see blue skies, and snowflakes were still elegantly dancing down to the ground. When we got to the volcano the sights were breathtaking. There were huge lava rocks everywhere. In front of us there were mountains in the distance and directly behind us was a huge snow covered volcano.

Our group went with out guide, Thor, into a cave. I was the first one leading; armed with a helmet and a torch I held onto a rope and backed my way down through the ice into the cave. I felt like quite the female version of Robinson Crusoe, but in Iceland instead of in the tropics somewhere. Once the rest of the team were there we all turned our torches on and walked through. There were sections where we had to crawl on our hands and knees and squeeze through tight spaces. The walls were gorgeous - red from the iron oxidised and black from the lava, they were glittering from the damp and had little shiny bits of lava crystal in them - beautiful. We also saw loads of lava candles, an amazing natural phenomenon that forms almost like stalagmites, and look like dark, waxy candles. There was one moment where Thor asked us to turn off our torches so we could use other senses than purely our eyes to experience the cave. THAT was phenomenal. I was waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark but it never happened because there was simply no speckle of light coming through. The sound of drops dripping everywhere was also breathtaking. Stunning.

Once we headed back out of the cave we stopped by a point on the highlands where the fishermen hang out their fish to dry. There were vast rows of them! To quote Thor, "that was the smell of money in Iceland." We drove back through phenomenal landscapes, and were dropped off at a service station where we had a bite to eat.

Next we were picked up by another tour guide, a friendly charming man called Gunnar. The rest of the group all congregated and the seven of us stepped onto the bus, and were chatting with Gunnar all the way to the Golden Circle.

Our first stop in the Golden Circle was Iceland's biggest nature park. Here we were stood on the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates, which are moving further apart 2 cm per year. Eventually an ocean shall form there I believe. We walked through the nature park, where the sights are unreal. There's a little church opposite a beautifully blue fast-flowing river, a little hill with the Icelandic flag on it, the backdrop of mountains and huge rocks forming the tectonic plates to the left of us. Bear in mind this was all covered in glittering snow and the sun was shining. Can you picture the beauty? It was radiant.

We made our way through the park and ended up by a waterfall. I was honestly speechless. The sun was golden, the water sapphire blue, the snow crystal white... It's hard to capture the beauty in words. Even photos don't do it justice. It's one of the places that needs to be seen on a perfect day in person.

By the waterfall Gunnar was explaining how this was the freshest water in the world, and proved it by drinking from it directly. I followed and did the same. He was right! I've never tasted anything purer than that water in the world, and I've tasted what is titled pure and holy water in places like in Spain or Syria. It was so cold, so thirst-quenching - really delicious, and that's water we're describing here which normally has no taste! By this waterfall though you could taste the natural minerals, and as cheesy as this sounds, it felt as if you could taste the history of the glaciers all in this gorgeous flowing water.

Afterwards we walked back to the bus and headed for the Gullfoss waterfall. On the drive there though we spotted the well-known Icelandic horses and pulled over to stroke them. They're cheeky things, not nearly as cute and little as they look on photos! They're actually a lot taller. Still beautiful creatures though and completely domesticated and friendly with tourists (particularly those with food). At this point the snow became biting so after a sufficient amount of cuddling horses we jumped back into the bus to get to the waterfall.

It was so snowy when we arrived we were parked right in front of it but couldn't see a thing. However, as our walking tour guide warned us, "the weather in Iceland changes every five minutes, and there's no such thing as bad weather - there's just bad dress and a bad attitude." True to its word, the weather changed in five minutes, and quite literally directly in front of us emerged this huge stunning sight. The mist slowly dispersed and we saw the waterfall. Huge, fast, frosty and majestic. We walked our way around it on all the levels and angles we could reach. At every angle it seemed to become more and more breathtaking. The combination of the sound of rushing water, the smell of fresh chilly air, and the sight of this natural phenomenon was one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen. In complete silence Dorotea and I walked back. Only we couldn't resist but to go back one last time, and this time we slid down the path instead of slowly stagger down. This, it turns out, was wild fun. We ran up and slid back down about another seven times. With rosy cheeks and smiles we walked back to the bus where our smiles were reciprocated by everybody's - I think we were all so happy to be here.

The next stop was the geysers. There were two: one used to be the worlds second largest geyser, it now doesn't work anymore - no one is quite sure why; and the other was still working, second smallest (but still huge). We walked, or slipped, around the sight, breathing in the sulphuric smell - we didn't mind it too much to be honest - and watched the geyser explode multiple times. For the last explosion Dorotea and I were stood very very close, so it was quite a thrill. The sun was setting, so as a group we all walked to a nearby restaurant where we all ordered soup and exchanged stories of travel, life, family, upbringing and our home towns. It was so lovely, and at the same time bittersweet knowing that I'd probably never see the charming couple from just-outside-Manchester, Jackie-from-DC, Anna and Zareen from New York, and of course our guide, Gunnar, after this trip. Once filled up, toasty and content again we got back to the bus.

On the way back home (it was too snowy to see the northern lights) Gunnar stopped us off at a river where I could fill up my water bottle with fresh water. It was definitely fresh. Again, the freshness of water in Iceland alone is a strong reason to visit.

We drove back through the snow in silence, Dorotea and I listening to music which seemed to reflect the mood: happy, relaxed but slightly melancholic. The snow beating down on the roof and front window was actually a stunning sight to behold. Gunnar stoically driving through it, chatting to us about his time growing up on the farm just behind the big Gulfloss waterfall, completed the mood and, to be honest, the sense of family that was formed in a mere 12 hours.

We were dropped back off by our hostel, so tired and so happy. We warmed up with a hot chocolate by our favourite cafe again, and I wrote down the previous days in my notebook. We went back home and pretty much instantly fell asleep, so happy.

The next day we woke up at 8, got our routinely breakfast meal, and headed to the harbour this time. When walking down there, between the views of houses this mountain appeared behind the water! We had never seen it before! It was too foggy the previous days to see it. The views of Iceland, once again, left me speechless. Dorotea and I walked down with small smiles on our faces, our feet crunching the crisp, fluffy snow underneath us. Dorotea occasionally would say "crunch crunch crunch" as we were walking, and we'd giggle at each other slipping a little, but other than that we were so in awe of what was directly in front of us. We took a few photos of the Viking boat sculpture, and walked along the harbour to get to the Whales of Iceland museum.

On the way there, however, we saw a fish and chips shop. It was exactly what we fancied. Turned out that there was even a deal on for the buffet - all of it for 2200 IKR, when normally it's 3900. Tempting, definitely. It started off with traditional Icelandic fish stew - so delicious. It had herbs in it (I could taste dill and a little bit of chilli), a light bisque, and little balls of fish and coconut. I don't think I've had something like that before. I've had a lot of fish in South East Asia and Oman, but this was a much heartier, comforting version of the fish soups I'd had before - even better than my mums (sorry mum, still love your cooking though). Then we helped ourselves to the buffet of fish. I had everything. I tried the potato salad, the "this very very good" brown sauce the chef was confident about, the Icelandic coleslaw equivalent, fried fish skins (almost like crackling), the most amazing fish cakes I have ever tasted - inspired by his grandmother, the fish of the day, raw fish seasoned in salt and herbs, herring in purple sauce and herring in yellow sauce with black bread, and a little fish stack. I'm sure there way more I had which I have forgotten about now. But it was so delicious and so filling. I can't remember the name of the restaurant anymore but it was incredibly local, I'm quite glad I don't remember the name because I want it to remain fairly untouched by tourists. The only other tourists in there was an older man and his daughter from the states. It hit 1.30 and we wanted to see the whale museum before we needed to catch the bus for the blue lagoon.

We walked around the cute exhibition, there were life sized models of whales spotted in and around Iceland. The exhibition is charming. Underneath the whales there are placards with facts about them, as well as interactive exhibitions too. Not only this, but at the very end there was free tea and coffee! Always a bonus for students. Dorotea and I were discussing our favourite whales in the exhibition whilst drinking our tea, mine is definitely the killer whale. Oh and fun fact learnt there: whale's tales are like human finger prints, no two are the same.

Discussing facts and hypotheses of "what would you do if you saw a whale underneath you when swimming?", we walked to the BSÍ bus terminal to get to the blue lagoon on time. We arrived at 4 on the dot, and left promptly. On the bus we shared music, which suited the views - Bears Den's album "Islands" - and at one point we looked out the window and saw this ice blue stream. We were nearly there.

Upon arrival the Blue Lagoon looks exactly how you'd imagine - the photos are not edited, it really is as blue as it looks on pictures. We got our towels and wristbands, got changed into our swim stuff, braved the cold and stepped into the luscious heat of the lagoon. It was the most perfect temperature, and the snowflakes falling on our shoulders and faces was simultaneously refreshing. Dorotea and I were utterly relaxed. We slowly swam toward the stand which provided silica face masks, and bumped into the American from the fish shop and had a lovely conversation with him and his daughter about our love for Iceland. We got our face masks and  explored the lagoon. It is huge! Hidden corners everywhere, and all of it completely blue. I'm incredibly grateful we went in the winter, as the fog made it harder to see other people so it felt a lot more private than it would otherwise. The snow falling also, in my opinion, made it more romantic.

It was clearly romantic for another couple who were clearly doing some deeds by the time the sun set, even though Dorotea and I were only a few metres away. Not something I would do, nor recommend doing to anyone, it simply makes people feel a little uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, we enjoyed our time there. We got ourselves a glass of strawberry sparkling wine, algae masks and stayed there from 4-7.30 pm. When we went out to get our bus we realised that the next bus only left at 9.15, so we stopped by the very expensive cafe and chilled out with a blueberry smoothie and cheese sandwich. We were both beginning to feel reality of going back to uni creeping in, so started planning moving to Reykjavik in a few years.

Leaving this morning was a little bit heart-wrenching. I'm going to miss the snow, the dark, the cold, the smells and the sounds. It's an unimaginable place - until you visit it. But I'll be back soon, maybe even to do a masters degree. Who knows. My flight is descending into London now, time to face reality but with the new found vitality Iceland has given me. I can't wait to go back, see you soon Iceland.

#travel #iceland #reykjavik #golden circle #wanderlust #nature #geyser #gullfoss #mountains #lava #lava caving #lava tubing #volcanoe #winter #snow #future home #landscapes #waterfalls

[grimgrinninggh0sts]

Ready to get artsy! ❤

Yesterday was one of the best days of 2019 so far, because I ended up having the same day off as my work friends which basically never happens! We made plans a couple weeks ago that we would head to Epcot to explore Festival of the Arts together and I was so excited! This was also my first Disney day in 2019, so I couldn’t wait to get back to the parks!

Full transparency, Festival of the Arts is actually my least favorite of all the Epcot festivals (honestly…maybe even my least favorite WDW special event in overall…oops), but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it! I’m a full supporter of Epcot having year round festivals and I think over time Festival of the Arts can grow into something spectacular, but it just hasn’t caught up to the others yet. One thing I do love about this festival is that it’s the only special event in all of WDW that I’ve been to every year of its existence, which is pretty awesome. I’ve enjoyed watching it grow even over the past three years and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for it in the future (but it’ll never be Flower & Garden, just saying).

Enough rambling, let me dive into our day! When I first got to Epcot, I immediately noticed that the parking lot was pretty empty which was awesome! Over the weekend I had seen photos on Twitter of the line to get into the parking lot and it looked like New Year’s Eve, so I was thankful that we didn’t have that experience. I walked into the park and met up with Jimmy, who was the only one of us that was on time (haha). We walked through Future World and stopped when we got to the entrance to World Showcase, because we got a text from our friends Hoa and Lisa saying they were here! Once they found us, we started our loop around the world.

The first booth we stopped at was the Pop Eats booth and as soon as we started reading the menu, my eyes darted to the bottom where the drinks were listed. #RainbowSherbertGlitterDreamAle immediately caught my eye and I knew I had to get it! I’m not normally a fan of beer and definitely prefer hard ciders, but it sounded right up my alley and it was only $4.50 (the least expensive price point for any alcoholic item at a Disney festival) so I decided to go for it. It was pretty good! It had a similar taste to the grapefruit beer that they serve in Germany, though not quite as good. I don’t know that I would order it again, but I’m happy that I tried it. And let’s be real, the main selling point of this item was the word “glitter”, which the drink surprisingly delivered on.

The glitter was basically nonexistent in the first photo with the side view so please excuse the rather terrible second photo, but if you squint you can kind of see the flecks of glitter in it. It was the most princess-y beer I’ve ever had and that was good enough for me!

We stopped to look at the menu at the Painted Panda in China and were all interested in the Dragon & Phoenix (spicy shrimp with spinach noodles), but it was $10.50 for what appeared to be a very small serving so we decided to pass on it for now. The next stop we made was at the Cuisine Classique for the Red Wine-braised Beef Short Rib with Parsnip Purée, Broccolini, Baby Tomatoes and Aged Balsamic, which for all of my friends was the highlight of their Festival of the Arts experience. On our first Disney trip as a group (last year) we went to Festival of the Arts and they all ordered this item and fell in love with it, so they were beyond excited to come back and have it again. I’m a pretty picky eater and don’t like any of the side items that come with this dish, so I skipped it, but if you’re not as picky as me I would highly recommend trying this solely based on all of my friends’ reactions!

Our next stop was The Artist’s Table where Hoa ordered the Beef Wellington with Mushroom Bordelaise, Fennel Cream, and Roasted Baby Vegetables. All I know about Beef Wellington is that Gordon Ramsay is famous for it and has talked about it on MasterChef before, but the whole puffed pastry thing is not for me so this was another item I skipped. Hoa said that the beef was overcooked, but that it was good.

We ended up going all the way back around to Mexico after that to El Arista Hambriento, because Hoa had seen the Chocoflan earlier in the day and was fixated on getting it. He said it was too much choco and not enough flan and that he wished it was a chocolate flavored flan instead of being half flan and half cake, but again, still said it was good. Lisa also got an item here – it was a dish that had a lot of black beans in it, but I’m unsure of what it was. Again, I’m a picky eater so these items didn’t appeal to me.

Something we were thrilled about throughout the day was that the park was really empty and we were able to find tables to eat near every single kiosk we visited! We didn’t have to resort to eating on a trash can at all! Near Mexico Hoa started to eat on a trash can, but we almost immediately found another table near by. It was a festival first for me and it was great because I love a chill Epcot day!

After we finished in Mexico, we headed back to Future World. The wait for Soarin’ said it was only 35 minutes, so we headed over to The Land. Much to our surprise, we didn’t even wait that long before we were boarding! We literally walked right on from the beginning of the queue to the pre-show area, which was amazing and something I’ve never experienced before. Something else shocking was that there were two empty seats next to me on our flight and they didn’t fill the row behind us at all! It was really nice and a great first ride of the day!

After that, we went to our Mission:Space fastpass. Much to Hoa’s disappointment, we went on the green side but we still had a nice time! Weirdly enough our wait was longer for Mission:Space with a fastpass than our wait was for Soarin’ without one, but it still wasn’t too bad. We headed over to Spaceship Earth next. Hoa had never been on it and he tends to not be the biggest fan of dark rides, so we were all interested in his reaction. Jimmy and I kept making jokes about all of the animatronics along the way and couldn’t stop laughing when the ride stopped multiple times (especially when it stopped while we were going backwards). I always think the photos on this attraction are funny, because it’s never actually my head no matter what I do. This time it included a ton of black space around my head, but in the past I’ve gotten my forehead cut off or large parts of my hair included as part of my face. I’m hoping when it goes down for refurbishment that this is something they fix.

We had a while to kill before our Test Track fastpass, so we headed back to World Showcase to get a few things we missed at the front. Hoa and Jimmy got the deconstructed strawberry cheesecake from the Deconstructed Dish, Lisa got the poutine from the Refreshment Port, and I got the lemon and blood orange tart from Decadent Delights. Everyone was a fan of their dishes. I think my tart may be one of my favorite dessert items from any festival and definitely my favorite item that I had at Festival of the Arts this year. It’s also SO PRETTY (basically edible art, haha).

The red and green pieces in the back were white chocolate and the circular disk in the middle was like candied sugar. The purple little blobs were crunch meringues and there’s also some candy pearls and blueberries as well. For the tart itself, the main part tasted very similar to a key lime tart (though obviously lemon) and underneath there was a layer of blood orange jam (maybe not specifically jam, but a very similar consistency). It was delicious and I’m so happy that I got it!

Once we finished all of these dishes, we headed to Test Track where something magical happened; we got our own car! It was such an awesome surprise and I was so happy that we wouldn’t have strangers to ruin our photo! It was really chilly out as well, which made it feel like we were going faster than normal when we broke outside. It was fantastic!

not the best photo since it was dark out already, but here are my sad churros.

Before we left for the day, we made one more stop at Taste Track for the paintbrush churros! I was so excited for these from the first time I saw the photos and I couldn’t wait to try them. I’m always jealous of the cute seasonal churros Disneyland gets and I was happy we were finally getting something similar. The line was pretty long for the kiosk, which I should’ve expected since this item has been popular. I was surprised when I ordered to see that they hand dipped the churros into the white chocolate at the time they were ordered, which I didn’t expect. That being said, these were TERRIBLE. I’ve never been so disappointed with a food purchase at Disney. My churros were cold and hard as a rock. I had literally two bites and threw them away. 😦 Not all was lost though. Jimmy ordered the lobster mac & cheese and said that it was decent, so at least our entire experience at this booth wasn’t horrible.

We were all pretty tired at this point and made our way to the exit. It was such a lovely day at Epcot and I’m so happy I got to share it with some of my favorite people! 🙂

  ♥️ – Jessica

      Epcot International Festival of the Arts 2019! Yesterday was one of the best days of 2019 so far, because I ended up having the same day off as my work friends which basically never happens!

#art festival #epcot #festival of the arts #florida #my life #orlando #walt disney world