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secretpajamas · 5 years ago

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a different kind of rush;

an Ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 2.7k

part 1 of 2

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

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Ever since the rush ended, mining work was somewhat scarce. Most aurelac miners—the ones who didn’t strike it rich, had already squandered away their profits, or ones that worked under flat-rate contract and not profit-share—had been swept up by the large-scale mining companies at the Ephrate.

You, unfortunately, had a falling-out with the head of your crew shortly before the end of the rush, and you were left out in the cold with little more than the clothes on your back and the helmet on your head.

Now you operated alone, picking up what seasonal jobs you could. The ones that payed more tended to be more dangerous—you had a good sense as to which jobs would require you to stash extra knives on your person and demand your own private tent. That demand would often eat into your wages, but it was worth the peace of mind.

You were coming up on the last of your income from last season, which is how you found yourself scouting shuttle stations for work. Most of the bulletins at the larger stations were already picked clean. Now, at one of the smallest stations in the Reach, you hoped against hope you’d find a decent job posting.

Mostly scrap haul jobs—one odd request for a live-in massage therapist, and you knew what that was code for��but when you were about to give up and move on, one last blip on the readout screen caught your eye.

seeking experienced miner for short-term contract work (one season). small-scale operation, compensation negotiable. food and board included. helmet must be supplied by employee, O2 freely available. radio callsign alpha-echo-six, will be monitoring channel 07:00 – 23:00 universal time.

It was contract work, not profit-share, but what the hell. It was the best you had come across in your search so far and you doubted you’d find anything better. Checking the screen, you noted it was nearly 23:00—but you pulled out your radio, entered the posted callsign, and gave it a shot.

“This is radio callsign alpha-sierra-two, inquiring about job posting on shuttle station R-Twelve,” you said into your device. “Is the position still open?”

You waited for a minute in dead silence before you heard the line crackle to life. “Hello, alpha-sierra-two,” a thick drawl replied. “Long as you can hold a pickaxe steady, the job’s as good as yours.”

---

When you met him, the first thing you noticed was the shock of blonde hair. Nobody out in the Reaches had much use for cosmetic hair products, so it must have been a natural occurrence of some sort. It struck you as profoundly odd—but also incredibly attractive. You took a deep breath and swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

The second thing you noticed—well. It was a little hard to miss.

“Name’s Ezra,” he said with a sly smile, extending his left—and only—hand.

You weren’t sure which hand you were supposed to shake his with. You decided on your left, to match his. It took some fumbling, but you managed a firm shake in the end. You introduced yourself and then let your hands drop.

“Sorry if that was weird,” you said, “I’m not used to shaking hands with my left.”

Ezra chuckled darkly. “Me neither, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Normally, you’d hate hearing that come from a man you’d just met. It would’ve felt like a belittlement. But not with this man—it just seemed to roll off his tongue without a second thought.

Then, you realized the implication of his statement. If he wasn’t used to shaking with his left, the loss of his right arm must not have been too long ago. In this line of work, any number of horrors could have caused it. You decided it was best not to dwell on the subject.

“Allow me to escort you to your quarters,” Ezra said, gesturing for you to follow.

He brought you to the only man-made structure within sight. He must have built it himself. He zipped the entryway door shut and clumsily removed his helmet with one hand. You swiftly removed yours, glad to get the sweaty thing off of you for the first time in hours.

The tent was sturdy and spacious enough to feel a little less like a hovel and a little more like a home. It was certainly nicer than most accommodations you’d been given on mining contract work before. There were two beds—well, just cushioned mats on the floor, but definitely an upgrade from a cot—separated by makeshift room divider in the form of a bedsheet tied between two of the tent supports.

“I can fashion a proper partition if you’d prefer,” he said, “the kid was prone to nightmares is all. Didn’t like feelin’ shut off. Took that tent wall down the next day, put the sheet up instead.”

“Kid?” You prompted.

“She’s livin’ in the Ephrate this season,” he said. “Got a scholarship to that fancy Academy an’ everything. Awful proud of her.” You could hear the fondness in his voice.

“That’s nice,” you said, “she must have a good father.”

Ezra chuckled, the sound tinged with something bitter. “Unfortunately, I do not hold such a grand title,” he said. “Her parents are deceased. I am but her guardian.”

Oh.

“Well, get yourself settled and join me outside when you’re ready,” he said as he went to retrieve his helmet. “It’s not as complicated as aurelac, but it’s still a bitch to mine.”

---

After just a few days of harvesting starstone, you were inclined to agree with Ezra’s statement. It was an absolute bitch. If you so much as tapped it at the wrong angle it would completely lose its integrity. Then, as soon at was harvested, it had to be soaked in a complicated solution of enzymes so it would retain its color—if you waited too long to get it in the enzyme bath, it would turn pale and lose its shimmer. How the hell anyone managed to transport it without massive damages, you had no idea.

You voiced this to him. He simply shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said. “The buyer is arrangin’ her own transport. We just have to hand it off.”

“What is this stuff good for, anyway?” You asked.

“It’s pretty,” he said, “and if there’s one thing I’ve become privy to in all my years of prospectin’, it’s that all sorts of folk will pay a pretty penny for pretty things. ’Specially if those things are rare.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, I guess,” you mumbled, looking at the bright green and orange whorls of glittery stone around the two of you. Ezra snickered at your comment, and the sound of the raspy, almost boyish laughter made your stomach do somersaults.

“I can assume you have no such affinity for pretty things, then,” he said with a grin.

“Well,” you started, looking into those pretty brown eyes of his, “now and I again I might.”

Ezra just arched an eyebrow before returning to sifting through rock.

---

You and Ezra fell into an easy rhythm. He would wake up early to prepare the enzyme solutions for the day’s mining. You both mined as long as it stayed light out, going back into the tent as needed for a ration bar or a toilet break or just to rest your weary head for a minute. After dark, it was your responsibility to prep the filters and O2 tanks. As days turned into weeks, you found yourself finally adjusting to the man’s odd manner of speech, and even found yourself laughing at his dry wit.

And if you were honest with yourself, you were harboring quite the crush.

But this was job, damnit, and even if it wasn’t profit-share, Ezra payed far more than any other boss you’d had for contract work. You weren’t going to compromise that. A sexual relationship with someone who was technically your superior was never a good idea—you didn’t want to get yourself kicked off this planet without a full season’s pay.

This dwarf planet’s climate wasn’t as harsh and unforgiving as the Green. The air wasn’t breathable, which is why oxygen tanks and helmets were necessary, but there was nothing like the deadly moon’s dust you remember from the rush days. The one complaint you had: the weather was always hot, some days painfully so, and today was one of those days. You had both decided to cut the workday short and stumbled back to the tent, sweaty and exhausted.

You wrenched your helmet off of your head and immediately planted yourself in front of one of the air circulators. You heard Ezra’s helmet fall to the floor with a clank and several frustrated grunts as he began to unzip his suit. You knew by now not to offer help—even though it took him a long time to dress and undress, it seemed to be a point of pride to him that he do it himself.

You shucked off your own suit, leaving yourself standing in a sleeveless top and shorts. Cooler now, but still utterly worn-out, you all but flung yourself on your cot. You rucked up your shirt so you left as much of your skin exposed to the air as possible without stripping down to your underwear. “Too fucking hot,” you grumbled.

“Preachin’ to the choir, birdie,” Ezra replied, finally kicking his suit off and out of the way. “Pardon my selfishness, but I’m inclined to take the first shower.”

You groaned, but you had taken the first shower yesterday, so you didn’t protest. Ezra took long showers—you guessed it was because of his arm situation—so you’d have to wait to get all the sweat and grime off. But hey—at least you had a shower. In some of your past gigs you had to wipe yourself down from head to toe with a wet rag.

The shower was attached to the main tent on the east-facing wall: your side of the sheet. Ezra walked by you to access it—he was shirtless, clad only in the pair of black compression pants he wore under his suit. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at him from where you lay—you had come to appreciate the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, his skin kissed all over with fading white scars, the little paunch of his stomach, and the dusting of dark hair that began below his bellybutton and traveled down beneath his waistband. He sighed and stretched before unzipping the partition and shuffling tiredly to the shower.

Seeing him half-naked had lit a spark in your belly. You swallowed thickly, your mind trailing into territory you usually reserved for late at night when Ezra was asleep. Yes, you were attracted to him—but it was more than just a baser instinct. Whenever you got yourself off in the past—or gotten someone else off—it had been quick and quiet and easily forgotten, something to take the edge off, to scratch an itch. You never really fantasized about romance or, Kevva forbid, love, but the longer you spent with Ezra, the more you caught yourself wondering what he would be like as a lover—if he’d hold you gently against his chest after, if he’d press a soft kiss to your forehead, if he’d tell you that you were beautiful.

You scoffed at yourself. Fantasies like that were for naive girls, not for a grown woman, especially not a world-weary miner who knew that men in the Reaches weren’t like that.

But maybe Ezra was different. He was already far different than any man you had ever met.

And maybe you could allow yourself the fantasy.

As you listened to the hum of the shower running, confident in your assertion that Ezra wouldn’t be out for some time—you snaked one hand down under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, rubbing at yourself in the way you usually did—in the way that would make you orgasm quickly. If you drew things out, that just gave your brain time to strike up ridiculous fantasies of Ezra making love to you.

Making love. There you go again. Why can’t you just call it fucking? But what you were thinking of wasn’t fucking—would he gaze into your eyes as he filled you? Would he whisper to you how good you felt, call you sweetheart like he did the first day you met—and nearly every day since?

Damn it, you said you wouldn’t think about it, but here you were. You rubbed yourself faster, just hoping to get this over with and move the fuck on—

“Shower’s all yours,” you heard Ezra’s voice ring out, and you froze. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. How had you not heard the water turn off? How long were you daydreaming?

There was no way Ezra didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t even have the plausible deniability of having a blanket over you. You were so fucked.

You moved your head a tiny fraction to look at Ezra. He had a threadbare towel around his waist, precariously held by a twist-and-tuck at his hip. He was staring at you, wide-eyed and stock-still, as droplets dripped down his forehead from his still-wet hair. You weren’t sure he was even breathing.

Neither of you moved.

Then, Ezra licked his lips, flicking his eyes from your face down to where your hand was still stuck in your shorts, then back to your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You hitched your hips up a little under his gaze, almost involuntarily. He watched the movement with intensity.

Fuck. Was this really happening?

Ezra brought his hand up to his mouth, rubbing at his lower lip with his thumb. He looked to where your hand was trapped between your legs, and gestured with a nod.

With your heartbeat hammering against your chest, you began to move your hand again, eyes locked on Ezra. His breath hitched as he watched you touch yourself, his eyes intent on your body, pupils blown wide and dark.

You rubbed at your clit, your legs tensing as you brought your hips up to press into your hand. Unable to help it, a moan escaped your throat, and Ezra answered back with a low hum of his own.

Hearing him respond to you made your body light up like lightning. You closed your eyes and sucked in frantic bursts of air. The oppressive heat around you was unbearable, the pressure building in your core even more so. Your pulse roared against your eardrums as you frantically worked at your clit, almost sore now, needing to come now more than ever, needing that release—

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ezra said, and the sound of his voice had you coming hard, thighs shaking. You chased your high as long as you could, clit nearly rubbed raw, until you winced at the overstimulation, dropping your hips back to the bed and letting out a heaving sigh. Almost in a daze, you opened your eyes, chancing a glance at Ezra. He was staring down at you as if he’d seen Kevva’s gates open up before him. He was also visibly tenting his towel, holding onto where it was tied at his hip in a vise-like grip.

“I’m,” you started, catching your breath, “I could use a shower now.”

“As very well could I,” Ezra replied as he shifted his weight back and forth, voice strained, “an’ a cold one at that. But I’d be remiss to waste the water.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. About the shower or the impromptu peepshow, you weren’t sure.

“Quite alright. But don’t be alarmed if you emerge to find me in a similar position when you’re done in there,” he remarked, gesturing to the shower with a jerk of his head.

You planted your face in your pillow, mortified beyond belief, hot shame washing over you. Ezra simply chuckled.

“No reason to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he said. “Close quarters make for... sticky situations such as these.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you stood up, walking past Ezra to make your way to the shower.

What the fuck just happened?

---

a/n: this was supposed to be a quick smutty oneshot (oops) but it was getting long so I’ve split it into two parts! Part two should be out by the end of this week.

content: masturbation, voyeurism (but is it voyeurism if both parties are aware of the voyeur-ing?)

READ PART 2 HERE

#ezra prospect #pedro pascal #prospect movie #pedro pascal fanfiction

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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10x17: Home Sweet Home - Details

Alright, let’s talk details!

***As always, spoilers abound below for 10x17. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

As many have already pointed out, Maggie and Judith talking about the stars and how “she” is looking up at those same stars is interesting. Sirius symbolism, and of course they’re talking about Michonne, but when they use the pronoun, it could be adapted to anyone. Beth, obviously. But even Rick or anyone else who is missing.

I did notice something of a “rule of threes” theme in this episode. Right at the beginning, when loading the wagon, Lydia counts, “one, two, three.” That wouldn’t be very noteworthy on its own, but later in the episode, exactly three of Maggie’s people fall to the snipers. So again, a bit of a theme.

Also, Lydia is wearing a bright pink shirt at the beginning when she counts to three. I noticed it mostly because the color is so bright and it might be the cleanest thing Lydia has ever worn, lol. Not sure what it points to. This is such a minor scene, it’s hard to draw any conclusions. But it caught my attention.

When they go to see the ruins of Hilltop, it’s interesting that the only thing really left standing is the water tower. Water = Beth, so we always make note of things like water towers. It almost feels like a “standing amidst the ruins” sort of thing.

As they walk to get Maggie’s people, we do hear some interesting dialogue. Cole says there’s shelter 10 miles to the East. Just having 10 (think roman numeral X) and East in the same sentence catches my ear. At one point, one of them says “if we’re lucky.” So, Luck Theory. And we see lots of shots of sunlight filtering through the trees. We’ve always seen that as a Beth symbol.

Okay, let’s talk a little more about the cut on Maggie’s arm. It’s a rather large cut across her left forearm, right? And I mentioned yesterday that it isn’t the same as Beth’s because it’s on the wrong arm. Although, it IS in the same place as Beth’s cast, just the opposite.

So, here’s why I noticed it at all. There are two other times when we saw a big cut like this. Since the Leah rumors broke, I’ve rewatched the episode Scars several times. In that episode, Judith gets a cut in the exact same place: her left forearm. It looks exactly like Maggie’s does in this episode. That can’t be a coincidence.

The only other time I remember seeing this exact cut was on Tyreese in 4b. Now, I don’t want to freak anyone out, but Ty’s cut definitely foreshadowed his death. When he was bitten in 5x09, the bite came in exact same place he was cut.

Now, I don’t at all think this suggests both Maggie and Judith getting bitten and dying. I’m sure the symbolism is more complex than that. I just don’t understand exactly how they’re using it, yet.

What I can say for now is that all three of the episodes I’ve seen it in (and there may be more; these are just the ones that spring to mind) are Beth-heavy episodes, at least when it comes to symbolism. So there’s 5x09 (she’s actually in Ty’s death hallucination), this episode, where she’s mentioned twice after 6 years of silence, and then Scars. I still haven’t posted my Scars post, yet. I just have a lot of stuff to post right now, but I’ll get it posted eventually. Just trust me when I say that episode has TONS of Beth symbolism in it. So, we’ll just leave it at that for now.

Maggie and Daryl’s convo:

So, I’m getting a lot of messages about how people are disappointed that we didn’t get more of a reaction from Daryl when Maggie said Beth’s name. And I get it, but let me answer this two ways.

1. It’s not all that surprising. We saw Daryl’s huge reaction to losing Beth in Coda, in Them, and then in pretty much every episode for the next 3+ seasons. Eight years have passed since he lost her, and, while of course her death still affects him and of course he’s not over it, it’s not unrealistic that he has his reaction to it more controlled now.

2. Having said that, I actually disagree that we didn’t get huge reactions here. They looked subtle onscreen, but again, they were never going to have him burst into tears in this scene. That wouldn’t have really worked for the scene, or been terribly realistic. So let me lay out what we did see.

First off, when Maggie first says Beth’s name (“Bethie”), we don’t see Daryl’s face, but we can kind of see the side of his head in the foreground. When she says the name—like, the INSTANT she says it—he sort of tosses his head. Almost like a nervous horse. There’s definitely a reaction there guys, even if we can’t see it directly.

But pay attention to him when it DOES show his face again a few seconds later. He keeps shifting his eyes to Maggie’s face and away. He does it at least half a dozen times over several seconds. Again, it strikes me as him being nervous about something. And you know it has to be the mention of Beth.

So why is he nervous? Is it merely the mention of her name that makes him nervous? Is he afraid he might get emotional, and is trying not to? Because we don’t have a window into Daryl’s thoughts, there’s no way to know for certain. But the reaction is there. You just have to watch closely for it.

And to confirm it even more, I watched him closely a minute or two later when she starts talking about Glenn and Negan. If anything, you’d think that would be the subject that would make him more uncomfortable. Both because he dealt with so much guilt over Glenn’s death, and because one might see Maggie returning to Negan as a free man would feel like something of a betrayal. I could see Daryl feeling guilt over that.

But when she starts talking about Glenn and Negan, his eyes don’t do the shifty thing. At all. He just watches her steadily with no hint of discomfort. It’s ONLY when she mentions Beth that his eyes shift.

And before I move on, I want to mention one more things you can all go look for. (Yes, I’m giving you permission to go watch that scene over and over again. :D)

Just before Maggie says Beth’s name, she has a peculiar reaction, too. Now, she’s talking about Glenn and Beth sort of simultaneously, so it’s hard to say whether this reaction is for her talk of Glenn or Beth. What I mean is, it’s right before she says that after Bethie died, she and Glenn talked about going to the ocean. She feels the need to throw in that it would have only been for a little while, not forever. So maybe that’s what she was feeling discomfort over saying: that she and Glenn contemplated leaving the group for a time.

But if you watch, right before she says the line, “after Bethie died,” her eyes get wide and she shrugs as though she’s about to says something she doesn’t want to.

So it may be about Glenn, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she realized she had to mention Beth as part of her explanation, and she knew that would be triggering for Daryl. Go watch that again and tell me what you think.

I don’t think I have to go over the importance of the ocean symbolism, right? Beth = water, and we’ve seen tons of ocean/boat symbolism around her. She also mentions the waves and the sunrise here.

In the morning, Cory calls the containers they sleep in “rust coffins.” Kind of an interesting label, suggesting death. But of course the thing that came to mind is the coffin Daryl lay in at the funeral home.

Kelly checking the truck, as I talked about yesterday, brought a lot of callbacks to mind, including Bob, and the notebook is something we could link to Beth through her journal/notes, as well as to the note left as part of the wolf trap in 5x16. This truck was even a little reminiscent of the “How the Harvest Gets Home” trucks.

One thing I couldn’t help but notice was Daryl’s line about how he’s gone looking for Connie “so many times.” That doesn’t actually make much logical sense. From what they show us, this episode picks up directly after 10x16. It would be different if weeks had passed and this was there way of telling us that Daryl has been looking for Connie in the interim. But this is literally the next day. How could he have gone looking for her “so many times?” Sure, we saw him searching a little bit early in S10, but the Whisperer War always got in the way, and honestly, I don’t think we saw him search more than two or three times.

So my point is, this is kind of a discontinuity. But I think it’s purposely placed to emphasize how often Daryl looks for people and maybe be another way of reminding us both of Rick and of Beth.

Maggie says, “We don’t know that.” Pretty much exact Beth dialogue and it’s about whether any of her people survived the fire and might still be alive in the woods. That’s exactly what Beth said this line about in 4b after the prison. Just saying.

Another line that jumped out at me was Cory saying that The Reapers had followed them. He didn’t know how. He’d been so careful. But somehow, they did.

Now, maybe this guy was just an awesome tracker. But I feel like this line had meaning. Like maybe they truly shouldn’t have been able to track Maggie’s group, but somehow still found them. Kind of makes me wonder if we should be linking this group to the CRM or not.

There’s been some discussion about whether Kelly and Elijah might become love interests. I’d be okay with that. And I can see that the way they connected and became all simpatico in this episode might be leading to romance.

Now, here’s why that might be important from a TD perspective. Did you notice the pear he gave her at the end?

I looked up pear symbolism. As with all things, different cultures treat it differently. But in Chinese symbolism (and there’s a lot of that in the show) it sometimes means ‘separation.’ So there’s a superstition that friends and lovers should not eat pears together or they may be separated.

So when I first looked this up, I wasn’t really thinking of Elijah. As Kelly is definitely a Beth proxy in many ways, and also based on symbolism we’ve seen around her in the past (S9/S10) that I wasn’t sure how to interpret, I was thinking that maybe at some point she’ll be kidnapped or taken and be separated from Maggie. On TTD, Lauren said Maggie and Kelly became surrogate sisters in this scene. So I thought that maybe, on top of all the Beth symbolism, maybe this is also pointing toward another (surrogate) sister separation on the horizon.

But then it occurred to me that Elijah gave her the pear, and that’s probably really important. If (and this is still a big if) they become love interests, her separation will probably be from him. I’m just saying we might have another Bethyl proxy in the making on our hands. ;D

I have to say that I thought the scene where Daryl grabbed Maya and put a knife to her neck before realizing she was one of Maggie’s people is one of my favorites. You heart has to go out to the poor woman. She’s been traumatized like 5x over at this point. But she was looking at Daryl like he was a serial killer. Every time I watch that scene, I laugh. It’s rough being Daryl.

So how about the title? Well, we’ve already established that Daryl said this back in Still, at the moonshine shack. And given that I think Hershel Jr.’s arc here was a small scale replay of Beth’s (missing, searched for, eventually found and brought back to Alexandria) it makes sense that they used this line here.

But I think you can go as simple or as complicated as you want to with this. Because we also had the “coming home” theme in this episode a LOT. And it’s fitting, of course, because this was Maggie’s homecoming (which you could also see as a type of Beth’s arc, of course). But if you apply the “coming home” theme to what Daryl said in Still, all that tells me is that Beth and Daryl are one another’s “home.” And if Daryl is ever going to find his real home again, it will have to be with Beth, wherever she is.

For the record, I think they’ll explore Daryl’s side of this theme a lot with Leah. He was lonely, and searching for a home, and maybe he’ll think he’s found one for a time with her, but she’s not his real home.

Okay, finally, the song played at the end, You Want it Darker, has TONS of biblical symbolism in it. Since this post is already long, I’ll wait until tomorrow to post it.

Anything you can think of that I missed?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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cosleia · 3 years ago

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Jeeyon Answer Meme

I did a meme on Twitter, made by a user named Jeeyon, where you answer really weird questions...except I answered each question as a different Star Wars character. See if you can guess who is who.

1. What is your favorite thing to smell that's neither perfume nor your body's natural scent?

The second-best thing I ever smelled were wildflowers, lush and purple, beautiful as they bobbed on long stems in the gentle breeze. The best, though…well. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never smell either of them again.

2. Horses: y/n? Defend your answer.

Look, when you’re on a planet with animals that are ridden, you ride those animals. You do what the locals do. That’s how you make contacts and gain trust. Would I say I particularly LIKE animals? No. I don’t care about children, either. No—no, put that down! *heavy sigh*

3. If you could be perpetually youthful in mind and body but it meant outliving everyone you love, would you do it?

I want to say yes. I should say yes. There’s so much work left, and if I could maintain my health longer, I could do more…but.

But.

I’ve just lost so much, so many, already.

Don’t tell anyone. I have to be strong.

4. What was a superstition you made up and slowly, over time, ended up believing?

All I do is bring pain to the people I love. The galaxy can’t afford my mistakes anymore. I have to take myself out of the equation.

That’s what I told myself, and I even believed it…but deep down, I knew I was afraid. It took a true hero to make me face that.

5. What sounds do you hear often in passing that cheer you up?

The Falcon makes good noises. The hyperdrive especially, but even the proximity alarm…it all reminds me of those early days with Han. Nothing’s perfect, but after literal enslavement on a mudball planet, that time was idyllic.

And Han was the best friend I’ve ever had.

6. A minor god grants you a boon: either the gift of being able to grow gills to breathe and swim great depths underwater, or to grow wings and fly to great heights. You can go about as fast as you would at a full sprint. What good deed did you receive the boon for, and do you take gills or wings?

Oh gosh, a boon? Just for being a decent human being?? I don’t know, could I even accept? …pretend I have to? Ugh, okay…well…being able to fly would be amazing, but I mean, I don’t want to discount BREATHING UNDERWATER, like, can you imagine?? And oh I’m supposed to say what I did to get the boon too, I don’t even know, in the stories you can get a boon for setting an animal free from a trap or returning something that was lost, so maybe something like that. But I don’t know, it should be something really special, right? Something…

…like what a hero would do. Something…

Oh, I am NOT, shut up!

…yes, I did do that…

Fine…

Okay, I’m going to pick flying. You’re more likely to need me to save your ass again in the air than in the ocean. *laughs*

7. Every wild animal you see within an eight block radius of your home now has a taste for human flesh. How screwed are you?

How convenient for me. I have plenty of humans around. This way, my snacks will come right to me.

8. You meet and fall in love with someone who falls in love with you in turn, but the cost is you never have a clean break when you take a shit ever again. Is it worth it?

To love—and to be loved back? Totally worth it. I’ll cram some TP up there, I don’t care. Sure it’ll make being in the cockpit uncomfortable sometimes, but what kind of pilot can’t fly under pressure?

9. If you could be any of your houseplants, which would you be? If you don't have houseplants, choose a bivalve instead.

What a pointless question! I don’t have time for this. Back to your stations immediately.

10. In Bo Burnham's comedy special Inside, the opening song includes the line, "I'm sorry I've been gone, but look I made you some content/Daddy made you your favorite, open wide." What are you opening wide for? You are opening your mouth only. You are not opening your mouth for a body part. [Note: That disclaimer SLAYED ME]

*squeals unintelligibly, gesturing toward Frog Lady’s eggs*

11. You wake up with a worn leather pouch under your pillow. When you unwind the frayed cord cinched around its neck, you see that it is full of teeth. Somehow you know you are meant to plant them in fertile soil. What kind of teeth are they, and what crop do you harvest?

The teeth are from a comb, and when I plant them they grow a rooster, and when he crows you feel it in your teeth. Well, that’s what it seems like would happen, anyway. Just a feeling.

12. There's a spider in your home that brings you a crisp, newly minted $5 every day at 5:40PM, but also every day at an undetermined time between 1 and 2AM, on two randomly selected days of the week, screams directly in your ear with the volume and lung capacity of an opera singer. Do you let the spider keep living inside, or do you take it outside to a nice garden somewhere?

I do not comply with natural law. I make my own law. This spider will bow before me. My new apprentice.

13. While you're trying out a new recipe, you fuck up and summon a demon instead. What were you trying to cook? Which demon do you summon with your errors?

Well, hello there. I suppose my lunch shall have to wait. Would you be interested in helping me commit war crimes?

14. If you could transform all of your hair to a different, hairlike-but-not-hair substance, what would it be?

Uhhh, gonna have to stick with my hair, I think. No offense to anyone. I just already know how to deal with hair. (Plus…my hair’s pretty great)

15. You're checking the ingredients of a new affordable skincare product that's really working wonders for you, and the first one listed is "ACTIVE INGREDIENT 3.6% HUMAN BLOOD." Do you keep using it?

ABSOLUTELY NOT. I would bring this outrage to the Senate immediately. No one should suffer for others’ gain.

16. You travel to see a beloved friend of many years, but the more time you spend with them, the more they seem a little off, like you're looking at a picture of your friend through a window pane. When you ask them about it they reply cheerfully, "Oh yeah I'm a homunculus constructed in the image of your friend. I have all their memories and bodily conditions. For all intents and purposes, I'm a later edition of your friend, but the person you knew as your friend isn't here anymore. Where do you want to eat dinner tonight?" What restaurant do you choose?

I know you’re not Fives. I held Fives as he died. We may all look alike, but we’re not all the same.

17. If you could shrink or grow to ride any non-horse animal like a horse, which animal would you choose?

Oh, that would be useful, especially the shrinking part, to get into tighter spaces. But then I’d want to be normal again later. Or bigger, so people would be less likely to cheat me. Oh, yes, I suppose I do have the lightsaber now, don’t I?

18. During an evening stroll you find an adorable, bright blue beetle the size of a pencil eraser. When you go over to investigate, it calls you the rudest thing you've ever been called in your entire life. What do you do?

What?? That’s just—what??? I think I’d be too shocked to respond at first. But everyone has their reasons for doing things I guess. Maybe if we talked about it we could come to an understanding. If not, I’d just go on my way.

#star wars #my writing #not tagging the characters because that would be telling!#some of these are better than others haha

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elenathehun · 4 years ago

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Watching the Clone Wars, Part 5

Hey, I’m actually being prompt this time, and not letting this sit on my desk for the rest of the week. Good for me! In this viewing session, we watch one “good” arc, and one terrible one. Guess which is which ;)

“Storm Over Ryloth” (1x19)

Aw, the fourteen year old is going to engage in very dangerous dogfighting? For those of you old enough to remember X-Wing: Rogue Squadron, remember how leery Starfighter Command was of letting sixteen year old Gavin Darklighter join Rogue Squadron? More innocent times, for sure.

Anyway, Ahsoka just got eleven men summarily killed, all to set up a tedious episode on the nature of command. It’s so wild how Rex and the bridge officer clone actually defer to her. Maybe, just maybe, GAR would win if they gave a bit more power to the highly-trained war machines the Jedi purchased, eh? Instead of the barely-trained teenagers with no business in a war zone.

I’m not even going to talk about the actual tactics because they’re superfluous. It’s a shame the jedi don’t understand the purpose of consolidating their force and utilizing a joint attack. Maybe Anakin could have saved a ship or two if he, Mace, and Obi-Wan had attacked as a group.

No, you’re right. That’s too smart.

“Innocents of Ryloth” (1x20)

Obi-Wan’s low-impact strategy is a bit stupid. Like, the CIS is explicitly engaging in terrorist tactics on Ryloth, the Twi’leks most likely have no homes to return to. But, whatever, that’s not the point of the episode. The point of this episode is Waxer and Boil. I love them, but I also love the casual specie-ism/racism on Boil’s part. Dude grew up on Kamino, which is basically an isolated military boarding school, where would have learned a word like “tailhead”?

Oh, that’s right, the scum of the earth working as trainers. Never mind! I like to think that the clones, while generally very nice and polite young men, also have a very strange idea of appropriate language and conduct outside of their very isolated, insular upbringing. I do love ye olde culture clash plotline!

The CIS continues to devolve with internment camps, animal cruelty, and yes, weaponizing animals to kill clones in a suitably horrific way. Good job, guys, way to lower the bar! With that said, Numa is adorable, and it’s amazing that she managed to survive on her own in this ghost-town while her family and community have been rounded up into camps.

Obi-Wan may be a subpar general, but he is definitely a very capable psychic super-soldier. The fight scenes were incredibly enjoyable to watch, and although it’s a bit silly, I did really like the Twi’leks pulling the tactical droid who was their warden out of his tank with their bare hands - they definitely deserved that.

“Liberty on Ryloth” (1x21)

This is a Mace Windu episode, and I am here for it. What an icon, what a legend. I do think that he is portrayed as having exceptional control of the Force, and it’s always really interesting to see him use it in a fight. The episode is a fairly basic one: He’s trying to link up with Cham Syndulla to get rid of the rest of the CIS army; the senator for Ryloth, Orn Free Taa, is more concerned about the disposition of political power on Ryloth after the invasion is complete. I have...so many questions about how political power on Ryloth is distributed: is Orn Free Taa the ruler of the planet and the Senator, or is there a different kind of power-sharing agreement? Is Cham Syndulla just the sort or ordinary person thrust into extraordinary times, especially by the abandonment of their people by their leadership and the Republic? It strikes me as a setting rich with potential plots.

Of course, that’s only a small part of the episode, which is mostly Mace being a badass and basically being a one-man army. Again, the direction is remarkably good in this episode. As usual, air supremacy is not a factor in this war. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Even though AT-RTs really make no sense, I want one very badly. Lastly, based on the clone trying to pet the blurrg and Boil and Waxer’s treatment of Numa last episode, I believe the clones are going through that stage where they just want a pet of their very own. It is actually a little adorable.

Shout-out to the tactical droid obtaining full sentience and ditching his boss and lying to Dooku. Still wish that a subplot of Dooku’s droids turning against him had been a thing.

Season 1 Restrospective: It only took five weeks, but we are finally finished with this season, save for 1x22, which is actually set sometime in the third season. There were some high points, but man, this was an absolute slog mostly. There were way too many Jar Jar episodes, and the clones were not given nearly enough screen time. “Rookies” and “Lair of Grievous” were the outstanding stand-alone episodes imho, and the “Ryloth” and “Malevolence” arcs were generally ok, with two of their three episodes being rewatchable.

But in a series about the clone wars, there is very little character development of the actual clones - like, poor Rex is barely a presence in this season. And the CIS is just so cartoonishly awful that I can’t take it seriously at all. It actually does strain my belief that Palpatine could keep these plates spinning for more than a week. Anakin is just...blah. And although I know I’m supposed to like Ahsoka, I just can’t help but find her annoying, mostly because she’s a kid.

Well, we’re about one-sixth of the way through. She’s got another six seasons to grow on me - and hopefully she will, because otherwise this will be very tedious.

“Holocron Heist” (2x01)

No sooner do I say that than Ahsoka reverts to being a dumb fucking kid. However, is a full Council meeting to investigate the fact that she’s a dumb fucking kid actually a good use of the High Council’s time? Just curious. This arc is honestly really stupid, so I’m not going to spend a lot of time on this, only to say that Cad Bane’s aesthetic is very choice for an outlaw, and the Jedi have laughable security.

“Cargo of Doom” (2x02)

Another Anakin & Ahsoka episode where they and Yularen share one braincell, and Rex is the one who holds it most of the time. Also really love how the Jedi with the list of all the potential Jedi recruits apparently took his sole record with him to a warzone. That makes perfect sense. I’m not really going to get into this episode, except to point out that we saw a Jedi tortured to death on-screen, which leads me to my most pressing question: how much money, per episode, did Lucasfilm have to use to bribe the MPA?

As for the choice Cade Bane gave Anakin at the end? As @spiraling pointed out, people don’t die of decompression and vacuum exposure immediately. Anakin could easily take Bane out and rescue Asohka in that time. She’d need a dip in bacta, but she’d live.

“Children of the Force” (2x03)

This episode is actually the worst of all, because the Jedi (who, by the by, are an actual government entity with access to priority comms and lots and lots of computer space) don’t have backup lists of their recruits, nor do they, say, call ahead with the address and have the local government set a trap before they arrive. Poorly done, Obi-Wan, poorly done.

Anyway, the kids are rescued from the unspeakable horrors that later children will be exposed to, children like Mara Jade and Lumiya. Good for Anakin and Ahsoka! However, I’d like to present a more awful possibility: If it weren’t for the need for a holocron, Cad Bane (and by extension, Palpatine) would have gotten away with it. Like, Palpatine is a Sith Lord, trained by a Sith Lord, and his putative apprentice is a former Jedi who had access to the temple and the various Jedi stores until about a year ago. Do you really think he doesn’t already have a holocron ready to go?

So instead of stealing a holocron to start off with, Cad Bane just... targets and captures Bolla Ropal under the guise of a CIS attack. He steals the kyber crystal. The Jedi are very, very worried, of course, but it takes time for them to realize it’s gone missing. in the meantime, however, Cad Bane just takes it to Dooku, they pull and copy the list, and the harvesting of Force-sensitive children can continue.

This is, I think, one of the great disappointments of TCW. For a show that likes to use the model the Justice League cartoon of the early 2000s pioneered, they haven’t quite figured it out yet. This is the sort of plot that could fuel an entire season of investigation, but instead they have these little three-episode arcs that never connect to the rest. It’s a real shame.

Next week: We continue Season 2 with “Bounty Hunters”, “The Zillo Beast”, “The Zillo Beast Strikes Back”, “Senate Spy”, “Landing at Point Rain”, “Weapons Factory”, and (time permitting) “Legacy of Terror”.

#watching the clone wars #star wars tcw #television is hypnotoad

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fallenfurther · 4 years ago

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A drop into silence - Part 3

I decided not to leave this without a little hope for you all. I go a little into the science at the end, I hope I have kept it at the right level. I did have some fun researching stem cells. Part 1 and Part 2. Enjoy

************

The next few days were spent lying in a hospital bed, a smile plastered on his face, keeping up appearances for his little brothers. He laughed at Gordon’s jokes, smiled as Alan relayed his latest adventure on Cavern Quest and tried to reflect the air of positivity that the doctors seemed to have. His fingers stayed pink and healthy, his wounds were healing nicely, and his bones had been repositioned correctly first time. He was considered lucky. Yet deep down, beneath it all, Scott felt despair. The support of his family kept him there, kept him present and he would have drowned without them. But part of him wanted to drown. With every passing day the neurologist looked less satisfied with his progress. A week after the rescue and he was discharged with physiotherapy booked for when the cast they sent him home in was removed. The joy on everyone’s face kept him going. They were like a storm, spinning around him with such force it carried him along. Yet that night, after he’d thrown his nightshirt across the room in frustration, he let the façade fall. Scott lay on bed shirtless, placed his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Only then could he let the thoughts surface. The tears silently fell, dampening his pillow. When the sound of someone entering his room came, he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull on the façade he’d discarded. He was thankful when it was Virgil who pulled a chair up to his bed.

“I can’t feel anything, Virgil.”

The soft brown eyes met his, a sadness in them that showed the truth.

“The doctors say the feeling could still come back; your nerves just need time to heal.”

“Screw the doctors!” Scott growled, anger filling him as tears continued to fall. “What do you believe, Virgil? You’ve seen the scans; you know the medical facts. I know you’ve spoken with Grandma, gotten her opinion. Do you think I’ll regain enough feeling, enough movement?”

Scott watched as Virgil broke eye contact. His brother was bent over in the chair, and guilt spread through him. He should take it out on Virgil. It wasn’t his fault. The tear that Virgil shed made Scott want to reach out. He did reach out, except he didn’t. His left arm didn’t move, didn’t follow the command Scott gave it. Instead, Virgil met his eyes and held his gaze. Those hazel eyes were strong and held, ready to speak the truth.

“I believe you’ll regain some feeling, just not enough for you to use the arm. You would only be allowed to fly a specially adapted plane and your days as an International Rescue operative are over. Brains is already planning on a way to allow you to fly Thunderbird One but…”

“I won’t be able to do rescues. I’ll be a liability.”

Scott’s heart broke and he knew Virgil’s was shattering beside him. International Rescue would never be the same. It would go on, because it had to, but without him at the helm of Thunderbird One, it wouldn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott pushed himself up awkwardly, still not used to the dead weight of his arm and twisted so he sat facing Virgil. His gaze fell on his fingers, again he tried to wiggle them, every thought projecting down the arm. Nothing. Virgil picked up the hand and shifted so it lay on his knee. Silently, he started massaging the muscles and flexing the fingers. These were some of Scott’s assigned exercises, all of which were easier done by someone else. Virgil went through every finger, bending it and flexing it, being careful of the cast that stopped at his knuckles. The tender care of his brother’s touch was lost to Scott. Closing his eyes, his body felt still. None of the movement could be felt. He had felt the tug when Virgil had pulled his arm, up in his shoulder, above where the main nerve had been severed.

“Grandma is reaching out to all her friends, asking if there is any research that has evaded her that might help.”

Scott fought the sob. Of course, she wouldn’t give up. She was a Tracy too, stubborn as they come. It brought a smile to his face, despite the tear that escaped. He felt his hand being placed on his leg and returned his gaze to Virgil. The artist’s hands fell on his bare shoulders, an act that gave Scott the strength he currently lacked.

“We’ll get through this.”

Scott gave Virgil a resigned nodded. He still struggled to believe it could get better. Virgil got up, leaving Scott’s shoulders to feel cold, only to return with the nightshirt he’d discarded.

“How about we get this on?”

*****

Scott stood in front of the mirror in just his suit trousers. The skin on his left arm clearly displayed the scars, a fresh pink colour, that reminded him that even though he looked okay, he wasn’t complete. It’d been almost three months and there was no change in the arm. It just hung there, limp. The rest of Scott’s body was still toned due his continued use the island gym. Even though he couldn’t be a member of International Rescue, the need to maintain his fitness remained. Yet as Scott stared at his redundant arm, he could see the signs of wastage. The bicep had less definition and his forearm was looking slimmer. Signing, he turned and slipped the shirt from its hanger. He’d gotten the technique now, on how to slip his dead arm into the sleeve, though he knew it would create creases in the crisp ironed material. Pulling it up at the shoulder, he pulled it round and slipped his right arm in. Again, his fingers had mastered the one handed fasten, and soon the shirt was done up. The suit jacket followed in the same manner. Sitting he pulled on his socks and shoes. He had yet to buy any new dress shoes, not wanting another reminder of what he couldn’t do. Slipping on the shoes, laces left untied, he grabbed his tie and room key. Outside Grandma was waiting. She’d flown him over and insisted on staying to help him. He regretted that he needed help, but the tie slipped from his hand and was thrown over his head. Scott smiled at his Grandmother as she tightened the knot round his neck before bending down and tying his shoes tightly. These shoes hadn’t let him down yet, but his secretary was aware of his difficulties and she was good at discreetly helping him.

“All ready. Go get them, Scott.”

Scott couldn’t help the small chuckle at his Grandma’s enthusiasm. He’d taken to doing more Tracy Industries work, so he didn’t just spend his time watching, worrying, and envying his brothers when they were out on rescues. They were all being careful, his arm a subtle reminder of why they must be cautious. Yet at the same time, when in the heat of the moment, they could forget it and they had started to push themselves again. They had just returned from a rescue before he had left last night, so goodness knows what could happen to them while he was away.

“Thanks Grandma. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself in New York?”

“Oh, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Anyway, we need to get you to your meeting, can’t be late now.”

“I’m the CEO, they can’t start without me!”

Grandma looped her arm in his good one and started guiding him towards the exit. She was one of the strongest women he knew and as he peered down at the top of her head, he absorbed some of that strength. It was his family that got him out of bed each morning, his family that got him through the pain that rose when he found himself staring up at Thunderbird One, or when he went to the supply cupboard and saw his spare uniform. His family kept this grounded pilot going.

*****

The previous day had been tough, and all Scott had wanted was to be flown home so he could sleep in his own bed. However, Grandma had insisted that they stay another night and spend the day in New York. One gaze into his Grandmother’s hopeful blue eyes, her hands clasped together, and he relented. Maybe he needed some time away from the island.

“So, where are you planning to take me today?”

Scott smiled down at the older woman, who had her arm in his and was pulling him towards the exit. There was an energy in her that reminded him of Alan.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d agree to meet a friend of a friend I met yesterday. She’s currently doing some research you might be interested in.”

Scott’s heart stuttered in his chest. He knew what she was referring to and he tried to stay calm. There had been so many false leads, so much promising research that was still in the earliest of stages. They had even investigated bionics, though Scott wasn’t too keen as some of the early work was less than successful in the long run. He also had Brains working on an exosuit-like device that would be able to move his arm for him, but the prototypes were still bulky and hard to control. If Grandma thought it was worth his time then he would go, he just wouldn’t get his hopes up. The car out front took them to a skyscraper, and they were met in the lobby by a smartly dressed woman who embraced Grandma.

“It’s good to see you again Sally, and you must be Mr Scott Tracy. My name is Charlene Russell, I’m a neuroscientist and it’s my research that might be of interest to you.”

Scott shook her outstretched hand, noting the glance to his useless one. They were then led up to an office where they were subjected to a presentation. Scott didn’t miss the eagerness radiating from his Grandma.

“…so, as you can see, the rats regained full use of their legs after the treatment. When it comes to the same in humans, we have been given permission to start some trials in extremely specific patients, mainly in smaller less complex neurological deficiencies. We harvest the stem cells from the bone marrow, as well as the testis in men. Unlike earlier therapies we plan to harvest multipotent stem cells, so they still obtain the ability to become most cell lines. We have managed to find a combination of signalling proteins, hormones, and growth factors, which push human stem cells to become neuroectodermal cells, which is the first stage in the development of the nervous system in a foetus. We also have the right combination to produce neural stem cells. Our treatment involves injecting these cells into the area around the damaged nerves to allow the cells to trigger repair and in some cases, even bridge the broken strands allowing signals to pass along the nerves. It can take a few treatments to get the best results, but in our trials so far, patients have regained more function than expected from normal treatment alone.”

Scott sat straight, trying to take in all the science that was being thrown at him. The take home message seemed that they could repair damaged nerves in some patients. But would it work for him? He dared not hope for full movement but even some. If he could just feed himself and tie his shoes. To not have to rely on someone else for the simplest of things. It would ease the worry he saw in Virgil’s eyes.

“Do you think it could help me?”

“Well, Sally kindly shared with me your medical scans, and considering the nerve damage is limited to a few small areas, with the main break being at the top of your arm, this type of therapy has the potential to help. This therapy is very individualistic, and outcomes can vary, but if we could get even a few stem cells to bridge the gap at the top of your arm then that could restore some function, even if it’s just sensations of touch or pain.”

Even the feeling of touch would be an improvement. Currently he often bruised or cut the skin on his left arm because he couldn’t feel it. He had once left a trail of blood through the house when he’d cut his finger on something and hadn’t noticed.

“You said only a few selected cases could undergo the treatment, would I fall into this category?”

“Currently you don’t, however we have just been granted permission to try the therapy on a person with a similar injury in their leg. I believe we could apply to allow you on a trial as we could use your data in conjunction with theirs to assess the therapies potential in humans. We would have to apply straight away as the sooner after injury the treatment is preformed the better the success and you are already close to three months post injury.”

“Do you think we could get permission?”

“Yes. I believe the fact that you are Scott Tracy will help with your case too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have nothing to lose.”

Charlene smiled at him and Scott couldn’t help but mirror it.

“I’ll go fetch all the appropriate paperwork. I’ve had one of the medical teams on standby ready to do the required examinations and tests on your arm. These will have to be repeated at a late date for confirmation. Also, if you consent, they are also able to do the tissue harvest to start the process of extracting and culturing your multipotent stem cells. This would mean we could move quickly into starting treatment once permission is obtained.”

“So, I’m going to have a bone marrow harvest and you said something about testis in men, what does that involve?”

Charlene looked a little sheepish.

“Yes, the doctors will take a small slither of testicular tissue. They have assured me that it won’t affect your ability to have children and involves making a small incision with minimal scaring. The doctors will explain all the risks later, though from what I’ve heard most men don’t complain, especially if the bone marrow harvest is done first or at the same time.”

Scott swallowed, but nodded. There were always risks with new procedures, but this might be his best shot. There was a chance, a glimmer of hope if bureaucracy didn’t get in his way. Then he was Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy industries and still considered Commander of International Rescue to most of the world. When had a bit of paperwork ever stopped him from getting what he wanted?

#sensorysunday #thunderbirds are go #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #grandma tracy #sensorysunday2020 #whump #aftermath #recovery #numb #hope #medical trial #his family keep him going

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valiant-reindeer-queen · 5 years ago

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When All Is Lost, Then All Is Found (Chapter 1)

Rating: K Words: 1,384 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: Kristoff receives a head injury after coming home from ice harvesting and suffers from amnesia, leaving Anna to deal with the fear she never wanted to face. Anna learns to cope through yet another difficult circumstance, and Kristoff learns to see things through Anna’s eyes. Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Notes: Here is the first chapter to my baby- I mean, story! This is a story that means a lot to me. Hard times hit us all but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, and our sweet little Anna will find that out again. I am really passionate about this because I feel it’s something these characters would actually go through and work through; and I want it to be raw, I want it to be real. And hopefully I can accomplish that. Well, enjoy guys! There’s not much to the first chapter but the second chapter will be a doozie. :) Enjoy!

Another day came to an end. Summer turned dark and gloomy. Anna was about to retire early for the night. She walked past the small writing desk and stopped in front of it. Anna would usually wind down by writing about her day. Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn’t. When she was down though, she especially made it a priority to do so. It helped her to keep the proper perspective, to look back at these writings and see that eventually things do get better. But today she didn’t even want to do that, she just wanted to lay down and cry. She knew this would help though.

Anna sighed and pulled out the chair. Sitting down she began to write;

“It’s a strange feeling to lose someone who is still alive. To know someone for years and yet they don’t even know you. I have to be strong, but how can I when I feel so weak? I wish I could just forget everything too. This pain is something I’ve never experienced before. This week was supposed to be everything, and now it’s nothing. I should be thankful, so why I am so distressed? I know patience is the answer. I know that one day I’ll come back to this and say to myself “See, I told you so! Everything is all right.” But I’ll believe that moment when it comes. The pain is too intense for me to have any positive expectations right now. For now all I can do is the next right thing and hope something comes of it. It hasn’t failed me before, so this gives me a glimmer of hope. And this small hope is what will carry me through another tomorrow.”

******

2 Days Earlier

All but a few clouds surrounded Arendelle on this beautiful summer day. Life for Anna since becoming queen has been nothing short of delightful. Her sister is protector of the Enchanted Forest, engagement has turned into marriage, and now she has a king to rule beside her. And their one year anniversary was just a week away! Kristoff had done well in keeping his surprise for Anna a secret, except for the fact that he told her he has a surprise in store. Today was Kristoff’s day to go ice harvesting. Since gaining control over her powers, Elsa was able to provide ice for her people at will; but now that she’s no longer Queen of Arendelle and with the Northuldra tribe, there became a need for ice harvesters again; which Kristoff jumped at the opportunity to lead in again. He feels it’s his duty as king since he, out of everyone currently, has been doing it the longest. A troubled subject for him and Anna. Anna has always expressed her fear of him ice harvesting. She’s gotten slightly better though since they were first married. She knows how much he loves it; and that allowing him to do it is a way of showing him her trust and respect. Kristoff feels there is no need to be concerned. Yes, it’s dangerous, but he feels he’s gotten the mastery over the common threats that come with this job. He’s been harvesting ice since he was young, and besides, he’s got Sven with him. What could happen? ******

Anna took a deep breath in of the fresh air coming from her balcony.

Kristoff sat on the bed putting his boots on. “Exciting day!”

Anna turned around to face him. “Why is that, dear?”

He grinned proudly, putting on his other boot. “I’m going to be hiring on some new harvesters today!”

“Oh,” Anna lowered her brows slightly, “I thought you already had enough ice harvesters.”

“I did,” He said as he finally managed to get his boot on. “but a couple of guys quit on me last week. Some people just aren’t cut out for it.”

“Or,” Anna started hesitantly. “maybe their wives told their husbands how worried this job made them and they decided to quit so they wouldn’t worry anymore.”

Kristoff’s eyebrow raised as he looked up at her. “Anna, I know what you’re doing.”

Anna let out a sharp sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t- I just-” She decided to drop the subject mid-sentence. She didn’t want to get into anything right before their anniversary. “...Whenever you do this, I worry about you all day.”

Kristoff smiled as he stood up, putting his hands around her shoulders. “Hey, I’ll be okay. And like I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I’ve been doing this my whole life, I know what I’m doing.”

Anna looked down from his warm gaze. “I know.”

Kristoff looked up at the clock. “Anyway, I really should get going. Will you see me out?” He said as he put his arm out for her.

She wrapped her arm around his, resting her other hand on his forearm. “Like always.” She said with a smile looking up at him.

As they made their way down the hallway Kristoff looked down at Anna. “Are you looking forward to next week?”

She looked up at him beaming. “I’ve only been waiting for it all year!”

Kristoff chuckled.

“Has it felt like a year to you?” Anna asked.

“No, not at all. But I’ve certainly cherished every moment of it.” Kristoff said with a warm smile.

Anna smiled warmly in return. “Me too.”

They made their way down the stairs and to the gates. The guards began to open them as they saw Kristoff and Anna approaching.

“Now Anna,” Kristoff said as he stopped and turned to her. “I know you’re going to worry no matter what, but please, try not to.”

Anna looked down. “It’s hard not to worry about someone you love.” She said despondently.

“I know, and I appreciate your concern for me. Just trust me, alright?”

Anna’s eyes moved from left to right before she slowly fixed her gaze to his. “Alright. I trust you.” She said looking directly into his eyes.

Kristoff smiled, bringing his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She said right before he leaned in for a tender kiss, one that lasted longer than usual. As he started to break away Anna leaned back in and Kristoff let her; He knew how much she feared anything happening to the ones she loved. He decided to let her break away when she felt ready. She continued. Sweet lingering kisses. Kristoff wasn’t minding. Once she finally broke away, their eyes met; Kristoff could see the watery glaze over her eyes.

“Please be safe.” Anna said trying to hide her look of concern, knowing he could probably see it. She tried giving him her best smile of confidence.

“I will be, I promise.” Kristoff said with a smirk, nodding his head.

He grabbed both of her hands and gave them a gentle kiss. “Bye, love.” He said as he slowly pulled his hands away from hers.

“Bye, my Kristoff.”

He turned and walked off looking back at her with that smile she loves. Anna smiled back until she saw his head turn back to the direction he was going. She then sighed and turned back to the castle.

All of the sudden she heard his voice. “Anna!” He exclaimed.

By the time she turned around he was there in front of her. He grabbed onto her shoulders and gave her some quick kisses around her face. One right below her jawline, forehead and nose; A habitual thing he would do with her unexpectedly.

“Bye baby!” He said as he turned around and darted off.

Anna couldn’t help but giggle like a little girl and forget about everything for that brief moment. Kristoff knew that no matter what state she was in, sad or upset, that always managed to make her feel overjoyed for some reason. Her joy was short lived though as she watched him leave.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. “Calm down, Anna, he’s going to be fine, like always.” She said out loud with a false smile of confidence, hoping to reassure herself. “Please be safe.” She said once more as she finally turned her sight away from him, heading back to the castle.

She knew today was going to be a long day.

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #frozen #frozen 2

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elane-in-the-shadows · 5 years ago

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

A/N: As I promised this would be the last chapter before the epilogue, I didn’t want to break it in two parts, so this became awfully long. Please stay tuned until the end ^^°

The frozen ground cracked under her boots; the crisp wind blew with shrill cries. Diana stepped carefully, lest she lost her balance over the iced-over spots. She didn’t understand why Operative Swan would choose this February evening in coldest winter to come to the northern Lakelands, but Diana would go to Swan’s meeting no matter what.

Maybe Swan got stuck in the weather here, that’s why. At least it didn’t rain or snow.

“You okay?” asked Marcus Wolff, walking next to her.

Diana hmphed, but as he couldn’t notice her gloomy expression beneath the scarf wrapped around her head, she retorted, “I live here.”

Wolff hmphed back. He returned to his usual silence, yet a few hours before, he’d literally run into her when she’d emerged from the forest in the afternoon.

He’d grabbed her arm. “Come with me,” he’d urged. “There’s a meeting in Aerzen, with Swan. Someone from here should show up.”

“My parents …” Diana had replied, startled by the offer and his insistence.

Wolff had shaken his head. “No time, it’s 15 kilometers and we have to walk.” He’d glanced at her hunting rifle. “Leave that in my transport.”

Apparently, he’d parked his transport at Armina’s Cordes’s farm, to give the impression he was there too, as the farmer had to stay home.

Diana had enough time to ponder on all this, though she was mostly excited about the chance to see Swan again, a real and obviously important member of the Scarlet Guard. She missed the assuring weight of her rifle but agreed with the problems of showing up armed in another place.

Wolff had been right. It would’ve taken too long to search for her parents who she hadn’t seen all day. What was going on here that she didn’t fully grasp? She almost imagined Wolff picked her up specifically, not just because she’d been at hand.

What if Swan does want to meet with me?

Another gush of wind hit her face and she pulled her scarf tighter. She breathed in its woollen scent, hoping to catch a whiff of Giselle’s as well. The scarf was – among others of its kind – a present from her girlfriend. But after much use in the cold and damp weather, it had begun to smell rather of Diana, the woods and the hunt – and thus did nothing now to quell Diana’s yearning.

There had been no time to tell Giselle of her trip, either. In fact, in her parents’ absence this morning, Diana had invited Giselle over to spend the evening with her. In her bed.

It was a few weeks after their first sex. That first time had been in the darkest and shortest days of the last year, when absolutely no one wanted to be, or urged another, to go outside, that Giselle had led Diana up to her bedroom while the rest of the household sat downstairs, chatting in front of the fire.

Perhaps it really had been hesitation, a waiting for their own readiness, that had stopped them before, because now they found it so easy to sneak away and make love. Almost once a week they gave in to their fiery desires.

Diana snorted, assuming her face was already bright red from the cold, so her blush would be fully inconspicuous. The day had been grey and cloudy to begin with and the falling of dusk came early and was barely discernible. Nothing but frost would kiss her tonight.

I hope this meeting will be worth flaking on Giselle and freezing my ass off.

Operative Swan awaited them in the house of the congregation of Aerzen. Looking as formidable as ever, Swan held a speech that did make her sound like a priest. Again, Diana noticed how much Swan resembled the queen.

But no. Although she’d seen only a few images of Queen Cenra Cygnet, there was something off about their resemblance. Beneath the appearance of a veteran soldier, Diana figured, Swan tried to be charming and recruit people for the Scarlet Guard. The queen would never.

The queen has so much power already, she has no need to win over anyone else. Or just believes she doesn’t.

When Swan finished her speech, a few from the two dozens listening left the house. Diana resisted the urge to follow them – she was past being wooed or excluded. Instead, when Swan retreated into an office, Diana came along with the remaining participants who followed the operative, Wolff among them, and took a seat.

Diana’s eyes toured over the group. She didn’t know how to describe them, but they didn’t look like casual listeners who were only curious – they had experience with meetings like this.

Soon, Swan started a new conversation, a business-like one without the recruitment tone. She reported of several Scarlet Guard successes, staying somewhat vague so the others would have little to betray. Afterwards, she beckoned the group to speak about their hometowns in a similar manner, listening to what they could provide or lacked themselves – which included mentions of threats and abuse from the Silvers and the Reds in their thrall.

It was all very conspirative, and very fascinating. This is it, Diana realized, this is what I’ve waited for.

When a pause fell over the group, Swan’s gaze shifted to Diana, lingering there for a decisive, challenging moment. It was less an ask and more of a dare, and Diana was ready.

“I’m from Sieverling,” she began, taking the same approach as the other speakers and ignoring her throbbing heart. “Our harvest was poor due to the weather, and we have little reserves after the tithe paid at new year.” She swallowed, glancing around the table. “We can ration and share, and hunt for some meat, but there isn’t much game to be found now, and,” – did she sound like asking for pity and alms? – “we’ll have to make do, but it’s our turn in the greeny corvee this year, and we’ve already made bad experiences with it.” She shrugged. “It might get worse.”

The group watched her intently, Swan most of all. It was also Swan whose eyes stayed on her just a little longer, before she cleared her throat and wrote something down. “We’ll see to it,” she said simply, just how she’d replied to the other reports, although shorter and with a brusque note.

The meeting continued and ended with Swan wishing them goodbye – conspicuously devoid of conclusions or promises.

Secretive after all. Diana rose and moved out slowly. Wolff had vanished on his own, so she remained in the building, waiting for him.

It was Swan who called her after a few minutes. “Ms. Farley,” she repeated, “I’m glad you made it here.”

Diana almost saluted. She inclined her head. “So am I, ma’am,” she replied.

“You’re new to this,” Swan stated, more serious now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Swan nodded. “Well, it’s good you’re so committed, but I think you don’t understand yet.” Her brown eyes bored into Diana’s, and Diana’s greater height meant nothing in this moment. Swan towered over her as her fingers clasped around Diana’s arm.

“You see, the Guard has to cover its expenses in some way, or we can surrender right now,” Swan said.

Diana nodded, but for a second, Swan’s grip tightened like a vice, her gaze never leaving Diana’s face. “If you ask the Guard for help, we’ll expect compensation in return.” Swan let go.

“I promise to deliver, ma’am,” Diana said, unsettled but obedient.

Swan inclined her head, her expression softening slightly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Is there … another mission for me?”

Swan crossed her arms and waved a hand. Diana didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean – besides “wait more” – then Swan sighed. “There might already be something under way. Anyway, I look forward to work with you further, Ms. Farley.”

They shook hands and Diana grasped that their conversation was about to end. Yet she wouldn’t be left hanging again. “Please wait,” she called in a firm voice.

Swan raised her eyebrows, half surprised, half affirmed.

“Will we meet again?” Diana asked.

“How would I know?” Swan sounded almost amused.

Diana frowned. “If so … I’d like to avoid wasting any more time.”

Swan cackled shortly. “Of course not.”

“I want to pledge myself to the Scarlet Guard,” Diana went on, unperturbed.

Earnestness returned to Swan’s face. It took a second at most, but Diana felt like falling until she heard Swan reply “yes”.

Rise, red as the dawn.

So simple. So fitting. So obvious. And yet, the credo filled Diana’s mind like a prayer she’d never needed before. It was done, she was the oathed member “Lamb” of the Scarlet Guard. Though it was rather a start than an achievement, she was elated.

She’d be worthy. She’d bring change. She had to admit she didn’t know how to change what, but that was why she joined the Guard, wasn’t it?

The world had kept her ignorant of what could be, but it was unable to hide its wrongness from her and so many others. It was time to step up, to rise.

Although currently, she stepped the long way home, over the icy ground and through the dark. It was almost midnight, and couldn’t be further from the red dawn.

Wolff stayed the night in Aerzen for some undisclosed reason, but thanks to her hunter’s training, she had no extraordinary problems to find her way home in the night.

She’d almost arrived.

At her home, a lantern shone. From her parents? Or Madeline? Though Diana’s sister was used to their family’s comings and goings in the dark, and would have simply retired without waiting, maybe leaving a candle in her window at most. And the light on the porch was clearly brighter than that.

Diana increased her speed, growing a little wary. But she was hit by surprise nonetheless when she heard Giselle greet her. She rushed the last steps up the porch, into the warm orange light of the lantern and Giselle’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered. “Why didn’t you go in?”

Giselle hummed instead of answering, shoving away Diana’s scarf and snuggling her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Diana shuddered when she felt Giselle’s breath on her skin.

“I should go in?” Giselle murmured teasingly. “Who stayed outside half the night?” She chuckled, one hand on Diana’s back, hugging her tighter, her other hand searching for Diana’s cold fingers. “You’re a literal icicle.”

Diana kissed Giselle’s temple, Giselle’s squeak a proof of the coldness of Diana’s lips. Diana laughed, fumbling with her fingers so she could pull an oversized mitten over their joined hands. “You’re warming me now,” she said softly, and meant it. She hadn’t expected to see Giselle after she’d left for the meeting, and now she wished to bring Giselle up to her room and cuddle with her in her bed.

She moaned as Giselle’s hand found its way under her coat and to her bare back. They began to sway, in a manner that only marginally resembled dancing due to the hour, the temperature, their exhaustion and thick clothes. Yet Diana could easily imagine another dance of them, just as beautiful.

Eventually, Giselle went on her toes and kissed Diana on the lips. “You stood me up,” she breathed, “and I demand compensation.”

Compensation.

The word crossed through her mind as they kissed again, longer and deeper. It was the second time she heard this word tonight, and it made her consider. Was this the moment to confess? It was merely a question of time before Giselle would ask where she’d been, why she’d broken her promise, and Diana had no explanation ready but the truth.

Giselle’s fingers cradled Diana’s face but her gaze wandered, up and down and aside, in that adorable manner of hers. “I haven’t waited here for long, actually,” Giselle said. “I’ve heard something and I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Diana lifted her eyebrows. Giselle threw back her head and laughed. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but the news is already making the round, and Ms. Cordes herself said it too, so …” she shrugged and smiled and – in Diana’s eyes – shone brighter than her lantern ever could.

“Lord Isère bought new land and wants tenants to work it,” Giselle went on. “Tenants like my family.”

Diana squeaked and embraced Giselle. She imagined sweeping her of her feet but was too tired for that by now. Excitement and joy for Giselle’s sake rushed through her bloodstream still. “Awesome!” she exclaimed. “Like you wished for.”

Giselle giggled with her, their joined laughter getting louder by the second until they had to stop to catch breath. “Indeed,” Giselle agreed, “indeed.” She quieted, fingertips brushing Diana’s cheek. “I wonder …” she began, yet drifted off.

“What?” Diana muttered as soon as it dawned on her.

“Would you come with me?” Giselle asked, chewing her lips. She sounded hopeful.

But as Diana stayed silent, trying all she could to freeze her face and give nothing away, Giselle frowned. “I … understand you’d want to finish your apprenticeship as a huntress,” she said, not sounding understanding at all. “But I don’t think the new village will have need of a hunter … “

She was still so close, having only slightly loosened their embrace, but it felt like she was flying way, leaving Diana to fall. Diana fought the sensation, lifting her hand to Giselle’s head, cradling it. “We can –”, she urged – but what? What could she offer?

All she could read in Giselle’s face was disappointment. She inched away and grabbed Diana’s arms. “I don’t get it, Diana!” she shouted. “You always said, you wanted away, you wanted change! What is here for you?”

What is here for me?

The Scarlet Guard, obviously. But that wasn’t why she hesitated. She could still fight with them from the next village over. It was that Diana knew it wouldn’t end there, the Guard would ask more and more from her because that was the one thing Swan was clear about.

And if Diana loved Giselle and wanted to be with her, she had to be open with her.

She shook her head and smiled weakly. She closed the distance between them and let their foreheads touch. The muscles in her fingers tensed, tightening her hold on Giselle’s face, and Giselle took the hand in hers and moved her head to kiss Diana’s palm. She smiled back and Diana remembered how Giselle had beamed only moments before, when she’d talked about her new future.

I have to be honest with her…, Diana thought, her lips already moving as if preparing for the words to say, looking into Giselle’s expectant eyes.

… But I also have to protect her.

She closed her eyes. Diana dreamed of the Red Dawn, but Giselle dreamed of a home in safety. And Diana couldn’t take that dream away from her.

Diana pulled away harshly and both their smiles vanished in an instant.

It wasn’t over yet. She could still go back.

She thought of all those times when Giselle had side-eyed her, full of unanswered and unasked questions. Where had Diana been? Why was she away? Why did she learn to fight?

Giselle had never asked, and Diana had preferred to believe she was just moody, like everyone was. But maybe, Giselle really didn’t want to know, nor cared about what Diana did behind her back and wished for deep down.

If they wanted to go on, they’d need to trust one another. And Diana realized she could not grant Giselle that trust.

She stepped back.

Shock spread over Giselle’s face and Diana craved to reach out, to touch her, just one last time. Instead she balled her fists, straightened her back and gave Giselle a hard gaze, engraving that final sight of Giselle into her mind – even though it was a sight of despair.

“I’m sorry,” she said tonelessly, and turned around, opening the door to her house, dashing through and locking it behind her.

She breathed heavily but bit down her tears and sobs as she sank down. She restrained her cries so much it hurt. Not to wake Madeline, she restrained them as she went to her room, as she undressed herself, put on her nightgown and laid down – and only then, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, she began to cry.

She wore the nightgown Giselle had given her on her birthday. It was a meager replacement for the real girl’s touch.

Diana fell in and out of sleep.

Madeline went over to her at some point, stroking her back and whispering soothing words until Diana was asleep again.

Later, in the early morning, Madeline chased off Papa when he came looking for her. Diana didn’t care about hunting, or telling them about the meeting. She stayed in bed until it was almost noon.

It was sunnier today, although hardly warmer. When she managed to get up, she wrapped herself in a blanket while washing her face. She looked terrible in the mirror and felt close to crying again when she noticed she wore a nightgown from Giselle, held on to a blanket Giselle had embroidered, and used soap she’d made.

So many parts of her Diana had taken for granted and now they were the only things she’d left from her.

“Stop it,” she whispered to her face in the mirror. “Stop.”

She decided to drink some tea – and realized it would be also from Giselle. But it had to stop hurting, didn’t it? Giselle wasn’t dead, and Diana had a mission waiting for her. Life would go on. The Scarlet Guard, they would be her life from now on.

Downstairs, her mother stood at the kitchen window. And she looked even worse than Diana.

The corners of Clara’s mouth twitched. “Good morning.”

“Mama!” Diana cried out, for a second unashamed of sounding like a little girl wanting her mother to comfort her and not at all like a soldier to be.

Not that she gave in to the impulse, even though she smelled Giselle’s tea, prepared by her mother, drifting over the fragrance of the burning fire. She only held on tighter to her mother, breathing heavily as Mama rubbed over her back.

When Mama pulled away, Diana was ready. Keeping her face straight, she said, “I’ve been to a Scarlet Guard meeting last night.”

Mama nodded, gesturing to the table. Diana sat down, thankful for her mother putting bread and a mug with tea in front of her. Sadness and excitement warred in her and either would make her hands shake.

“I’ve given my oath as well,” Diana continued, warming her palms with the mug and meeting her mother’s expectant gaze. Yet further words eluded her. Shouldn’t she have talked about the meeting first, before mentioning her personal success? She stared into the tea until she found her reflection in its surface –

“Hey.” Mama patted her shoulder and Diana looked up. “Congratulations, lamb,” Mama said and Diana settled back into the here and now, though irked that her old pet name and her Guard designation were the same.

Mama cleared her throat. “I knew about the meeting,” she said and took Diana’s hands. “I couldn’t go there” – she paused and blinked – “because I was on a mission myself.”

“Really?”

Mama nodded slowly, then closed her eyes. “Eleven,” she murmured.

“What?”

Mama looked up. “With last night, I’ve killed eleven Silvers by now.”

Diana was aghast. “You … you never said anything,” she stammered.

“I’m becoming the Guard’s favourite killer,” Mama mused. “Or rather their butcher.” She cackled. She turned her face to Diana who was too shocked to speak.

“Last night, it was at a Silver manor,” Mama narrated. “I was to steal coins and grain, then set a fire for distraction.” Her expression darkened. “It didn’t go as planned. There were guests, and then the house blew up.

“I took what I could, and told the same to the dozen of Red workers at the manor. Also that they should flee and hide here.”

“Here? In – “

“Yes. They’ll arrive in a few days.” Mama sighed. “It was so much, Diana. Enough money to support the Guard for months.” She shook her head. “My handler was elated. Said they can’t wait to finally deploy me on a greater scale.”

In the pregnant silence that followed, Diana grasped the implication. “They want you elsewhere?”

Mama nodded, squeezing Diana’s hands. “Papa too. They’re going to press harder for relocation now, as you’ve become a full member as well.”

So they’ve been asking her and Papa to move for a while. Diana gulped. “I had no idea.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Diana’s head sank. “No. Yes …” She looked up. “It’s obvious in hindsight, isn’t it?” She gasped as a consequence crossed her mind. “But Madeline?”

Mama shook her head.

“She won’t come with us?” Diana asked and her mother declined.

“To imagine leaving my little girl behind …” Mama sighed deeply. “You know she never had any interest. She wants to stay at my family’s farm. She isn’t like us.” A hint of accusation swung in her voice, but not for Madeline. For herself.

Diana squeezed her mother’s hand. “We can’t make her join,” she said quietly, thinking of someone else as well. “That would be worse.”

Mama pulled loose and leaned back in her chair. She stared at her hands, stretching her fingers that were worn from work. Her fingernails showed dark grey stains. From the fire last night, Diana guessed. Or from dead Silvers.

“I thought this place is only good for hiding,” Mama said slowly. “Not for living. But it’s still so hard to leave it behind.”

Diana knew. The coming farewell from her hometown soon left her with a constant ache, a fear of the uncertain future. But this ache was manageable because the future was always unclear, because it also came with a glimmer of hope.

It didn’t stop Diana from sobbing in her pillow the next night. And the next. And the next, as she saw her fate weaving a pattern that denied any option for her and Giselle to be together. She hadn’t anticipated that certainty to arrive so fast, had wished, deep down, to return to her, to give her another chance.

There couldn’t be one, so Diana cried in the dark and every time Madeline would go to comfort her for a while even though Diana didn’t explain why she was sad. It became obvious after a few days anyway, but it was also that Madeline wished to be there for her sister as long as they were together still.

It was enough that her family pampered her, Diana wouldn’t let herself be pitied by the whole village. She had enough to do, preparing their – illegal – leave and instructing the fugitive workers from the manor her mother had burned down. With them arrived resources from the Scarlet Huard, like a reward for her mother’s successful mission. Among the newcomers was a hunter boy Diana took with her to make him familiar with the lands and the forest.

There were times when she enjoyed the idea that Giselle might suspect there was something between her and the boy. At other times, she hated the image. What Giselle really thought, she had no idea. From one day to the next, she and Giselle had stopped talking, as if it was easier that way.

Maybe it was. After all, barely a month had passed when Giselle and her family moved out to Lord Isère’s new settlement; mere days before Giselle’s 17th birthday. Another thing Diana was glad about, for she couldn’t imagine to pretend it was just any other day.

It was painful enough when Giselle embraced her in farewell, like she did with every other youth they grew up with. During her turn, Diana noticed how Giselle’s joyful smile dropped just a little.

Then Diana Farley’s first love, in her best dress and with spring flowers in her hair, climbed onto a cart to leave her past, the village and the girl she’d loved behind, to seek her own path.

Madeline sat on her bed, brushing her yellow hair. It was the June morning before Sieverling’s greeny corvee, Madeline’s first.

She’ll take my place, Diana thought. It was strange to realize since, in several ways, Madeline would really take her place, at least in Sieverling. She’d stay. Diana would leave. Today, it was an order from the Scarlet Guard calling her and her father away to retrieve travel permits and other faked papers for Diana and her parents for when they were moving out of their home village to wherever the Guard wanted them.

Of course they haven’t told us anything yet.

Neither timing was optimal with the corvee coming, but as the participation lists were old, Madeline, the other kids older than ten now, and the newcomers could fill the ranks for the next few days. Unless someone with the delegated Silvers noticed the new arrivals. Unless someone wondered about those who’d recently left Sieverling for another settlement.

Diana swallowed at the thought that came so close to Giselle. She couldn’t bear it. She rose from the bed, preparing for her own trip but occasionally glancing at her sister.

The early sunlight gleamed and sparkled at her golden necklace, a family heirloom from their mother’s family. Uncle Timo had given it and another to his sister Clara as a parting gift. Diana had declined hers, and passed it on to Madeline.

“So you’ll remember us,” Diana had said, clasping the necklace around her sister’s neck.

Madeline had quirked an eyebrow. “So you’ll remember we’re still here,” she’d retorted.

Diana didn’t know if she could deal with Madeline away from her on top of everything else. She looked at her sister, taking another mental image of her. At thirteen, her sister had gotten big, so tall and long-legged. Her hair, straight and thin unlike Diana’s, had grown so long too. Yet she was still quite slight, delicate and childlike.

How can we …?

“Hey,” Madeline stood up, brushing Diana’s arm. “Help me with that?” She pointed to the necklace’s clasp.

“Ah, sure.” Diana reacted slowly, still in a slump. Sometimes she doubted she would be a help to anyone when heartbreak could shatter her like this, asked herself how much her family did only to comfort her. They’d even had a photo taken of the four of them, before they’d part ways.

“Thanks,” said Madeline as Diana placed the necklace in her hand. She looked up to her big sister, with her green eyes, her only facial feature that was more like Mama than Papa.

Madeline put the necklace in a box. “Good luck to you,” she said with a smile and Diana had to smile back. “I confess, I’m kind of excited.” Madeline’s grin widened, her voice going higher in jest. “Who knows, maybe the queen – “

“– will visit us this year?” Diana finished and they both laughed at the old joke. “I hope not.”

As Diana and her father were on their hike to the town were their papers waited in a cache, her thoughts returned to her sister’s old joke. Indeed, she was relieved she wouldn’t meet the Silvers of the greeny corvee, let alone the queen of the Lakelands. Despite her oath, she’d be tempted too much to not act against them in a rush.

Must be Mama’s killer instinct, she considered. But since she wasn’t sure she was ready for another kill, it was probably better this way.

Diana felt better in general, too. She didn’t know where it came from in that moment, but for the first time in months, she didn’t only believe, but also trusted in the cause, and walked lighter for that alone.

I have to stop pitying myself, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, Madeline had it almost right – a royal of House Cygnet granted Sieverling a visit. But it was the king, not the queen, and he didn’t come to retrieve crops, but to bring a flood.

She had been wrong to ever feel sorry about the Silver woman she’d killed; wrong to even think Silvers could be “like them.” She’d thought her ignorance about them granted the Silvers the benefit of the doubt, but if she was true to herself, every interaction with them had pointed only in the one direction.

She snorted as she strapped her boots so tight it hurt. She welcomed the pain these days, anything that distracted her from the gaping hole inside of her.

And tightly-strapped boots made it easier to get over the wet ground she was trudging through. She hated it. She hated the walk, the hour, the landscape, herself. When she glimpsed the puddles on the fields through the dark at the end of the night, a fear rose up in her, together with the memory of Sieverling – and what happened to it and everyone she knew.

He was here too, this place was also flooded, and so is …!

She pressed her eyes shut. Calm down. She chided herself, supressing the ridiculous fear along with anything else she couldn’t allow herself to feel.

She was made of stone and, clad in camouflage, invisible in the late night. The world was shades of grey and as colourless as her heart. Just the new poppy buds, about to bloom today, offered a few bright spots.

The newly-built village looked strange: too clean, almost lifeless – because drudgery simply hadn’t worn it out yet.

She arrived this early so no one would be awake yet. The village looked busy enough, with its animals grazing on pastures and plants growing on the fields. Good to know they seemed to do well.

Fortunately, the settlement wasn’t too large and the house she searched for was located on the corner she came from. She was certain enough it was the right one, with its façade painted with familiar, colourful patterns.

She produced the envelope addressed with Giselle’s name from her pocket and crouched down to shove it under the door. She laid her hands on the door. Then she rested her head against it. She breathed heavily. To know that at least Giselle slept safely, just behind this door …!

She balled her fists and got up. She had no time to linger any longer.

The letter had been short:

Dear Giselle,

I’m happy you found and arrived at the place you wished for.

In the end, we’ve left, too.

She’d struggled, laboured over these few words. But she had nothing else she could say. It had been even harder to convince herself to sign it with her name. It would be pointless to end the letter without it, and still she hated how that single signature made her feel a finality in one more than one way.

Looking over her shoulder, she sighed one last time and headed back to their camp where she hadn’t slept in for a minute.

She hurried but he already expected her, looming as serious and soldier-like as ever.

They had that in common now, like they’d begun to share so many traits. None of them were a comfort though, only necessities.

And yet he took the necklaces and even the photo, she remembered. Memories of happiness she’d decided she wouldn’t afford.

“Diana,” he said, the chiding tone unmistakeable. She ignored him. She’d learned, to her surprise, that the Scarlet Guard had made him a major, a rank unattainable to a Red in the Lakelands’ army. He was oh so proud of it and it showed.

“Diana,” he repeated, firmer now and she could no longer avoid his gaze. His sight hurt her. The scowl was the only expression he wore on his face nowadays, and it’d rip her open if she didn’t answer in kind. So she glared at him while he simply continued, “you shouldn’t have gone there. You know we have to stay hidden. Di –”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. She watched his startlement with an icy satisfaction going down her spine.

Her voice and face were devoid of emotion and she hoped that pleased him in turn. “I’m Operative Farley of the Scarlet Guard,” she announced. “And nothing else.”

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @goldfincheli @avid-author-activist @maudthebookeater @spookymareshmallow @misslucyhutton @ghostlymaven @olivegreenolives @neyrriz @gamer670 @loveverygalaxybouquetstuff @shadykittentraveler @yjlover @blairistired @onlycosmere @lil-taco-kid @brightfairyyy @scxrletguardsdawn @sxfik @1booklover @orphic-aubade @prayforthewickedz

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

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Get Up Eight, Chapter 4

River of Silk | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Obiyuki Week, Day 1 Envy | Kindness

The sun hangs low in the morning sky, but still Hodogaya-juku is choked with travelers, each of them waiting for the soldiers to check their travel permits. Obi leans, squinting into the glare, but all he gets out of it is the bridge’s rail digging hard into his hip. He’d seen a print of this place once, a ukiyo-e done by one of the masters, but somehow it had failed to captured this, the endless non-movement of waiting as the day’s heat builds at his back.

There’s no soba shop either. At least not one open this early in the morning. Which means there’s no pretty serving girls either, no fans fluttering alluringly in the air as they call out to men passing by.

Okyakusama, come inside. They are not yujo, so there would be no promises to follow, but their demure gazes are meant to be as exciting as a taste of skin. You’ve never tasted such pleasures as we have for you.

A laugh huffs out of him. Not likely, in a place like this. The soba might be filling, might scratch hunger’s itch on a long day, but even with hardly more than a few mon in his pocket, Obi’s had better. And with ojou-san’s ryo...

Well, the best was yet to come. Last night had taught him that well enough. All he needs to do it let himself enjoy it.

Easier said than done, when all that’s behind his eyes is that pale expanse of skin, a round bead of water making it’s agonizing journey over it’s curves--

You look very much like a samurai in those clothes...

His lips thin. He’s not being paid to have such thoughts, and all they’ve done so far is make him all-too aware of her body next to him, to the exact temperature of the air between them.

He doesn’t see so much as feel ojou-san squirm at his side. With each shuffling step they take toward the checkpoint, she curls even more tightly into herself, as if by making herself a snail, she might somehow be overlooked by the shogun’s men.

She is not alone. There is tension in every traveler these days, the world more uncertain than it’s ever been. From here he cannot see the mon on the soldier’s haori, but this is not Kyoto, not a hotbed of conflicting loyalties free to run rampant outside of the shogun’s indifferent gaze. No, this is well within Edo’s shadow, and if the men did not wear the triple hollyhock --

Well, things would be a lot worse than he remembered.

For the fifth time in as many minutes, a slender hand rises, fidgeting with the edge of her covering. He can’t cage his sigh this time.

“You’re only drawing attention to it, ojou-san,” he tells her, careful to keep his gaze ahead, to keep himself from chasing that glimpse of crimson he knows lies underneath.

Her hand snaps back down, as if he’d slapped it. Ojou-san is so careful to keep her gaze lowered, to keep her posture suitably deferential, but he can see the displeased bow of her mouth. A good scolding is building behind those thinned lips.

He shouldn’t find that so enticing, but well, here he is.

“What is our plan?” she asks instead, voice soft yet steely. He likes that about her; ojou-san may seem quiet, may play a little mouse, but beneath that mask is a vixen. Her scarf may cover her markings, but she is a kitsune through and through, meant to enthrall wayward ronin to her side.

“Plan?” Maybe he should offer to count her tails.

He bites back a smile. That would be a quick way to feel the kiss of her palm.

“What are we going to tell the dōshin?” Her gaze lifts, soft and bright as jade, and his heart gives a traitorous pound. There’s no need for this; rare does not mean special, not for the likes of him

“The dōshin?” His laugh is far too raw; she flinches, sending that soft green scuttling away. “We’ll be lucky if we see one outside of a tea house. No samurai worth his sword would be seen on gate duty.”

With a stubborn jut of her chin, she insists, “You have something to tell them, don’t you? That we are -- are siblings--”

His brows lift, giving an exaggerated sweep between them. “Siblings?”

“Cousins,” she corrects, firm. “Or maybe -- husband and wife?”

He blinks, only a blank buzzing between his ears as he watches the blush blossom on her cheeks, as the palest pink tints the tantalizing skin at her throat.

“Wife?” he laughs. Oh, ojou-san had been sheltered indeed if she could not see how a single glance would give the lie to that. She wore cotton the finest money could buy, and he --

Well, okusama had told him he might as well be naked for the amount of thread between him and the elements. No man -- not even the chonin -- would believe that they came as a pair.

“Why do I need a plan, ojou-san?” He shrugged a shoulder, the lapel of his kimono rubbing over the knobby spur of it. “The truth is fine enough.”

Teeth as pale as pearl sink into those lips, not just thoughtful but -- worried. Ha, he had known there was something strange about this cousin story.

“Y-yes,” she agrees, stuttering over the lie. It’s easy to see, now that he knows where to look. “That should be -- be fine.”

Traveling is easier outside of the post stations.

The cobbles are not quite as worn, of course, and some of the stones have ceded back to the earth through the long years, but the crowd is thinner the longer they walk. It’s not to last, Obi knows, not with Tosuka-juku only a few ri away, but it’s nice to stretch his legs, to let ojou-san fall away from him as he falls into his natural stride.

Despite the tight press of the long grass and the pale trunks that spear up from the earth along the road, salt hangs heavy on the air. It’s a reminder, a warning: just because it cannot be seen, the ocean is never far away. They may have left the houses that squatted shoulder-to-shoulder behind them, trading the sight for lush paddies thick with early harvest, but civilization lurked around every corner, only steps away.

Unfortunate for a girl who meant to outrun it.

Obi turns, hooking his hands around his hips, and watches ojou-san crest the last rise. She doesn’t look like she could outpace a tortoise at this point, red-faced and trundling along behind him. It’s not yet midday, the heat nowhere near its worst, but ojou-san is breathless, that fine kimono keeping her at little more than a hurried mince.

She should look ridiculous -- and maybe once, hours ago, she did. Any other rich girl would have already folded by now, would have told him to run back to Hodogaya and hire a kago for the next leg of the journey, but --

But ojou-san just keeps walking. That man, Kino, thought he knew her, but the delicate lily he had painted so passionately with his words not hours ago has yet to bloom -- or perhaps, yet to wilt. Ojou-san is small and pale, but she is not dainty, not frail.

Her head is bowed as she marches forward, only watching that she puts one foot in front of the other. It’s just his arms, outstretched to catch her shoulders, that keeps her from tromping into him wholesale. “Easy there, ojou-san.”

Her head jolts up on her neck, like a deer catching a scent upwind. She blinks, those jade eyes so wide and full he thinks he might fall into them if he looked long enough.

“Why have you stopped?” Her breath pants from her chest no matter how she tries to catch it, how she tries to still it. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, ojou-san,” he assures her, giving her his widest, most charming smile. Her mouth immediately bends at the sight, a frown marring her pretty face.

Huh. That’s not how women usually react. He must be losing his touch.

Obi shrugs instead, dropping his hands from her shoulders. “Just thought we might rest up here.”

He nods to where the brush thins, a copse of elms bowing enticingly through the long grass. Water burbles excitedly on the air, and though it’s no flowering paradise, it comes close enough for a girl raised in a city. Almost as good as okusama’s gardens, by his count.

Ojou-san remains skeptical. She takes a long, assessing look, her mouth jutting in a thoughtful pout. Clearly, it does not meet her exacting standards for landscaping. “Do you normally stop here?”

That pulls him up short. He glances down -- she can’t be serious -- but she’s only staring back, steady and fearless, and --

And if it were only him, he’d be walking until well after midday, only stopping to rest his eyes when the sun was at its hottest.

But ojou-san is not him, not road-worn and hard. Determined as she is, she’s used to regular meals, to more than the occasional, thin comforts opportunity provides. She cannot walk from dawn to dusk with no break between, only the long grass at her back when she beds down for the night.

It would be a mistake to tell a woman like ojou-san this.

“When I travel alone, I am not kind to myself.” Even in his hesitation, she has not dropped her gaze, has not wavered. Kino had been right -- she looks delicate, like a painted girl upon a shelf, but he had missed that porcelain is not soft, that it breaks because it will not bend. “But ojou-san reminds me that I must be.”

He truly must be losing his touch; not long ago those words would have made any girl melt, would have made them lead him into the grass themselves to hear his other honeyed words, but ojou-san --

Ojou-san just nods her head and says, “Then we keep walking.”

With a casual grace he had yet to see from her, ojou-san swerves around him, that sack of hers bumping hard against her back with every step.

For a full minute, he can do no more than stare, watching her small back scuttle down the road as if he were a stone in her path, a temporary nuisance, easily forgotten. As if she needed no man to take her to Kyoto; she could get there all by herself by just putting one foot in front of the other.

Women are meant to be carried, the merchant had told him, as if imparting some great kernel of knowledge. It would be a pain if she were to swoon from the exertion.

Obi bites back a laugh. That man hadn’t know her at all.

And neither would he, if he just kept letting her walk away from him.

“Ojou-san!” He hurries after her, sandals slapping the cobbles beneath his feet. The noise only seems to make her shuffle faster, as if she might outrun him with her kimono wrapped as tight as paper on fish at the market.

“Ojou-san!” He slips around her, walking backwards to keep her in his sight. “Really, we should stop to rest.”

“There’s no need to slow down,” she insists. “Not on my account. I can keep going--”

A point she proves rather spectacularly, by tripping right over her own feet.

The movement isn’t even conscious -- one moment she is falling, and the next she is not. It’s not until she looks up at him, eyes and mouth gone wide, that he realizes his hands hold her up, that he is the one who has caught her. A second later and she would have been pressed against his chest, like some distressed maiden in a wood cut.

His fingers clench. Good thing he’s so quick.

“O-obi?”

Ah, that’s right he’s still holding her. Too gentle, he sets her back on her feet, and, with more effort than it should, peels his fingers from the fine weave of her kimono.

“We should rest, ojou-san,” he repeats, and this time her shoulders round in defeat. “Come on. I think there’s a stream just over here.”

She eyes him warily -- no doubt her merchant friend had insinuated all the nefarious things ronin could get up to in the long grass with an unwatchful ojou-san, though perhaps he had skimmed over the parts where those same girls begged them to do it again -- but whatever warnings she’s been given, she swiftly disregards it, coming to limp up beside him.

“Did you hurt yourself, ojou-san?” he asks, arching a brow. She hooks a hand around his elbow.

“N-no.” A lie; she’ll need to get better at telling them, if she expects to make it to Kyoto. “Just...tired.”

“As you say, ojou-san.”

Obi means to annoy her when he gets to his knees, the rich soil at the stream’s bank smudging into his kimono. Every inch of his smile is guileless, carefully crafted to make him seem as innocent and servile as possible as he says, “Oh no, ojou-san, it would be this man’s pleasure to serve you--”

But it is him who ends up perturbed.

“Ojou-san!” It comes out sharper than he means, but honestly, honestly --

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she lies again, her hands catching on his shoulders to balance herself, which she needs, because --

This morning, ojou-san had slunk around the sliding screen, her obi perfectly wrapped and her tabi pristine and white, and he had nearly laughed at the sight of it, at the thought that this rich little girl put on fine clothes and expected to keep them that way. But now--

“You’re bleeding.” Red has soaked through, rubbing onto the thong between her toes, and she hisses as he pulls her sandals off, one by one, the wooden soles clattering on the dirt.

“Only blisters.” This, at least, is the truth, for all the good it does them. His fingers catch at her ankles, dragging the tabi down around her heel, up over the ball of her foot --

“Ah!” she hisses, fingers digging hard into the meat of his shoulder. “I mean -- it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Guilt pricks at him, a thousand cuts. He had seen the zori, had known the wood soles would drag heavy on her feet, but --

Ah, there is no good way to say, you were supposed to be complaining.

“You should have said something,” he grunts instead, urging her down until she can rest her foot in the stream.

Ojou-san opens her mouth, steeling her breath for a protest, but it leaves her on a sigh the moment her foot hits the cold water. Her head tilts back, eyes shut, and she -- she groans, long and loud, with that same timbre she had in the tea house only days ago, and --

And there’s no need to be thinking about this. Not now, when there’s no drink to blame. He doesn’t need a problem, no matter how easy ojou-san makes herself one.

“You don’t need to worry so much.”

He blinks, fingers caught in her second tabi, right where the ankle meets the heel. “Ojou-san?”

“About me,” she tells him, eyes slitting open just enough for him to catch jade framed by black. “You don’t need to worry so much about me.”

Her toes clench as he pulls off her last tabi, hiss caught tight between her teeth. He looks up at her with a hum, all innocence. “It is what you’re paying me for, ojou-san. Quite well, I might add.”

“You don’t need to slow down for me,” she insists. “I can keep up.”

He sits back on his heels, raising an idle brow. “The man with money sets the pace.”

“I know you must be used to--”

“Oh, ojou-san,” he sighs, smile too sharp. “You don’t know what I’m used to.”

What he’s used to are hard men who have made harder decisions, who need a blade between them and the trouble they’re leaving behind. He’s used to rich ojou-sans and fathers who pay him not to touch, not to even speak, to just escort a box from one house to another. He’s used to a hole in his belly that burns bigger every day, and bleakness at the edge of night, where he wonders whether he’ll live to see the dawn.

And this, this -- the jingle of ryo in his pocket and the promise of more, the full belly and the hand-mended clothes, the strange ojou-san who will walk herself bloody to keep from being a burden, and the soft way she had looked at him not a day before and said Obi-dono --

This is what he doesn’t know. What he isn’t used to.

Her gaze fixes on him, too wide and too green. “Not this,” she ventures, confident.

“No,” he agrees. “Not this.”

She nods, sitting back on her hands, leaving the only thing between them the sound of the stream and her breath in the stillness.

“We should get going as soon as you’re rested,” he says, grimacing as the words come out. They are exactly what they don’t mean, not when ojou-san is so eager to prove her worth. “Not now. But when you’re done.”

“I can be done now.” She lifts her feet from the stream, and oh, how they tell a different story. “If we need to go--”

“No.” He holds out a hand, hovering just over her shoulder. He’s touched her before, but it’s dangerous. Each time it is harder to let go. “We have plenty of time. Take your rest now. We’ll be on our way soon, and we’ll stop again when the sun gets hot.”

“We don’t need to stop for me,” she insists, though she does not lift her legs again. “I can handle a walk.”

“I don’t doubt you could, ojou-san.” Despite himself, his mouth curls. “But this is longer than you have ever journeyed.”

She bridles. “You don’t know that! I spend plenty of hours walking.”

He only just bites back his sigh. “It is nearly five ri from Hodogaya to Fujisawa.”

“Fujisawa?” Her face is paper-pale, gaze fixed to her feet. Even through the water they look red, angry. “You don’t mean to stop at Totsuka-shuku?”

“No.” He crouches down, picking at the grass. “Too crowded.”

“I’m used to it.” Her hand lifts, smoothing the edge of her scarf. “It’s easier to disappear in a crowd.”

Where is she? that foreigner had yelled. Is the whore inside?

“True,” he allows. “But it is too close to Yokohama. Easy to run into people you know.”

She looks at him. “Is that a problem you have?”

He looks back. “Do you?”

Her gaze skitters away, back to where her feet soak in the stream. Now would be the perfect time to ask about the foreigner, about this cousin who waits for her Kyoto, about the man he had taken her away from --

But he flops down on the grass instead. Prying question isn’t what she’s paying him for.

Her feet are still red when she pulls them from the stream, but in his inexpert opinion, inspected at a safe distance, they at least look better.

“It could be worse,” ojou-san confirms, setting them down on the hem of her kimono. She’s careful not to let them touch the ground, not to let the open blisters get dirt in them, but – it makes for an awkward pose. She raises one foot, grunting as she fails to set it over her knee, then the other and –

Hells, she’ll be giving him a show at this rate.

“Ojou-san.” He reaches out, shocked to find her ankles so chill against his skin. The stream had looked warm in the sun, but mountain waters make for poor baths. “Let me help you.”

He settles her heels on his knees, letting her toes drip over his thighs, and she just – stares. Not at him, at least, but at her feet.

“Is something--?”

“No!” Her cheeks flush, two large splotches, like she’s been slapped on both sides. “I mean, thank you.”

There’s no reason for his chest to squeeze so tight, and he shrugs to loosen it. “It’s what you’re paying me for.”

She doesn’t answer that, just considers him carefully before bending over, small fingers rubbing over the raw places between her toes and under them. It’s ridiculous to watch; ojou-san is no geisha, elegant and flexible. Her knees spill out as she reaches across them, and there’s so much pale leg to see at once it would be overwhelming, if any of this was in the least bit enticing.

He half expects it would be from the way his heart pounds over the most innocent things, but instead he has to bite his lip to keep back laughter. It had been a wonder to him that a girl such as ojou-san hadn’t been snapped up by a nice boy with a good family, but –

This answers that. It’s been a minute at least, and she still hasn’t noticed.

“Huh,” she hums, sitting back. The only modesty she performs is to absently flip her kimono back over her legs, and even that seem rote, a force of habit rather than any actual shamefulness. “Something will have to be done.”

He does not say, clearly, though it sits at the edge of his tongue. There’s no point in rubbing salt in the wound now. She’ll have time enough to regret as they limp to Totsuka-shuku.

“Ah! My bag.” She holds out a hand. “Could you give it to me?”

She already has one, sitting right next to her in a shapeless lump, but her eyes are fixed to the one by his hip, not just a tied up cloth but a satchel.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, squirreling it from his outstretched hand, clever little fingers already working the clasp. “Ah, yes, this will help.”

A small pot sits in her hand, squat and ugly, and when she removes the cover, it smells – medicinal. His nose wrinkles, even where he sits. “What is that?”

It’s a stupid question when it stings his eyes like this, and he’s glad that instead of answering, she bends forward, trying to reach her feet again –

“Ojou-san,” he drawls, plucking the pot from her palm. “What have I said? It is this man’s pleasure to serve you.”

Her mouth hangs open, watching as he sets the cap aside, and for a long moment, he thinks she might protest, might insist on doing it herself. Instead, her jaw snaps shut, mouth rucking up in a moue of belligerence, and she says, “You’ll need to spread it on thick, but make sure the blister is still covering the skin when you do.”

The unguent is pungent this close; it’s an effort not to make a face as he works, inspecting her clammy toes for raw places. They wiggle as he threads fingers through them, smoothing the cream against her skin, and he grits down on the temptation to test her, to run one long finger down the sole of her foot and watch her squeal –

“There,” he says instead. “Done?”

She nods. “Well done, Obi-s—“ She bites down on her lip. “Obi. Now all we need to do is wrap them.”

That seems simple, at least, right up until he picks up one of the tabi lying limp on the bank, and – “Haah, ojou-san,” he says, biting down on a grin. “I think we’ve overlooked something.”

Her gaze curves up to his, eyes wide. “Oh? Oh.” She rubs a finger over the damp toes, and it comes away red. “Those are ruined.”

“To put it lightly,” he agrees, dropping them back to the bank. “Though I suppose we could wash most of it out, if you don’t mind waiting for it to--”

“No need.” She’s already rummaging through that bag of hers, and with a bright smile, she thrusts out a handful of cloth strips, so clean he can still smell the soap. “I have these!”

Ojou-san is a far more patient teacher than he deserves.

“That’s fine,” she tells him, her fingers brushing the long bones of his hand as he tucks the end of the bandage behind her heel. It trembles beneath her touch, and he makes a fist to stop it.

“Not too tight?” he asks. “Or too loose?”

Both had been a problem, while she’d been guiding him. “No,” she assures him, “it’s just right. You have very deft hands, Obi!”

How is he supposed to resist such temptation, when she makes it so easy?

“Here.” Her zori are already in her hands, the thongs staining her fingertips, but he takes the pair of sandals at his hip, straw and humble, and holds them out. “They’ll be too big, but it’ll be better than those.”

She blinks, sandals flopping over her fist. “Waraji?”

“Wood is good for the city, when you don’t mean to walk far,” he tells her. “But not all the way to Kyoto.”

“Oh.” She stares down at them, wide-eyed. “That makes sense. When I’ve walked before, it was barefoot.” At his look, she adds, “When I pick herbs. Like for the salve.”

He has never in his life seen a rich girl barefoot, and certainly not picking herbs, but –

“We should get going, before the sun gets too high,” he says instead. She’s busy tying his sandals, trying to make them fit a foot probably half its size. Ojou-san should have bought a smaller ronin.

Obi gets to his feet, slinging his pack over his shoulder. With only a moment of hesitation, he picks up her satchel too, and then the bag right at her hip—

“No!”

Ojou-san lunges, feet tripping up in the waraji’s ties, but it’s already far, far too late. He practically drops the thing in surprise, feeling how heavy it is. As it is, it just hangs in his hand like dead weight.

She’s been carrying this the whole time. Since before they even left Yokohama. No wonder her feet are worn raw. “What do you have in here, ojou-san? Bricks?”

“No, it’s not--” Her eyes are so wide, so fearful. “Books! It’s all books. For my studies. Please,” she’s never sounded so close to begging before, not even in that tea house, “let me carry it. It’s my burden.”

He holds her gaze for a long moment, then lets it drop between them. The metallic clink is unmistakable. “As you wish, ojou-san.”

It’s not worth fighting over, that’s what he tells himself. After all, he wouldn’t trust him with his money either.

#obiyukiweek19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #day 1 #my fic #samurai au #Get Up Eight #ans #lemme tell you this whole thing took forever #and was SUPPOSED to be envy #but oh boy did it get cut LONG before that scene showed up #good job me #those scenes will be better in Shirayuki POV anyway #BUT IT TOOK ME A GOOD LONG TIME TO ACCEPT IT

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kenkamishiro · 6 years ago

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Ishida’s Q&A comments from YJ compilation, Part 9

Ishida’s comments from 2017! Only one more part left to go which will cover the 30-something questions from 2018.

For anyone who doesn’t know about the relevant Questions to Ishida contest, please read here. You can start from Part 1 here.

The recent set of zakki:re and interview translations take a lot of time and effort, so if you enjoyed it please reblog or leave a like. Thank you!

2017

No. 1

Sensei, if you had to pick a character from a manga/anime/novel to become the president, who would it be?

Mozgus-sama.

Just stop.

[T/N: One of the antagonists of Berserk...]

No. 2

The winners of the New Word/Buzzword awards have been announced for 2016, but in your opinion what new word or buzzword should have won for this year?

「～てわけだし」。

I wonder why.

[T/N: The phrase 「～てわけだし」is difficult to translate on its own since it’s more of an implied feeling, but basically it’s used when you’re stating a conclusion based on reasons that were given in the conversation.]

No. 3-4

It’s that time of year when hot pot is at its most deliciousness! What is your favourite kind of hot pot or hot pot ingredient?

Motsunabe.

Wasn’t there a question just like this before?

[T/N: Yes, yes it was. (In 2013, Issue no. 49.)]

No. 5-6

2016 was also a year where all kinds of events shook the world. Now then Sensei, please tell us about your biggest event of this year!

That I got the opportunity to meet Togashi Yoshihiro-sensei.

It was amazing...

No. 7

The first issue of Young Jump for 2017!! Sensei, what words do you want to write for your wishes for the New Year?

To be on time.

Do your best.

No. 8

Sensei, please tell us what you want to challenge yourself to do this year!

To become an apprentice.

That’s a good one.

No. 9

January 26 is Mobile Apps Day! Please share with us your favourite app or an app that you feel has been useful recently!

Voice recorder.

Apps with shogi problems. It’s perfect for when I have free time.

No. 10

February 2 is Pigtails Day! Please share with us a hairstyle of the opposite sex that makes you feel things!

Short cuts.

Indeed.

No. 11

February 9 is Manga Day! What was the first manga that you read or bought?

I forget what my first one was, but my most recent was volume 45 of Kingdom.

It was probably something like Crayon Shin-chan I think? Most likely...

No. 12

Sensei, please tell us about a sports match that has moved or excited you to this day?

Rocky vs. Mason Dixon.

I haven’t really seen much, huh.

No. 13

Sensei, what item makes you feel “I haven’t seen this lately/it’s gone now, what a shame?”

That crunchy salad thing from Family Mart, the Mexican something-or-other.

I’ll say it again.

No. 14

This may seem out of the blue, but please tell us about a memory that’s related to your birthday!

Thank you for last year.

I received a lot.

No. 15

Sensei, please share with us what you usually eat or do for your health!

Nuts.

I’ve been running recently. Last month I clocked in 100 km.

No. 16

Sensei, please share with us a time where you felt full of energy or gained courage to this day!

I was so scared of Biohazard in VR that I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my body.

I haven’t been playing any VR games recently.

No. 17

Sensei, please tell us about a local rule that surprised you, or any unusual rule that was considered as normal in your local area!

Libatape.

It’s a bandage.

No. 18

Sensei, please share with us what you’re secretly obsessed about!

88Kasyo Junrei and Ziyoou-vachi.

Ohh.

No. 19

Sensei, please tell us what you’d like to eat right now!

Corned beef.

I wonder if I was craving junk food at the time.

No. 20

Sensei, please tell us about a moment where you felt like spring was coming!

I don’t really feel it. Though it does feel like summer.

What’s with that force.

No. 21

If you could send a letter to a person again, who would that person be and what would you like to tell them?

A friend from a long time ago, since I moved around a lot.

I’d tell the friend that I’ve become a mangaka.

No. 22-23

We’re at the cusp of Golden Week! Sensei, please share with us where you’d like to go, or something you’d like to do!

Read.

Just get out of the house already.

No. 24

Sensei, please share with us a technique you thought was amazing or moved you!

I saw it recently, but Terada Katsuya’s live paintings.

Man it was amazing.

No. 25

If you could choose any one special ability or superpower, what ability would you want to use?

The ability to fix my back.

The ability to be motivated at any time.

No. 26

Sensei, what book do you want to read the most/want to know the contents of right now?

I want to read all kinds of books.

I’m currently interested in Russia/Soviet relations.

No. 27

Sensei, please tell us about the scariest story you’ve heard or experienced in your life!

Missiles.

When I was drawing the manuscript for the final chapter that everyone associated with it was waiting for. My heart was pounding like crazy.

No. 28

Sensei, please tell us about something you’re particular about in your home/room, or something you’d like to be particular about if you moved!

Delivery boxes.

Where there are delivery boxes, no bugs crawl out...

No. 29

Sensei, please tell us about a movie or drama that you thought was interesting/would be interesting!

“Documental” was interesting.

“One Cut of the Dead” was interesting too.

No. 30

If you could know just one thing from the future, what would it be?

I wouldn’t want to know anything.

Whether manga still exists or not.

No. 31

Sensei, please tell us what your favourite appetizer is!

Nuts.

Raisin butter.

No. 32

Sensei, please share with us a day that only you celebrate, or a day that is special only to you!

Since the day my series first began is in September, I consider that to be a day for celebration.

I’m sure I’ll forget it.

No. 33

When you think of summer, you think of festivals! What comes to mind when you hear the world “festival”?

Live performances.

Fireworks, food stalls.

No. 34

How would you describe your personality in a single word?

Uncoordinated (To everyone involved, I apologize for causing trouble last week).

What happened...

No. 35

Sensei, please share with us a dinner meal that gets you excited the most!

I don’t get excited over meals.

I do now!

No. 36-37

Sensei, please tell us what you’re glad to have done as a child!

Play Dragon Quest.

Study. Not for the contents necessarily, but more so cultivating my ability to concentrate. Well, that and Dragon Quest too.

No. 38

Sensei, please share with us the first thing you do when you wake up in the morning!

Sleep.

Huh?

No. 39

Please share with us something about Japanese traditional culture or events that you like!

Sweet mochi cakes.

I think it’s wonderful that we have events for each season. Though I don’t take part in them.

No. 40

August 31 is Vegetable Day! Sensei, please share with us what vegetables you like!

Orange paprika.

Celery, paprika, tomatoes.

No. 41

If there was a moment in your life where you thought, “I’m saved!”, please tell us!

I did have one.

I’ve only ever been helped.

No. 42

It’s September but the blazing hot days aren’t over just yet! Sensei, please share with us your steps to combat the summer heat!

Pray.

You didn’t even do anything for the heat did you.

No. 43

Sensei, please share with us something that you thought you wanted to throw away, or wanted to throw away but couldn’t!

My chair.

Stuff like packages or stuffed toys that the staff left behind.

No. 44

Sensei, please tell us about a moment in your everyday life where you get a bit excited/feel a bit of small joy!

When I manage to wake up early.

I know the feel.

No. 45

Please tell us who you thought was the most beautiful woman you’ve seen in your life (can be a real person, or a character from a manga/drama/novel)!

Andrea Pezick.

It’s hard to say who the most beautiful is.

No. 46

October 13 is Moving Day! If you were to move, what town would you want to live in (can be real or fictional)?

Kansai.

Kanto or America or Taiwan.

No. 47

Sensei, please tell us about a moment in your life where you noticed a discrepancy and realized it was different from what you expected!

Turkish rice.

Robot Restaurant.

[T/N: Ishida went to Robot Restaurant last fall with some friends.]

No. 48

Sensei, if there’s a character that you want to make a guest appearance in your own work, please tell us (even real people are acceptable!)

Me.

Don’t need me there.

No. 49

Sensei, please share with us what you do when you can’t fall asleep at night!

I fall asleep right away, so please tell me what to do instead.

Please rest assured that my sleep schedule returned to normal after TG ended.

No. 50

Sensei, if you’ve had a moment where you wanted to keep experiencing the same thing in your memories, please tell us!

I want to erase my memories and play Bloodborne again.

I don’t want to repeat it again.

No. 51

It’s harvesting season! Sensei, please share with us what you thought the best harvest of the year was, or something that was significant to you for this year!

Live performances.

Recently I’ve been doing stuff like practicing drawing and studying. I’m not sure if you’d call it harvesting or planting seeds though.

No. 52

It seems November 22 is Carpenter Day. Sensei, if you have a memory of the house you’ve lived in to this day, please tell us!

Centipedes showed up a lot in my dormitory.

Whenever they got inside the soap box they would cluster together.

No. 53

This is the final issue of 2017! Sensei, please share with us what you want to eat as your last dinner of 2017!

I’d be fine with soba.

That way of speaking is an affront to soba.

previous || next (coming soon!)

#Tokyo Ghoul #zakki:re #Ishida Sui #Ishida Q&A #Translations #my translations #lots of gold in this set of Q&As #that second to last one though #this is how you get trust issues of dark enclosed spaces #i would've torched the entire place

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kontextmaschine · 5 years ago

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Roseburg

Okay, Roseburg. It’s the capital of the southern Oregon timber industry, which fell hard with the end of harvesting on federal lands in the early ‘90s.

It’s got a population of 20,000, in a town center at a bend in the river and several residential neighborhoods, with more modern retail north of the city center around I-5. Several thousand more live in outlying areas, and Roseburg is seat of Douglas County stretching to the coast counting 110,000 population in total.

The airport offers no scheduled passenger service. Flights to major mountain west cities are available 83 miles to the north or 90 to the south; equivalent service is available 15 miles from Bend.

The only college in the area is a community college.

The town center, oriented around a “couplet” (parallel one-way streets) for a Main Street in Oregon tradition, has government buildings and a roughly five square block downtown. The downtown is early-20th century in character, solid frontages of storefronts with 1-2 stories of residential above, with churches, banks, and apartment buildings on the periphery.

The downtown is not pedestrianized, but has been designed for cars to park on the periphery. One block of storefronts is block-through, with entrances on each of two opposing sides. Many storefronts are empty. Several bars and restaurants are active, with a few (plus a co-working space) that look to have opened recently. Other stores remain looking a little out-of-time, and several storefronts have been occupied by nonprofits, street-level offices, or enterprises that look to create low returns while occupying high spatial volume. A gym occupies one sizeable space, two large markets stand empty. Despite this emptiness, only the markets look truly dilapidated; others have intact windows and clean interiors and reasonably fresh paint and facades. Scattered throughout are several civic monuments and monumental-looking fraternal lodges.

Sloping away from this downtown, the town center contains more stores, warehouses, restaurants, and bars. On the I-5 corridor, several hotels and travel-oriented businesses serve the freeway, mostly north of the town center.

- - -

So, in some ways this is kind of what I’d been expecting to like - a resource extraction town for a collapsed industry, leaving a fully built-out but intact infrastructure ripe for use. With poor flight connections to finance centers and a local economy still tapering off as the legacy population drifts away, an obvious hope is to market the small-town experience to internet workers or others who generate resources in a way that doesn’t require an existing resource base in physical proximity, while in the interim, the courthouse, the remaining private-lands timber industry, and the highway services support a basic level of services.

The maintained facades, the nonprofit offices occupying storefronts, and the general effort to keep downtown looking active suggest a level of coordination by local elites in support of the city’s viability.

- - -

And it’s… Cascadia. It’s green but at the same time younger than the east coast or rust belt - the wilderness hasn’t been carved into as much, the people not guarded, exhibit the good down-home parts of “country” without much “narrow-minded bumpkin”.

Many stores and bars have signs at the doors saying to take hoodies off, no backpacks, no tweekers, this site recorded on camera. There are at many points one to three people who are obviously homeless or on drugs in view. A Greyhound bus stopped in front of one dilapidated market and disgorged 7 vagrant-looking people. Every day the city police log lists like 6 arrests. On sites where these mugshots are compiled and shared around you see these are usually about heroin, meth, thefts to buy heroin or meth, or parole violations by people with convictions about heroin or meth. Even among apparently functional people working behind counters and bars, there are more facial scabs than you expect.

There is, frankly, an absurd level of pro-military sentiment. Signs in all sorts of windows, military discounts everywhere, banners from some past event benefiting some charity for military families. A veteranarian’s office is painted with the American flag, silhouettes of dogs and soldiers saluting or wearing helmets. I wondered if there had been a military base closed nearby because even after a week traveling through much more “red”-than-Portland country I had seen more of that stuff but nothing near that level. I never saw any murdered-out trucks or Punisher skulls or Black Rifle Coffee or 5.11 or any other military-adjacent aesthetic, though. Wearing Chinese-replica BDU pants, I was sporting more of a tactical look than anyone I saw.

Douglas County gave 64% of its vote to Trump in 2016.

- - -

The clear signs of people coming together to keep downtown appealing, all the monuments, the particular aesthetic of the places catering to a downtown crowd (and of that crowd itself), the legacy of what you’d expect from timber barons and their clerks… I was like “oh I get this, there’s a strong country-club Republican strain.”

Knowing that the region’s forest workers were pretty radical (that’s an important thing about Oregon, its normative rural experience isn’t of yeoman farmers but forest workers) I was wondering when I was going to get a sign of that, eventually I realized the yay-military stuff was the expression of class solidarity I was looking for.

Knowing both of those I turned to the addicts and fuckups and was like “ohh, you’re the third player in this drama, the unvirtuous poor that the virtuous poor and white collar types can bond over identifying against”.

A good deal of the nonprofits taking up space downtown seem to be the prison-industrial-complex type, the therapy or treatment you get sentenced to, designed to employ the first group turning the third into the second.

- - -

Seeing Roseburg makes some things about Portland make sense. That, say, when timber collapsed some of the “worker” types or their kids moved to, or stayed in Portland and brought the ethic to food service.

Traditional Oregon is weirdly exclusive, had an anti-Californian sentiment in particular but I’ve heard stores from Washingtonians about getting their cars pelted with rocks in the 80s, the state’s most famous statement of boosterism included a direct request not to move here.

There’s very much a sense that Portland has become swollen with non-Oregonians who seek to impose themselves on traditional, rural, Oregon, I could see a distaste towards any idea of making Roseburg more Portlandish.

When I walked in to look at the co-working space (it’s really just a period office building with individual offices) I overheard a guy saying that he could accept if they just made up a list of the guns it was okay to buy…

And the thing about a strong local elite invested in the future of your town is the town is under the control of a strong local elite with an interest in its future, presumably wanting to keep or develop it as its own playground.

At the same time, whoever owns all those buildings would very much like to see them filled at competitive rates I’m sure, and property owners are the backbone of any local elite. (I do not know the in-town landholders’ relationship to the woodland barons.)

- - -

So. Promising. It’s a charming Portland-in-miniature, houses are still available in the $100s and apartments at $500/br/mo. Between empty and underused space there’s maybe 10 years of solid expansion before all the slack has been taken up, and by all appearances the local system would love to see it happen and has no better pitch than quality-of-life-experience, being what Portland was in the 90s.

(Even the class system isn’t terribly off, a lot of the “Portlandia” years were about importing a middle class to fit between the old money in the West Hills and the retreating border of “Felony Flats” across the river to the east.)

That said it’s not abandoned just waiting for my guiding hand, there are preexisting power structures and culture to accommodate or challenge. And if undermining the local culture is the last thing I want - it’s what appeals to me, and the loss of which I’m mourning in Portland – I’m already thinking “okay that’s honestly too Republican, but that’s the only way to end up with a tolerable culture after it floods with creatives so hey”.

This is assuming it does take off, which I honestly think is a good assumption, as the big west coast cities fill up and cascade down (in the interim, look at Olympia, Visalia, Sacramento, Eugene, and Fresno) but isn’t inevitable. Oregon environmental laws and declining influence of Republican state legislators could further undermine the rural economy. Things could just keep declining past the point of being able to keep up appearances - the VA hospital just closed its emergency room, and there are two more in the area but the reasoning was the difficulty of recruiting and maintaining specialized staff, and that’s a bad sign.

Maybe I’m just psyched to see an authentically Cascadian town again and I should check out some others before getting swept away, in Oregon alone I’m still virgin on Albany, McMinnville, Forest Grove, and Coos Bay.

Still, I dunno. Might be a site for a good life.

#no I have like a lot to tell you

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hoodoo12 · 6 years ago

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And So It Begins (3/?)

SFW, with a minor mature scene. Orc/Human.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

When Grar returned, he carried not only his axe, but a rolled bundle of fur.

“This is better quality than what you have now,” he told you without bragging.

You were getting used to his straightforward manner, but protested the gift. He refused to take back the heavy elk hide, however, and eventually you thanked him for it.

You spent another day of hard labor chopping wood. For a meal your mother also asked if you would check the fish traps; Grar accompanied you to the stream again as you harvested the trout that had swum into the wooden traps but couldn’t get back out.

As you killed and cleaned them on the rocks streamside he asked if you ever had salmon in this stream. You told him no, it wasn’t one that salmon ran, but there was a pond a little further away with bass and mudcrabs. He told you there was a river near his cabin wear he had seen bears take salmon, although he wasn’t much of a fisherman. You nodded, thinking it might be nice to have some of the fatty fish occasionally.

Your mother wrapped the fish with herbs and cooked them while you and the Orc stacked the logs. The amount you’d chopped exceeded what you’d usually set aside by this time of year, and you thanked him. Having so much so early would give the wood time to dry, which meant it would burn longer and produce less smoke in the colder months.

Once again you shared a pleasant meal.

At the end, as he collected his things to go, he mentioned that he was expanding the firepit he had in his cabin. Although it was functional, like what you and your mother had, he decided to make it a real fireplace with a chimney and hearth. He’d already collected the stones for the chimney, but if you’d like to see the slate he was considering for the interior of the cabin, he wouldn’t mind showing you.

Thinking that if you could help him collect the slate it would be a nice way to help repay him for what he’d done for you and your mother, you agreed.

Another twitch that could possibly be the beginning of a smile danced around his lips. He gave you a real nod this time, and was gone again.

You watched until he was out of sight, when your mother shuffled up beside you.

“He’s very nice,” she commented.

“Yes. I don’t want him to neglect his own work, though,” you fretted. “It’s getting later in the year and he should be focusing on making sure his traps are ready and he has enough supplies for hunting.”

“I’m sure he’s taking all that into consideration,” your mother replied. You murmured your continued concern, and she went on, “Orcs can be temperamental, which is why so many choose a warrior’s path, but they also have a strong work ethic too. No lazing about.”

Your thoughts were on him for a moment more, before your mother’s words made an impression.

“You knew he was an Orc?”

“Of course!” she chided slightly, with a smile. “Well, I can’t tell if he is full-blooded or half-Orc. He mentioned his Clan. And his hands are so large, plus when he speaks I can tell he is so tall compared to us! He also has a very faint lisp. He has tusks, doesn’t he?”

You shouldn’t underestimate your mother’s observational skills. “Yes, he does.” Then you paused, and told her, “He’s full Orc.”

“Ah,” your mother said, nodding. She took your hand. “Then I am sure he isn’t forgoing whatever it is he needs to do for the season’s hunting, no matter how much time he spends with you.”

Your eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. Your mother couldn’t see the expression, but you were sure she could hear your confusion when you asked, “What do you mean by that?”

She laughed, but not unkindly. “He’s courting you, silly!”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Courting me?!” you croaked.

“Yes, of course he is.”

You tried to make everything you just heard fit into your world. It didn’t make sense, and you said so. You told her that he was just helpful; that he was generous; that he thought he owed you since you shot the archer when he was being attacked; that he was friendly, or lonely; that what she said couldn’t be true--

“Don’t you think what he’s done eclipses the assistance you gave him?” your mother asked quietly. “And people from the village know our situation. When was the last time any man volunteered to lend a hand with the work that needs done?”

With that, she squeezed your hand and left you again, still staring at the forest Grar had disappeared into, a whirlwind of thoughts and questions in your head. You couldn’t deny the warm feeling that blossomed in your belly, however, when you thought about him.

⁂

Mid-summer, when you hadn’t seen Grar for several weeks, you decided that you would try and find the river he told you about, with the salmon. Bidding your mother farewell, telling her you hoped to be back before nightfall, you took some bread and berries, your bow and the dagger Grar had sharpened for you, and set off. You only had a general idea where Grar’s cabin may be, but if the stream near your hut branched off from a larger river, that may be the exact one he was talking about.

The wilderness was unbroken, and you realized you were heading uphill. That was fine; you didn’t expect the land to be flat and covered in the same forest you’d lived your life. It was nice to have some elevation when the trees weren’t so thick, and you could see the surrounding area. As a matter of fact, you found a sturdy tree to climb to survey everything.

Making sure to hold tightly, you could see the smoke from the fires in your village, although the structures themselves weren’t visible. Turning, you saw that the hill became part of a larger chain, and further away, they became mountains. You also caught sight of a river--the river, you hoped!--and mapped where it was so you could head than direction after you ascended.

After the bandit attack you witnessed, you tried to keep more aware of your surroundings. You tried to be quiet. You tried to keep an eye out for any plants that could be helpful to your mother. You only carried a satchel today, over your back; it wasn’t large but could hold a squirrel or two if you were quick enough to shoot them or handfuls of different plants if needed.

You heard the river before you saw it. It was louder than your stream; you’d seen that it had boulders in it and if the waters came from higher up it could be fast. You were still cautious, because wild animals would use it too and you had no desire to startle a bear or sabre cat.

Luckily the way to the river was relatively even; although it continued slightly uphill and you did have to skirt boulders and climb occasional crags of rock, you didn’t have to climb. It seemed like there was a flatter bit of land up ahead. That was your goal, although you had to watch you where you put your feet to not slip in the gravel.

With your head down, you caught sight of movement out of the corner of your eye.

Automatically you stepped behind the boulder you had one hand on for balance, breaking the direct line of sight between you and whatever you’d seen. You also froze and listened hard to try and determine what it was.

The sound of the tumbling water was too much to hear anything. Carefully, carefully, you crouched down and peeped around the rock.

It was Grar. You saw a natural pool had formed to the side of the swifter water, and it looked as though he’d dammed some of it up for depth and ease of access. He was nude, crouched to scoop water to drink. You could see the scar where the arrow had pierced his shoulder, as well as other minor scars down his back to his buttocks. His clothes and weapons were piled neatly far enough away they didn’t get splashed.

As you spied on him, he loosened his hair out of its plait and shook it free. Then, without testing the temperature or easing into it, he stepped into the pool.

You had no way of knowing how deep it was, or if he simply submerged himself, but he was out of sight the next moment. You blinked and waited. You had no idea Orcs could swim, and had always been told they had an aversion to water. Like so many other things you’d learned, this was another lie. Your thoughts then moved to wondering how long an Orc could stay underwater--

Grar stood up. His gasp for air and the fact you could see gooseflesh erupt all over his skin told how cold the water happened to be. The Orc rubbed his upper arms and chest vigorously. He grabbed a cloth you hadn’t noticed from the bank of the pool and washed. It dawned on you that you recognized the fabric; it was the same you’d wrapped a loaf of bread for him. Your old dress! Then he climbed back out of the pool, streaming water as he went.

You knew he was large; Orcs towered over men and were broader and heavier too. But seeing him naked made your heart catch in your throat. The cold water made his skin color bright. His chest and waist were wide, but proportionate. His hair, looking flat black after being drenched plastered to his neck and shoulders, was in stark contrast to the color of his body. There was no hair on his chest. A thin line of it marked the way from his navel to his pubic area, where it became fuller at the base of his cock.

You didn’t mean to look, but your eyes didn’t listen to your manners. His cock was darker colored and thick. It should surprise you, it should scare you, but it didn’t; instead, that warm sensation you felt in your gut when he was around flared. Your thoughts took a naughty turn, an unladylike turn, and your cheeks burned too.

Grar had another cloth to dry himself with, which he did, squeezing the water from his hair. You watched him in secret a while longer. He used a blade to shave the sides of his head, and didn’t immediately re-braid it. It was the first time you’d seen it flowing down his back. Part of you wanted to call out to him, but another part reminded you that you were spying and rude, no matter how aroused you were.

Finally, you quietly crept away.

You told your mother you didn’t have any luck, but maybe you’d try again another day. She couldn’t see how flushed your face remained.

tbc . . .

#writing #orc #orc boyfriend #exophilia #monster lover

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livingcorner · 3 years ago

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How we grew HUNDREDS of pounds of food without weeding or watering a single time!@|how to start a back to eden garden@|https://www.amodernhomestead.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Getting-started-with-the-back-to-eden-gardening-method-Updated-FB.jpg@|21

This backyard garden idea, the back to eden gardening method, is the perfect garden for first time gardeners! No weeding, no watering, just a high yield organic garden!

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The Back to Eden gardening method is a way to garden that recreates natures intended growing environment. It also meant that with just 2 hours of bed prep and planting time, we yielded over 1500 pounds of food in the fall! All without any watering or weeding!

In 2016 we lost our jobs, started making real money blogging, and moved to the country. It was a dream come true and we were thrilled to finally be working towards a real homestead!

Of course a big part of that dream was the ability to grow our own food. So we started researching just what kind of garden we wanted to have. I’ll admit when I first heard about the Back to Eden gardening method I had two thoughts…

1. This sounds perfect! No weeding, no tilling the soil, and no watering?? I’m in! 2. Wait, I live in Texas. It’s hot here. This will never work.

And oh friends let me tell you, only one of those thoughts turned out to be true.

Check out our favorite seed company: White Harvest Seeds They’re a family business, great customer service, and our top choice.

What is the Back to Eden Gardening Method?

I would just say “it’s magic” and leave it at that… because that’s totally true… but you probably need more information than that

Basically the Back to Eden gardening method is all about recreating the environment in which plants already thrive in nature.

For example: if you have some wild berry bushes that you harvest every year, you probably aren’t going out and watering every day and weeding around the plants right? And yet the plants grow and produce berries every year.

Likewise, our huge fig tree produces 100s of pounds of figs every year without a single inch of water or help from us at all? How?

Well, they are growing as God intended them to grow, by using the resources that they should have as provided by Him; ground covering to protect the soil quality and water from rain. That’s all they need.

But, since we are not 100% foragers at this stage of the game, we need a way to recreate those resources when and where we need them for the plants that we want to grow.

And that’s what the Back to Eden method is all about.

>> Do you know when to plant pumpkins for a Halloween and Thanksgiving harvest?

Setting Up a Back to Eden Garden

When I tell you about how simple this is, you’ll likely think me insane. I’m not, I promise! Just wait till you see our results at the end of the post!

Steps for Putting in a Back to Eden Garden Bed

Step One

Decide where to put your bed. You can do it where you have an existing bed, or you can do it where there is grass, dirt, rocks, or whatever. You don’t have to till up the soil for this method.

Step Two

(optional, but recommended) Cover the ground with newspaper. Make sure there are no gaps as weeds/grass will make their way up through any gaps. Cover with at least 3 sheets over the whole space.

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We did this the first time but have since found that if we cover the ground with at least 6 inches of wood chips in step 4 then we don’t have anything coming up through.

We contacted our local newspaper and were able to get about 100 old papers for free which covered the whole space!

Step Three

Cover the spot with 3-4 inches of compost (we bought organic mushroom compost that also had composted chicken poop in there too. It was $3 a ton and we used 1 ton). Make sure whatever you get contains nothing you would object to your food growing in…

Note: We get our mushroom compost from a local mushroom farm with locations nationwide (Monterey Mushroom). However, if you don’t have access to a supplier in your area, you can make your own real mushroom compost OR make your own mock mushroom compost!

How to make real or mock mushroom compost!

Step Four

Cover the compost with 4-6 inches (6 inches is best) of wood chips. Be very careful about what you get for this step!

You don’t want lumber chips from treated lumber, and you don’t want wood chips that have been composted and are very small. You need the results of entire trees with their branches, bark, and leaves included being put through a chipper.

We found ours through the city dump. They take care of all the trees in our area that are cut down during construction or road work.

It was dark brown, had large chips 2-3 inches long throughout, and only cost $8 a ton! We used 2 tons for our 15×20 garden spot.

Step Five

Start planting! We scraped back the top layer of wood chips and planted about 1-2 inches deep. If you want to prep the beds early and let them rest for a full season, then the soil will be amazingly rich when you go to plant!

We didn’t want to wait so we planted the same day we finished the beds!

This is the automated tool we use for seed starting. That way we know exactly when to plant by variety and how long we’re going to have to wait for germination!

It’s completely customizable for your area, just enter the last frost date and the tool will do the rest! And, it’s free if you want to grab it!

>> We get our organic heirloom seeds from the amazing family business White Harvest Seeds!

Review of The Back to Eden Gardening Method

So, like I said at the beginning, I had two thoughts when I first heard about this concept…

First, that it was awesome and I wanted to start as soon as possible! And then second, that there was no way it would work for us in Texas where the temperatures reach 113 in the shade and rainfall is few and far between during certain times of the year.

But one I realized that Texas provides enough rain for all our native food producing plants I decided to give it a try. And I’m so glad I did! This one 15×20 garden gave us over 300 1500 pounds of food without a single drop of water from us, and when temperatures were well into the 100s!

>> We are also building this greenhouse for some year-round strawberries!

I’d say the proof is in the produce with this one… check out all this food! And this was just the tip of what was harvested!

When all was said and done, we had 1500 pounds of food that we brought into our home and either canned, froze, or ate fresh. About 25 pounds went to the chickens every 3 days above and beyond that!

You can get a printable PDF version of this post here!

Tips for Success with Back to Eden Gardening

Since we have a few seasons under our belts now there are a few things we’ve learned that make prepping the beds and planting even easier.

Tip One

Don’t take more than a few days to finish the beds. So start small and make sure you can finish the area in no more than a day or two. You don’t want the paper to fly away, or the compost to dry out.

Tip Two

Finish your beds about 2 days before a good rain. This will help solidify the bed and will get everything prepped for planting.

Tip Three

Don’t agonize over perfection. Likely you will not have the perfect 4-6 inches of coverage over the whole bed. That’s ok! If it’s 3 inches here and 7 inches there, it really is fine! Just get it done and move on.

Tip Four

Be careful as you mow around the beds. Make sure that you aren’t throwing grass seeds into the beds when you mow by mowing with the side that throws the grass positioned away from the garden.

While this method keeps weeds and grass from growing up through the compost and mulch it’s great for planting in, so those seeds will take root and you will have to weed! Avoid that!

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Tip Five

This is a learning process. Take it easy on yourself and keep at it. This method is the most amazing gardening method I have ever seen, it’s worth it to keep trying. Even in Texas

Tip Six

Make sure you have good seeds to begin with; we like to use seeds that are heirloom, non-GMO. This is because we want to be sure we can harvest seeds from our crops and use them again the next year, without worrying whether or not they will produce food (and not just plants without produce!).

Prepping Your Back To Eden Garden for Next Year

At the end of the first year, you may be wondering what exactly you need to do in order to keep this beautiful system ready for the next planting season.

After five years working this system I thought I would update you with exactly what we do each year to prep our back to eden gardens! It’s actually pretty simple…

Cover the ground

We have insane and invasive grasses here in our part of Texas (I’m looking at you Bermuda grass!), so we have discovered that covering our garden with a sun-proof tarp keeps the grasses from taking over.

It also helps the weeds to feel cozy enough to germinate, but then they quickly die out because there is not sun for them above the ground.

This means that when you pull the tarp off at the beginning of the season, any weeds that were waiting for you are now dead!

*Depending on your area you may not need to do this step, especially if you don’t have weed or grasses that try to take over everything.

We generally leave the tarp on for about 4 to 6 weeks, depending on how hot it is while the tarp is down. If you aren’t sure, then just leave it on for 6 weeks!

Be careful when you remove the tarp – ants love it under there. We have had terrible fire any beds under ours before. However, the ants generally leave quickly.

Add Additional Mulch

Depending on your weather, you may need to add a few more inches of mulch to your garden. We tend to add about 1-2 inches per year.

Paul (the creator of this gardening method) adds 3-5 inches every other year instead. That didn’t work well for us though, and we chose a yearly updated.

If the mulch is broken down and not providing protection for the topsoil, then you need more. If it’s not broken down, then you can wait a while!

Add Nutrients

The general idea of the back to eden gardening method is that it’s self sustaining. And it would be in a perfect world… but we have found that sometimes the soil needs a little help.

We do two things each year before the next gardening season starts (only once per year):

1. Add a thin layer (about a 1/2 inch) of chicken fertilizer and compost. This is the same stuff we use when setting up the garden, and adding it on top of the garden helps to create a lovely “compost tea” as it rains.

2. Add a dusting (ground shows mulch through the white) of diatomaceous earth for calcium and natural pest control. We get 50 pound bags of diatomaceous earth from Azure Standard once a year.

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That’s all we do to prep our back to eden garden each year! All in all, it takes about 2-4 hours to prep everything for the whole year!

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