Guys, you gotta help me choose. Please. 😭🙇♀️
I want to share another Mareach piece for my next post, but I don't know which one to pick among the ones I've finished. Should I go with the fluffy and funny one first? The one that's more somber and bittersweet? The suggestive one?
I've been staring at my folder for a solid five minutes and still haven't reached a decision. 🤣
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I've been thinking again about Minkowski and Hera during the time when Eiffel was stranded on Lovelace's shuttle - about how Hera had gotten so used to monitoring Eiffel's wellbeing, and how Minkowski felt responsible for his safety, and how neither of them cope well with not knowing things they feel they ought to.
Perhaps one day Hera notices Minkowski reading the nutrition information on the back of the ration packs (the same kind as the ones that were on that shuttle). And Hera knows what Minkowski's doing, because she's been running the same calculations herself. Calories in one ration pack multiplied by number of ration packs on the shuttle, divide that by minimum calories required per day, add something on for the number of days survivable with no food at all...
Hera's got access to plenty of information about what the human body can survive, but there's too many variables here. How damaged is the shuttle? What's the temperature like? What's Eiffel's body weight? And there's too many horrible questions that Hera and Minkowski don't want to think about, and are unable to stop thinking about. How much will to live does Eiffel have? How long can a person hold onto hope in a situation like that?
Perhaps they each separately decide on an answer to their calculations, if only so they can pretend they know that he's currently still alive. But their mental countdowns tick down. And so maybe there comes a day when Hera glitches much more than usual. And maybe not long afterwards there comes a day when Minkowski can't seem to focus on anything at all. And maybe they talk about it, or maybe they don't. But either way, they both know that the other is thinking over the same question. And they are both hoping - more than anything - that the answer they've arrived at is incorrect. They are both hoping for an answer that seems impossible.
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I do appreciate uptight and formal Alfred, but I also need more Northwest Alfred who considers black jeans and cargo pants to be "dress pants", wears utilikilts to weddings, thinks a flannel is formal as long as it's buttoned all the way to the top, and who's biggest etiquette rules are that you should always have vegan options at a party, and that you should always share your weed with friends.
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Just wanted to drop in and say I am counting the days until Elucien week bestie. I haven’t been very tumblr/discord active recently with family and work stuff, but you can bed AtRF AU Elucien is on my mind constantly.
May I have a little snippet if you’re willing? Also, please don’t feel obligated to answer this if you’ve been sharing a lot and I’ve just missed everything 😊
💕💕💕
Absolutely you can!! AtRF Elucien has been on my mind too, mostly because I'm scrambling so desperately to get this story finished in time and for some reason I'm making these chapters excessively long (because I hate myself or love you guys, it's debatable)
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Elain had not expected this. She had not expected the way his eyes fixed on her, watching her every step with an interest that did not match a man who had neglected to court his bride. He hadn’t inquired anything about her, she reminded herself as she felt heat rise over her cheeks.
“Haven’t seen my bride, have you?” he said to her, quietly, once she’d joined him at the altar.
The only one close enough to hear them was the clergyman, an elderly man who slotted his eyes between them curiously but otherwise did not comment. He had been present to verify her purity just a few nights prior, and the memory of that humiliation sharpened the anxiety and anger she’d been struggling to push down.
She sniped, “There were no mirrors in that garden as far as I recall.”
Lucien laughed under his breath. “And you hardly know her?”
“I know only who she's been told she must pretend to be,” Elain said, raising her chin in the stubborn way she’d seen from her sisters a thousand times before. “I know nothing of the girl beyond the pretense.”
“I know she likes to dress up as a servant and act discourteously towards foreign royalty.”
“I did not know you were royalty,” she protested. Then with narrowed eyes and all the poison she could muster standing this close to the clergyman, she said, “Perhaps I was distracted by how inconsolable you were at the news of your missing bride.”
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