“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”
my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.
and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king.
the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.
by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.
she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.
for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.
it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.
i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly.
it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company.
it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.
i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.
she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment.
we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.
from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.
she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning.
the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.
it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes.
her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!”
“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”
he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.
the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.
the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.
the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning.
i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be.
she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.
i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.
they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.
but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.
but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.
she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?
the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.
yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?
she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.
the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.
the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.
i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily.
Lance tries as hard as possible to sleep in for as long as possible
this is a difficult task considering Keith is an early riser he doesn’t even need an alarm he just naturally wakes up at 7 to work out or whatever
one time lance tried to wake up early enough to surprise keith with a birthday breakfast-in-bed, but of course keith didn’t get the message to sleep in and was already awake
they made a mess making pancakes and bacon together instead
lance is a neat freak. it annoys the crap out of keith because he never had to clean up for anyone else whereas lance’s mother pretty much programmed him to clean up after himself and his little siblings
keith affectionately labels these tirades as The Nag™…brace yourselves, The Nag is coming
lance can also cook??? he chops vegetables like it’s nothing and keith is alway afraid he’s going to lose a finger at the speed he’s going
they couldn’t decide on a color scheme for their room so it’s just a mismatched mess of soft blues and and calm grays and vibrant red and angsty black and it looks awful. but it’s theirs
lance convinced keith to do weekly Couple Luxury Night where they did relaxing at-home spa treatment-esque routines. he told keith it’d be fun but really it’s just an excuse for him to pamper his boyfriend and take goofy pictures in face masks and cucumbers
lance always fixes keith’s hair before he walks out the door because that boy does not know that bedheads aren’t acceptable. keith always pretends to be annoyed but his favorite thing is feeling lances fingers run through his hair
lance got them really into competitive cooking shows and naturally it turned into a heated cooking war between the two. since lance is 1000x better at cooking (keith can barely peel a potato) keith is allowed to distract him by whatever means necessary. lance is extremely susceptible to neck kisses, side tickling, and obnoxious raspberries
lance in aprons with flirtatious sayings
keith complying with the aprons’ suggestions
lance totally has a childhood teddy bear that he still sleeps with with named tigre (as a child he didn’t really have a clear grasp on the difference between bears and tigers). He is now señor tigre, respect the title, and is appalled when keith calls it ratty and old-looking
whenever lance is mad at keith he pretends keith isn’t there and complains about him to tigre
when keith needs comfort and can’t get any words out, lance lets him hold tigre—he might be old as hell but he is soft—and just talks to him about anything until keith feels better
they have matching red and blue mugs with cute lions on them
keith sleeps on the left side of the bed, but always manages to roll all the way to lance’s side by the morning
keith also has deathgrip when he’s asleep, so lance had to buy him a body pillow for those nights when lance just wants to sprawl out
lance taped a fucking picture of his face to the body pillow the first night keith slept with it and the next morning lance was woken abruptly by keith shrieking in terror
lance likes to do voices and impressions all the time to keep himself entertained and uses random objects around the house as props. keith’s reactions range from tired-of-your-shit to must-hold-in-laughter, but most of the time keith likes to film him on his phone so he can watch it again later. he says it’s blackmail material but these are keith’s videos of the lance that only he gets to see every day
whenever lance decides to fart in front of keith he turns it into a punchline
keith would never fart in front of other people because it’s fucking barbaric but he feels comfortable enough to voice his body’s concerns (oh god lance i have to fucking dump pause the tv i can’t miss gordon ramsay ripping this neglectful chef a new asshole)
they have a weekly chore chart with shifting roles, except keith can’t do the dishes because sticking his hands under hot water and touching grimy dishes is a nightmare for him
keith never likes to walk around barefoot esp in the kitchen, so lance makes it fun by gifting keith with funky socks. his most recent pair has shooting stars with a moon made of cheese at the ankle. (keith unintentionally called them cheesy and lance keeled over) keith is known at work/school as the serious guy with uncharacteristically fun socks
lance likes to blast music but when it bothers keith, he turns it down and sings along at a moderate volume, which keith finds comforting
lance: KEITH HAVE U SEEN THE THING
keith: did u check between the couch cushions
it was between the couch cushions
they have a codeword for when keith misses a social cue and says something too blunt or rude, that way they can communicate easily in private and when company’s over
they also have a word for when lance is doing something annoyingly repetitive that keith can’t deal with
lance is superstitious and it’s all pretty humorous, but he never risks going to bed without saying i love you, even if they’re angry at each other. keith doesn’t understand why they need to say it out loud all the time but he knows it makes lance feel better so he doesn’t ask questions
some nights they like to sleep outside on the back porch so they can see the stars together, and they make their own constellations
when the Bad Thoughts hit lance, keith just stays with him, cradles him, strokes his hair. keith’s blunt honesty is a solace whenever lance splits
when lance dissociates, keith finds a simple activity for them to do together to coax him back like watching crap tv or going for a drive with the windows down
lance bought this weird porcelain duck cookie jar and every time keith comes into contact with it he stares it down for a good minute out of suspicion and spite
if either of them don’t feel like using their voice at any particular time, they bought mini whiteboards with tons of colorful markers
keith really likes to doodle?? its not his passion or anything but lance lets him draw on his skin and loves to show off his “new tattoo” to literally anyone
keith really wants a cat but lance thinks cats are too boring and moody. lance wants a dog but keith thinks they’re too high-maintenance and overwhelming
when they went pet shopping they became unwittingly enamored with a turtle struggling to eat a tomato. it was inspirational, and they named her Rita
they probably start a small garden and grow tomatoes for Rita and lance in floppy sun hats and keith digging gleefully into the earth
lance naming their gardening hoe keith and promptly running from an angry dirt-covered keith
im dy i ng I could go on about these dorks and their habits
if anyone wants to add anything more please do I'm thirsty for domestic klance fluff
you know so much about bruce, please tell us some less know traits about him or just random facts or even headcanons please i love it when you talk about bruce!!!
oh my gosh, i love this ask. i’m glad you like it when i talk about bruce because i love talking about bruce and am always looking for the excuse to. ~just vengeance things~ include:
he is, actually, very sweet to civilians. he would sacrifice his identity if it meant saving a single person, and yes i can confirm his weakness is actually babies the ratio of times batman has held a baby compared to other characters is absolutely insane. and in BTAS, there’s an episode where he rescues a little girl and comes back to visit her just to make sure she’s okay. and in the BTAS tie-in comics, he rescued people’s pets, kept kids out of traffic, helped put out fires, the works. and also he went out of his way to find dick’s teddy bear
he has a sense of humor! i promise you! he just saves it for when no one’s looking, which is what he does with every trait someone might possibly misconstrue as cute. gotham knights made it canon that he talks to the bats in the batcave. he probably talks to them about cases when nobody else is around to bounce ideas off of
bruce paid for a class field trip after jason died because helping kids made the loss more bearable - he also visits troubled kids in canon and takes an active role in their life, to the point where one time he was concerned about kids he sponsored getting in a bad way and showed up literally at their house, because despite having 708983 responsibilities as batman he still makes time for that
this fucker has protocols in place for contacting him. the JL have to go through a goddamn system to get 5 minutes with him, and you just know it’s an excuse so bruce has to talk to people less, you just know it. also, this is in the same comic where plastic man recruits bruce to scare his wayward son straight, bruce is nervous about scaring a kid, and gives patrick an actual compliment (“of all of us, even clark, i thought you would make the best father. because i thought you would be the kind of father that would show his children that he loved them, instead of just telling them. i thought you would make them laugh all of the time.”) and encourages patrick to reconnect with his son
once put on enough make-up to trick people into thinking he was a guy dressed as bruce wayne who might possibly be batman, while he was actually bruce wayne who is actually batman. he disguised himself….. as himself. i fucking hate him. when oliver queen found out his identity how much do you wanna bet he was beyond pissed
i’m not kidding about the justice snuggle thing. he does actually do that, where he perches on something and puts his chin on his knees. he does it in front of gordon, and also the justice league. someone who refuses to show people he has 1 iota of personality is totally comfortable curling up like a small child. what even is this man
when tired and injured sometimes he just collapses wherever. in knightfall, he passes out by a dumpster, and a roof, and on the stairs. in the batman and robin 2011 run he makes it to a hallway and alfred finds him just like crashed on the ground. in batman: year one, he literally just sits in a chair casually bleeding all over everything until a bat crashes through his window
tries to tell people he cares for them in a really roundabout way filled with metaphors and lots of grand gestures. the only person who usually understands them is dick, and even then it’s like 75% of the time. if he actually says the word ‘love’, the vulnerability of the moment will cause him to keel over and die
master of the uncomfortable invasion of privacy. i cannot stress this enough. if you bought purple listerine instead of blue this week, he’s watching you. he has your number. he has a file on everything that breathes, and also he writes everything down. he has like 400 some files on hugo strange alone, he knows whether the man prefers coke or pepsi. also, three words: brother eye satellite
whenever something emotionally traumatic happens he locks himself in the batcave for a while because he is a turtle (of justice) and the batcave is his shell
now, this one is mostly a headcanon i was talking with audrey about earlier (i say mostly because i’m 65% sure there’s a panel somewhere that made it canon that bruce helped train kyle, but my receipts folder is 5 miles long) but i do solidly believe bruce is one of the people who teaches inexperienced league members, along with other expertly trained league members like diana and dinah. not only because of his expertise in martial arts, but also because he’s had more experience than other heroes training individuals to be the best they possibly can. he is absolutely the tough love coach. he is the AP teacher that knocked off points for every little mistake and made you cry three times a week, but it was worth it when you got a 5 on that exam and were so far ahead of the curve in college the class was a breeze
Robert is such a good character. His route is possibly the best in the entire game, simply with how it handles his character, and gives an unexpected but amazing ending at the same time. I think it's no contest who my favorite dad i-
Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.
Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.
Count: 9,656 words.
The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.
There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!
Twenty-three years old and pregnant.
You throw up again.
This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.
so mitch marner played towards the end of the season with mono.
fun fact the reason you avoid contact sports and any abdominal contact at all really when you have mono is to avoid any risk of splenic rupture because splenic rupture involves a blood-filtering (and important to your immune system) organ rupturing and blood just kinda chillin in the rest of your abdominal cavity where it really isn’t supposed to be and hypovolemic shock and other fun things.
so my question is this: what chucklefuck decided it was a genius idea to let a kid with mono keep playing hockey, an aggressive full-contact sport where a huge part of the game is ramming into and getting rammed into by other, huger dudes
joe thornton was allowed to play in the first round despite there being a huge risk of completely blowing out his knee. nikita zaitsev was allowed to play in the first round with a concussion. zach werenski was allowed to finish a game despite having a WHOLE ENTIRE BROKEN FACE. not to mention everyone else with broken whatevers
tell me where the fuck it says in the NHL rulebook that players can ONLY stop playing when they just keel over and die right there on the ice