Punkassnerd - Aster

Tweetpaw and Dashclaw meet again...

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a princess in a shining castle. She supposed that she hadn’t been born in the castle, that she had once led a life outside the everyday humdrum of nobility. If she had, she didn’t remember it. This life was all she had ever known and all she could ever adore. She was proud to spend her days striving for noble perfection. Every step she took in the ballroom, every smile she gave to the servants, every song that burst from her lips was nothing less than beautiful.

Her husband certainly seemed to think so. They had married years ago, in a swirl of bliss and harmony, and had never regretted a moment of their lives since. By day, they strolled the castle gardens, exchanging roses and memories. By evening, they twirled beneath the chandeliers. As the stars rose above the turrets and towers, they would name each constellation.

Well, they would name all the constellations they could see, before the stars disappeared over the far horizon. It was a horizon that neither had crossed. Why should they? There was no reason to leave. They had one another and their castle. Each day was a new adventure, ensuring that they were never bored, ensuring that they were always happy. It was a noble, adventurous, life. The princess didn’t want anything more. For what else was there?

It was with this thought that she knelt at her husband’s side, surrounded by servants, knights, advisors, and chancellors. After years of bliss as a prince, he was finally going to exchange his silver crown for a golden one. He was to become king. Everyone within the castle agreed that he was ready, for he ruled the castle with such knowledge and chivalry that no other man could.

He was a saint. He was a ruler. He was—

—sprouting a ridiculous amount of hair. And were those fangs?

The princess was the first to gasp, practically leading the reactions. Over the confusion and disgust came a roar of pure agony. The princess reached for her husband, only for a knight to pull her back. In the chaos, the crown fell to the ground. The ceremony was disrupted. Her husband was not yet king.

Nor could he be.

The scream that rose from her lungs was matched only by his roar. The knight tried to drag her away but she broke free, racing to the mass that stood in her husband’s place. She didn’t know what to make of the creature. Part-wolf, part-minotaur, but he was still her husband. She touched the fur that had been his cheek, staring into those eyes that she knew so well. Yes, this was her husband. She didn’t know what had happened but she knew that they would get through this. This was strange. This was love. This was—

“Hideous!” 

The knight had roared, his sword pointed at his own prince, his teeth barred in a most monstrous way. “He’s hideous! Princess, away from the monster! I will kill him at once! Away, I said! Move!”

“I will not,” she said. “You will not kill him.”

Even as she said it, she could see murder in the knight’s eyes. She realized that he may very well have tried to kill her husband, transformation or no. She stepped forward and watched as the bloodlust in his eyes briefly lacked blood.

“Princess,” he growled, “come with me. I shall protect you from this monster.”

“He’s no monster, Sir Knight,” she said with full conviction. “You are.”

The way he snarled at her, the way he charged, the way he riled up his pack with roars and hisses. There was nothing she could do to fight the mob. She let them go. They ripped apart every inch of the castle on the way out, destroying her home. They planned to march to the nearest village and warn everyone about the beast that now resided in the castle. In time, nobody would dare journey there. It was a monstrous plan.

It worked.

Years passed, in which the princess and her husband were the only residents of the castle. It was as if everyone in the kingdom had simply forgotten about them. As she stared into her husband’s eyes each day, she supposed that it was easy to forget things. He seemed to be forgetting things with each passing moment. She had her own room, of course, but she still emerged every day for meals. He had joined her at first. Then, the silverware had slipped through his growing claws. The soup bowl had crashed to the floor. He skipped one meal, then several, then found he no longer had an appetite at all. There were no dances beneath the chandelier, no songs to be sung, no roses to be exchanged in the garden. They still loved each other but their marriage was different. Their lives were different. He was a different man. He was not a man at all.

But of course he was. She knew that he was still her husband, even if he was losing the finer details of their marriage. He was still her husband. She loved him. She professed the love every day, as if hoping that it would break the curse. It did not. Still, she professed. She clung onto her love. She clung onto hope, even as the castle began to crumble around her. She retreated to the library, pouring endlessly through books, trying to find a cure to this madness. She spent entire weeks there with only the company of herself.

She became so used to her own company that she didn’t know how to react when another human crawled through the front doors. All at once, her chivalry and kindness came flooding back, allowing her to help the stranger into the dining room. She had set out a plate for her husband but knew that he wasn’t going to come. She gave it to the traveler instead, marveling at how old and frail he was. How had he gotten here?

It turned out that he had gotten lost. He had been looking for shelter from the snow when he had spotted the castle.

“I didn’t even know we had a castle in these parts,” he said, sipping from his teacup. He let out a small laugh and added, “What will they think of, next?”

She poured him another cup before asking, “Does nobody know about the castle? Does nobody know about their prince and princess?”

“Well, don’t feel too bad,” he kindly said. “I suspect you two didn’t know about us, either.”

It was that sentence that rang through her head like bells, even as she escorted him to a guest room to sleep. The room itself had fallen into such a state that it resembled a dungeon. He didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he always lived like this. Perhaps the people in his village were kind enough to not comment on the decay of interior decorating. She didn’t know. She didn’t know a single thing about this man’s lifestyle or the lives of those in the kingdom.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that their lives had been completely separated. Was this why her husband had been cursed before taking his place as king? Was it a cold, yet effective, reminder that he was not yet ready to rule for he did not yet know their kingdom? Neither of them did?

She thought it must be so.

Thus, as the sun rose in the east, she met the traveler in the entrance hall, a single question on her mind: “Will you take me with you?”

He looked puzzled. “You wish to leave the castle and come to the village?”

“I have to,” she said. “I need to know what our kingdom is like if we can ever hope to rule it, one day. My husband isn’t able to travel. So I will travel for both of us. If you can escort me back, I will find somewhere to stay, and—”

“No need to look far, my dear,” said the kind man. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. If you would help me with my inventions, you can stay as long as you’d like.”

After expressing her gratitude, she found a traveling cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. She braced herself for the nature of the world. With the traveler at her side, she left the castle.

They were going through the gardens when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. It was him, her husband, sitting in the snow-covered flowers. She hurried over, though she found herself slowing at the last minute. The sorrow that shone in his eyes was enough to bring tears to hers. It was obvious that he wanted to escape his prison. It was also obvious that he loved her, even as it was obvious that he was slowly forgetting her, forgetting his old life.

Still, when he held out a single rose for her to keep, she knew that hope hadn’t completely wilted. This was a sign of his love. This was a blessing.

She held onto it, even as she journeyed to the village, even as she traded her royal gown for a plain dress, even as she mingled with the commoners, even as she gave in to her new life. The merchant was true to his word, giving her a house and a home, treating her like his daughter. She woke up every morning and journeyed into the village, reading, watching, doing whatever she could to gain knowledge about their kingdom. She ignored the old knight who leered at her with old lust. He was not a part of her story, even if he was part of the town.

She knew that there was more than this provincial town, she knew that she would have to journey on eventually. She knew that she wouldn’t stop journeying, not until she found the enchantress that had cursed her husband, not until she had proven that she had gained knowledge of her entire kingdom. 

She knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that most villagers would scorn her. She really didn’t fit in. She was too much for the little towns. More than once, she wanted to flee back to the safety of her castle. She did not.

She would continue on this adventure, until she got her happily ever after. 

She would use every bit of herself to get to the end, even if the villagers mocked her for it. Let them mock. She knew who she was. 

She was beauty. 

She was brains. 

She really was a funny girl, that Belle…

—

Meiji period fashion was some of the best in the world, speaking purely from an aesthetic standpoint you can really see the collision of European and Japanese standards of beauty and how their broad agreement even in particulars (the similarity between Japanese and Gibson girl bouffants, the obi vs the corset, the obi knot vs the bustle, the mutual covetousness for exotic textiles, the feverish swapping of both art styles and subjects) combined and produced some of the most interesting cultural exchange we have this level of documentation for. Europeans were wearing kimono or adapting them into tea gowns, japanese were pairing lacy Edwardian blouses with skirt hakama and little button up boots. haori jackets with bowler hats and European style lapels. if steampunk was any good as an aesthetic it would steal wholesale from the copious records we have in both graphic arts and photography of how people were dressing in this milieu.

RIP Aaron Burr

Just wrote my first fanfic in eight-nine years! Sokeefe, from Keefe’s perspective

YOURE TELLING ME THIS IS WHAT THEY'VE BEEN SHOOTING PROTESTERS WITH????

I LOVE THIS FIC i wanna send it to all my friends. jk i have already done that

req'd by @citrineghost

you n me both bud I'll drink to that

text: I'm having a faint hental mealth crisis

Dog and sausage, me, Acrylic on canvas, 2020

"you should be at the club" i should be sleeping peacefully at sunningrocks