Many women dream about the dress they’re going to wear on their wedding day, but far fewer envision designing their gown for the special occasion. “For as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of designing my own wedding clothes,” bride and clothing designer Krésha Bajaj Zaveri admitted in a blog post. She finally got her chance this past February when she wed Vanraj Zaveri at The Leela Palace in Udaipur, India. Practicing a traditional Indian ceremony, the celebration featured a lot of wardrobe changes, including one outfit that was the most striking of all: a lehenga—a long skirt—that she embroidered with their love story.
The show-stopping piece reflected both tradition as well as Zaveri’s need to push the proverbial design envelope. “I’m not very conventional in my ways,” she explains, “and so a traditional Indian wedding wasn’t something I had ever envisioned.” (Her now-husband is the traditionalist in the relationship.) Still, she embraced this type of wedding and was determined to create garments that spoke to her aesthetic. “My kind of Indian is a little different, edgy and maybe even weird compared to the usual norms of the market.”
Designing all of the outfits under her brand Koesch, she crafted her wedding lehenga as an unconventional canvas for a beautiful story. The embroidery, clad in white with gold thread and accents, features the couple’s milestones, proposal, and other important moments leading up to their wedding. “I used traditional embroidery techniques and materials, and all around the lehenga you will see hidden elements sewn into the garment,” Zaveri explained on her Instagram. The couple’s names are embedded in the skirt—disguised as a chevron pattern—and it’s finished with a hem of jumping dolphins. “[It] was the beginning of our story,” she wrote, “as we worked together on a protest against cetacean captivity.”
Knowing that she’d only wear this dress once, Zaveri found a fantastic way to display her handiwork and remember the magical day—she framed it like a piece of artwork and hung it on their wall.
Here are some other photos from the beautiful nuptials:
Artist and musician Benny Harlem and his 6-year-old daughter Jaxyn have recently taken the Instagram world by storm. The two are adorable together, showcasing a loving bond between a father and his daughter. What sets them apart, however, is their fabulous fashion and awe-inspiring hairdos. They sport natural-style hair that rivals one another in length—Benny’s locks fall well below his shoulders—and they dress in complementary attire, posing like a pair of high-fashion models.
The duo bonds over picture taking and crafting their impeccable style. Benny began cultivating his look as a teenager after being inspired by his beautician mother. “It’s just a part of our family, taking care of our bodies, taking care of our minds, taking care of our hair,” he tells Instagram. Although they have a lot of fun together, being her dad is something that Benny takes very seriously. He says, “Fatherhood is a miracle and an honor. To be loved and greeted with gratitude from your child for this gift is fulfilling.” He calls himself the “protector” of Jaxyn and encourages her to be a strong and confident person.
Aside from encouraging his daughter, Benny sees his popular Instagram account as an example for other fathers. “[I hope] me and my daughter's relationship could help another young man who has a baby and a mother,” he told Paper Mag. “[A young man who may be] thinking about skipping out, [could see] our relationship and see how things can be and the great side of being a parent. That could affect and influence the next man.”
Holy shit she looks amazing. Started at age 56? I guess that's another option of what I can do in retirement...
If you’ve been putting off your health and fitness goals, it’s still not too late to get started—just follow Ernestine Shepherd’s lead. This Baltimore-based bodybuilder wakes up to pray and meditate at 3am every morning. At 4am, she takes a 10-mile run—or longer, during marathon preparation season, when she runs about 80 miles a week—and at 8am, she heads to the gym to start training. She coaches private clients about five days a week and also works on her own weightlifting with former Mr. Universe Yohnnie Shambourger. She’s in bed by 10pm after a day of sweat and serious effort, and the practice pays off—her iron-pumping has even earned her a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. That’s because Shepherd was the planet’s oldest female bodybuilder in 2010, and this year, she turned 80 years old.
The octogenarian dynamo stands at 5’5” tall and 130 pounds with just 9-10% body fat, a percentage that typically belongs only to young, elite male athletes. However, Shepherd hasn’t always been in such stellar shape. She only began exercising with her sister, Velvet, at age 56, when she was a self-described “sedentary, well-padded school secretary and ‘slug’ who had never worked out a day in her life.” Velvet has since passed away, but Shepherd has remained committed to the progress that the pair began together. At age 71, in 2007, she entered her first bodybuilding contest at the Natural East Coast Tournament of Champions, where she took first place in her class, beating women decades younger. She continues to compete, and she also participates in 5k and 10k races and marathons.
Besides the rigorous schedule, does Shepherd have any other secrets? Her husband of 52 years, Collin, cooks most of her meals, which typically consist of healthy basics like rice, chicken, chestnuts, cereals, and eggs, plus lots of water. She’s also worked with a nutritionist and believes ample rest is key. However, her success is about more than regimented routine. Mindset seems to be her most important source of strength: she says she “tries to have a positive attitude about everything, views her workouts as fun and sees her work as being on a ‘long happy journey,’ ” but she also “knows where she wants to go and what she wants to accomplish and do.” Her mantra is “Determined — Dedicated — Disciplined To Be Fit”—an empowerment that all of us, senior or not, can take to heart. The role model reminds us that it’s possible to defy the norm and thrive at any age.
Not so hardcore that I have been following all the R1 news but this kind of stuff is pretty sweet. I am increasingly excited to see Rogue One!
This week’s newest issue of Entertainment Weekly has the rundown on this December’s Rogue One, the latest addition to the Star Wars saga. Though the movie has been hotly anticipated for a while — including a well received teaser trailer that dropped a few months back — recent rumors about reshoots and studio interference has given some fans pause. For what it’s worth, I’m still hyped about the flick, if for no other reason than its stellar — and diverse — cast. Last year, we were psyched to see just how inclusive the cast was, and now we know exactly who they will be playing.
In anticipation to their Rogue One cover story, EW has been releasing info online for the last few days. Though we’ve seen plenty of stills and footage, no one has figured out anything about who this band of rebels is. Until now. We’re going to focus on the bios of the characters of color because Rogue One will feature the most at one time of any movie in the saga to date.
Diego Luna is Captain Cassian Andor
When Luna’s casting was announced, many fans speculated he might be playing Kes Dameron, a character introduced in Marvel’s Shattered Empire comics and the father of Oscar Isaac’s Poe from The Force Awakens. Instead, Luna will be playing Captain Andor, a by-the-book Rebel intelligence officer. Suffice it to say, some folks were disappointed that he isn’t playing Kes. But remember, not all Latinos in space have to be related.
“He conveys a fair amount of experience and the reality of what it’s like to do this every day, to try to figure out how to resist the Empire effectively and intelligently,” says Kiri Hart, Lucasfilm’s chief of story development. “It’s not easy.”
Donnie Yen is Chirrut Imwe
When the trailer debuted, a lot of people assumed Yen would be playing a blind, Zaitoichi-like warrior. Well, they were right. Though he isn’t a Jedi, Chirrut Imwe is a believer in the Force. “Chirrut falls into the category of being a warrior monk,” says Lucasfilm president Kathleen Kennedy. “He very much still believes in everything the Jedi were about.”
I’ve seen some folks in my social media circles bemoan the fact that Donnie Yen is playing a martial artist. But seriously. IT’S DONNIE YEN. Of course he’s a martial artist! Now, it’s probably because I’m less inclined to run away from the martial artist stereotype, but having a “warrior monk” character like Imwe doesn’t bother me at all. Sure, if the only Asian character in the Star Wars universe was a kung fu guy, it might give me pause, but Imwe isn’t the only Asian character. Hell, he isn’t the only Asian in Rogue One!
Jiang Wen is Baze Malbus
The main reason I’m okay with Donnie Yen as the martial artist is because his partner, Baze Milbus played by Jiang Wen, is representing a completely different kind of character. EW described him as someone who “prefers a blaster to hokey religions and ancient weapons” — sounds like a certain scruffy looking nerf herder we all know and love.
“He understands Chirrut’s spiritual centeredness, but he doesn’t necessarily support it,” Kennedy says.
Riz Ahmed is Bodhi Rook
Rounding out Rogue One’s Asian triumvirate, British-born Riz Ahmed — one of my picks for Asian Bond, natch — plays the Rebels’ hot-headed lead pilot Bodhi Rook. In addition to his awesome name, Bodhi is an abrasive yet dependable teammate. “He flies a lot of cargo, one of his key jobs,” Kennedy says. “And he tends to be a little tense, a little volatile, but everybody in the group really relies on his technical skills.”
See? Three Asian characters; three completely different roles. That’s how you avoid stereotypes.
Forest Whitaker is Saw Gerrera
Finally, Forest Whitaker rounds out the Rogue One cast as the lone pre-existing character to make his live action debute (sorry, Kes Dameron fans). Whitaker is playing Saw Gerrera, a name familiar to anyone who has watched Star Wars: Clone Wars.
On the show, Gerrera fought alongside Anakin Skywalker against the droid army that took over his planet. Hopefully, Whitaker will share a scene with Darth Vader, since it has also been confirmed the Sith Lord will make an appearance in the film.
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story opens on December 16. Now if only we didn’t have to wait until Episode VIII to see some women of color in a galaxy far, far away.
Rebecca! Next bread baking project? :) I really like the kiwi and lemon/orange one.
When you slice into a loaf of bread, you hardly expect to see a smiley face greeting you from under the crust. Tokyo-based baker Konel Bread is changing that, with adorable illustrations that are embedded directly into loaves of bread. Hiding beneath its brown exterior, you’d never realize that there are images of fruit, cartoons, or wild patterns just waiting to be discovered.
Konel Bread uses natural colors to create these surprising designs. Cocoa, beetroot, and spinach are just some of the ingredients in her repertoire. To form the interior illustrations, she employs an approach similar to making deco-sushi: long, rounded pieces of dough are positioned within larger chunks that form the outer loaf. This relatively simple method yields great results—especially with the Peanut characters and Totoro. Sandwiches have never been so charming.
First, thank you for asking. This is something I feel is important!
Second, to those who wonder where this question came from, a while back, I reblogged this, and added the comment about squicks not being the same as triggers.
So what, you ask, is a squick?
A squick is an old fandom term for something that makes you supremely uncomfortable and you absolutely do not want to read it. It can be a trope, a ship, a concept, or just an event that happens within a fic or in canon. For me, abused animals are a definite squick. I don’t like it, and will generally avoid reading any graphic descriptions of such. (That includes tumblr gif sets and such too, people! Tag that shit, will you? Even if it has a happy ending.) Another deep, deep squick of mine is infant age play. Don’t like it, don’t get it, don’t want to think about it.
Now, neither of these things are dangerous to my mental or emotional state. I have never experienced either in my life, and they do not bring about any sort of PTSD, dissociation, or spiral of depression, anxiety, etc. They are simply things I prefer not to think about in my daily life, or read about in my escapist hobbies. Therefore, theyare not triggers. Triggers are very real, very bad things for some people, and to label things we choose not to read because we find it disturbing or gross or weird is to diminish the very real danger of actual triggers.
I love the term squick. It perfectly describes the concept without assigning any negativity to the thing you dislike, or to people who do like the thing you dislike. It is something you personally do not care for and wish to avoid, simple as that.
Elegant! I mean, I still love my paperwhite but this would be nice for camping trips.
Bookmarks and book lights are two peas in a pod, but they’re marketed as separate items. Kyouei Design has created a product, however, that cleverly combines the two into one incredibly useful device. Aptly called Bookmark Light, its minimalist design features a thin piece of clear film that’s embedded with a silver nanoparticle ink that transmits electricity. This allows for its dual usage—with the addition of a lithium coin battery, the bookmark turns into a small light that illuminates your words on a dark night.
The Bookmark Light takes its natural form in a flattened rectangular shape. To transform it into a light, you simply fold the piece and sandwich the battery between either end. This activates the two clear liquid crystal lights, and they continue to shine until you unfold the device.
Kyouei Design currently sells the Bookmark Light on their website.
I'm not much of a fish-person but these photographs are gorgeous.
If you’ve ever owned a pet, then you’re probably guilty of attaching a range of human qualities to your beloved companion. We've all done it—and who could blame us when our animal friends have such character!? Perhaps that’s why Visarute Angkatavanich’s portraits seem to really resonate with his audience: his collection of high-quality shots perfectly capture the quirky traits of his fishy subjects. Dramatic flowing fins and the blubbing gulps of adorable goldfish presented on dramatic black and white backgrounds—welcome to a fish’s world.
The Thai photographer uses professional lighting techniques and crystal clear water to get his fantastic photos. Known for his brilliant portraits of Siamese fighting fish and a variety of goldfish species, Angkatavanich’s close-ups show off the best angles of his marine models. The brilliant splashes of color reflect off shiny scales as the animals are caught in motion. The Bangkok native was inspired to begin taking his aquatic shots from fond childhood memories of fish he kept as pets, and has since amassed a dramatic piscine portfolio.
In one of the greatest stories ever told, district attorney Betty Bates, “Lady-at-Law,” arrests a guy for whistling at her because he’s breaking public nuisance laws.
So at one point in time I was planning to write an MCU fic about Pepper Potts and Hope Van Dyne, and all I really had was a word document with the title, “There’s a Special Place in Hell for Women Who Don’t Help Other Women (And Bitch, I Will See You There)”
and the premise was that Stark Industries and Pym Technologies are basically the bitterest of tech enemies, and as the respective heads of their companies, Pepper and Hope are determined to destroy each other, even as they are both on the new Avengers lineup together.
“Cute suit,” Hope says to Pepper suited up as Rescue. “Tell your boyfriend he made you look very pretty.”
“Cute suit yourself,” Pepper replies to Hope suited up as the Wasp. “Did your daddy make it for you?”
“No, I upgraded it myself. Because I actually understand the technology my company sells.”
“So good for you and your company. We all know scientists make the best CEOs. Hey, how are your stock options doing? I heard some dire things on CNN the other day.”
“It’s been a rough quarter, I’ll admit. Of course, a rough quarter for Pym Technologies has nothing on a rough quarter for Stark Industries. Now I forgot, how many evil sentient robots have you guys made this week?”
And meanwhile Rescue and the Wasp just saved fifteen hostages.
At the successful mission after party, Scott and Tony make the mistake of talking to each other, which means that Pepper and Hope both come over, and there’s like the actual sound of Kill Bill sirens when they see each other.
“Love your hair today, Hope,” Pepper says. “Not enough modern women are willing to publicly declare that they are more than just their looks.”
“Thank you, Pepper,” Hope says. “Some of us modern women just have more to fall back on.”
“Oh come on,” Scott says cheerfully, while Tony makes a little throat slitting gesture like stop, Scott, you wanna stop. “I know you two really like each other.” Pepper and Hope stare at Scott with unmitigated horror. Scott grins all the wider. “You two get drinks when you’re in the same city. You work together on missions all the time. Hope can’t stop talking about your work, Pepper, and Tony says that you’re a big fan of Pym Tech’s new direction. You guys are like the kind of enemies that are basically friends.”
“No,” Pepper says after a long pause she shares with Hope, the only time they have ever willingly shared anything.
“Scott,” Hope says, “we’re the kind of enemies that are basically enemies.”
Pepper turns to Hope. “You’ll notice that my boyfriend knew enough not to say that.”
“My boyfriend has faith in people,” Hope replies. “Maybe Tony should try that sometime.”
“Why does this now involve me?” Tony asks, but no one is listening to him, mostly because he is superfluous to the actions here because Stark Industries may have his name, but Hope is here to wrestle with the CEO. And Pepper is quite possibly willing to literally wrestle.
“I hate her so much,” Pepper tells Tony that night in bed.
“I can tell,” he says, “from the last two hour speech you’ve given on everything Hope Van Dyne has done for Pym Tech in the last week.”
“She’s my true nemesis,” Hope tells Scott as they both ride their ants through the city for a midnight jaunt. “I want to destroy her.”
“You saved her life in battle like four times today,” Scott replies.
And Hope just whispers, “Destroy her.”
It is, in many ways, the most passionate relationship in these women’s lives.
What a beautiful kismessitude!
i’m going to fucking die this is incredible
two thumbs up for ceo blackrom hero fic yes good thank
I’m fucking pissing myself.
You know how all of Jupiter’s moons are named after his lovers and affairs?
Yeah. NASA is sending a craft to check up on Jupiter.
You know what the craft is called?
JUNO.
Who’s Juno?
JUPITER’S WIFE.
NASA IS SENDING JUPITER’S WIFE TO CHECK ON JUPITER AND HIS AFFAIRS AND LOVERS.
For the past year, photographer Shaun Jeffers has explored what lies beneath the surface of the Earth. Specifically, he’s focused on the Waitomo area of New Zealand and its mesmerizing underground limestone caves. In them, glow worms—tiny creatures that emit a powerful phosphorescent shine—illuminate the pitch black cavern, putting on a spectacular show that looks out of this world.
Jeffers has spent ample time in the Ruakuri Cave to learn how to photograph these creatures, and his dedication has rewarded him with some truly compelling shots. The glow worms’ light seemingly drips from the ceiling like long icicles, their dazzlingly cool reflections illuminating the still waters below.
The stark visual contrast of the bluish-green light and darkened cave resembles a glittering starry sky. Coincidentally, photographing the glow worms was similar to shooting an above-ground landscape in the middle of the night. Jeffers used long exposures—between 30 seconds and six minutes—in order to capture their intense beauty. This meant, however, that he had to sacrifice some comforts, like warmth. “To achieve the shots,” he explained on Bored Panda, “it required me to submerge myself and my tripod in cold water for up to 6-8 hours a day.” But, he says, “It was totally worth it!”
A great tattoo—even a temporary one—can improve your self-confidence and encourage you to see your body in a whole new light. For kids, especially those suffering from severe illness, this type of non-permanent body art gives them a much-needed self-esteem boost. New Zealand-based artist Benjamin Lloyd is helping to facilitate their positive outlook by airbrushing intricate custom tattoos on their arms and torsos.
Lloyd has been an airbrush artist for 10 years and only recently started inking temporary tattoos. He began painting on adults and then on kids, who were elated by his handiwork. "It's just amazing watching their confidence and their ego boost up," Lloyd told Mashable. "The only bad thing is that they don't want to take a shower afterwards." Each piece is designed with the young client’s input and takes around nine minutes to complete. Lloyd uses traditional tattoo imagery like roses, skulls, and waves as they sprawl across the skin and look exactly like the real thing.
Since posting his body art on Facebook, Lloyd's compassionate gesture has received a bevy of positive comments and interest. He plans on providing tattoos to patients at Auckland's Starship Children's Hospital very soon.
“ It’s armor. On a woman. It doesn’t have to look feminine.”
If I ever don’t reblog this, it’s because I’m dead.
game devs take note
What a weird impulse. Why would you need it to look feminine? Or masculine? It’s armor to protect your body from death. Not dying should be gender neutral.
Drawn in by the food+fashion which is nice but also appreciate the varied skintones on some of the models including one with vitiligo. Nice!
I really like the burnt matchstick, kiwi and beet ones.
Though spaghetti makes for a tasty ingredient in the kitchen, it seems like it’d have an unlikely place in the fashion world. Illustrator Edgar Artis thinks differently. Kiwis, chocolate, bell peppers—these are all unconventional choices for evening gowns, yet the artist manages to transform them and other real-life objects into fabulous fashion illustrations. Using a combination of colored pencil drawings as well as fruits, matches, seashells, and flowers, he fuses the 2D with the 3D for a whimsical effect.
The women that Artis depicts wear glamorous, high-fashion ensembles, and their style of dress often dictates the type of objects he’ll use. A flowing gown is adorned with long feathers or petals that mimic how fabric would hang. For shorter, voluminous dresses, Artis arranges opts to use M&M candies to show off their playful poof. Regardless of what he chooses, his massively popular Instagram feed showcases the fun to be had when clothing is combined with food, feathers, flowers, and more.
Would the chicken be the leader or the violent loose cannon who wants to be the leader but grudgingly knows goat is better suited to the role
I live on a farm and can confirm-
Goat is leader, tactical genius with a shrewd and cunning intellect but the burden of command weighs heavily on him, he can escape any prison or restrains. He dreams of freeing his people from slavery.
Rooster’s hot-headed nature get him into trouble but his Flaming Spurs fighting-style can almost always get him back out and though he sometimes clashes with his teammates his hard-won friendship is unshakable
Highlander is just a simple country-girl blessed with immense strength calpable of sending a man flying with the lightest tap, the others must protect her from those who would take advantage of her naivety and innocence
Sheep is the Team Mom and voice of reason, you will never find a more loyal friend. she never hesitates to shield her loved ones from even the fiercest assault with her thick fleece and can draw on the power of her friends in times of great need
Llama is an enigma to even his fellow warriors and wields unusual and mysterious Forbidden Techniques
“So you see,” said the Royal Advisor, wringing his hands, “the curse states the princess will die on the night before her twenty-fifth birthday–”
“Hang on,” said the princess, “‘ON the night before’–”
The Advisor nodded grimly.
“So what you’re saying is that, until that one specific date, I am effectively immortal?”
“Technically yes, but then–” the King stammered.
“Wow,” said the princess, who was sixteen and did not possess amazing impulse control. “I’m gonna go teach myself how to juggle chainsaws while hang gliding over shark-infested waters, catch you chuckleheads later.”
Ohshit, this needs to be a lot longer
of course I got assigned Her Highness, because I was the least qualified for the job.
i had stood there in my best clothes (course spun wool, good for a farmer’s daughter but not court in front of Her Majesty) along with a thousand other girls from all around the Kingdom.
“you,” Her Princessness said, “how do you feel about base jumping?”
i looked at her. she looked at me. a tender moment passed wherein i smelled of goat and she smelled of fine soaps.
“well,” i choked, “that depends….off… what base?” i asked. and that was it. i was officially Her Good Princess’s Official Handmaiden, because now she wanted to pick my brain for what bases should be jumped off of.
Her Heavenly Self eats only food from places her mother’s never heard of. A Princess who purposefully tests for poison. and i’ve gotta be there. right there. literally right there, on her right side, in the event she Does Die In Some Way. Her advisor is Very Worried, All The Time. I know because i hear about it almost as frequently.
“Is She really going to Eat That?” he worries now, on her left side, his pale face narrow and his neck all full of stringy tension.
i glance up from my knitting. “yeah, seems about,” i say. a pink something resting on Her plate. She grins at me, raises her tiny silver fork in a little salute.
i grin back and raise my little knitting needles. i’ve heard that what she’s about to eat is extremely toxic if not cooked well.
“that,” gulps her advisor, “is Extremely Toxic if it Was Not Cooked Well.”
she takes a bite, doesn’t Die (much deep breathing on his Advisor’s part), tilts her head to the side. “not bad,” she says to me, while around her the High Table is all aflutter with her behavior, “but chewy?”
“gross,” i tell her. “that raspberry Death Tart you had that one time is still my favorite.”
“surprisingly low in Death,” she says, and gestures for her next plate, even more (from what i hear) Deadly.
“How can you Let Her,” her advisor hisses, “On the Night before she Goes on Journey,” he says, “Eat that Stuff.”
well, i don’t let her, not really. she’s an adult, after all. her birthday is coming up (three months, by our reckoning) and since her Gracefullyness has used her Invincibility so far to Protect and Serve (the Demon vanquishing was the last time I really worried), I am sort of more worried about the Journey.
I knit her a blanket to keep her warm, but that’s about all I can do, you know? we head out at dawn and she forgets that Invincible doesn’t mean “can’t feel pain or discomfort.”
we ride for days, occasionally stopping to Vanquish whatever is Plaguing Ye Old Towne of whatever. I don’t fight well, sit back with my bow and arrow, pick off the Evil if i can. what i do is sit by her, on the right side, looking at her. watching her smile at a bird overhead. the slight furrow of her brow when she’s thinking. how her oak skin looks in the sunlight. how she always manages to spill a little down her front. those brown eyes - those brown eyes. their light haunts me, a song that never stops singing.
it is a month before her birthday. we lie under the stars that ache of things we cannot say. our hair, undone, in the grass, shifts until we become half-tangled, one, a being together. “this is the best life,” she tells me. i laugh and chew a stalk of grass. we count cricket chirps. “a warm night,” she says. shifts onto her side to look at me with those sun eyes. i have to look away. “when i get married i shall have to spend all my life doing Queen Things in the castle and there will no longer be warm nights next to pretty girls. it will be next to Nice Young Men.”
i feel the breath collapse in my lungs. she flops back onto her spine. somewhere, a coyote yelps.
in the darkness, she reaches out and takes my hand. “it’s dark and i’m scared,” she whispers.
she is scared of nothing, i think. but i don’t correct her. we lie there, the moon a slim budding crescent over us, under one knit blanket, our fingers intertwined. after a while, i am almost asleep, a smile on my lips.
“i die soon,” she whispers, “i don’t go to death. it comes for me.”
a chill runs through me. i don’t know if it was something i was supposed to overhear.
i lie awake. in the morning, making her breakfast (Deadly), my hands shake. i wash my hands but cannot get them clean.
one month. one month. one month.
we leave in the quiet morning. keep riding. she still laughs when the wind makes leaves into tornadoes, still directs her horse in the middle of them. she always looks like this, blush on her cheeks, freckles showing.
i look down to my horse. and we keep riding.
the cave is a week away. it smells like mildew, slate, and of iron.
“blood,” she whispers. then looks at me, that same wild in her teeth. “spooky.”
“you think they want visitors?” i ask, “doesn’t smell homely.”
we tie up our horses. “that’s the price of caves,” she says, “you trade homeliness for Stench of Death, but you do get to evade taxes as a result.”
“lower repair costs too,” i muse, slippery hand on my bow. she can’t die yet, but I can.
yet. she can’t die yet. a sick feeling worse than panic crawls up to live inside my chest.
we pad inside. it gets dark quickly. her torch throws shadows for terrible things to hide in. the maze becomes corrupt in my head. all my world becomes her back, and the fire, and something slithering. she knows the way from studying, i tell myself. but in this endlessness, does she?
we are forced to crawl. i try not to think of millions of pounds of stone on top of us. how it could still collapse. she’d be alive for weeks before it finally killed her. the idea screams at me. i stop breathing.
i am dimly aware she grabs my hand. that she pulls me out into a large cavern, that we’re standing. everything is spinning.
“we’re safe,” her words are my anchor, i come back to my body, to her smile even in the silence, “we’re okay. the rest is easy.”
she puts her hand on me, looks like she’s about to say something. the torchlight catches something.
behind her are two very large, very wet, very angry eyes. i smell slate.
she sees the look on my face. “it’s really close, huh?”
“yeah,” i say. i am shaking. “like, pretty close.”
“advisor worrying distance close?”
i stare back at the eyes, red and wide, full of an intelligence i do not know and cannot comprehend.”oh,” i say, “not quite, but certainly getting there. like when he’s worried you shouldn’t make such a statement with your clothes.”
the dragon laughs. or at least, i think it laughs. it is a snorting, fire-laden chuckle that is so low my bones tremble.
“this little one isn’t afraid,” the dragon says. “but her partner is. and how strange, to meet two girls. not a Knight at all.”
the voice comes from somewhere other than the dragon’s mouth. a voice i feel more than hear. an old voice, full of slaughter.
“of course not,” the Princess snorts, “what am i, a fool? no, i’m not here to kill you,” she says, “I’m here to ask a favor.”
The dragon pulls back the smallest amount. settles down. “a favor? what sort? cry havoc on your enemies? destroy entire kingdoms? i have, you know.”
“i’m sure,” says Her Invincibility, “but you’re retired, right?”
the dragon doesn’t answer. just blinks, very slowly, with three eyelids.
“i have a very specific favor,” says my Charge, “and I hope you will listen.”
“intrigued,” says the dragon.
“i’d like to base jump off your back,” says the Princess.
there is a long silence. i step in front of her, as subtly as i can.
and then The Dragon laughs.
when we get home, she is a week away. i glue myself to her side while they pick her True Love. a beautiful boy. very good at maths.
i spend my time memorizing her. how her hands move when she’s excited. how her breath hisses out when she’s annoyed. the crinkle beside her eyes when she is about to tell a joke. and at night, she and i crawl into the same bed, because it is dark, and she is scared. and we lie there, our hands together, she thinking of her future Husband and King, i thinking of a future without her.
in the night, she tells me her story. of how sad she was for so long. of how her parents wanted nothing but to lock her in a tower. how her father couldn’t be bothered to set up a watch on the one day she was to die, how he put his faith in Magic instead of his sword. how often she wanted to die, just so the date wouldn’t be pulling itself along on horse hooves, so that she wouldn’t be Fated. she’d just be herself, dying in the sun, dying happy.
i lie beside her. it is a tender moment. she, smelling of fancy soaps, and i, talking to her about the grace of goats.
the dragon lives in the sun of the courtyard. a friend, now. likes riddles and scaring the knights. tells stories of Kingdoms forgotten, of spells that faltered.
i sit by it on the night of Her wedding. the eve of her 25th birthday.
“it is useless to fuss,” says the dragon, black-red head resting elegantly on on long claws, “she is Cursed.”
i sit there. i hear the Bells chime when she is married, and i am not crying where anyone can see it.
i lie in bed. it is empty without her. i worry about her. i think of him, kissing her, holding her hand, bringing her back from death. of the Kiss. of the Ever After, where she will never know how I feel, how the very forever exists on her lips and i would explode to touch it. that i have never been more alive than when i met her. that she changed me, deeply, somewhere that i can’t touch but will never be the same again. i was small and terrified and just a goat girl. she took me and made me feel big, important, funny. she brought out the best in me.
she made me Brave.
i sit up. my hands are shaking. i will get killed for this. for disrupting the Magic.
i’m already running. my hands are on her door before i can think of what is happening.
she lies there, under him. i freeze, for a moment feel my heart stop beating. of course, i think, of course of course.
and then i see the glint of his sword, and the movement of his spine. she can die tonight, i think. and i move faster than she, give the wind my body. i don’t fight hand to hand like She does (girl who is my Light in dark tunnels), so when i hit him with all of my force, he adjusts almost instantly.
in goes the sword. i don’t feel it, or at least i’m in so much pain it’s like i’m in no pain at all.
everything is so slow. the Princess is already up, already picking up her own sword. she dispatches him in one blow.
and the floor has risen up to me. is my bed now. i am awake, somehow. everything is very soft.
her hands, butterflies on my face. “please don’t cry,” i ask her, but i’m not sure she hears. outside, i vaguely hear the bells clock midnight. they seem wavering.
“it’s our birthday,” i say. i hear it this time. it sounds wet. my lungs aren’t working. i think of the first time i saw her. it is the same thing. “we are both 25.”
i feel myself falling. i think of her. “please don’t cry,” i say. she made it, she broke the Curse. is the floor moving? black is spattering into my vision. i need to tell her. i need to tell her. i need to -
her kiss is my Light. She always has been. Suddenly I am back, whole, a key clicking in me. i follow the brightness of her home.
cough awake into her arms. she is sobbing. it is dawn, and i am alive, and we are both 25. i reach up and touch her cheek.
“last night was surprisingly low in Death,” i say. my voice is hoarse.
and then she is laughing, holding me too tight, somehow also crying, and i am crying, and we are kissing on the floor in a very unladylike manner and her skin is soft and she tastes of danger and i am somehow still dying while more alive than i have ever been, my heart racing, my blood on fire; we are laughing, and she is crying, and when she holds my face to say, “i love you,” i feel nothing but lightness.
she says i was the Deadly Thing she never got to taste, she says i’m better than Raspberry Death Tart. i collapse in her arms. she is my sun. when she marries me, i become the Princess. the princess who died on the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday.
we marry outside. sneak out the window on our wedding night to lie on the grass with our hands around each other. we both smell of fancy soaps and the other person’s skin. the blanket she kisses me under is hand-knit.
every warm night for the rest of my life has a pretty girl in it.
