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gayf1hoe · 4 months ago

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Behind the Pit Wall

Scenario - Y/N is a new race engineer for Williams but he never expected to become a race engineer straight away, bit following the resignation of Logan's race engineer he receives a very prompt promotion. The two quickly hit it off professionally but their relationship quickly exceeds professional.

Race 1 - Spa

Nervously and full of anticipation I take my seat on the pit wall for the first time as a race engineer for Williams.

Ever since graduating University I have been working in F1 for the past 2 years, last year I was with Sauber as a junior race engineer and I applied to Williams on the off chance they would actually agree to take me but to my genuine surprise they did.

When I first met with James he said I would be a secondary Engineer in other words I was just there to assist the main engineer. However when I walked in this morning I was told I would be Logan Sargeant's permanent race engineer after his engineer resigned unexpectedly.

As I'm sitting in the pit wall looking at all the data, it's starting to set in. I'm a driver's race engineer with just a year's experience, talk about being thrown in the deep end.

Logan hasn't got the best track record but he's a great person with a great sense of humour and undeniable charm so I am honoured I get to work with him.

After qualifying yesterday we are in P11 and we missed out on Q3 by 0.012 so it's a little frustrating but the way things go in F1.

“Logan radio check”

“Yep, your voice sounds great, and mine”

“even better, 30 seconds to lights out maintain focus and be clinical”

When the lights go out my heart pounds faster and my palms sweat a little.

We don't have the best start as Logan ends up in P15 and with the weather conditions around Spa showing no signs of improving cars are spinning left, right and centre. The strategists and I decide to bring Logan in now for the inters before everyone else

“Logan box, box”

As he comes in I see a train of cars following behind him but our crew do a fantastic job at fitting the new tyres that will stay on until the chequered flag.

Logan emerges back on the track at P11 which is a great advantage for us and I coach him through every lap telling him where he can improve and with that he manages to overtake a few people, and by the final lap he's probably sick of my voice.

“Logan that's P7 really good job today, do your cool down lap and we will see you in Parc Fermé”

“Yeah good job, thanks for all your guidance today we did great today, we will continue to improve”.

“Absolutely, sorry if my voice became annoying”

“Never I loved hearing your voice every second, and that's not sarcasm”.

After the race I am interviewed by a reporter about what I think of my first race as a lead race engineer.

Reporter: Y/N great result for your first race. How did it feel to be thrown right in at the deep end and get such a great result?

Y/N: Yeah of course it was stressful being thrown in at the deep end, I arrived in the paddock this morning and was told I'm Logan's new race engineer so it was a little stressful but we did really well despite the conditions and it's a good start for Logan.

Reporter: We saw you too having lets say some ‘flirtatious moment's’ . Is there a relationship brewing?

Y/N: Haha me and Logan are just naturally flirtatious people and I think we have a good work relationship together.

As I'm answering questions Logan comes from behind me and jump scares me and the reporter turns her attention to him.

Reporter: Logan what do you think of your new race engineer?

Logan: He's amazing and he really helped me out there today so I'm grateful I have got him

Reporter: You complimented his voice a few times, is there something going on there?

Logan: Well yes he has a naturally calming voice and it's great to hear in stressful situations.

Race 24 - Abu Dhabi

As my second season in F1 comes to an end I am extremely happy where Logan is at P8 in the championship with only 1 point separating him and Stroll.

Coming into this season we could never have predicted that me or him would do this well this season and since Logan has been performing so well this season consistently he is on the move to Mercedes next year but what he doesn't know is that I am also moving to Mercedes.

Additionally since the season exposition mine and Logan's relationship has well let's say developed. It is sort of unconfirmed knowledge that we are dating but neither of us confirmed it but our constant flirting and physical contact has confirmed it for us.

“Logan 30 seconds to lights out I want a great finish from you today”

Logan starts from P6 which is his best starting position in his career so I'm anticipating a good race.

He gets a good start and quickly takes P5 from Norris and maintains a good pace.

When he comes in for his first and only pit of the race and he drops down to P10, one of Logan's biggest problems is that after a pit stop and he loses positions he thinks it's all over so we have been working on his

resilience and as he was the first car to pit I know that the cars in front will pit soon and he will be bumped up a few places.

With 15 laps to go Logan has made his way up to P5 and is chasing Lance for P4 and heading along the DRS straight he manages to get past and we now set our eyes on Oscar Piastri.

“Alright Logan it's Piastri ahead 2.1 seconds they are having mechanical issues with their brakes”

For 14 laps straight Logan is tailing Oscar and it's painful and nerve wracking to watch but in the final lap in the final DRS zone Logan squeezes past him and whilst it's a good move the team doesn't celebrate just yet. But when he crosses the line there is a roar of cheers from the garage behind me.

And my normal angelic radio voice turns into a coarse shout

“Logan that is P3, well done, I'm so proud of you and the improvements you have made and those 15 points put you in P6 in the standings”

“Y/N thank you for all your hardwork and dedication this year you have really helped me achieve great things and I will really miss hearing your voice”

“Well, do you want another piece of good news?”

“Of course”

“You aren't going to Mercedes alone, I'm coming along as well as your race engineer”

“Holy shit that's the best thing I have been told, I would have missed your voice on the radio. I love you Y/N”

“I love you to Logan”

For the first time Logan is on the podium and the entire team is here watching him and cheering him on.

It's a great sight to see him smiling and finally believing in himself.

#Logan Sargeant #Williams Racing #Male reader #Logan Sargeant x Male reader #engineer #f1 #male reader

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overtrred28 · 1 year ago

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Stargirl | matildas x original character fic [part eight]

Words; 3.0k

Pairings; matildas team x astrid taylor (OC)

Warnings; swearing, mentions of injury (no blood)

A/N; so the games for this chapter weren't easy to find or go off but they still needed to be in there so i did this, hope it not too much of a cliché... enjoy

masterlist

After the Spain and Portugal games there came the AFF Women's championship and a lot of the regular players had left and gone back to their clubs or on a break, especially considering it was only a week later.

Charli and Astrid had been given the clearance from their overseas clubs to stay on national duty but Kyra and Courtney decided to go back to Sweden and play club games instead. Although it felt weird being in camp without the other two, it gave Charli, Cortnee and Astrid time to spend together with the other girls who were joining the squad for the first time.

Before the competition started, Charli, Cortnee and Astrid spent their few free days in Portugal before they had to fly over to the Philippines and begin their pre-match training with the rest of the team. They pretty much spent all their time on the beach enjoying the hot weather and good food, grateful to spend a few days relaxing before getting into game mode.

Training was training, but with a newer team full of even more inexperienced players it gave them the opportunity to develop a new style of play. Without players like Sam and Emily Gielnik there to take that central forward position, the coaches decided to test Astrid and see if she could handle the pressure there rather than on the right or left. Safe to say she could.

She was communicating well with Cortnee and Larrissa on either side of her, fighting off the defence and working with the midfield to score goals in the mini matches. Seeing Astrid take on this role so easily inspired the coaches when deciding on the starting line up for the next match.

Match day. Everyone was in high spirits for today, training had been going exceptionally well and the team dynamic was strong. They had been ushered into a conference room of the hotel to talk about the game and reveal the line up. Cortnee and Charli had been talking up Astrid being in the starting XI for the game, but Astrid kept brushing them off, not wanting to get her hopes up.

Over the past few days they had been analysing the Philippines style of play, so this session was a slight revision and going over their starting line up. Then came time for Tony to reveal his line up. He went through the slideshow, going from the defenders, to midfielders and finally the forwards. Charli’s name had been shown which was no surprise and Cortnee’s was revealed for the right forward position, Astrid looking at the left side and spotting Amy’s name, dropping her head down slightly. Tony began to list the names and their positions.

“And as the central forward, Astrid Taylor.” He spoke and Astrid lifted her head, eyes wide as she finally spotted her name on the screen. Her jaw dropped and Charli let out a little cheer, patting Astrid on the back, Cortnee ruffling her hair before Astrid finally smiled. She was part of the starting line up for the first time, as the central forward too.

The bus ride to the pitch was mostly silent, most girls listening to their own music, some chatting amongst themselves. Astrid hadn’t really spoken to anyone since boarding, taking the time to get in the zone, needing to be focused on the game she was starting in.

The team warmed up, took their time getting changed and had their team huddle, the subs leaving to go sit on the bench, Astrid staying behind for the first time and readying to line up in the tunnel. She gave Cortnee and Charli a hug before they left the change room, standing in front of both of them donning the number 3 again.

She was nervous, why wouldn’t she be. She was starting for her country for the first time, a true honour and a big deal. She didn’t want to stuff up, she couldn’t, everything had to go perfectly; according to her at least.

The game had been tough from the second that whistle blew. The opposing team were determined to maintain strong possession and keep Australia from any chance at scoring, everytime they did, a tackle or block stopped any chance. The brunt of their tackles had fallen to Astrid as she was constantly trying to get a goal in and have a 1-0 scoreline before halftime.

As the central forward, she was receiving balls from Cortnee and Amy who were on either side of the pitch. Finally the ball had been stolen off the Philippines again by Charli, passing it up to Vine who was speeding up the right side. Two defenders closed in on her so she shot the ball over to Astrid who was in direct line of the goal again. Astrid had a clear shot, preparing to kick the ball with her left foot this time.

She saw her foot make contact with the ball, but what she didn’t see was a Philippines defender coming in for a slide tackle, knocking Astrid to the ground in an attempt to steal the ball. As she began to fall her right foot got stuck, a searing pain shooting up her ankle, grunting in response to the pain and landing harshly on the ground.

She rolled to her back after hitting the ground, grabbing her right foot immediately. Her body could only focus on the pain and everything around her blurred into the background, barely hearing the refs whistle and the concerned gasps from her teammates. The Philippines player had been shown a yellow card and the Australian side was glad.

Her eyes screwed shut from the overwhelming pain, trying to breathe through it, but finding it difficult. Charli was the first to her, running over as soon as she saw Astrid staying down unlike the last few tackles.

“Ankle?” Charli knelt down to Astrid, the girl only nodding in response as she held back her tears. The ref had run over, Cortnee following closely behind, coming to the other side of Astrid, looking down at her.

“She needs medical.” Cortnee looked to the ref who began waving over the medical staff.

“Char, this is bad.” Astrid sucked air through her teeth as the pain continued, tears falling from her eyes. If Astrid was crying from this, then it was bad; she rarely cried and had developed a high pain tolerance over time, meaning it was not something minor.

“It’s gonna be okay, star. They’re coming.” Charli squeezed Astrid’s upper arm, watching the medics run to where they had gathered. The rest of the Matildas stood still on the pitch watching the scene, a few taking this time to get a drink, but watching the scene with concern alongside the coaches.

“Her right ankle.” Charli told the physios as they removed Astrids grip from her foot to examine it. She hissed in pain as they removed her boot, moving her arm to cover her eyes and the tears forming.

“Out of 10?” A physio asked while looking at Astrid.

“7.” A sob wracked her chest, not even thinking about the pain anymore, even though it was very much there. She had already been thinking about the time she would have off from football if this was a serious injury, which it was already feeling like.

After they determined there was no way she could continue, Charli and Cortnee helped her up, she tested putting weight on it but even just a toe on the ground was way too much. They offered to get a stretcher but Astrid only shook her head, opting to hop off the pitch with the physios either side of her, holding her up. As she made it to the technical area she locked eyes with Tony.

“Well done, you played exceptionally.” He patted her shoulder and she only nodded in response before they led her down the tunnel and into the medical wing. After they had checked her and asked her questions about how it manoeuvred in the ground, all they could determine for now was at least a two degree sprain.

The physios taped her up and provided crutches to avoid weight bearing for the meantime until she could go and get scans at the hospital. But Astrid desperately wanted to watch the rest of the game now that halftime was over and the second half had begun. So she crutched her way back up the tunnel and to the sub bench, the girls immediately making space for her to elevate and ice her ankle and watched the game pan out.

The game ended and Australia had lost 1-0, the players shaking hands with the winners, Astrid got herself up and over to where Tony was standing at the edge of the pitch.

“How’s it feeling, Astrid?” He asked as he saw her approaching.

“Not too good, so far it’s second degree, 4 to 6 weeks.” She gave him a tight lipped smile, more upset over the timeline than the injury itself, everything was falling into place for Astrid and now it was halted.

“I’m sorry, but you played so well up until that point, I’m very proud of your progress since joining Hammarby.” Tony gave her a firm pat on the back. “You’ll be back better than ever soon enough.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and he headed off onto the pitch to his players.

“Hey.” Charli was now at her side. “You okay?” She hugged her arms around her neck, Astrid let go of one of the crutches and held onto Charli. She tucked her head into the older girl's neck, simply shaking her head and letting tears slip again. “It’s gonna be okay.” Charli whispered in her ear, gently stroking her back.

“You did so well today.” Astrid moved away and wiped her eyes, moving her hand back to the crutch.

“Thank you.” Charli smiled brightly at her. Astrid could see the huddle forming behind them, Charli turning around to see where her eyes were focused. “Come on.” Charli bent down with her arms behind her.

“What are you doing?” Astrid laughed at her.

“Get on, it’ll be faster.” Charli looked back at her, nodding at her. Astrid shook her head, dropping her crutches to the ground and jumping with one foot onto Charli’s back, the blonde’s arms looping under the other's thighs, hoisting her up gently.

“This is ridiculous.” Astrid laughed as Charli walked them across the field.

“But faster.” Charli commented back. What they didn’t see was Ann walking behind the pair carrying Astrid’s crutches to the huddle and shaking her head at the two young players. Astrid had jumped down to her good foot, using Charli and Cortnee to stabilise her on one leg.

“Here.” Ann finally made her presence known, Astrid smiling as she saw the woman behind them.

“You are an angel, Ann Odong. Thank you.” She took the crutches and placed them under her arms, sighing at the relief in her left leg as the weight was distributed to the crutches.

Astrid had gone straight to the local hospital instead of back to the hotel with the team, the team physios wanting her to get scans as soon as possible. Charli wanted to go and keep her company but Astrid said no, not wanting to interfere with her sleep after a long game and promising to keep her updated.

It wasn’t until 12:30 am she finally had her XRAY and MRI done, waiting for almost 3 hours and trying not to fall asleep in the emergency room. The results came back finally after waiting some more and they had officially ruled it a second degree sprain like the physios initially thought. The hospital had supplied her with a moon boot to protect it but not walk in it, still advising no weight for at least a week.

Astrid was so tired and still in pain that she just nodded and asked to go back to the hotel, ready for bed and the day to end. They got back and one of the physios helped her to her room, Astrid assuring her she was good from there and to go to bed, knowing Charli would be more than willing to help her out.

She opened the door and immediately Charli jumped up at the sound, rushing out of bed to come face to face with Astrid.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Astrid almost lost her balance when Charli popped up in front of her. “Oh my god.” She let out a breath, heart racing from the fright.

“Are you okay? What did they say? How long?” Charli shot out her questions and all Astrid could do was blink.

“Calm down, let me sit please.” Astrid began to manoeuvre herself around Charli, flopping down on her bed and letting out a deep sigh. “No walking for one to two weeks, four to six for total recovery, no torn ligaments or tendons, just a really bad sprain.” She rattled off what the doctors told her while looking at the ceiling.

“I’m so sorry star.” Charli sat on her own bed. Astrid turned her head in confusion at her words.

“It’s not like you tackled me. These things happen.” Astrid let out a soft laugh.

“I know. But it was your first start and I was so happy for you. You didn’t even get to halftime.” Charli tilted her head.

“I’ll get to start again, it just won’t be for a little while.” She put a small smile on her face but it wasn’t genuine.

“You need a hug?” Charli asked.

“I need a shower, but sure a hug would be great.” She sat up and Charli jumped over to the other bed with open arms, both giggling as Astrid lent her head on Charli’s shoulder. Their arms wrapped around each other and Astrid could not be more grateful for having her best friend here with her.

The rest of the competition continued, Australia faring much better than their first game and coming out with wins and high score lines against their opponents. But to watch from the sidelines was very hard for Astrid.

She had never really been injured before, very lucky to only have had minor things growing up that didn’t last very long, so it was very unusual for her to just sit and watch the team play and not even be a possible substitution. But she did and she was the first one cheering when the final whistle blew, hobbling over to her teammates to congratulate them. The games were finished and it was time to return to Sweden with Charli, parting ways with Cortnee again, not seeing each other till the next camp in September.

Although Charli’s closest airport to her Swedish home was Malmö, she chose to fly even further to Stockholm just so she could make sure Astrid was okay, nervous about flying with her injury. Astrid assured her she would be fine but Charli wouldn’t listen, telling her she would just take a train from Stockholm back to Malmö once she was settled back at home.

So when they touched down in Sweden Charli used her best knowledge of the language to source a wheelchair for Astrid to get around in until they got to the car where Kyra and Courtney were waiting.

“You’re being ridiculous Charlotte.” Astrid sighed as Charli pushed her from the gate to the luggage collection.

“Shush cripple.” Charli laughed, weaving through the crowd quite fast, Astrid gripping onto the sides in order to not fall out while also holding her crutches in one hand.

Charli collected their two bags and wheeled them out, along with their carry-ons, while Astrid pushed herself to the exit, actively looking for Kyra and Courtney in the crowds.

Kyra and Courtney kept their eyes peeled for the two other girls, expecting to see Astrid struggling on crutches and Charli close behind. Though Charli finally appeared, her signature bright grin on her face and they couldn’t see Astrid close behind. Until their eyes shifted lower and saw her pushing herself in a wheelchair, instantly covering their mouths to hide their laughter.

Kyra not so sneakily pulled her phone out, filming Charli smiling first then over to Astrid when she finally spotted them, sending a death glare down the camera.

“Nice ride.” Kyra said from behind the camera.

“Shut it.” Astrid shook her head as she stopped in front of them. “Let’s just go home please.” She looked up at all three girls who simply nodded, still controlling their laughter.

“Would you like a hand madam?” Kyra bowed to Astrid, smirking at her while extending her arms. Astrid silently passed Courtney the crutches, placing her good foot on the ground, gripping onto Kyra’s hands and bringing herself up. Courtney quickly put the crutches under Astrid’s arms, the injured girl removing her hold from Kyra. On the way home, they dropped Charli off at the train station, saying a long goodbye and promising to keep her in the loop about Astrid’s foot.

They eventually made it back to Astrid’s place, Kyra and Courntey wanting to make sure she was set up with everything she needed and made her dinner, only leaving when Astrid was ready for bed and sure she didn’t need anymore help.

This went on for the next week; the girls going Astrid’s every morning to make her breakfast and take her to training with them, Astrid doing some gentle rehab with the physios while they got to train. Then they would go home, cook her dinner and make sure she was all good before going back to their own place.

Astrid was more than excited when the physios at Hammarby said she could begin walking in the boot, finally able to get around her own apartment and not have the older girls watching her every move. She was so grateful she had them there to help her, but she wanted some alone time after they returned from training, finding it hard to watch them play and train without her, missing being able to step out on that pitch and play the game she loved so much.

To be continued...

#auswnt #kyra cooney cross #matildas #alanna kennedy #auswnt x reader #caitlin foord #charli grant #mackenzie arnold #steph catley #matildas x reader #cortnee vine #courtney nevin

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surr3al1sm · 7 months ago

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Night Swan motherly headcanon

In honour of mother’s day and her event coming up, I decided it’s time to post a bittersweet Night Swan headcanon I have. It’s more bitter than sweet but we’re going to ignore that.

Despite her being a mediocre at best mother to Jack, I feel like she really tries her hardest to be a good mother in her eyes. Or well she used to at least.

I feel like Night Swan had a similar childhood to what she gave Jack. As the heir of the Swan family and a very powerful sorceress her parents put pretty tough expectations on her as a child, and probably used similar tactics to make sure she did everything in her power to meet these expectations. Causing her to have a similar relationship with her parents as Jack has with her. Meaning that she would do anything to get a little praise from them, for them to say they’re proud of her.

I want to believe that when Jack was born, Night Swan was probably ecstatic, like any other new mother. For the first few months of his life he was her perfect little creation. She couldn’t bear even imagining treating him the same way her parents had treated him. Until her parents found out that he was a boy. Breaking the line of first born girls in the family. The Swans always had girls. Her parents didn’t hesitate to express this distaste to Night Swan either. At first she was mad at her parents, how dare they treat Jack like that. Then she turned that anger to herself, her parents were right the Swans only had girls. There had to be something wrong with her because she had a boy. But there couldn’t be anything wrong with her. She had spent her entire life being perfect. Something had to be wrong with Jack. Slowly her parents comments started getting to her and she started to find all these flaws in Jack as well. Causing her to share the same distaste towards Jack as her parents, which in turn made them proud of her. Enabling her even more.

Eventually the time came for Jack to turn the age where like magic and connection to the flow started to develop in a coach. But Jack wasn’t showing any of the signs she had as a child. After learning that he had little to no magic, Night Swans distaste grew more. Eventually their relationship turned into what we see of them today. Jack trying his hardest to impress a mother who seems to hate even looking at him.

But Jack keeps trying. Why? Because Night Swan isn’t always horrible to him. There have been very few moments where that new mother than loves her child more than anything shines through. Moments where she has expressed in genuine ways that she loves him. Moments where she was a good mother to him. Meaning that Jack knows she can be a good mother. Causing Jack to blame himself even more when she isn’t, believing it’s something that he did that made her act that way.

Well damn, another long post. It’s almost like this is a common occurrence for me. Thank you for listening to me yap once more if you have. I will say that there is very much a song that sparked this in me. So guess what, I’m linking it below :)

#I didnt expect to be able to yap this much about it but like my 20k chapter it just happened #just dance #just dance fandom #night swan event #night swan mother of the year #night swan jd #night swan just dance #jd #just dance 2024 #just dance 2023 edition #just dance coach #Spotify

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thewatercolours · 7 months ago

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King's Quest Fic: "Paths" (Part 3)

Previous instalments here

Perhaps a single sleep-in morning couldn’t fix everything.

In the three days after coronation, Graham racked up an impressive record as king. First, he managed to shatter an oil lantern in the oldest, yellowest, crispiest part of the castle archive, bursting with looseleaf waiting to be bound. They’d saved most of the stacks.

He’d written greeting letters to his fellow monarchs, including the queen of gigantic Serenia, the cloutiest player on the political stage. By some oblivious genius, he accidentally filled the whole thing with scathing double meanings about their countries’ future relationship, with a postscript that amounted to a casual declaration of war. The uncomfortable scribe had said nothing to Graham, but rushed off to check the letter with Royal Guard Number One. You could have knocked the new king over with a feather when the guard scornfully read the worst passages back to him.

Twice he groggily (and purely automatically) showed up for his old night shifts, embarrassing everyone. He was late for half the meetings on his agenda. One evening he signed nearly two hundred documents he was supposed to void, before someone stopped him.

But nothing compared with what came to be known in Mannerly Stove in years following as “The King Graham incident.”

Graham’s century old carriage rolled up the switchbacks. He drummed his listless fingers on the window. He knew at least two shortcuts he could have taken, if only they had let him ride his surefooted Triumph. But his old buddy was not a suitable steed for a king, or so they said.

He tugged at this collar. The carriage might have been spacious, if his honour guard hadn’t stuffed in with him. Did they think they had to form a defensive perimeter even inside the coach? The air outside was damply hot enough, more like the stillness before the summer storms than a September day. And inside with the five guards? Every inch of armour fogged up like a mirror after a bath.

“I’m not quite sure what the point of this is - ouch!” His temple struck the window as the carriage lurched wildly onto its two right wheels. The brow of his crown dug bluntly into the same place it dug every time.

“A little more caution on those sharp turns, Number Two?” the captain called, banging a fist on the ceiling.

“Righty-oh,” came their driver’s muffled voice.

The king groaned. He shoved aside his seatmate, who had toppled right over him. His sharp armour bits were all caught on Graham’s formal black and red outfit. “I mean,” he grunted, righting his crown, “I have been to Mannerly Stove. Every time I’ve been sent on a quest outside the kingdom, in fact. I get my lunch at the Olde Yarblesnoof. I know half the people by sight. Is this visit really necessary?”

Number One fanned himself with his notecards. His voice was flat and already tired. “Sir Graham visited. Sir Graham is not here today. You are Daventry.”

“Yeah, but, to an ordinary villager -”

The guard’s tone grew sharper. “Ever have the landlord knock on your door up in Llewdor?”

Graham swallowed. It had been a long time. Yet he was astonished how clearly he remembered his mother panicking, plastering on a smile for him and his sisters, rushing them out the backdoor, and telling them to play by the brook or in the woods. Just not near the house. She’d pat her hair and set her jaw, walking determinedly to the front door. He could not remember what the landlord looked like, except that he was really big. He had to stoop to get in the door. Graham frowned. “Yeah, occasionally.”

“It means a lot to an ordinary villager, wouldn’t you say?”

Graham didn’t answer.

Number One went on, a little less sharp, a little more didactic. “You are about a hundred times all that the landlord is, and more. So today you are going to calm their worries. You’ll smile and mingle, and let them show you whatever they’re proudest of - probably the Tickle Rock. You’ll declare three months’ tax forgiveness, and call for a cask of ale to be opened for the people. And all this will be code for, ‘You’re just as much a part of Daventry as the people down in the valley, Mannerly Stove. I’ll show you I’ll be good to you. You show me you’ll keep my mountain pass open, my only real road in and out clear of snow, catch my brigands, warn me of invaders, ensure food and tools and supplies flow into into my country without trouble, and keep me connected to the outside world.’ So yes, unless you fancy dining only on lavender for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of your reign, we could call it necessary. ”

“But does that also mean - agh!”

The carriage slammed to an abrupt halt. Graham and all the guards on his side were thrown into the laps of the guards across the way. The coach became a writhing tangle of arms, legs, and everyone’s favourite curses. Graham’s boot toe somehow caught on the overhead luggage rack, while his nose wedged in the crook of Number One’s elbow. He thought he heard the captain mutter under his breath, “Really?”Then at the top of his lungs, “Open the door, for pity’s sake!”

Someone found the latch. Half the guards tumbled out in a dust cloud.. Graham could not look anyone in the face as Numbers Three and Five extricated him, and lifted him out of the carriage like a child - into the midst of a throng of chuckling onlookers.

Get it together. Think of lavender for every meal!

Graham stepped away from the guards. He reached desperately for his dignity, or even just his coaching. Something came to hand. He lifted his chin, clenched his teeth into the most carefree smile in his repertoire, and waved a great big wave at the crowd of a hundred or so. “What’s shakin’, Mannerly Stove?” he shouted cheerily.

Number One slumped, but the crowd whooped and applauded. Some were still laughing, but that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Imagine if everyone had fallen silent.

A man of great girth, with a pentagonal hat and chain of office round his neck, strode forward importantly. As he stepped closer, Graham recognized him as Hector. He was more or less mayor, but spent most of his time selling artisanal cheeses over the border. Graham had stayed overnight at his house and beat him at hangman, back when King Edward had sent him to defeat a banshee.

Hector’s grin was enormous, but his eyes were humbly downcast as he swept off his hat with a flourish, and sank to one knee. “Majesty,” he boomed. “Here is a day that will not soon be forgotten in our lowly township.”

Graham sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his cuff, and pulled out formality. “The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Mayor. And thank you all,” he said, raising his voice, “for the warm welcome. It’s my honour to continue the strong relationship between the throne and this good village.”

More cheers. Well, that wasn’t too bad. Graham tried to resist, but he could not help sneaking a peek to see if Number One approved. But by this time, the captain was standing to inscrutable attention in a row with the other guards.

So they began. Speechlets, bouquets, a whirlwind tour of the town which Graham honestly could have led himself. A headache began as he boiled alive in his expensive outfit, but he soldiered on, oohing and ahhing dutifully.

At last they took him over the crest of the road and down into the mountain pass itself. In the distance, Graham could make out a colourful blur (zards, was his eyesight worse compared to his last visit? No, no, surely not,) which he knew to be the Serenian flag hanging over a small border fortification on the other side. Halfway between them, close to the mountainside waterfall, stood the first thing Graham did not recognize from before. Something glinting here and there with metal, and painted in red and blue.

“Er, what’s that?” he asked, as Hector led the way, walking backward.

“That,” said Hector with relish, raising his voice to be heard above the crash of the waterfall, “is the reason we insisted your people schedule your visit for today. We only finished putting it together last night. The pride of Mannerly Stove. This way, sire. Only, keep to the middle of the road. Safer.”

“Safer?” asked Graham, but the crowd was already bustling him down the slope toward the object. As it came into focus, he could make out sandbags, gears, a series of weigh scale bowls suspended from chains, and a long winding slide, about the right size for a marble. But none of the bells and whistles disguised the thing completely.

“A… tollbooth?”

Number One somehow shot him a pointed look, despite his eyes being disguised beneath his helmet. “A very fine tollbooth, I’m sure.”

“A groundbreaking tollbooth,” said Hector. “Like no one has ever seen before, my king. Let us demonstrate.”

To Graham’s annoyance, the excited mayor yanked him toward the window by the wrist, where a giggling assistant demanded five shiny gold coins. A scowl escaped him at the price, but Number Three leant over his shoulder and murmured something about how after all, he was really just dropping the money back into his own pocket. She asked whether he were smuggling anything, checked something off a list, and turned a crank.

The striped barrier began to rise. There was a shifting and creaking that didn’t seem to come from the mechanism, but out of the earth itself. Graham could have sworn he saw the pebbles on the road rolling slightly. For a moment, an unnaturally straight crack formed in a portion of the road, swallowing dust. Almost as suddenly it disappeared, and all went still. The barrier stopped, at full height.

“Have a nice trip!” the assistant rattled off. “Just have a word with the Serenians at the checkstop on your way through.”

Graham took a few wary steps over the invisible border, but it all seemed solid enough. He threw an uncertain glance back at the beaming group. “But I don’t actually, right?”

Hector chuckled. “Better not. We’d give the Serenians a good gossip if we sent the king himself through. On foot. All by himself and unprotected.”

Indignation flared in Graham's chest unexpectedly. He was seized by an impulse to power-walk over the frontier and give the people of Daventry something to gossip about. All by himself and unprotected, indeed. But he slapped that thought away, and ducked to slip under the re-lowered barrier.

The entire crowd gasped as one. The assistant’s mouth went round as an O, and the mayor waved his hands wildly. “No, no, no!” he cried. “Back up! Back up!”

Graham scooted backward, his black satin cloak billowing round. He instinctively checked the ground, but nothing seemed to be moving.

Hector placed a hand over his heart and heaved a sigh of relief. “Never,” he said, articulating every syllable, “ever try to pass while the gate is still shut. Or go around it. Or climb over it. There are weight sensitive plates everywhere, and if you did -"

“Raise that gate again,” commanded Number One with a firm nod at the assistant. She hurried to obey. The road began groaning again.

“- if you did,” Hector went on, “the entire border defense system would be triggered. Walls, saws, spikes, you name it. And if something of sufficient weight passes over one of those plates, like a cart, it can even set off two small landslides to block the pass on either side.”

“Retrieve the king,” said Number One hurriedly.

As the barrier locked into its highest position, Graham’s six guards charged forward. They seized him by the shoulders, and precisely maneuvered him to the very center of the road. They all but shoved him back to the Daventry side, even as they tiptoed, lightly as possible, on their curly boots. “Excuse me,” Graham growled so the crowd wouldn’t hear. “I am perfectly able to walk.” He dug in his heels before he could collide with Hector.

“Landslides?” Graham said aloud, righting himself and shaking off the guards. “That seems like a lot.”

Hector shook his head and waggled a sensible finger. “Nature’s trap for intruders. You see, a few months back, we had some trouble with bootleggers sneaking past this stretch of road. The late King Edward gave us a grant to tighten security. This Domino Effect Tollbooth was our most brilliant minds’ answer.”

Graham rubbed his chin stubble. “But I mean, smugglers aren’t limited to this route. You could actually sneak into the valley from any direction, right?”

“But NOT through Mannerly Stove,” proclaimed Hector, thrusting out his chest pompously, as though that settled the question. “But you haven’t seen the really droll part of it yet, sire. You might be thinking that an offender might get through the defenses anyhow. That’s why we installed these.” Hector indicated a row of thin, brass pipes protruding from the underside of the toll booth. “These swing out, and blast the scoundrel with sixteen bright colours of paint! Good luck blending in after that!”

“Wow.” Graham scratched his temple under his crown. “You figure it needs sixteen?”

“Naturally! Two or three colours could just mean housepainting, or an artist having a clumsy day. But the odds of sixteen? I think not. In fact, our designer’s original plan was for two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours, but there wasn’t room in the budget. But,” (his smile broadened again - how was that physically possible?) “if I may make so bold, things have been looking up since you got those treasures back. And we, we have full confidence you’ll make the very best use of them. You see, sire, the taxes your officials have us down for are shockingly heavy for such a small town. It's something I’d hoped we could chat about before you leave - possibly expanding the grant.”

“I see.” Graham couldn’t quite stop a smirk from creeping over his face. “So you can have the two-hundred-and-fifty-six colours.”

Hector bobbed the slightest of bows. “That would be a start.”

The smirk spread as he mirrored the mayor’s bow. “Of course. It’s so… great to know the kingdom’s money would be put to such excellent -”

A gauntleted hand clapped over the king’s mouth. “Bless you,” said Number One brusquely from behind him. “Just as you say, sire. Great to know security is being taken so seriously.”

Really? In what world did Number One imagine that was subtle?

Graham spluttered as the guard released him, but before he stepped away Number One poked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Muscle memory kicked in. Graham found himself straightening up and putting his shoulders back, as he always did on the training ground when Number One corrected his posture. Then he turned and glared, meeting the guard’s gaze. He deliberately slumped his shoulders and let himself fall into the easy bow-legged stance Number One was always giving him grief for. Zards; what was even the point of dragging him out here if they were just going to be embarrassed of his existence? Maybe they should just put the crown on Number One’s head and send him round to smile and wave at smug villagers. Stars knew he wouldn’t mind taking it off for a while. The headache was morphing from a gnaw to an ache.

Number One held his gaze. And Graham noticed suddenly that everyone had gone quiet.

Hector laughed nervously. “Perhaps your majesty is tired. The heat of the day, naturally. Maybe…” He glanced at the brook rushing by the wayside, and upward at the roiling foam of the falls. “I know just the thing to cool us all down. There’s a staircase carved into the rock that starts just over there. It leads up to a little cliff about halfway up the waterfall. The view is really spectacular.”

“Great idea!” Graham cut in. Anything to shift focus.

The slate-blue steps cut from the side of the mountain were puddle slick most of the way up, pooling mist into water.. More than once Graham nearly lost his footing and had to grab at the fiery-orange foliage of the bushes that lined the way. The second time, Number Two had to give him a shove to get his center of gravity back.

“You all right?” he whispered in Graham’s ear.

“I’m managing,” he said, trying to put some pep into it.

But Number Two didn’t pull back just yet. “Don’t think about who’s watching,” he murmured. “Not us, not them. Just think about one day when you’ll be old and stuck in bed all day, and can't climb mountains no more -and have fun with it now. That’s how it’s done.” He patted Graham lightly on the shoulder. “Sire.”

At length they reached the narrow shelf - Graham, the guards, and Hector, who immediately pointed out that you could see his house from there. In fact, Graham could see all of Mannerly Stove from there, and a good stretch of the kingdom below, decked out in autumn glory. He was fairly sure the shimmering bit of white light was the castle pinnacle. But it was the falls that really stole the show, rushing down in magnificent sheets, and casting up snowy white froth. Graham gratefully stepped into the spray and let it play over his face and hands. He rubbed the cool water into the corners of his eyes. Who cared that his good clothes got a trifle wet? Anyone with an ounce of compassion would give him this. He wondered what temperature the guards had reached in their armour, and whether they were envious.

Hector swept another needless bow. “I thought your majesty might find it refreshing. Now, while we’re up here, it would be a crime not to show you the Tickle Rock. How do you like that?” He pointed a brawny finger toward the cliff’s edge.

Perched near the brink sat the most top-heavy rock Graham had ever seen. As tall as he was, and rather wider than his arm span at the top, it dwindled to a narrow point at its base. He could have wrapped his fingers round the bottom. This, at last, was something to see.

“Perfectly balanced, as you see,” said Hector, taking a moment to hold his handkerchief under the waterfall and dab at his forehead. “It was the pride of our village long before the tollbooth. So, you see, it can never fall down. It’s been here as long as anyone knows. When the winds blow, it rocks a little, but it goes on standing.”

“And it can never fall down?” Graham asked, genuinely enchanted for the first time since his coronation.

“Never.”

“That’s incredible!”

“Miraculous,” the mayor agreed. He considered a moment, then seized off his hat and held it under the water to fill it up. “Stars bless us, but it is a hot day,” he muttered. “Yes, miraculous. It can never fall down, because if it did, we’d lose half our fame. Although if you come to think of it, the really miraculous thing, even more so than the Tickle Rock’s perfect balance, is that no idiot has ever climbed up here and given it a good…” He looked up from his hat, and froze. “Sir Graham! No!”

A shining-eyed Graham had closed the gap between himself and the rock. To Hector’s horror, even as the words formed on his lips, Graham raised his hand. Pointed a finger. And poked the stone.

It wobbled.

“What?” said Graham, glancing back over his shoulder in honest bewilderment. “Didn’t you say it can never fall?”

The rock lurched toward the precipice’s edge.

Hector screamed. The crowd below screamed. Nearly every guard screamed.

Graham’s blood froze, and his stomach turned a cat’s cradle. “No, no, no no no no no!” Without a thought in his head, except that the Tickle Rock must not fall, he clambered to get a hold of it, catching frantically at the air. His arms closed round its sides. He heaved backward, realizing just a moment later that if the stone came with him, it would land on top of him. But it didn’t. It wedged itself on the end of his boot, just a fraction away from his toes. It tottered - tottered further - and righted itself in his arms.

Oh, gods. Oh, merciful gods. That had been unthinkably close. He heaved a sigh of relief, and could have sworn that sigh echoed through the whole mountain pass.

Then something shifted, and Graham and the rock hurtled over the edge.

He cried out. For a moment someone seemed to be tugging at his cloak, but they must have let go. He pulled his arms free of the rock, and found himself spinning somersaults and cartwheels in freefall. The crown flew off his head. He reached, reached for something to grab hold of, but nothing met his grip.

Then he thudded into the earth.

The wind was knocked out of him, but his arm raised itself on reflex. With perfect timing, he snatched the crown out of the air. Well, at least he had that.

Five spinning skies resolved into one as he gasped breath back into his lungs. Dizzily, he raised himself on one elbow. He was laid out on his back, mere inches from the shattered chunks of the Tickle Rock. And on the other side of him, the tollbooth.

The ground began to creak and rumble under him.

Graham closed his eyes. “No…”

He launched himself into a roll just as the ground beneath where had been lying fell away. From the breach burst a circular saw, spinning so fast it screeched. He broke his roll just in time, for an identical saw split the ground and rose from the other side. Earsplitting bells and horns rang out. He staggered to his feet, only for something - a spinning jousting target? - to swing at his head. Throwing himself into the arms of instinct, he ducked and weaved as more and more threats appeared, some from the ground, some on metal fixtures that came out of the tollbooth, some from who could say where. He swerved to avoid a procession of five tremendous wooden mallets, any of which could have sent his head flying like a croquet ball. Finally, a great wall of black iron, lined at the top with vicious spikes, leapt out of the ground, cutting off his escape toward the Serenian side. Graham dashed wildly toward Daventry, even though the spikes of the second wall had already climbed a good three feet. Throwing all his momentum into it, he leapt wildly to clear the wall. But the spinning jousting target snagged his cloak, and threw him back into the middle of the fray.

He flattened himself against the ground, covering his head with his arms, and waited for something to squish or slice or stretch him. Somewhere, the rumbling grew even louder, until it roared.

Everything stopped.

He waited, then waited longer. But nothing more came. Slow as molasses in winter, he got to his feet and looked around. The saws were still, the mallets had fallen to the ground, inert, and the walls, while very much standing, seemed to have reached their full height.

He tilted his head back to look up at the cliff. Only Hector remained by the waterfall. His eyes goggled out of his head, but he said nothing. The guards were nowhere in sight, though he thought maybe he could just make out Number One’s voice raised above the crash of the water. “Pockets!”

“I’m -” His voice sounded weak and hoarse, and not nearly loud enough to carry. He tried again, a bit louder. “I’m here, Number One! I - think it’s all over.”

A blast of neon yellow splashed violently into his face.

He shut his eyes just in time. The paints soaked him with such force it was hard to keep his balance. He gritted his teeth, folded his arms, and leaned against the metal wall for support. Just stand and take it, and think what on earth you’re going to say to them all.

When at last the paint melee stopped, he cracked an eyelid and looked down at himself. If he hadn’t needed glasses before, he certainly would after an eyeful like that. Lime green, sherbet pink, tropical orange. This outfit was single handedly going to set the royal laundry on strike.

A helmeted head popped over the wall. “Sire!” cried Number One anxiously, already grabbing onto a spike to vault over. “Are you hurt?”

The ground had already spat so many things out; if only it could swallow him. He forced a limp, rainbow-coloured thumbs up.

Number One was there in a moment, seizing him by the elbows. “Are you hurt at all?” He sounded beside himself.

Graham shook his head, grateful that his sopping blue and white hair hung down over his face, so that his eyes were hidden too.

“Can you speak?”

“Uh huh.”

Number One’s grip relaxed, and if it was a wave of relief that washed over the guard, Graham could feel it roll over him too. Just for a moment. Because the next moment the grip turned severe. If Number One had been any stronger he would have crushed Graham's elbows as he leaned in and whispered furiously, “What in bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?” Then he stepped back, and shouted clearly, “His majesty is not seriously harmed. Numbers Two and Three, prepare the carriage to take him home at once. My lord mayor, on behalf of the royal guard, we are deeply, deeply sorry for this unfortunate accident. Numbers Four, Five, and Six, we’ll be here overnight to… deal with all this.”

Up on the clifftop, Hector shook himself from his stupor. “Uh - uh - uh, well,” he stammered, “well, I don’t think anyone’s heading home tonight. The, uh, the rock was, um, heavy. The landslides, they worked perfectly, on both sides. So you’re probably stuck here until, um, we can get the rubble crew in.”

Number One twitched, almost imperceptibly. “How long will that take?”

Hector began twisting his hat into a helix. “I don’t think the team has been, um, precisely organized yet. We - we only finished the tollbooth last night. Um, there’s a signup sheet on the town board. Can someone run and check on that?”

The last time Graham had stayed overnight at the mayor’s house, he’d slept on the sofa. This evening the two housemaids rushed about in a frenzy to get the master bedroom ready. They changed out the bedding, set up a side table with a pitcher of water, mints, and a bell, and covered the floor and armchair with towels and tarps, so the splattered king could drip as much as he liked.

Exhausted, he eased into the chair sorely. If his muscles were feeling that fall now, what would they be tomorrow? As for the headache, it had apparently decided to split expenses and housemate with a few other headaches. But a splitting head and aching muscles were things he could get over. He wasn’t sure about the rest.

The wash stand was just within reach. A linen towel hung over the edge. Improper it might be, but his handkerchief was a sodden mess of paint. Graham grabbed the towel and blew his nose hard. Even the mucus seemed to have all sixteen colours in it.

Number One marched into the room with the most precisely by-the-book march Graham had ever seen from him, but he only stopped the door from slamming at the last second. He stepped carefully around the colourful footprints, placed his helmet on the dresser, and stared at Graham. He didn’t exactly look angry. Graham didn’t quite know what that look was, except that it was intense. “What are you?” asked the guard slowly.

Graham shrugged. “An artistic masterpiece,” he said dryly.

“No. What are you?”

“I know. I know. I’m an idiot.” He dragged a weary hand across his face, and it came away purple and brown.

Number One took a step forward. “No!” He emphasized every word. “You are Daventry. Daventry! You cannot be Sir Graham any longer. You cannot be an island, or a maverick, or whatever you think you are. And you cannot be a rebellious schoolboy.”

Couldn’t he give it five minutes? “It’s just when he said it couldn’t fall, I took it in the sense that -”

“Daventry tumbled and scraped its way down a mountainside today. Daventry fell on its face in the dust.”

“I was actually on my back…”

“Daventry walked away wet, unsteady, and foolish, gagging up paint in front of the whole town, who will spread it round on our side of the border and over it. And the fault is completely mine.”

That got Graham’s attention. He looked up. “What?”

“You are as far from ready as you could be. And you nearly got yourself killed today.” Number One looked as though he might go on, but he abruptly stopped himself. He seized his helmet up, replaced it, and muttered, “I should be publicly flogged."

This time, he let the door slam.

#Pretty sure that tollbooth was made by the ACME corporation.#This story is all leading up to Chapter Two - so I canonically have to slam him with some disheartenment.#Don't worry - it's not the end of the story! I put characters through the wringer but I don't do it for nothing.#king's quest #king graham #my writing #fanfiction

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idontknowreallywhy · 1 year ago

Text

Estera Ch 6 - Safe

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5)

(Sofasurf’s Recrudescence which is the foundation for all of this)

Scott’s fled for the skies. Estera needs to find someone’s inhaler. But what happens next?

Well. Some details follow.

My usual blend of fluff and “Yikes”…

Confession - this got a teeny bit dark in the last section. If you want to stop reading at the end of the fluffy bit (you’ll know it when you see it) then there is zero judgment from me. I even make myself go “Yikes” with that one…

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The authorities had called her a cab home, the hired coach having been sent away when all the parents arrived in person to collect their children. Although she had protested at the expense - surely there was a bus route somewhere nearby - she hadn’t had the energy to argue.

Thus she sat alone in the back seat trying to collect her thoughts. They resisted collection in a way that made cat herding look like a relaxing past time. So she fidgeted, putting on her cardigan then removing it again, retying her hair, rearranging the contents of her rucksack. Which she’d already done ten minutes before. She tried to force herself to calm down and turned to look out the window, her forehead meeting the glass with a surprisingly loud clunk.

“There’s a universal charging cable under the seat, Miss, and free WiFi if you’d like to use it.”

Of course there was. Couldn’t escape it these days. She didn’t want to appear rude so she smiled, thanked him and dutifully plugged in her battered mobile.

It flickered to life and within seconds several messages popped up… from her sister, a couple of friends, her elderly neighbour, even her hairdresser - clearly today’s events had hit the news. She drafted a quick reassurance, copied it to everyone and put the device down. She felt weirdly detached. It seemed strange that everyone was freaking out about her having been stuck in a cave when that had paled into utter insignificance compared to the shock she had experienced afterwards.

How could it be possible? He couldn’t have escaped, could he? If it hadn’t been for his reaction she’d have persuaded herself she was imagining things. But his reaction had been… compelling.

She picked up the phone again and opened a browser

‘International Rescue Scott’

An overwhelming plethora of photographs and articles and, wow ok, actual fan pages sprang up.

Most of the photos were distant, or amateur and blurry but his unmistakeable blue eyes shone out at her from the official ones - profile shots for International Rescue, some charity positions and… she gulped… he was the multi-billionaire CEO of one of the biggest companies on the planet. Even she knew of Tracy Industries - they were one of the good ones. A school in one of the more difficult neighbourhoods nearby had just had a complete IT infrastructure upgrade thanks to a grant from them.

His official TI profile confirmed his Air Force background, with honourable discharge after active duty. It didn’t say where that was but she knew.

Oh, she knew.

She skimmed some of the more gushing articles. All fairly light on objective facts but weighty on opinion and that opinion was pretty much universal - he was a hero, beloved by millions, a undoubted force for good in an often cruel and selfish world.

And she’d left him to die.

She closed the browser, no longer able to bear the accusation in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

The taxi driver was watching her in the rear view mirror.

“I’m fine. Thank you.“

She let out a breath as his eyes returned to the road ahead. But he wasn’t done:

“Long day was it?”

“Something like that.”

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For the second time in as many months Virgil vowed to chase Brains up on the speed upgrade to Two. It was absolutely pointless trying to catch up to his brother who could be halfway to anywhere by now. Thankfully, he had John and Five.

“Virgil! He’s heading back your way.”

“What?”

“One just did a U-Turn. She’s heading straight for you.”

“What do you mean “straight”?”

“A collision course. Virgil, I think you should get ready to take evasive action.”

Even at a moderate speed the two birds making any kind of head on contact…even a wing clip, meant mutually assured destruction. Was Two nimble enough to avoid that?

Scott would never risk Virgil being hurt.

But… he remembered the cold, unfamiliar look on the former fighter-pilot’s face as he’d spun to face him not ten minutes before. Was his brother in a state to know who was flying the ship chasing him down?

Virgil bit back a scream.

“Can’t EOS…?”

“No. She can’t. He’s blocked her access.”

Virgil looked down at the Atlantic far below him. Could he drop his ship safely on the surface of the water? He cut his speed.

“I’m tracking her path, I’ll tell you when to move.”

This couldn’t be happening. He tried the comm again, fighting to keep his voice calm and unthreatening:

“Scotty? Can you hear me bro? It’s me, Virgil. Please pick up? Please?”

“25 seconds, Virgil. Start reducing altitude.”

White knuckled, he tipped Two’s nose downwards and went to accelerate.

“Wait!”

“What? What???!”

“It’s ok. It’s ok, he’s adjusted course to pass on your port side. I’m… I misunderstood what… I’m sorry to have worried you.” John sounded almost light headed.

With her familiar crack-boom One shot past in a blur. Virgil flinched as her vapour trail crystallised on her sister’s windscreen for a few moments. He levelled Two off and pulled up the graphical readout of One’s tracker. Scott appeared to have done one of his signature handbrake turns and was heading back towards him at a more sedate pace… the rocket’s trajectory heading safely to the left of Two. Gleaming silver came into view alongside and Scott matched the green ship’s pace, the way he often did on journeys home from the more difficult rescues. Those times when Virgil knew his big brother needed company more than the adrenaline rush of g force and extreme speed.

The comm remained muted, but they were together. And that, until they got home at least, was all that mattered.

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The lift was broken again and Estera truly empathised with it as she dragged herself to the 5th floor. Her limbs were jelly and once she was on the right side of her front door she considered just lying down in the hall and having done with it. At which point 60 kilos of floof and enthusiasm canonballed into her and she realised with a quiet groan that she had to take him out before he destroyed everything in her apartment. Glancing down at her dusty sleeves as they contrasted with Bez’s snowy fur, she resolved to shower and change first else people would think she’d just escaped from a disaster zone.

Not so different from the state she was in when she first got here come to think of it. The darkness of the following few days in Processing crowded in on her and she didn’t have the energy to push it away. It was all too close to the surface today.

Bez licked the salt off her cheek.

With what felt like superhuman effort she dragged herself upright. At least here she had her own shower. And clean towels. Squeezing past the wall of hair she made it to the kitchen, draped her coat and bag over the back of a chair and spotted the note on the table:

Walked Niebieski. Soup in fridge. Glad you are safe.

Edith & George

She blinked back more tears. The elderly couple next door were an absolute godsend.

Ok. Shower. Soup. Stupid movie to prevent too much thought. Could maybe make some popcorn. That was a plan.

She did like a plan.

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The pool slid closed overhead and Scott allowed himself a few moments to sit back and breathe before regrouping and running through the comfortingly routine process of post-flight checks. His shoulder twinged sharply and that itchy trickling sensation reminded him that steristrips were no match for the physicality of flying a supersonic jet.

His vision lurched as her voice came back to him and he desperately focussed on grounding himself. He could hear the creaking of cooling engines, feel the harness over his shoulders, the seat beneath and around him. Wait, something else was off too. Something was pressing uncomfortably into his hip… he leaned to the side to extract the item from his baldric. A tiny Thunderbird 2 looked up from his palm, accusingly. His hand shook and the toy dropped, hitting the deck far below with a distant ping.

He stared down into the abyss.

Virgil was right. It wasn’t safe. HE wasn’t safe. If he couldn’t trust his mind to stay on track then he couldn’t be trusted. How could he keep his brothers safe from the world when he couldn’t even keep them safe from himself?

He tightened his fingers around the levers, every inch of the ship’s controls so familiar it was like an extension of his own limbs. Closer to him than his flight suit in a way. One was a part of him. IR was a part of him. Maybe the majority part. Certainly the best part.

If he couldn’t do this… then…

No. He shouldn’t think like that. He just needed more time. He flicked the switch to extend the chair and took a purposeful step down on to the gantry.

He had an apology to deliver.

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Virgil looked down at his twitching, sleeping brother and fought back the urge to bear hug him and never let go. There had been plenty of those earlier. Scott begging for forgiveness he didn’t need. Virgil and John trying to reassure him, their words seeming so powerless and both desperately hoping that holding him tight could somehow piece their hero back together.

He hadn’t expected the honesty. That was new.

Scott had looked Virgil in the eye and told him he was right. He wasn’t ready, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t ok. Virgil had shaken his head, denying the words he’d said over and over this last week. He didn’t want to be right. It was too painful. It wasn’t fair.

But Scott had been adamant - he was grounding himself for another fortnight. He needed time to process. Something had triggered him, he acknowledged that much, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. He’d lowered his eyes and quietly asked if they wouldn’t mind staying with him because he didn’t want to be alone.

As if he could stop them.

And so the six of them crowded into the lounge in a nest of blankets, fluffy cushions and rogue bits of popcorn. Scott had sagged against Virgil’s shoulder and passed out not half an hour into the film. John curled on big brother’s other side, if he was asleep it was likely with one eye open. Allie and Gordon were a tangle of limbs on the floor while Kayo dozed with her head atop the pile.

They’d get through this together as they always had. As Virgil watched, Scott sighed in his sleep and his face relaxed. He was here and he was safe. Hopefully tonight the nightmares would leave him in peace.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Estera braced her feet and shoulders against the splintering wood and bit through her lip as she tried to remain silent despite the terror of the world tilting and sliding. The rumble of aircraft engines filled her head to the point where she wondered if she could even remember any other sound. But she knew where she was. This was to be expected. It would end soon. It had to.

The unsecured packing crate slammed into something again, her head rebounding painfully off the inside and she was consumed by nausea. The tiniest sob escaped and she froze. With a click the lid was opened and blinding light flooded into her streaming eyes as she tried to focus on the figure leaning towards her. It was him! Was she saved? Was she safe?

No.

Dread filled every cell of her body. Vivid blue eyes looked down at her but they were unseeing. A dark line ran from the corner of his mouth and then red, sickly gleaming red was everywhere. His blood was everywhere and it was her fault. His body fell heavily on top of her and the lid was slammed shut and she screamed for help until her throat burned.

Nobody came.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 7…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #Estera #Tw: ptsd #Tw: implied violence #Tw: mild horror #TB Estera

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linkemon · 2 months ago

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Love on the low (Kaminari Denki x Reader) [Pokemon AU]

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴋᴀᴍɪɴᴀʀɪ ᴅᴇɴᴋɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]'ꜱ ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴍᴘɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀʀ ʀᴇɢɪᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ, ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʀᴇʟᴜᴄᴛᴀɴᴛ, ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɢᴏ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ ᴀᴄᴄᴏʀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴇᴛ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ?

[Reader] pursed her lips in anger. For the first time in a long time, she felt frustrated. She never thought today's match would end like this. She gave it her all. It seemed to her that she already had her opponent in her grasp. Meanwhile, her Inteleon was barely holding on to its long, thin legs. Its dorsal fin drooped. The Pokemon looked at her sadly. She knew she couldn't torment it any longer. His poor condition excluded him from further battle. He had held on for a long time just for her. He had been her friend since childhood. They had won championships together. Their hard training led her to the title of Galar Champion. People called her undefeated. She had reigned supreme for several seasons, never giving up victory to anyone.

And now this ordinary, average guy from Musutafu had destroyed everything. He had come and conquered gyms one by one. He stood before her with a wide smile. She couldn't stand him. Denki Kaminari might have looked good. He had golden hair that flowed gently in the wind and designer black clothes with a lightning bolt motif. Perfect for a coach who loved electric types but that didn't change the fact that his personality irritated the girl to no end. Unlike her, he enjoyed the atmosphere of this final. He didn't care about the crowd around them. He eagerly accepted every journalist in line. He was fiercely signing autographs. The bright lights of the stadium didn't blind him. He seemed to bask in them and shine. He loved the attention. It irritated her. If she could, she would want to play matches on regular grass. Without anyone's eyes judging her every step.

The teenager reluctantly reached into her pocket. She pulled the pokeball out in front of her. A bright light flashed for a moment. A moment later, Inteleon rested safely in the red and white ball. At the same moment, whistles and shouts echoed through the stadium. This time, not in her honour. They were cheering for the new champion and his Pikachu. The announcer announced the result of the battle. His words did not fully reach her but it did not matter. She knew what he would say. She quickly moved towards the goal. She did not want to look disappointed fans in the eye right now. Or answer the media's prying questions.

After she had handed her friend over to the nurses, she had hoped to get out of there as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it took a while. She listened patiently to the happy chatter of the women in pink dresses and aprons. She had taken the Pokémon as soon as they were done.

She hadn't expected to see her rival in the lobby at all. She had been certain that he would be left to give interviews and bask in the attention he deserved. After all, he had won. And yet the boy was eagerly looking around for something... or someone. His head was darting left and right. He only stopped occasionally when someone passed by to congratulate him. Then little Pikachu would help him. The heroine of the day did exactly what her owner did.

[Reader] adjusted Inteleon, curled up in her arms. He was definitely too old for this kind of fun but this one time she made an exception. She didn't want him to be in an even worse mood. He was as concerned about everything as she was. Maybe even more.

She hoped to slip past Denki somewhere. She discreetly took a few steps. She turned her head, hoping that she would somehow manage it. Unfortunately, from behind her back she heard a cheerful voice:

— There you are! I was hoping you hadn't left yet. You're very fast — the boy added. He was grinning from ear to ear the whole time.

She would have given anything to wipe that expression off his face. It suited him. Happy, glowing. But for her it was too bright. It seemed to shine directly at her, a painful reminder of her defeat.

Was he waiting for me? Strange — she thought. It seemed to her that he would hurry to enjoy his reward.

— Are you a Lanturn? Because you are glowing!

She grimaced. His list of pick-up lines was long. Each one more hopeless than the next. She had heard many of them. She knew he had served them to many women. The reaction of most was one of distaste. That would probably change now. Encouraged by the prospect of fame and popularity, they would surely flock to him.

— What's the matter? — she asked, resigned.

— I wanted to congratulate you — Kaminari extended his hand.

— There's nothing to congratulate for — [Reader] said dryly, clutching his hand.

She wasn't happy with her performance. If she had worked harder, she would have won. She should have slept less and practiced more.

— What are you saying! — Denki yelled in outrage. — You were as striking as Raichu!

He seemed extremely pleased with himself. She didn't know what to say, so she ignored his remark.

— Is that all? — the girl asked, glancing towards the exit.

— I was thinking we should set a date…— The teenager rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

[Reader] congratulated herself. It was idiotic of her to agree to this whole bet. She had lost and now she would have to have a meeting with him that she had no desire to attend.

— Let's do it now — she sighed.

She pulled him by the hand toward the cafe. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

— You're fast as…

She didn't let him finish. She pressed a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. Unfortunately, it only worked for a moment. Better than nothing.

She walked towards the counter. The room wasn't large. The glass windows showed the view in front of the arena. People were slowly leaving the building, heading to the streets of the city. Some were still waiting. Probably hoping to meet their new idol.

Some of the customers noticed who had come through the door. Kaminari gently waved them back. He didn't sign a single autograph. [Reader] gave him a questioning look.

— I want to enjoy your company. You know... without distractions...— Red rose to his cheeks.

The trainer turned her head. She didn't want to admit it to herself but it felt nice. He had given up what he loved to focus on her.

She looked around. The pastel walls were decorated with photographs of previous winners. The light floor reflected the light. There were fresh flowers, napkins on the tables and small chairs. Quite cozy. Denki was deep in conversation with a girl behind the counter. His friend wore an apron as pink as her hair. She introduced herself as Ashido Mina. She looked from her to him with interest, scooping ice cream with a round spoon.

— I can't believe that idiot managed to get a girl like that! — she said, handing over the cups.

— We’re not…— [Reader] tried to correct that but quickly gave up. The energetic waitress had already moved on to a new topic, forgetting about her remark.

Her companion's ice cream was yellow. That didn't surprise her. Orange, peach and mango. The perfect colours for him.

They sat down at a small table against the wall. The former champion was poking around in her dessert with her spoon. She wasn't in the mood to talk. So she let Kaminari do all the work. He had enough energy to make up for her lack of enthusiasm. She felt a little embarrassed. She should have tried harder. In the end, she willingly agreed to the bet. In the meantime, she took the path of least resistance.

At one point she felt something grab her leg. She squealed quietly, torn from her thoughts. She looked under the table and Denki looked with her.

Pikachu wrapped around her calf. The yellow creature wore a funny black skirt. It was probably meant to be a set of clothes with her trainer. She didn't have one in the arena.

The girl shook her leg slightly but the creature didn't let go. She snuggled up tightly, staring at her with round eyes.

— Ummm… could you take her? — [Reader] asked, looking at the owner.

— I can try but I don't know if I can do it — he said. — Listen... If you don't want to stay here, I won't make you. Pikachu hugs people she thinks are sad... Maybe I'm silly but I can tell when someone isn't having a good time around me. She'll probably leave you alone when you get out of here.

It was the first time in a long time that she had seen him become serious. It wasn't something she saw often. She had seen him a few times before the finale. But every time he had been goofy, flirty or both.

Now he was sad. And that lack of upturned corners of his mouth somehow made her want to see them go up again.

— You're right. — She put down her spoon. — I don't want to be here. — The light in his eyes seemed to dim at those words. But she decided to straighten things out. He deserved it. — It's about my loss. I guess I can't quite accept it. I feel like I've let everyone down. Starting tomorrow, everything will be different. It scares me. — Inteleon wrapped himself tighter around her neck. He could always tell when she was nervous.

She was surprised at how much she had opened up to Kaminari. They hadn't known each other well or for long. His personality was completely different from hers. And yet, there was something about him that made her feel comfortable enough to share her concerns.

Soon she would have to change her apartment. There was no point in renting a place so close to the stadium. She would no longer have to respond to challenges. No more being on the phone all the time, no more interviews, photos, autographs and meetings. Now everyone would ask questions. Will she come back next season? Does she regret it? What did she think of the championship? She didn't feel like making all these changes. Or the extra attention. She also had to decide whether she wanted to keep training. She could go back to work or start doing something completely new.

Denki narrowed his eyes, glancing toward the hall.

— Come with me. — He held out his hand to her.

Hesitantly, she let him lead her. She didn't know what he was planning but he seemed confident.

A small boy was sitting on one of the benches. He could have been only a few years old. His face was decorated with charming freckles. His green hair made him visible from a distance. He was furiously writing something in a notebook.

— Hi, Izuku! — The Champion waved at him.

The boy peeked out from behind the cover and widened his eyes. He must have been surprised. When he realized who was standing before him, his smile widened to its limits. [Reader] concluded that he must have been a Kaminari fan.

— [Reader], this is Midoriya Izuku. Izuku, it's…

— Oh my! Oh my! [Reader]! — he squeaked thinly. He stared at her with such adoration that she almost looked away.

This surprised her. But she still wasn't sure why she had been brought here in the first place.

Pikachu continued to stubbornly cling to her leg. Every now and then she would sigh quietly, "Pika, pika". Then she would go back to boring her cute little head into her body.

— I'm your b-biggest fan... Oh, here... Here's your autograph. — He proudly showed a page from his notebook. — You played a su-super match today! And... I'm training with my Eevee too! I plan on defeating my friend someday. Katsuki wants to be a fire trainer, so I've been studying your water Pokémon techniques...

The flow of words continued. The former champion glanced away. Denki smiled gently.

— You're not... you know, disappointed? I lost my title today. — She absently petted her blue friend.

— Oh come on! — the boy protested. — You gave it your all. Everyone saw it. The people in the stands said you were great. And I think so too! — he added.

[Reader] felt a smile spread across her face for the first time that day. A tiny smile but a smile nonetheless.

The little clingy one slowly detached itself from her. It gave her a long look. As if assessing whether she was feeling better enough or if she should come back.

— Pikaaa! — She wagged her tail, running to her trainer.

— We'll be heading out — Kaminari announced. — See you at the next competition, kid. — He ruffled his hair.

They headed towards the stadium exit.

— Izuku! There you are! Do you know how worried I was about you? — A female voice reached the pair's ears.

His mother looked just like him. With relief written all over her face, she hugged her son, scolding him fiercely.

— Mom, you won't believe me...

— I guess this is where we part ways, girl as beautiful as Galarian Ponyta — Denki announced.

Another weak flirtation. She wanted to laugh to herself. It didn't seem as annoying as it had before. Even if she didn't resemble the pastel-candy horse at all.

They were standing in the street in front of the stadium. The crowd had long since disappeared.

The girl looked at the champion. He wasn't as bad as she thought. She realized that it was the bitterness of defeat that spoke through her. He was trying to make her feel better and he was able to stop clowning around when necessary. Besides, out of all the things he could have bet on, he chose a date. He must have really cared.

— I guess so — she agreed.

She turned around. She took a few steps. Suddenly she felt a pain in her ear. It was Inteleon who was stubbornly pulling on it. He even went so far as to get down on her shoulder and poke her cheek impatiently.

She knew what he meant. His tail was pointing in the direction she had just come from.

She sighed quietly. He was right.

— Denki! — She ran back toward him.

— You miss me already...

She didn't let him finish. A kiss on the cheek effectively stopped his sentence. He blushed and looked away.

— Thanks for today. For helping me and all. If you ever want to go out on a real date with me again... that would be great — she finished awkwardly.

— Of course I will! — he replied enthusiastically.

— Well then... see you then.

Kaminari watched her leave. He unconsciously stroked the spot where her lips had been a moment ago.

— You can't be so cute — he mumbled — or I'll fall in love with you.

#kaminari denki x reader #denki x reader #boku no hero academia #oneshot x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #midoriya izuku #inko midoriya #pokemon #pikachu #inteleon #alternate universe

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maypoleman1 · 11 months ago

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24th December

Christmas Eve

Source: The Book of Christmas, The Enchanted World, Time-Life Books

Today is Christmas Eve and a night of ghosts and spirits. Like Halloween, malevolent phantoms are said to roam the mortal world on Christmas Eve and the evil alter ego of St Nicholas, the monstrous Krampus, will weave spells of dark winter magic to entrap those who do not give the eve of Christ’s birthday due respect. More benignly, the ancestral dead are said to revisit the hearths of their loved ones tonight and make merry once more. Before retiring to bed, the people of northern Britain would leave a Christmas repast for their deceased forebears to help them enjoy their ghostly seasonal revels. At Rainham in Kent a coach with a headless horse is said to gallop towards Bloor’s Place tonight, allegedly carrying the ghost of a notorious womaniser known as Christopher Bloor who was waylaid and murdered by cuckolded husbands who chopped off his head, although, confusingly, not that of his horse.

Tonight the Ash Faggot or Yule Log was brought into the homes of the Anglo Saxons and the Scandinavian settlers of the Danelaw. The Log had to be found in woodland and dragged back to the family hearth, where it was sprinkled with ale or cider before being thrown onto the fire where it was intended to burn the whole Yuletide through. The pagan origins of seeking divine light in the midwinter darkness of this practice are clear enough. Its possibly more bloody origins are hinted at by the sketching of a human figure into the bark in Cornwall and the fact the Log was known as The Christmas Old Wife, indicating the festive log may be a symbol of abandoned midwinter human sacrifice.

Christian legend has it that tonight cattle kneel and sheep face east towards Bethlehem in honour of Jesus’ birth; for the duration of the night all farmyard animals can talk, but to overhear their conversation brings terrible luck in the New Year - something to dissuade the curious from disproving the legend and destroying some Christmas magic. It was a tradition to feed all the livestock well and generously over the Christmas season: birds in particular were given a special cake of fat and grain known as the Christmas Sheaf.

#christmas eve #christmas #christmas ghosts #yuletide #Yule log #ash faggot #talking animals #Christmas sheaf #krampus #bloor’s place #the Christmas old wife

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bluespring864 · 1 day ago

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Tags by @crossedcourt <3

I will now run with them and write an essay because I am always insane about Novandy ;-)

Specifically I want to talk about the "yes i've beaten you on every surface" part. Because I've had a few messages and seen a few comments to the effect of "Wait, they are starting a partnership at the Australian Open of all places?! How many times did Novak beat Andy there?" To which the answer is: Andy lost four of his five Australian Open finals to Novak, three of them rather badly (two in straight sets, one with a fourth set bagel) and he also very narrowly lost probably the most epic match they ever played - according to both of them - which was the Australian Open semifinal in 2012.

While this would be devastating and a cause for animosity for many tennis players I need you to understand that THEY ARE NOT LIKE THAT. At their first meeting at an under-14 tournament, Les Petits As in France in 2001, which concidentally was Novak's first international tournament ever, Andy destroyed him 6-0, 6-1 (Novak: "You gave me one game!") and they still laugh about it to this day. If and when they do press for this new coaching partnership, expect this to come up a few times.

It has always felt to me like their modus operandi was: us against the world (Novak: “Sometimes we catch up for dinner. It’s good to see somebody you grew up with doing so well in professional tennis and it’s great to show to people that top-five players, who are big rivals on the court, can be really good friends as well.”) And it never really changed, even when Novak took a commanding 24-11 lead in the H2H over the years (I am only counting matches played and leaving out the fucking tragic walkover from Andy that prevented their last meeting from happening), after it briefly almost evened out in 2012/2013.

This attitude, of course, is rather impressive from Andy, who could very well be bitter about how differently their careers have gone, considering that they are such similar players who were born only one week apart and that there was definitely much more hype around Andy at the start of their careers (Novak said when they were both 18 and played doubles at, you've guessed it, the Australian Open, that he would and wouldn't like to be like Andy because on the one hand Andy had much more support than him at the time, on the other hand he had the crushing weight of expectations to contend with).

But instead of being bitter, for the last few years of his career you could hear Mr. Murray say things like: “It would be amazing to see him do it [win the 23d Grand Slam] on Sunday. I will be supporting him. And I hope he can do it. Because it is incredible what he has done.” or plainly "I'm happy for him, he deserves it." Or even: "After Wimbledon [2023], everyone was saying it was a changing of the guard, but it wasn't for me." Oh it wasn't for you? You are defensive over the man who has beaten you more than any other in your career being written off too early?

Even during that crazy year of 2016, when they were the two frontrunners in the rankings by miles and Andy was chasing the number one spot, what did he say after losing the only French Open final he ever played? Well, he started it off with "This is his day today. What he’s achieved the last 12 months is phenomenal." and not only told the audience they had been extremely lucky to see Novak make history once again, but also ended with: "I’m proud to have been a part of today."

Us. Against. The. World.

So that's Andy, but what about Novak? Well, not to be outdone he will mention Andy in almost every interview, even when he was very much not asked about him. He will remember the 2013 Wimbledon final which he lost in straight sets to Andy as "a historic, special moment that I cherish" and, on court at the ATP Finals 2016, after his own second half of the year had been rather dismal, he also explained to the crowd that they were part of history that day and that "It was an honour to be on the court and to be a part of the big occasion. Andy is definitely number one of the world. He is the best player. He deserved to win."

If asked about the best matches he has played with Andy he will readily mention the 2012 London Olympics semifinal. We all know how important the Olympics have always been to Novak (if you didn't before 2024, you certainly know now) and this was a semifinal loss at his beloved Olympics in straight sets. Let that sink in.

When Andy retired this year, Novak explained: “He will inspire many generations to come. He inspires me, and we are about the same age." He, who has just finished his career outside of the top 100 and in a doubles match because his body wouldn't even let him play singles anymore, inspires you, who has achieved more than any other in this sport? That's really lovely, Novak. Oh, and by the way, how about Andy becoming world No. 1 and ending Novak's longest stint at No. 1 in his career? Novak's post at the time: "I am really happy to be in the same era with you."

Us. Against. The. World.

So, to make a very long story short: If I was surprised about the coaching news yesterday it was because they actually went for it, not because it seemed outlandish to me in any way. As you can see, it makes perfect sense. I am really glad we are getting another chapter of this story which - according to Novak - is "A script, a long story. A romance, I’ll call it." after we previously were treated to - according to Andy - "Rivals, doubles partners, friends and lovers?" By the way, he still has that Instagram post pinned. Anyway, before I digress, let me conclude this by saying:

You thought their story was over? Think again.

#whoops i may have written a shipping manifesto #enjoy my rambling guys :)#this is what happens when my tennis idiots feed me properly after such a long time persisting on crumbs #novandy #tennis talk

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lifeofkaze · 2 years ago

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How Lucky We Are

A/N: Saffron Summers, Dante Lopez Briarwood, and Rory McTavish belong to @the-al-chemist. Rylie Hopper-Lee belongs to @thatravenpuffwitch. This story was written for the May prompt of the @hp-12monthsofmagic challenge.

Behind the closed doors, the noise of the crowd ebbed and flowed. It was a deep rumble, like waves crashing against the shore, and the sound of it made the hairs on Dana’s arms stand on edge.

“It’s packed out there,” mumbled Miranda Nevis, a witch on the same duelling roster as Dana. “Sounds like the whole of the country has come.”

Dana’s voice sounded shaky to her own ears. “The national championship is a big deal.”

“Who are you telling?” Miranda laughed quietly. “I’m not getting my hopes up, though. I’m not the one the bookies have marked down.”

Dana made a noncommittal noise and returned her attention to the door separating the backstage area from the duelling ground. The barren room was filled with witches and wizards of all age groups. Some were talking in hushed voices among themselves, but most were silent, looking as sick as Dana felt herself.

“You never know what’s going to happen,” she said and swallowed hard. “Only because they put their money on you doesn’t mean you’re going to win, too.”

“It does when you’re in as good a form as you,” Miranda shrugged.

Not waiting for Dana’s reply, she turned away when their coach called his roster to her side. Dana followed reluctantly, listening to the following pep talk in silence, but found it hard to focus. It was the last tournament before the summer break, and the points accumulated today would be the last to count for this season’s ranking. Dana had done exceptionally well this year; if she won today, she would become the Champion of the British and Irish Duelling League.

The flutter in her chest filling her from head to toe, she looked back at the doors leading into the arena. Somewhere in the crowd, her friends and family would be, cheering her on - her parents, godparents, and three best friends among them. All of her nearest and dearest had come; all but the one she had wanted to be there most.

Furtively, Dana touched the letter with the little doodled penguin she had tucked into her pocket. Dylan had sent it yesterday evening, telling her that the government had mixed up his Portkey and that no new one would be available until three days later. Dana had tried not to let the news drag her down but couldn’t deny the disappointment that Dylan would not be there in person.

She was broken from her thoughts by their coach clapping her hands together. Her teammates shuffled to the entrance doors, and Dana took her position at the front of the line. Applause branded and feet were stomped as a magically enhanced voice introduced the different teams, a sound so loud that it reminded Dana of a dragon’s roar. She briefly thought that Dylan could probably tell her exactly which kind it sounded like, but she pushed the thought away. Dylan wasn’t here, and it couldn’t be helped.

It was time for her to focus.

***

Excited chatter filled the Parkins’ living room. They had all gathered at the long table Dana’s mother had set up, in the centre of which the gleaming championship trophy was standing. Dana - sitting in the place of honour - smiled bashfully when her father raised his champagne in her direction.

“To Dana, my little girl with the big punch.”

Dana’s cheeks reddened as the rest of her family and friends repeated Lewis Parkin’s toast. The situation still felt surreal; everything happening after her final duel was a blur, and it was only slowly that the reality of her achievement took form in Dana’s mind - she was officially the best duellist in the British Isles, and she had done it all on her own. No family connections helping her, no doors being a Parkin had opened for her. She had made her dream come true, all by herself.

“Who would have thought that after celebrating your Defence Against the Dark Arts O a couple of years ago, we’d now get to toast to your championship?” Dante Lopez, an old friend of Dana’s, said with an easy smile.

“That was the green jade I gave her,” Dana’s best friend Saffron Summers whispered dreamily. “It’s why the spells wouldn’t hit her.”

“I don’t know, Saff. Looked like a pretty good Protego charm to me.”

“Jade is lovely for protection,” Saffron sighed, not minding Dante’s raised eyebrows. “They should make a new trophy from it, don’t you think?”

“Why make a new one? Don’t you get to keep this?”

“It’s a challenge cup,” Dana shook her head. “I only get to keep it as long as I’m the champion.”

“Good luck to anyone trying to take it from you.” Dante glanced at the golden trophy, which resembled a stylised version of a wizard standing atop his opponents. “It’s pretty violent-looking, though, don’t you think?”

“Not more violent than what Dana did to that poor bloke in the final round,” Dana’s sister Maisie snickered. “The way she blew him out of the boundaries was priceless.”

“Dana could make any man stay on his back and thank her for it,” Rory McTavish, another old friend of Dana’s, grinned broadly. His girlfriend Rylie put her head into her hands in an exhausted gesture.

“Can you please not?`”

“What?” Rory shrugged. “I bet Dylan would disagree if he was here.”

At the mention of Dylan, Dana’s smile faltered. With a mumbled excuse, she rose and left the table, walking out into her parents’ garden. She walked towards the small pool she’d used to sit by and read as a child, sitting in the grass and sliding her feet into the cool water. She studied her reflection on the water’s surface; the happy smile from before had disappeared, and suddenly, she felt the day’s exhaustion weighing down on her.

“Is everything alright?”

Dana looked up as the shadow of her godmother fell on her. Lizzie Amari stood next to her, a small bowl of strawberries in hand. She looked at the spot next to Dana questioningly.

“May I?”

Wordlessly, Dana shuffled to the side and Lizzie sat down. She offered Dana her strawberries, which Dana accepted after a moment’s hesitation.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Dana shook her head, slowly twisting the stem of her strawberry off the fruit. “I’m fine.”

“Are you now?”

Dana averted her eyes, but it took one look at her godmother’s knowing face to make the words come tumbling from her mouth.

“I just wanted him to be here, you know? I haven’t seen Dylan in weeks, and I was so happy when he said he’d make it to the finals, and now I won and he wasn’t there, and I totally know it’s not his fault but it’s still so sad that we celebrate without him and what’s even sadder is that I’m sad in the first place because I won the championship today. The championship! It shouldn’t matter that he wasn’t there because I’m strong and independent and living my dream but all I can think of is that this is the biggest triumph of my life and I can’t enjoy it because my boyfriend wasn’t here to see it happen!”

Much to her own horror, tears were rising to her eyes. Dana angrily rubbed at them. Without a word, Lizzie slid closer to her, putting her arm around her shoulder.

“It’s okay to miss him, Dana. This was your big day, and you’ve been looking forward to him coming home. I know it’s not his fault that he didn’t make it, but it’s fine to be sad about it, anyway.”

Dana sniffed. “I have the career I always wanted. I get paid to do what I love, which is such a privilege, yet all I can think of is how miserable I am because I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean. I’m pathetic.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree,” Lizzie hummed. “You’re the least pathetic person I know.”

“Then why can’t I just be grateful for what I have instead of complaining about what I don’t?”

“Because the standard you’re holding yourself to might not be yours. Everyone has their own priorities and values in life. You’re your own person, and only because it feels like what you want isn’t what everybody else thinks you should want doesn’t make it less important.

“Look at your mum,” Lizzie continued, nodding toward the house where Penny Parkin was busy handing out fresh drinks. “She stepped back from her career to care for your family. Your Aunt Skye decided not to have a family because she loved her job more than anything. They did what they thought best for them, and both turned out perfectly happy.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m somewhere in between, I guess.” Lizzie shrugged. “I loved my job more than anything, but that changed when I had Dylan and Reva. Eventually, it changed again. As we grow, our focus points in life shift. No one can or should tell you what the right path to being happy is because today might look totally different from tomorrow. We each have to find our own happiness for ourselves, each and every day.”

Dana gave her a small smile. “You sound like Orion now.”

Lizzie laughed lightly. “‘Adaption through exposition’ is what Dylan would call it, I believe.” She tilted her head as a cracking noise broke through the chirping of crickets from the nearby field. “Enough rambling for now. I think your surprise has arrived.”

Dana frowned. “What surprise?”

Lizzie pulled Dana to her feet with a mysterious smirk. “What kind of surprise would that be if I told you?”

Dana was still frowning when Lizzie led her through the garden and to the front of the house. When she saw who was waiting there for her, she gasped, flinging herself into Dylan’s arms as soon as he was within reach, burying her head against his neck as his arms closed around her. She held onto him tightly before she raised her face to kiss him, and suddenly, her mother’s flowerbeds seemed just a little bit brighter, and the sunlight on her back a little warmer, and for the first time that day, Dana felt well and truly happy.

Later that night, when everybody had gone home, Dylan and Dana set out for a walk along the coastline. They were walking hand in hand, Dana telling Dylan everything about the tournament and each of her duels in minute detail. As usual, Dylan remained quiet but was listening attentively.

“Sounds like they had no chance at all,” he said in one of Dana’s rare pauses. “I would have liked to see that poor Brighton girl fall into that conjured tar pit.”

“It was quite sticky,” Dana giggled, leaning against Dylan’s shoulder. “You’ll get plenty of opportunity to see me duel next season. Being the national champion, I’ve qualified for international-level competitions. I might even get invited to the National Team if I’m lucky.”

“They’d be stupid not to want you.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dana sighed. She became serious. “Do you know how you’ll be able to stay this time?”

Dylan shrugged. “We needed to stop our project for now. The mountains are swarming with Muggles, and the charms keeping them away distort our measurements.”

Dana glanced up at him with a hopeful expression. “So you’ll get to stay longer?”

“For a few weeks, at the least.”

Dana’s lips curved into a happy smile. She snuggled closer to Dylan, breathing in his familiar scent. She thought about what her godmother had told her earlier, about how everyone had to find their own road to happiness. Maybe she and Dylan would, too, eventually, she thought as they turned back; they weren’t in a hurry to get anywhere.

She was content with how things were right here and now, and of more, she would think another day.

#dana parkin #dylan amari #hp12mom #twelve months of magic

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