No plot no plot no plot no plot no plot no plot no plot

You have been warned.

Now with that out of the way...

Welcome! I own nothing you recognize and no profit is being made out of the writing of this fic. Obviously DreamWorks owns The Adventures of Puss in Boots. Which is unfortunate, because if I owned TAOPIB it'd have another season and a full-length two part epic movie. Fiddlefuff.

This thing right here is a collection of thirty unconnected little snapshots of Puss and Dulcinea's domestic life in San Lorenzo, written for writing practice because I've been low on content for months. Each chapter should be treated as separate from the rest, and each future tale will be under the mercy of my whimsical (and bratty) Muse. The idea is inspired by 30 Days of Demonfire, written by a favourite author of mine, KevlarMasquerade. If you ship Damian Wayne and Mar'i Grayson (and you gotta admit, their shipname Demonfire is pretty wicked) then that's the perfect ficcy for you. Oh, and yes, I totally ripped the title off of her story. I've made sure she knows, though, so don't sue me. :)

I'd occasionally feature other characters, but I'm pretty sure this will revolve mainly around the Sweet Ginger couple. If you have any suggestions or one-word prompts, let me know! I'll see if it gets me inspired. I'd like to stick to the canon rating though, so nothing M-rated will be accepted. It's also okay if it's not centred around the Sweet Ginger couple. I appreciate every kind of review, especially the criticisms so long as they're constructive. Okay, that's everything I wanted to say. Enjoy your stay ~

30 Tales of Sweet Ginger
the first tale.

word count: 1,566 words.
note: ended up a lot angstier than originally intended. oops.

There were still those days when she would simply lift her eyes to the sky and be reminded of what she'd lost.

She remembered it very well. She remembered him very well. Whenever faced by the brilliant night sky, her eyes would automatically focus to stare at that empty spot where he used to be.

Where he should be.

Esteban.

She could still hear his voice sometimes. How enthusiasm bubbled under his words. How his every magnificent sentence burst into raring exclaim. How he was so eager to fulfil her every wish, how so alike her he was.

There were nights where she would even skip her usual flower bedtime story session to just sit on her special spot on her boulder as always, reflective blue eyes fixated at the empty spot where he should be twinkling and winkling and perpetually outshining all the others.

But he wasn't.

He's gone.

The days passed. That…dream incident with Esteban, her wishing star…quickly lost its popularity among the San Lorenzan gossipers as time swiftly flew by, swept away by the new adventures brought forth to the town by Puss in Boots. Dragons. Mermaids. Moles and Megamicres. Prophecies foretelling doom. Fartholomew Fishflinger. All that fuss about a fake Sino.

Uli, then the Bloodwolf.

And, finally, the town's latest gossip: the portal to the Netherworld.

Very soon, it was like Esteban had been someone from so, so long ago—like he'd never even existed at all.

Dulcinea couldn't blame the San Lorenzans for not dwelling over her loss like she was, though. She was the only one who ever knew Esteban, after all. She was the only one who, every night, would so fervently wish for…for that one thing that…

That she…

That everything would be…

But then, every time her train of thought intended to go down that path, she cut the thread before it reached down the rabbit hole any further.

It was unbecoming for someone the likes of her to think of…such things…after all.

Besides, she herself got caught up with all the town's domestic shenanigans after that 'dream' incident, whether that incident with Esteban was a dream or not. The adventures just continued to pile up day after day after day, until finally, one day…

She found out that her treasured memory of Esteban was already gathering dust from where she'd subconsciously stashed it on a forgotten corner of her mind.

The first thing she did that wonderful morning—after getting through her usual grooming routine—was to clean up her room. And as she'd been sweeping and dusting the corners, well…

She found the star necklace, buried at the bottom of her pile of books on her shelf.

The one Puss and the children gave her, the night when Esteban…

Her heart twisted when she flipped the paper star in her paw, then saw those words again.

'The Star of San Lorenzo.'

Esme's handwriting.

She put it back on her shelf after having dusted the dirt off from the paper star's yellow surface, guilt heavy in her heart.

She felt guilty, because she knew she didn't deserve being called the Star of San Lorenzo.

…she was far too selfish.

She had dashed out of her room immediately to begin her other tasks—cleaning day did not only end in her own chambers, after all, and besides…

She needed to distract herself.

And she had good reasons to be distracted. It was San Lorenzo's general cleaning day. They had one, at the end of every week. It was a day when every citizen swept and wiped and dusted their home clean. Living in the middle of a desert didn't mean their little town had to be as dusty, after all. Conducting the cleaning day was even more crucial for today, since, the day before, their town had been so rudelessly trashed by these mythical cockatrice chicken reptile creatures that the Netherworld had spit up.

By the end of the cleaning day, Dulcinea was satisfied. Exhausted from all the work, yes, but satisfied. She had finished all her chores—with a lot of help from the children, of course. Puss had even so gallantly offered to take her broom for her so he could 'heroically' sweep up the floors of the children's classroom while she worked on dusting the windows. At least, he lasted doing the cleaning task long enough before he got distracted by a couple of thieves. It was a normal domestic day for everybody. Together, with the children and the rest of the San Lorenzans, they'd accomplished tidying up the plaza, the orphanage, the garden, the cantina, the Treasure House. Even Artephius had cleaned up his clutter in Owlberto. And they were all exhausted.

Hence why the orphans wanted to be tucked early to bed immediately after dinner. They had salad at Pajuna's cantine, made from their garden's freshly-picked vegetables, and all of them ended up being pleasantly plump and full.

She had asked Puss if he could join her in reading the children their Rumplestiltskin bedtime story for the night, rather timidly. But Puss had refused. He said, quite curtly, that he'd rather stay out for patrol—"Because thieves never rest, Dulcinea. And so I shall not." His gaze had softened then. "I shall see you tomorrow, my lady. Good night."

And then he'd left through the doors.

She expected that answer, of course. He'd always refuse. It was in his character to obsess over every single possibility of a crime occurrence, because otherwise he wouldn't be Puss in Boots.

But she would be lying if she said that she didn't at least have the tiniest shred of hope.

Hope that someday, Puss will sit with her on the edge of Esme's bed, then read the bedtime story with her while the children peacefully drifted to the land of dreams.

She sighed. Moments later, she found herself doing exactly that, only without a particularly ginger gato by her side. She'd been so lost in thought while reading, that when she finished the first page of the Rumplestiltskin story and went on to flip to the second page, she was genuinely surprised to see everyone already fast asleep.

For a few moments, she lingered there. Then she smilingly shook her head to herself, closed her book, and stood from the edge of Esme's bed to walk over to the orphans. It was her tradition to give each of her children a peck on the cheek before finally leaving them to slumber for the night. First Esme. Then Vina. Kid Pickles. Cleevil. It was a tradition she was determined never to relinquish even as they grow up.

After kissing the fifth child's head—Toby's—she left the children's bedroom for her own sleeping quarters, yawning while stretching her arms above her head, decidedly done for the day.

Her room was a small, cosy thing, adjacent to the children's bedroom. It had a small balcony where she can spend an entire night just leaning over the railing in tranquil contemplation. It also had a large window from where she's able to look out and see the spillage of stars across the brilliant night sky.

That very scenery was what greeted her once she'd opened the door. She smiled to herself.

Home.

She gingerly sat on the right side of her bed where she can wistfully look at the night sky through her wide window. There was no moon, but the stars—they were so, so bright. Thin threads of astral light would even streak the sky occasionally. After all, the evening was young, and the sky was magnificent. The stars shone and sparkled and twinkled, like glitter was sprinkled on a blanket so inkily black, it seemed to glisten.

And as usual, she found her eyes drifting to stare at the empty spot where Esteban should be.

She…no longer grieved for her faded wishing star, really. It made her tender heart feel bad, but time had passed.

Time had passed, yet she couldn't help but feel sad whenever she stared at that empty spot.

She'd often tell herself that she felt sad because she missed Esteban. She missed her friend.

But…that's a lie.

And it made her feel so terrible, so guilty, because the only reason she wanted her stellar friend back was a selfish, selfish reason.

It was unbecoming of her to think this way, because if San Lorenzo ever desperately needed a wish, this was definitely the time. Sure, things were going well. But they had the problem regarding the portal, and Artephius was yet to find a way to close it soon.

Until it's dealt with, it would only continue to spit up Netherworldian monsters that only sought to destroy the town.

She wanted Esteban back, but was horrified of herself when she realized this—

Her first wish wouldn't be for San Lorenzo.

No, her first wish would be for herself.

She gripped a fistful of her blanket on her bed with a clenched paw.

She, the Star of San Lorenzo, ha.

How could she, when she was so selfish?

This, this ache in her heart, it was not about Esteban, not about San Lorenzo, no, not really.

She fell asleep on her bed that night, her head facing the window, for once selfishly wishing that someday, he would reject her no more.

That someday…

Puss would say that he wished for her, too.

1
selfish.