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lazyevaluationranch · 4 years ago

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I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas.

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago.

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too.

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more:

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister.

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out.

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks. A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell.

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota. Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys.

From Sheepish:

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle.

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other.

The book says: We made it. You will too.

#the-revolution-will-be-feminized

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coffeeismyblo0d · 3 years ago

Text

By The Society's Needs

TW // Minor Misgendering

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound rang through Aspen's already tired ears, reminding them of what was to be expected, and what was not to be expected. They turned, looking at their annoyingly loud phone which displayed the time: 7:05.

Aspen slammed their hand down on the phone, sighing softly as it shut off the alarm, which felt glorious to them this early the morning. They heard the loud yelling of their neighbors, who were just on the other side of the thin walls. They also heard a rather loud thumping noise, of which they desperately hoped was a exercise machine upstairs, despite knowing the truth behind it.

Aspen launched themselves up, stretching their arms and back out. This had been part of their routine for a while, the only exceptions coming during sick days, which were few in numbers, fortunately. Aspen looked around their room for a moment, trying to find what they were looking for amongst the littered sketches of outfits to be.

"Ah yes, there you are." They held their rediscovered binder up in triumph, despite being alone at the moment. Their binder was special to them of course. After all, it sealed a lot of insecurities about their body away with what little changes it made.

Aspen hopped on one foot as they tried pull both the binder and a sock on at the same time. Of course, this was a major struggle for them, as the binder was a binder, and a sock is on your foot. Both were on opposite points of the body.

Aspen turned toward the full length mirror in their room, despite one sock halfway off of their foot. They hummed, tilting their head at themselves.

"What should we go for today bud..?" They looked at their succulent. "Of course, you're throwing a fit. I'm sorry but too much water might kill you." They giggled softly, clipping the binder back enough so it fully reduced everything. "There. I think that will look great."

"And we'll go...." Aspen looked at the closet full of outfits, outfits that fit many different moods and aesthetics. They grabbed an outfit that included items sewn by them themselves, such as overalls, an 'ugly' sweater, and others that went along with them. Aspen chose a pair of short boots as an addition to the outfit, smiling. "I think I'm going to look great today. "

They turned towards the clock on their bedside table, which had been handpainted by a local artist. The clock read 7:15. Aspen smiled. "Right on track, I am."

Once done getting dressed, Aspen grabbed their bag and walked out the door, rubbing their eyes. How they were still tired, was a question that would likely be left unanswered.

"Let's hope you start..." Aspen muttered, turning their key in the car. They let out a sigh of relief as it turned on without stalling as they attempted to turn music on. "Thank you..."

They started their drive to work, groaning as their music refused to load. "At least the car started, that's all I could ask for.." They muttered, eyeing their bag of fabric and other assorted sewing items. A bag that hadn't been touched in a long time.

"Someday buddy, someday." Aspen patted the bag, waiting in traffic. Their eyes drifted over for just a moment, seeing the scammer like looking teen on the sidewalk. Every place had scams, even if you lived somewhere remote. And the bustling city was no exception to this rule, especially downtown.

As soon as they were able, Aspen continued driving. They loved yet hated the activity. They loved it because it gave them inspiration,and they hated it because it was terrifying.

Another reason to hate driving was where it took Aspen. The job yet to enlighten them was kept only because of Aspen's license. A license that Aspen wishes would have been nonexistent, and would allow them to live a life. A life where their own business was possible.

The job may have felt constricting, but Aspen didn't want to get into a deeper hole than the one they were already in financially. The job supported them. There was no way-if they were sane- that they would quit.

"Astroplanes." Aspen muttered as they pulled up to the big building. "The bane of my existence."

The building itself wasn't decked out in anything too special. The logo was in neon lights, but that was otherwise it for the dread filled building. Remove the logo, and it would likely be unrecognizable next to it's store counterpart.

The inside of each building was different in it's own way, aside from the store being the store, and the building being where everything was designed. The employees at the store seemed much more interactive and alive, even if on their last strain of life. Where as in here, they seemed dead, with few of the employees cheerful.

"Morning." Aspen's coworker waved, sipping her coffee as she walked past them. "The big lady is here today." She sighed. "Just warnin' ya kid."

"Well that's great. " Aspen smiled, sounding cheerful to their fellow worker. Inside, they were screaming in rage, because corporate officials were always unpleasant.

Aspen sat down at their workspace, pulling out the sketchbook they saved for work. It was filled with ideas they wanted to fulfill, but couldn't, and ones they didn't quite enjoy, but knew were required to produce into a true product.

In Aspen's eyes, fashion was fluid, and had no limits. There was no feminine or masculine in what they saw, because they wanted their demographic to wear what they saw as validating. There was no limit to how 'crazy' a look could be in Aspen's head. Everyone should have their size that fits and look great, was something along the lines of Aspen's thinking.

Astroplanes differed very much from one of their many overworked employees, as one expensive company does. They marketed everything towards women, and made everything feminine. There was nothing super crazy,and looks lacked simple, yet amplifying touches, such as a single patch. The sizes for what was sold the most didn't expand far, and many things marketed as plus size were not considered as fashion as the mainstream products.

Aspen had nothing against the clothes themselves, because an outfit looks great to someone no matter what the outfit is made of. It was the way that Astroplanes went about their products, and how employees and customers alike were treated that didn't sit right with Aspen.

They couldn't help but wonder what went through someone's head to not acknowledge the truth about companies like Astroplanes. Then again, they knew it'd be pointless to point out flaws, as they'd just get squished like the tiniest ant outside of it's hill.

Aspen sighed as they stared at the blank page, tapping the eraser of their pencil on the woodtop desk. They started sketching, looking at the figure they had drawn. They continued to sketch, drawing whatever they pleased, ignoring the tall slim woman in the background.

The result was spectacular, in short. It displayed a colorful suit, of which did not particularly define the model's identity.

"What is this?"

"I-" Aspen turned, met with the bright red face of the company's owner, who was clearly angry. "It's my own design ma'am. "

"We can not have this." The woman scoffed. "This is far beyond the goals of my company!"

"I apologi-"

"You absolute digust of a woman!" She spat, her eyes narrowed. "I never want something like that ever again, especially from you."

Aspen resisted the urge to reach up and punch the company's owner. They were beyond angry at getting yelled at for a design, and offended by the incorrect use of pronouns, when they had a very visible pin on their jacket reading 'THEY/THEM'.

"Yes ma'am. " Aspen responded, trying to sound as kind as possible after the last moment.

They watched the woman walk away. They let out a sigh of relief and rolled their eyes. They flipped to a different page in their sketchbook, starting on a completely different design from the supposedly troublesome one.

The rest of the day would go along fairly smooth for Aspen, with nothing other than the usual annoyances bothering them, sucha as a lazy coworker complaining that no one would get fabric for them.

Aspen sat alone while on their lunch break, listening to music as usually did. Nothing else had changed from doing it's normal way of doing things. Unless you counted Aspen constantly thinking about the event that had happened earlier, at the beginning of the day, then that counts.

"Still sucks here." Aspen muttered, looking at the building as they left, long after their last free breath of air while on lunch. "Things never change, do they?"

They turned on a random Spotify playlist once they got in their car, tossing their work bag into the passenger seat of the car. They sighed, turning the key to their car a few times to get it to start.

"At least I have my car, right?" Aspen muttered to themselves, backing out of the parking spot before having to halt to a stop, with their coworker Tammy trying to get out of the parking lot. They heard indistinct yelling, a car horn, and then screeching tires.

'They never fail to amaze me.' Aspen thought, their green eyes staring at the road. 'I wonder what goes on in the small mind they possess. '

They left the parking lot, just letting their thoughts whizz by as they pleased, in fear they would focus on the bad of the day. The music helped, serving as a good distraction that didn't distract Aspen from driving.

Thankfully, the drive home was not too bad for Aspen after all. They didn't die.

They fixed themselves a quick dinner once they had changed into more comfortable clothes after getting home. The dinner in question as really just a hot pocket, but Aspen could care less.

They checked their plants and made sure they were alright, watering the ones whose soil was dry. They stretched their torso out, sighing as their shoulders became less tense and relaxed.

They then watched a bit of whatever they felt like watching. Aspen knew they didn't have particularly good taste, but could care less at that moment.

Aspen went to bed once they had finished watching their show, curling up in a ball on their side underneath the warm blanket. They managed to fall asleep after twenty minutes of empty thought, knowing the next day would be the same.

#story #nonbinary #original work

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sweetteaanddragons · 5 years ago

Text

How to Train Your (Evil) Dragon

A/N: I’d been wanting to write this for a while, and the five sentence prompt I recently wrote finally pushed me over the edge. Definite thanks is owed to the actual HtTYD.

Also, fair warning, this gets progressively crackier as it goes on.

. . .

Dear Mother,

Someday, I’ll find a way to actually send these to you.

In the meantime, interesting news continues to accumulate! We ran into an exciting new creature on patrol this morning that looked something like a lizard, if a lizard happened to be the size of a horse. I’d include a sketch, but I’m afraid my drawing skills are as dismal as you remember.

My skills with the sword, however, are better than ever - I was able to drive the beast off before anyone was more than slightly injured! I think it may lose one leg entirely. Unfortunately, our pursuit failed, and I was not able to finish it off, but there is another patrol planned for tomorrow; perhaps I can find it then.

There is still no news from Turgon and Aredhel, but as I recently assured Father, that is no reason to fear the worst. If the worst had come to past, surely the Enemy would have found some way to taunt us with it.

I wish dearly that Father would let me go in search of them, but he insists he needs me here. I confess, I feel better keeping him in sight as well -

In better news, Maedhros’s letter has arrived after all; later than I expected, but the news in it is good, and my fears are much allayed. We are holding the line, and that’s the most important thing.

I hope you don’t worry too much.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have found the beast! A minor rockfall down by the river pinned its tail and has kept it trapped. When I found it, it had given up hope of pulling itself free and was sulking about it. It looked rather more like a cat than anything else, and I almost laughed.

. . . Which brings us to my next point.

It just looked so helpless, lying there like that, and I’d gotten a bit separated from the rest of the patrol - don’t look at me like that, I was perfectly safe - and it just felt, well, wrong to kill it. When else will we have an opportunity like this, to see if we can save one of the beasts Morgoth has corrupted? Don’t I have a duty to try?

And no, before you ask, this has nothing to do with the whispers I’ve been hearing about thralls -

I promise this will end better than the bear cub I brought home in Aman. And the fox. And that hawk.

This time, everything will work out perfectly.

I’ve started by feeding it fish.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Day Three of my new project! I am now almost certain that my new friend is male, and he has stopped hissing at me when I approach. Admittedly, this is probably because I continue to bring him fish, but still: progress!

Between the need to actually fish for the fish, for lack of a better phrase, and my attempts to train the horse-lizard (definitely need a better phrase), this has been taking up a larger portion of my time than is easy to conceal from Father. He has been starting to make jokes that are not actually jokes about my riding off into the unknown like Turgon. I’m not sure what to tell him. I want to be further into my project before I try to sell him on it.

So I tried to drop hints that I was actually sneaking away to have the kind of assignations that might eventually end in grandchildren, which successfully distracted him.

If this continues long enough, I might actually have to find a baby somewhere.

I can picture you laughing at me. I wish you were here.

I will try to come up with a better name than lizard-horse soon. I also need a name for this specific lizard-horse, which I admit is harder than I thought it would be. Maybe I can come up with a sneaky way to ask Maedhros to ask Maglor. Celegorm might also be of some help - with the training, not the naming - but I’m pretty sure he still isn’t speaking with me. According to Maedhros, this is because the last time they met, Aredhel wasn’t speaking to him, so now that she’s disappeared, I have to fill in as a proxy.

No, it doesn’t make sense to me either.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Day 12 of my project! I am spared of calling my new friend a horse-lizard by the wit of one of the people who was on patrol with me; she has taken to calling it a dragon, and I like the sound of it so well that I’ve decided to adopt it. My particular dragon I have decided to call Glaurung.

He gave me a bit of a fright today when he unexpectedly breathed out sparks while I was doing my best to mend his leg, but there was no true harm done, and I think he looked a bit sorry afterwards. He is beginning to look genuinely happy to see me when I come, and I harbor some small, probably foolish, hope that it’s not just excitement for the fish.

Father has begun to poke around to try to find out just who I’m having assignations with; I might actually have to start courting someone to satisfy him.

Or I could come clean, I suppose, but my other idea sounds easier. No luck finding a suitable and available baby to claim so far, but my efforts continue unabated!

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Glaurung can talk! He said his very first word today! It was “fish.” I am very proud and am now attempting to get him to say my name. The first letters are the same; how hard could it be?

I stay longer and longer to sit and talk with him now. Hopefully it will help him learn to speak. Once he can actually hold a conversation, I feel I can present him to Father.

I’m more hesitant than ever to do so before I can be sure how Father will react. He would be perfectly right to be cautious, of course, but I hate the thought of having to see Glaurung dead. I feel responsible for him now, and I want to protect him if I can, as ridiculous as that may seem directed towards a being that successfully started a fire for me yesterday.

In other news, Glaurung apparently now prefers his fish cooked.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have finally freed Glaurung from where his tail was pinned. I confess I had some lingering fear that he would attack or at least wander off, but now that I see the damage, that concern has lessened greatly. He will need a good deal of help before he is ready to do that.

Please don’t worry. I’m being very careful, I promise.

In unrelated news, I discovered dragons can purr if you pet them just exactly right.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

Glaurung did a bad thing today.

He has been growing at an incredible rate, and I’m afraid my fishing skills are struggling to keep up with him. Today he wanted more fish when all I had left was the one I had intended for my own lunch. When I told him no, the strangest look came over his eyes, and suddenly I found myself bringing him the fish anyway despite my intention.

Fortunately, I snapped out of it before I could actually give him the fish, and I suppose no great harm would have come of it even I had, but the incident still alarms me. His fire is getting stronger. What if this does too?

Well, hopefully I can train it out of him. Immediately after I snapped out of it, I poured the bucket of water I’d brought him over his nose, and he reacted exactly as a cat would, sputtering and indignant, so that will be my new strategy: All misbehavior will be greeted with a liberal application of water. Perhaps I’ll see if one of the artisans can create something a little more manageable for the task than a bucket.

On the bright side, his language skills are improving! He asked for that fish in a full sentence. I’m very proud. Is this what parenting feels like?

Meanwhile, I think Father has questioned every eligible Noldorin woman in Hithlum. Presumably he’ll move on to the Sindar next; I don’t know what he’ll do when he runs out of those.

Possibly I should have come up with a different excuse.

Maedhros’s next letter has arrived, by the way. I referred to my project very discreetly in my last to him, but apparently it was not discreet enough, because he sounded rather alarmed. I’m torn between telling him the whole truth and obfuscating so he doesn’t feel the need to lie to Father on my behalf.

I’ll just tell him I’ve gotten a cat. A very large cat. That breathes fire.

Maybe not that last part.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I now have a special bottle that sprays water when I push a little trigger at the top. I like it very much, and after extensive and absolutely necessary practice on various rocks, I have taken to carrying it with me when I go see Glaurung. Unfortunately, this has proven necessary. Twice more he has attempted that eye trick, both times in attempts to get more fish, but after the last attempt he seemed resigned to failure. I also take heart from the fact that he is now fully healed and could easily leave to survive on his own, but instead he has stayed here, seemingly perfectly content to stay with me. In fact, I’ve had to use the spray bottle once or twice to keep him from following me back to the fort.

(I am getting increasingly tempted to use the spray bottle on Father whenever he brings up the woman I am supposedly seeing, but I doubt I would find as good a result. In hindsight, I really should have found a different excuse to use.)

In cheerier news, I can have full conversations with Glaurung now! His own contributions remain simple, but he is improving greatly.

I also have a confession to make: I told you that I was teaching him to speak. I did not tell you that I was teaching him Quenya.

Keeping that secret from you of all people was spectacularly pointless, I know, seeing as you aren’t actually reading these, but I was afraid to commit the words to paper in case these were ever found.

You have to understand, it just seemed so natural! I was alone, doing something secret, so naturally I would use -

Well. I suppose when Father finds out, the sticking point about the dragon will probably not be what language he speaks. On the other hand, when Thingol finds out . . .

Maybe I should start teaching him Sindarin.

All my love,

Fingon

. . .

Dear Mother,

I have a baby!

Admittedly, I’m increasingly concerned about the provenance of said baby, but Caranthir’s not talking, and Father’s already seen the baby, so it’s too late to back out now.

. . . Though maybe I should back up just a little.

You see, a few letters ago, I’d mentioned to Maedhros that I needed a baby, mostly because I was too tired to think about what I was writing, and then the messenger took it before I could -

Anyway. Maedhros, being the supportive cousin that he is - and also, notably, having survived Feanor’s determination to have 49 grandchildren at minimum - assumed that I had legitimate reasons to want said baby: Namely, Father pressuring me to get to work preserving the line of Finwe by providing more heirs.

Which shouldn’t be necessary but given that we still don’t know what happened to Turgon, Aredhel, and little Idril -

Which, to be fair to Maedhros, was much more sensible than what was actually going on.

In my defense, I didn’t actually expect Maedhros to - to do whatever it is he did. I thought he would commiserate a little, maybe, and that would be the end of it.

But no. Caranthir is here with the horses he wants to trade for some of our stock, and he brought with him the tiniest, most perfect baby I’ve ever seen.

I’m going to call him Gil-Galad.

I know, I know! I shouldn’t be naming the baby before I’m sure I’ll get to keep him, and I shouldn’t decide I’m going to keep him before I can get Caranthir to cough up more than, “Don’t worry about it,” when I ask where he came from.

But Caranthir managed to smuggled the baby into my arms right before Father walked in, saw it, and jumped to the obvious conclusion, so if I do end up having to give the baby up, I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Actually, I already have a lot of explaining to do because I might have panicked a little bit when Father saw me with the baby.

And by ‘panicked a little bit,’ I mean that when he said, “You have a baby?” I may have, possibly, blurted out, “I also have a dragon.”

So, as I write, Father’s getting kitted up to go meet said dragon.

Do you think Gil-Galah’s too young to come along?

All my love,

Fingon

#fingon #glaurung #dragon #fic #first age #silmarillion #alternate universe #alternate universe canon divergence #maedhros #caranthir #sons of feanor #fingolfin #epistolary #anaire #this either ends wonderfully or horribly #I'm not sure which

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legendarysharpshooter · 4 years ago

Text

Lost Prince Ch. 1

First, Last, Next

A03

******

Each shot hits the target dead on, one after another, unrelenting until he’s out of bullets. The shooting range falls silent. He lowers the weapon to his side and stares at his targets with a frown.

It’s still not enough…

“How do you ever expect to be a leader if you can’t even lead a successful mission?”

Iverson’s words burn deep in his mind after another failed flight simulation. It’s not his fault Pidge can’t reach… or that Hunk gets sick. Well…. Okay, maybe he could have tried to fly like a sane person, but still… there’s medicine for motion sickness. All that aside though, he can’t even say it wasn’t his fault, because it was. Because he took his eyes off their flight path. He stopped paying attention to their surroundings to berate his crew...

It’s his fault they crashed.

At this rate, he’s never going to make it into space again. Not as an actual pilot that’s for sure. He can’t even fly a fake ship…. Because he’s not good enough.

Not as a pilot. Not as a leader. Not as Akiva’s descendent…. Not worthy of being a ‘prince’... Not worthy of the Black Lion….

Because at the end of the day, he will never be enough…

A touch. A gentle caress on his neck has his hair raising. He touches the back of his neck, confused as he glances over his shoulder. Empty space greets him. He sighs, shaking the feeling off and turns back to the task at hand. Targets aren’t going to shoot themselves after all.

He hears it as he begins setting up the next round of shots. Whispered words on a soft breeze.

Lance.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Something dances at the edge of his vision.

He looks around again, only confirming what he already knew. He’s the only one in the shooting range right now.

“Great... “ he mutters to himself. “Now they can add crazy to the list of why I shouldn’t lead….” He looks around the area again with a frown before rubbing at his eyes. “Maybe I just need to sl-”

The door swooshes open behind him. He jumps, spinning around and aiming his gun at the intruder. There’s a yelp and then brownies spilling to the floor as his friend uses the plate to shield himself.

Hunk, his best friend and current roommate. A big, burly teddy bear of a guy, cowers behind an empty plate of brownies. Next to him and a couple feet shorter, stands Pidge; their crewmate. Pidge looks eerily similar to Matt, in Lance’s humble opinion, though he insists there’s no relation. Lance isn’t too sure but doesn’t have much to prove his theory.

For all he knows, they could be cousins and Pidge just doesn’t want special treatment from the Garrison.

Pidge looks up at Hunk unimpressed before grinning.

“I told you he’d be here,” he says, smugly. Lance lowers his gun with a frown.

“What are you two doing here?” he asks. Lance huffs looking at Hunk’s cowering form. “Put the plate down, Hunk. I’m not going to shoot you.” Slowly the boy lowers his plate, un-scrunching his face into a relaxed stance.

“Sorry….” Hunk says. “I wasn’t expecting to have a gun pointed at me today… or ever.”

“Sorry, you startled me,” Lance replies, setting his weapon down on the counter behind him. “Now… what are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pidge asks. He sighs at Lance’s blank stare. “Well…. Hunk wanted to cheer you up with brownies but that obviously isn’t happening now.”

Lance looks down at the floors with a grimace. Of course he’d ruin a present from his friends. They’re only trying to make him feel better and now he’s ruined it.

“How’d you even find me?” he asks before his thoughts can get any more negative.

“Everyone knows you come here when you need space,” Hunk says as he stoops down to pick up the fallen treats. His face drops. “I didn’t think you’d be here though… especially after Iverson chewed you out like that.” The trio falls silent; Lance thinking over Hunk’s words; Hunk too busy picking up brownies, and Pidge thoughtfully watching the young prince.

“Don’t let him get to you, Lance,” Pidge says. “Iverson’s a jerk and you’ll make a great leader someday.” Lance smiles half heartedly, appreciating the words of encouragement. It falls off his face just as soon as it arrives.

He can’t even connect with the Black Lion. How is he supposed to lead his people?

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, standing back up again, full plate in hand. “Iverson’s just hard on you because he can see your potential.” Lance huffs, smile playing on his face.

“I bet you say that to everyone,” he says. Hunk sputters, nearly dropping his plate again.

“No!”

“Well… either way, we have a project to finish,” Pidge chimes in, adjusting his glasses. “And we can’t do that without Prince Charming. So maybe stop shooting for a bit and help us?”

“Oh yeah…” Hunk says. “That’s the other reason we came. We need your help putting together the slides for our presentation tomorrow.”

Lance stares at them, mind drawing a blank. What project are they talking about? He doesn’t have any presentations coming up. What classes do they even have tomorrow? A class that has a presentation…. Are they even in a class like that?

“Well this is embarrassing. He completely forgot,” Pidge mutters. He sighs, leveling the young Altean with an unimpressed look. Lance stares at him, lost on what they’re even talking about. He doesn’t have anything due tomorrow. Not that he can remember at least.

“Can I tell him?” Hunk asks, shifting anxiously. “We’re wasting time waiting for him to remember.” Pidge rubs his chin thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“A hint,” Pidge offers. “There’s a lot of historical events to remember after all.” Lance sucks in a breath, eyes going wide.

Crap.

He forgot about their History project…. The very one he promised them he was working on.

“You did do your half, right?” Hunk asks.

“What?” he squeaks. “Yeah! Of course I did! Why wouldn’t I do it?” His nervous laugh has the hope falling right off Hunk’s face. It’s not his fault he put it off until the last minute… okay, maybe it is, but a report on Altean history is a walk in the park. He knows their history like the back of his hand.

“Lance….”

“It’s fiiiine, Hunk,” Lance says, walking over to his friends. He turns them towards the doors, slinging and arm over Hunk’s shoulders. “We’ll just go back to our room and work on it there. I’m like… a walking Altean Historian, you know. We’ll have this done in no time.”

Pidge and Hunk look unconvinced but follow him out of the shooting range anyways. At least they have all night to work on the final project.

Besides, how hard can it be?

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in. Find the Red Lion. Remove it from the Galra…. Somehow. The Galra are keeping it under pretty tight surveillance, though, so even if he could get to it, he’s not too sure how to get it off the ship. It’s a simple notion, really, if it weren’t also for the fact that this was meant to be a covert mission. He can’t exactly draw any unwanted attention to himself.

As it stands, the Red Lion’s holding bay is guarded by sentries and he doesn’t have the authorization to enter on his own.

He has no idea what Kolivan was thinking sending him here….

“Yorak.” He jumps to attention as one of his commanding officers moves from behind to face him. “You know you’re not authorized to be in this sector.”

“Sorry, sir,” he mutters. “I got lost again…” The Galra officer regards him with a look of disdain. Of course someone like him would get lost on such a big ship. Especially considering he’s only been here for a few days. The officer waves it off with a sigh.

“Just try to not to get lost again,” he says.

“Of course, sir.”

“It’s good that I found you, though,” he replies. “Commander Sendak has requested your presence on the bridge.” His eyes go wide, hand slowly dropping back to his side. What could Sendak possibly want? “Best not keep him waiting.”

Yorak quickly salutes and turns away, darting off down the halls. He can only hope Sendak hasn’t caught wind of him snooping around the lion. That could only spell trouble for everyone involved. Hopefully, it’s just something else unrelated.

Lance wakes with a start, chest tight from not breathing as his heart races. He stares up at the ceiling as images from his dream refuse to fade. They flash through his mind incessantly. He can hear the faintest rumble as he finally takes a breath and sits up. Across the room, Hunk snores softly, cuddling his teddy.

It’d be cute if Lance could actually take a moment to focus on the scene.

As it stands, the young prince is climbing out of bed and stumbling over to his desk. He knocks papers and notebooks off in his frantic search for a sheet of paper.

The images won’t stop coming.

Shiro with a scar across his face and a shocking spot of white in his hair.

The shadow in his vision has grown more defined.

He sees Pidge with a small, flying robot made of Galra tech. Hunk cooking some type of alien cuisine in what can only be described as a space mall food court.

He does his best to ignore it as he furiously scribbles on the blank page.

A quick sketch of Keith with long hair and a mark on his cheek; by his side, a large wolf.

He draws space mice performing tricks for a young, female Altean.

He scribbles five more before a large hand reaches out to stop him.

“Dude,” Hunk mumbles. “What are you doing?” Lance blinks, and sits back in his seat. What is he doing? He stares at the pages before him. The images finally fade from his mind, lost to the depths of his consciousness.

He rubs his eye with a frown and blinks. The shadow has taken the shape of a person, but still eludes his direct gaze.

“I just…” he mutters. Something was pushing him to remember. To not forget whatever it was showing him. He needed to not forget. “I had to get it on paper….”

Why does this seem so familiar?

“I don’t….”

What was he doing before this?

A small gust of wind tickles at the back of his neck, stronger than it’s ever been. He shivers, brushing a hand against his neck. He looks up at Hunk.

“Did you feel that?” Hunk yawns, shaking his head as he moves back to his bed. It takes the boy a moment to process Lance’s words.

“Did I feel what?” So… he didn’t then. Hunk would know what he was talking about if he did. It’s impossible to feel the air from the vents at their desk. There’s no way he’d feel something like that. Especially not on his neck.

“Nothing… sorry I woke you.” So if it’s not the wind then it has to be something else… Lance sighs, rising from his seat and returning to bed. He rubs his eyes again, frowning at the shadow in his vision.

As the young Altean, falls back to sleep, he’s hears the faintest roar and the quiet whisper of his name.

Sendak, like most Galra, is large and intimidating. His ears give Keith the impression of bats, and his red, prosthetic eye always makes him feel like he’s being targeted.

Even so, he enters the bridge and steps up to the Commander, standing straight with an arm across his chest. Sendak grins at him, sharp teeth on display. It’d be scary but Keith knows he can take him.

“You asked to see me, sir?”

“Yorak,” Sendak replies, grin falling off his face as he looks Keith up and down. “I had expected to you to look…. Less scrawny.” Keith does his best not to grimace, but he’s unable to stop his ears from twitching. It’s no secret that he’s smaller than the average male Galra. He’s heard the whispers… that others thing he’s a half-breed.

His mom is on the smaller side though, so that definitely helps curb those rumors. It would do no good for them to learn the truth…. That his father was human. He’d be cast out of the ranks much like others before him. He would be useless for undercover missions.

He’s worked too hard to get this far for that to happen.

“Despite that,” Sendak continues. “You come to my ship with high recommendations.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sendak sneers.

“It is not a compliment, welp. Words mean nothing on this ship. It would do you good to remember that.,” he snaps before composing himself. “I have an assignment for you.”

“What are your orders, Commander?” Keith asks.

“We have a special… package being delivered into our possession. You are to escort the vessel to our coordinates and ensure nothing happens to it.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Now go, before I change my mind about sending you.”

“Vrepit Sa!” Keith says, saluting him once more before departing. Whatever he’s transporting must be important if they need an escort.

Lance.

He startles, hands violently jerking the controls in his grasp. The ship rattles around them, veering wildly off course.

“Lance!” Pidge snaps, glare at him from his spot in the back. “Try keeping the ship on course, maybe?”

“Sorry,” he grumbles, taking a moment to steady his mind. Now really isn’t the time to be hearing things. It’s bad enough that stupid shadow won’t go away. He doesn’t need to be distracted with talking.

Off to his left, Hunk heaves, face going pale. Lance huffs, turning his attention back to getting on course. They’ve wandered into a new area of this planet but he can just follow Pidge’s new trajectory. It looks like they’ll actually arrive early anyways.

He’s totally got this.

The ship appears as a small dot in the distance. Keith squints at it, wondering why such a small ship carrying important cargo is all alone out in space. Are they really that confident nobody is going to attack it?

With a frown, he opens a transmission to the small vessel.

“Attention, cargo carrier,” he says. “This is Yorak of Commander Sendak’s ship. I am here to escort you back to his location.” A screen pops up moments later along with a familiar face. He blinks, taking in the light blue skin, large white stripes and pointy ears of none other than a fellow Blade.

“Ulaz?”

“Yorak,” Ulaz replies with the smallest of smiles. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face! How kind of Sendak to put us in such capable hands.”

“What….” Why is Ulaz out here? Isn’t he a medic or something? Shouldn’t he be healing Galra somewhere? And what is he transporting that’s so important?

“I have been tasked with transporting a very special piece of cargo,” Ulaz replies. “Perhaps you should come aboard so we can discuss in further detail.”

Lance definitely doesn’t have this. He frowns, watching the screen from their simulation go black. Failure flashes before him in bright red letters. Pidge groans, climbing back into his seat from the floor.

“Nice job, tailor,” Pidge grumbles, as the door to the simulator swings open. Lance unbuckles himself, sinking into his seat with a groan, trying in vain to ignore the heavy footsteps approaching him.

“Need I remind you, cadets,” their teacher, Iverson growls. “That the purpose of these simulations is to complete them.”

Lance huffs and gets out of his seat to be greeted with Iverson’s unimpressed scowl. He’s convinced it’s the man’s default expression. None of them have so much as seen Iverson show a different emotion.

The young prince slinks over to join his friends in front of their teacher, frowning at the ground.

“Why is it, then, that you three are the only ones incapable of completing even the simplest of tasks?” None of them have an answer to that…. At least, none that will be considered acceptable. It’s not that they can’t do these simulations…. Lance just has a hard time taking them seriously because he knows it’s not real. Simulations and real life are completely different.

Still… another failed mission doesn’t look good for any of them. Lance can only imagine what his mom must be thinking. She’s going to be so disappointed in him.

No wonder he can’t connect with the Black Lion….

Lance sighs, sparing a look at his friends. Hunk’s face is still pale and he looks like he’s trying in vain not to puke again. Pidge just looks frustrated.

“You three will be pulled off simulations,” Iverson says. Lance’s attention jerks instantly to their teacher. Pulled off simulations? What is he talking about? “At least until we can reassess you all and decide the best course of action.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pidge snaps.

“It means, cadet,” Iverson replies. “That we have to determine whether you are truly a good fit for the program since your record seems to say otherwise.”

“You’re kicking us out?!” Hunk squeaks. “Oh man…. I’m gonna be in so much trouble….”

“You can’t be serious!” Pidge protests.

“Well maybe if your pilot was able to watch his surroundings you wouldn’t be crashing so much,” Iverson snaps. Lance swallows the lump forming in his throat, eyes burning with unshed tears. Of course the blame would be put on him. Iverson isn’t finished though as he zeros in on the smallest of the trio.

Pidge meets his gaze unflinchingly; the two entering into a staring contest. Iverson sneers at him.

“Or perhaps, Gunderson,” he says. “The navigator should have been watching the monitors more carefully.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Pidge responds. “Blame shouldn’t be placed on one specific individual when we are a team and failed as a whole. Singling one person out doesn’t constitute camaraderie and instead perpetuates an environment of everyone for themselves.”

Iverson’s lip curls back as he rises to his full height. Lance uses the moment to push Pidge aside.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he says, quickly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. This was my fault and I’ll be sure to do better next time.” Iverson’s face returns to its usual scowl as he watches the Altean for a long moment. Eventually, he sighs and looks away from the trio.

“Get out of here, all of you,” he grumbles. The trio scramble to exit the space, Iverson calling after them as they go.

“And don’t come back until you’ve learned to work as a team!”

The transport ships ends up being larger up close than Keith was really expecting. Thankfully, that means he’s able to land his ship in the holding bay. Ulaz is waiting for him when he steps off his ship. Sentries wander about the bay, but otherwise keep a respectable distance from the pair.

“Keith,” Ulaz greets. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Why are you here?” Keith asks, eyeing the sentries. It’s a little weird hearing his real name after being undercover for so long… yet refreshing at the same time. Ulaz stares at him for a long moment.

“Perhaps we should talk somewhere more…. Private.” Confused, Keith follows him out of the holding bay and through the halls to the bridge. Thankfully, the journey is short considering the ship is much smaller than Sendak’s.

Ulaz turns to him the moment the doors slide shut.

“It’s most fortunate that you were the one tasked with escorting me to Sendak,” Ulaz says. “I am transport a very important person for the Empire.” Keith watches him, trying to decipher what the Galra is talking about. Who could possibly be so important they need to be escorted in a cargo ship? Someone secret maybe….

“Who…” Ulaz sighs.

“Something happened about a phoeb ago,” he replies, looking away from the young boy. His face falls with sorrow. “We were told not to tell you for fear of how you may react… but I feel now there is no choice.”

“What happened, Ulaz,” Keith growls anxiously. What was so awful that they couldn’t tell him? Did something bad happen to someone? His mind reels with the possibility. Who could have possibly been hurt?

Ulaz takes a deep breath before continuing.

“You must understand,” he says. “We chose not to tell you for the safety of everyone involved. You would have been compromised. Made rash decisions. Our mission can’t afford that.” He gazes at Keith, eyes searching his face for something Keith can’t quite identify. He’s not really sure how he’s meant to be reacting right now. If something happened that they chose not to tell him about….

That can only mean one thing.

“Was it Lance?” he asks, dread washing over him.

“No,” Ulaz answers much to Keith relief. “Shiro managed to get him away in time.”

“Shi-” Keith’s eyes go wide, heart skipping a beat. He looks away from his fellow Blade, moving over to the wall for support. They got Shiro? Is that what Ulaz is telling him? How? He gets it now, why they didn’t want to say anything. He definitely would have dropped everything to save his former mentor.

“He goes by the title Champion within the Galra ranks,” Ulaz says. Keith looks at him in disbelief. Shiro’s the Champion? He’s literally one of the most valuable prisoners in the Galra Empire…. And they’re delivering him right into Sendak’s hands.

“We have to free him,” Keith says. “He needs to go back to Earth.”

“Your mission is to remove the Red Lion from the possession of the Galra. Freeing Shiro is not part of that plan.”

“I don’t care,” Keith snaps. “We can’t let Sendak have him…. I’ll just say you were shot down by rebels or something.”

“Sendak would kill you for your failure,” Ulaz points out. “And if he doesn’t then Zarkon certainly will for losing his precious Champion.”

Keith huffs, ears twitching in irritation. He knows, deep down, that he can’t compromise his position. Still… Shiro being here can’t be good. It means the Galra know of Earth. Do they know about the Alteans? Has Earth tried coming after them? Or perhaps they asked the Blade for help returning Shiro…. Who else was taken? More importantly…. How has Lance been doing without his bodyguard?

“I have to get him back to Earth,” Keith says. “I don’t care if I can never return to the Galra. I’m getting Shiro out of here and taking him home.”

“How?” Ulaz asks. “You know they’ll just track you back to Earth… and then what? All you efforts will be for nothing and Earth will be in the Galra’s line of sight.”

“Well then maybe we need to take him home in something that isn’t Galra….” Keith replies. Something that he’s been tasked with retrieving. It’s a big risk and assumes the Red Lion will open for him but… it does solve the problem of removing it from the Galra. He’ll have to give him his position for awhile, but it’ll be worth it if it means Shiro can be home again. “Call Kolivan. There’s been a slight change in plans.”

Kolivan is just going to have to be on board with it.

“Alteans are typically a peaceful race. They tend to lean more towards diplomacy rather than turning to war. It has certainly helped the people of Earth over the centuries and assisted with maintaining overall peace,” Lance recites in a voice that is far peppier than he’s currently feeling. He’s just been having a shitty day and doing this stupid presentation isn’t helping. The constant breeze that only he can feel doesn’t help either. It’s practically full blown wind at this point and he’s about to jump out a window.

He barely pays attention as Pidge recites his part, prattling off facts about Earth and what it might have been like if Alteans never showed up. His gaze wanders to the window, mind straying elsewhere as Pidge’s voice becomes nothing more than a distant hum.

He blinks.

The shadow in the corner of his vision moves.

Confused he blinks again, and suddenly Shiro’s standing in front of him. He’s changed since the Galra took him. His right arm is made of metal and there’s a scar running across the bridge of his nose. His hair has a shock of white in it. Shiro looks at him and steps closer, reaching out to him.

Lance.

Shiro touches his forehead.

Lance gasps, eyes going wide as he’s suddenly transported out of the classroom and light years away from Earth.

Wind roars around the pair, thunder rumbling in the distance as they stand together for the first time in a year. He blinks and Shiro disappears, leaving him in the hurricane force winds.

“Shiro?” Lance shouts, looking around frantically for his friend. The wind carries his voice away and grows stronger. Thunder rumbles closer to him now. He continues to look around, shouting for his lost companion, voice steadily growing hoarse.

Lance sucks in a breath, frustration mounting. How is he supposed to find Shiro in this chaos? He can barely hear himself think! Tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he squeezes them shut. He crumbles into the ball on the ground hands clutching at his hair.

The wind grows stronger, pushing him onto his knees. He just needs one moment of peace. Of quiet to just…. Just think!

The ground shakes with a loud clap of thunder. It sounds vaguely like a lion’s roar.

Lance’s eyes fly open and he looks up.

“Quiet,” he mutters, and the wind dies down. It parts around him as he stands. A sense of calm rushes over him and suddenly the gale is circling around him. He’s in the eyes of the storm now.

Lance looks around, listens for the thunder. It rumbles in the distance and he follows the direction of the sound.

“Black,” he whispers. Everything stops. The Black Lion lands in front of his, eyes glowing as it meets his unwavering gaze. Lance holds a hand up to the large robot. “Show me.”

The pair disappears in a flash of white.

Getting Shiro onto Sendak’s ship was the easy part. With Ulaz’s help they take his sleeping body to a prison cell and leave him there. It’s weird seeing a friend out in space…. Especially one from Earth. The scar, Keith knows, he got from a fight in the Coliseum. The arm, Ulaz informed him, was a present from Zarkon’s witch.

Haggar’s been experimenting on the human and Keith shudders to think of what’s been done to him. Everyone’s heard the rumors of her Druids and their experimentations. It’s a fate nobody wants to face.

Keith sees Ulaz off before reporting to Sendak. He seems please that Keith managed to return Shiro but quickly shoos him off, instructing him to make himself scarce.

Keith finds himself wandering down to the prison block before veering off towards the Red Lion’s holding bay. They can’t know he’s interested in Shiro. I would only raise suspicion and the would compromise his goals. At least walking past the Red Lion is part of his usual routine. Nobody tends to question that.

Still though, he eventually returns to his room to figure out how to release Shiro and get him to the Red Lion without raising the alarm.

He paces the length of the room, mulling his options over. Kolivan didn’t seem too pleased by his decision but ultimately relented under the condition he doesn’t get caught. He’s not even sure how to pull that off. One way or another though, he’s getting Shiro back to Earth.

Keith huffs. The Blade of Marmora operates under secrecy. They don’t do things that could possibly expose him.

“I don’t exactly have many options here,” Keith mutters to himself. How did Kolivan even expect him to take the Red Lion without being caught? Frowning, he sits on his bed and pulls out his knife. The dark blade gleams in the light, a small crystal tied around the hilt.

Even after all these years, he’s kept Lance’s gift…. Not that he ever uses it anymore. He’s long come to terms with his heritage and grown to be proud of his Galra half.

His Galra half because nobody in the Empire know of his human half…. And maybe it’s time to reclaim that human half.

“Hold on, Shiro,” Keith says with a grin as he removes the crystal and resheathes his knife. He stands up, plan forming in his mind. “I’m coming for you.”

Lance stumbles back with a gasp, knocking everything off the teacher’s desk. The whole room stares at him in stunned silence. He looks around wildly, gaze landing on Hunk and Pidge.

“Come with me,” he snaps, grabbing their wrists and dragging them out of the room. They stumble after him as he picks up the pace. Soon the trio is running through the halls.

“Lance!” Pidge shouts. “What are we doing?”

“Yeah…” Hunk replies, huffing. “As much… as I like skipping class…. Why?”

“Something’s coming,” Lance replies, gaze focused straight ahead. “And I need both of you with me.” Hunk and Pidge share a confused look behind their friend’s back but they fall silent.

Lance leads them right to Iverson’s office. He barges in without bothering to knock.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Iverson shouts, standing from his seat. “You can’t be in here!”

“I come to you as Prince of New Altea,” Lance says confidently, standing tall. “By orders of Queen Ourania herself, I am declaring galactic emergency. All off planet communication and travel is officially on lockdown.” Iverson calms himself, staring at Lance for a long moment. Pidge and Hunk watch, confused and curious from outside the room. Whatever’s going on, it’s important and Lance needs them.

“What is this about, my Prince?”

“The Galra are coming,” Lance replies. “And I need you to take me to the Black Lion.”

Sirens blare around him as he ducks into corners and dodges the sentries running about. Behind him, Shiro groans, clutching at his head. He’s only been awake for a few minutes but there was no way Keith could discreetly carry him to the Red Lion’s location. As it stands, his cover has been completely blown.

The Red Lion is their only chance to get out of here alive.

Keith watches and waits for the coast to clear before grabbing Shiro’s hand and sprinting down the hall. He halts, pushing Shiro into an alcove and he peers around the corner. Just down the way, one of Sendak’s flunkies guards the door to the Red Lion.

He can probably take them…. Especially if Shiro gets his act together long enough to help. Keith glances back at his friend, still delirious from sleep.

“Shiro,” he whispers. “I’m going to need your help for this next part, okay?” Shiro flashes him a thumbs up though Keith’s not too sure he actually heard. Either way, they manage to tag team the Galra and take him down in moments. Fate must be smiling on them too because Keith’s able to use the Galra’s hand to open to doors.

The Red Lion looms inside its shield, quiet and unwavering. Shiro takes a seat next to it with a sigh, head dropping between his legs with a groan. Whatever they knocked him out with is going to take a while to work through his system. They don’t have time to wait though…

“Hey,” Keith calls up to the lion. “Open up! We need your help!” The shield remains standing. He huffs and knocks on the surface. The Red Lion ignores him. Keith growls, kicking the shield and stomping away from the stubborn creature.

Is creature even the right word? They’re supposedly sentient…. Does that count as them being creatures? Sentient machines are a thing…. Right?

He doesn’t know…. Nor does he care. This stupid thing needs to let them in before they’re all caught.

“Freeze!”

Keith jumps, spinning around to come face to face with a group of sentries. They level their blasters at him and Shiro.

Quiznack. This is not how he wanted things to go… he eyes the bay door and the console that opens it. An idea quickly forms in his head.

He draws his sword and charges towards Shiro just as the sentries begin shooting. Shiro jumps to his feet with a shout, alarmed to see a Galra running towards him. Keith grabs him and sprints to the console, slamming his sword into the ground just as he hits the button.

The doors swing open, sucking the sentries into space. His sword holds for a moment but the suction and weight of him and Shiro drag them out into space.

Keith holds his breath, eyes shifting wildly as he tries to figure out how to return to the lion. Shiro slips out of his grasp, distracting him for a split second.

Next thing he knows, the giant maws of the Red Lion are closing around him and Shiro, and flying away from Sendak’s ship.

Shiro gasps next to Keith, rolling off his back sluggishly. Next to him, Keith rests on his hands and knees trying to regulate his breathing. They sit in the Red Lion’s mouth, collecting their breaths before Keith attempts to stand. He wobbles to his feet and stumbles over to his companion.

“Shiro,” he mutters, holding a hand out to help him up. Shiro take his, allowing Keith to pull him to his feet. They stare at each other for a long moment before Keith’s pulled into a crushing hug. Keith hugs him back, resting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

His hair becomes wet where Shiro’s face is buried in it. His shoulder shake with sobs. Keith doesn’t realize he’s also crying until a drop lands on his hand.

“I’m so sorry…” Keith mumbles, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry…. I… I didn’t know… I would’ve come for you… I….”

“It’s okay,” Shiro replies, brushing a hand through his hair. He pulls away a moment later, face tear-stained but no longer crying. “You came when it mattered and that’s enough.” Keith smiles, rubbing the tears off his face.

He may have just blown his cover. He can’t return to the Galra or the Blade…. But he got Shiro back. They’re going back to Earth where they can be protected and find help. The Galra may come after them, but Earth will be prepared. That’s a worry for another day though. For now…. There’s only one task at hand.

“Let’s go home.”

His mom is waiting for them by the time they arrive at the Black Lion’s den. Iverson stops his buggy and lets the trio climb out and gather their things before driving off again. Lance watches him go before turning to his mom. A bag of this things hangs by her side.

“I see you’ve brought some friends,” she says, glancing briefly at Hunk and Pidge. “And you’ve declared an emergency. Mind telling me why?”

“The Galra are coming….” Lance replies. “The Black Lion showed me.” Surprise flits across her face, mouth falling open slightly. She looks back at his friends and then to him.

“And your friends?”

“They have to come with me.” She raises a brow at that, but Lance remains firm. He knows what he saw. He won’t back down from this. Behind him, Hunk and Pidge share a confused look. Hunk is the one to step forward.

“Um… excuse me, your grace,” he says, giving a little bow. “Not that Pidge and I mind much but… what’s happening?

“And for that matter,” Pidge chimes in. “Where are we going?” Ourania laughs a little, eyes lighting up in delight. She looks back at her son, proud that he’s made friends at the Garrison.

“It seems my son failed to mention some details on the ride over,” she comments. “So much like his father.” She steps behind Hunk and Pidge, waving her hands at them as she ushers the trio inside.

“Lance?” Hunk says, hesitantly steps through the doors to the den. His eyes roam up and down the cave walls. Carvings lines the inside of Alteans and lions alike. Gemstones gleam in the light, adding splashes of reds, blues, greens, and yellows to the portraits. “What’s going on?”

“The Black Lion, it seems,” Ourania answers. “Is finally ready to accept Lance as its Paladin and you two will be joining him.”

“Whu-”

“We have to go fight the Galra,” Lance says, gaze focused straight ahead. Their footstep echo down the hall as they draw closer to the lion’s resting place. “And find your lions.”

“Wait!” Hunk protests as they step into the Black Lion’s gaze. It’s shield is finally dropped, eyes lit up as it awaits the prince. “I’m not a pilot! I can’t fly a giant cat robot!”

“Well… you better learn!” Ourania replies teasingly, shoving Hunk and Pidge towards the lion. She straightens and steps over to her son. She hands him the bag. “Extra clothes and some things for you and your friends.”

“Thanks, mom,” Lance say with a smile, taking the offered bag.

“There’s a communicator in there too, so you better keep in touch.”

“We will.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she gazes lovingly at her son. She pulls him into a hug.

“You’re going to do great things,” she murmurs. “Akiva would be proud of you.” Lance sucks in a breath, eyes suddenly burning.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmurs back. She pulls back, placing a hand on his cheek.

“We will all miss you,” she says. “Now go get your lions.” She places a kiss on his cheek and steps away. Lance gives her a final, sad smile before turning to his friends.

“I know I’m dragging you into this,” he says to them. “But… this is your chance, you can turn back now. Nobody’s forced to do this.” Pidge scoffs, giving his arm a punch.

“Are you kidding? This is our chance to go into space and prove Iverson wrong,” he says. “You aren’t the only one who has business out there.”

“Yeah,” Hunk adds before Lance can reply. “I mean… the fighting part sounds kind of scary but we’re in this together. If you… erm…. Well, I guess the Black Lion, rather, thinks we’re meant to be Paladins then who am I to argue with it? Besides… we’d be helping others, right?”

“Thanks, guys,” Lance says, grateful to have such loyal companions.

“And don’t worry about your parents,” Ourania calls to them. “I’ll be sure they are informed of where you’re at!”

“I guess this is it then.” Lance heft the bag onto his shoulder and looks up at the Black Lion.

The moment of truth. He takes a deep breath and steps up to the lion. There a beat, a moment, where nothing happens, and then the Black Lion crouches down, opening up for the trio. Relief floods through Lance. He’s finally being accepted.

He takes a moment to give one final wave goodbye before entering the lion’s waiting mouth.

The journey has finally begun.

#voltron #vld #shance #fanfic #lost prince

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

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Marlon is a Doodie Head

Summary: Sophie writes a letter to her twin sister Minnie to process everything that has happened.

Word Count: 1000+

Read on AO3:

Start from the beginning of the series: here

Sophie sat alone in the sleeping room the girls had been using since they came to Ericson Farm. She’d been feeling agitated in the past few days ever since Marlon and Mitch had returned from the hunting cabin. Thankfully both of them had possessed the good sense to mostly keep their distance from the girls, staying in the barn and busying themselves with chores. Still, the fact that they were just a building away had Sophie’s skin crawling whenever she thought of it. Some nights she could still feel Marlon’s hands as he held her down underneath that quilt. The day he’d arrive back at the farm, she’d noticed that the broken nose she’d given him had healed crooked. She was glad to know he’d always carry that mark as a reminder of what he’d done.

Sitting at the desk by the window, Sophie had a quill pen and some paper before her. She was doing what she always did on a weekly basis: writing a letter to her twin sister Minnie. This would be the fourth letter in a row that remained unsent, tucked beneath her bed until one day she had access to a post office once more. By now news of what had happened must have reached her sister. Sophie was sure Minnie must be frantic. Perhaps she had even considered travelling back West to find Sophie herself. Not that there was any way into the valley until the end of spring. For now, the letters served as an outlet for Sophie’s emotions, a way for her to feel that she still had a voice of her own amidst all the turmoil.

Minnie,

Marlon and Mitch came back today. I wished they had stayed away longer. The only thing that makes my anger at their return more bearable is how happy it made the little boys. A.J., Willy and Tenn have been practically clinging onto their legs at all times since they returned. It’s clear how much they missed them, and Marlon and Mitch seem to feel the same. The whole thing makes me upset that I’m watching these events play out from captivity. If I had come here under different circumstances, I think I would have truly enjoyed my time at Ericson Farm.

Some loud cries from outside had Sophie glancing out the window. Willy, Louis and Aasim had circled a tree and were trying to talk Garbage, Willy’s possum, out of it. The possum seemed unimpressed by their pleas, hissing down at them menacingly. The scene brought a small smile to Sophie’s face. Things certainly weren’t dull here. There was always something going on. Sophie continued her letter.

How is your flatmate doing? I’m glad you were able to find someone so soon after moving out East. From what I’ve heard so far, Renata sounds lovely. I hope I’ll get to meet her someday when

Sophie suddenly laid down her quill. When what? When she escaped from this place and headed East herself? How would she get there? The original plan had been to take food, clothes and other supplies from home and head out from there, paying for a train to take her East. Once her parents rescued her from this place though, they’d likely never let her out of their sight. Marlon had ruined any chance of slipping away.

Her mind wandered to the argument they’d had before Marlon ran off. God, she wished she’d thrown those chamber pots at him when she’d had the chance. Claiming that he just wanted her to be free to make her own decisions and that was why he’d taken her? Did this look like freedom to him? If Marlon had really wanted to help her, he should have snuck her out to the train station, not some snowed in farm in the middle of nowhere. If he’d bought her train ticket and bid her farewell, then she would have believed his motives were selfless. From there she could have rode the train all the way to Boston and…

And then what? The thought rankled Sophie, worming its way deeper into her mind. I never really thought that far ahead, did I? A week away from fleeing East and I didn’t have any idea what I’d do when I got there. Minnie would have let her stay at her place for as long as she needed. Living with her and Renata honestly sounded like it would be a lot of fun. But what would Sophie do in the hours Minnie was off working at university? Sit around and make art, but to what end? She hadn’t been able to get a scholarship to any universities out in Boston like Minnie had. Would she try to sell her art out on the streets?

A worse possibility suddenly entered Sophie’s mind. What if the scandal caused by my fleeing the arranged marriage had spread to the East coast and affected Minnie? Could she have lost her scholarship over something like that? Prestige was everything to institutions. Housing her runaway sister, while not illegal, could have ended up ruining the life Minnie had made for herself out there. Would I just have been a burden if I’d done as I planned?

The hissing had grown louder outside. Sophie looked down to see that the boys had enlisted Violet’s help. She had joined Willy in climbing up the tree to reach Garbage. Now the two siblings were trying to corner the possum in such a way that would force it to jump down into Louis’ coat that he and Aasim were holding out. A chuckle escaped Sophie’s lips. What a wild plan. She had half a mind to go out there and join them. She wanted to finish this letter though. She returned her quill to the paper.

I hope I’ll get to meet her someday when times are better. I’m not sure exactly how I would have wrangled my way out of that joke of a marriage our parents had set up for me. I know your prospects weren’t much better when they were looking for matches for you. I’m proud of you for finding a way to escape all that nonsense and still stay within the family’s good graces. If only my art skills had proved strong enough to join you out there. We could have attended university together.

Sophie envisioned what her days would have looked like within Boston. Maybe she would be able to sell enough paintings to make ends meet and get a place of her own. If need be, she’d distance herself from Minnie, at least until she had finished her studies at university, so none of the consequences of her running away would reach her sister. It seemed like a somewhat lonely existence, living alone with only her art to sustain her. She’d miss all her friends in Richmond: Brody, Ruby, Clem, Prisha…

A high-pitched scream came from below. Sophie looked down to find that the possum had successfully been driven down from the tree but had not landed in Louis’ jacket as planned. Instead it had landed upon Louis’ head, tangling its feet in his dreadlocks and hissing in an angry panic. Louis didn’t seem to be faring much better, running about with his arms flailing wildly and screaming for help. His siblings weren’t having much luck calming him or Garbage down.

She just had to capture this. Pulling out another piece of paper, Sophie began sketching out the scene before her. She tried to capture the heat of the moment, the way the possum’s eyes bulged in anger and Louis’ mouth was open wide in fear. It was certainly a picturesque moment. When Sophie had finished, she couldn’t help but giggle. Perhaps she’d gift the sketch to Louis later. He’d commented earlier on how lovely her art was when he’d spoken with her in the kitchen as she drew with Tenn. Her doodle complete, Sophie returned to the letter.

Perhaps it seems strange to say, Minnie, but I think once I leave here I’m going to miss it an awful lot. So many of the Ericsons are really nice. Of course you know Katjaa, but her husband and younger kids are kind too. I think you’d especially like Tenn. He has the makings of a great artist in him. You’d probably like Louis too. He’s a master at the piano. The two of you could do duets together. He’s played for us a couple times these past few nights. It’s a wonderful way to spend the evening.

Sophie paused in her writing. Now that she thought about it, she had something nice to say about almost all the Ericson kids. A.J. and Willy were a hoot while Omar was a complete sweetheart. She loved the soups he would make whenever someone was feeling under the weather. Violet had proved quite kind as she’d gotten to know her too. She was shy and soft-spoken for the first couple weeks, but over time Sophie had been able to pick up on her dry, biting humor as well as her softer, more thoughtful moments. Aasim was also pleasant to talk with too. She always learned something new when they spend time together. She had no idea how someone living on such an isolated, rural farm could be so well-read.

When I first came here, it seemed like the five months we’d be trapped at Ericson Farm would be a torture. When did everything become so pleasant? Sophie’s memories drifted through her mind, replaying the events of the last month. Everything had been so painful and heated at first, every word between the boys and the girls like pressing on an open wound. But one by one, the siblings had asked for the girls’ forgiveness, sincerely with no expectations of acceptance. Violet had been first and the easiest to forgive given the fact that Prisha had truly wanted to run away with her. Louis and Aasim were next, apologizing to the girls shortly after another avalanche as they attempted to excavate a path for the girls to return to Richmond had almost taken Louis’ life. Sophie knew Clementine had found the gesture hollow, but she’d appreciated the effort they had made to right their wrongs. After seeing the suffering they had willingly undertaken, she had a newfound respect for them and from there friendship had grown.

That only left Mitch and Marlon. Brody had spoken with Mitch the night the two boys had returned. From what she’d told the girls afterwards, it sounded like Mitch’s second apology was much more heartfelt and sincere. Being up at the hunting cabin for weeks had given him time to sort out his thoughts and truly understand his actions. If I hadn’t gone up to the room that night, would Marlon have said the same sorts of things to me? Would I have accepted an apology like that?

The first time Sophie had met Marlon, she’d found his candor and friendliness charming. The entire time he was trying to get a chance to dance with her, Sophie could see how much he wanted to have even a moment with her, and when their hands finally met and they got to dance for those few happy minutes, she’d found herself having the best time she’d ever had at a barn-raising. Talking with Marlon was easy, natural. She’d wished the day could go on and on so they could have as much time together as possible.

Now that was all gone. Marlon couldn’t be trusted ever again. He’d shown his true colors and how selfish a person he really was deep down. But if I was willing to listen to all the others. Should I at least give him that chance? What he’d said to her the day they’d fought had been true. Her plan of escape was shoddy. It took only seconds for the whole thing to fall apart. If Sophie had stayed in Richmond, she would have been married off to a man old enough to be her grandfather and if she’d left she’d have been dooming herself to a life with no prospects, perhaps dragging Minnie down with her in the process. Neither option was good, but for Marlon’s solution to be… this? Deception, kidnapping, brute force? She wished he’d spoken to her that night instead of tossing her on the floor of that carriage. Maybe then they could have worked something out together. Does that mean if he’d asked I would have run away with him after all? Sophie’s mind bristled at the thought. That was ridiculous.

The screaming from outside had finally stopped. The Ericson siblings were nowhere to be seen. Apparently they’d found something else besides possum wrangling to occupy their time. Sophie stood up, stretching her hands above her head. She needed a break from letter writing. She could finish later. It wasn’t like she would be able to send the letter anytime soon anyway. Spending all this time alone was putting strange thoughts in her head. She needed some company.

Sophie headed for the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Maybe Katjaa or the little boys needed help with something or the girls were back from their outside chores. With so many people around, there was sure to be plenty of things to do. As she descended the stairs, Sophie let herself land on one final thought. I’ve heard the others apologies and things are the better for it. If Marlon wants to talk one last time to clear the air, I won’t say no.

#twdg #twdg sophie #twdg minnie #twdg marlon #twdg marlie #twdg garbage #twdg willy #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg aasim #bless yore beautiful hide au #fanfic

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gb-fics · 5 years ago

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Art Class - Wednesday (3)

AU Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: Read Monday, Tuesday.

Shou had thought about last night a lot. He had not yet reached a conclusion on how he felt about it. Sure, he liked Yutaka more than he had expected, but that didn’t mean much. He hadn’t expected to like Yutaka at all. Anything that went beyond a casual friendship was probably caused my Yutaka’s reputation rather than Shou’s actual feelings.

Somehow, he had assumed things would clear up today. He had assumed Yutaka would drag him along on another reckless adventure. Or at least make him do weird stuff at class that separated them from the rest of the students. As long as it was only Shou and Yutaka laughing at a joke, the others didn’t even seem to exist. Weirdly enough, when Yutaka made him laugh, it was the rest of the world that became invisible.

But so far, Yutaka had worked on his drawing next to Shou quietly. They were using paint today.

Shou wondered if Yutaka was sleepy or if he was in a bad mood, or if Shou had done something wrong, or if Yutaka had indeed grown bored with him already like everyone else.

For the last two hours, Shou had waited for the bell that announced lunch break eagerly. Because during break, Yutaka would certainly come up with something again. In class they had to work after all. Their drawings would get graded in the end. Shou had brought his own lunch box today.

Not that he was looking forward to it all that much. He did not get his hopes up, because actually, Yutaka was kind of annoying. He had caused Shou to get detention after all. He had made him break into the astronomy club. Shou shouldn’t want to hang out with him. He shouldn’t enjoy the trouble. But then, it just felt nice to tag along with someone. It felt nice to be chosen. Yesterday, Yutaka had given him the feeling of belonging. Usually, Shou only hung out with people who didn’t seem to care much if he was there or not.

The school bell rang out.

Shou watched Yutaka from the corner of his eyes. He did not want to look at him too expectantly. He kept his head turned towards his own drawing, as if he still wanted to finish something before leaving and didn’t really care what Yutaka was up to at all.

“You coming to the cafeteria?”, Yutaka asked.

Shou hesitated before turning to face him.

“The cafeteria?”, he assured, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Yeah, sure”, Yutaka confirmed. “I didn’t see my classmates the last two days and want to know how their week is going. You don’t want to see your friends?”

Shou did not know how to tell Yutaka that he had no friends he wanted to see or who wanted to see him. If they went to the cafeteria now, he would sit with his classmates and maybe even chat with them. But deep down he knew that they merely tolerated him. And he thought that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Him, sitting at a table with guys equally unpopular as him and hoping class would start again soon, because even that was better than feeling utterly expendable. And Yutaka sitting with the guys from the sports club and becoming the centre of the room without even trying, laughing and having fun, because he, too, didn’t need Shou.

“Not really”, he said quietly.

A vertical line showed up between Yutaka’s eyebrows.

“You can sit with us”, he offered as if he had guessed exactly what Shou feared. “I’m sure my friends would love to meet you.”

Shou doubted that Yutaka’s friends even knew he was in third year as well. He imagined Yutaka introducing him and he imagined sitting with him in the cafeteria. It would be the dream. The ultimate boost for his reputation. If he managed to make a good impression, he would get to hang out with the cool kids from now on. He would become popular by association. His classmates would respect him, the girls might even want to go out with him. Officially being friends with Yutaka in public was the daydream he thought had made him like Yutaka in the first place.

The moment Yutaka offered it, though, Shou realized how much he would hate it.

He did not want to sit with Yutaka’s friends. He did not want to watch him horse around with them and he didn’t want to be forced to conversate with them himself. He did not want the other students looking over at him slightly envious, because they knew he had just levelled up on the social ladder.

What he really wanted, was to be alone with Yutaka and joke about girls or gossip about their teachers having an affair or talk about their relationship with their parents. He wanted Yutaka all to himself.

It was a little strange, he had to admit that. But then, Yutaka felt like his first real chance for friendship in a long time. Not just someone he hung out with, but someone whom he could talk to openly. Obviously, he had been mistaken about that, though.

Yutaka did not view their bond as anything special. Even if he was kind enough to invite Shou along, he wanted to get back to his real friends.

“No thanks”, Shou declined. “Actually, I brought my own lunch. So, I will just look for a quiet spot and eat by myself.”

The line on Yutaka’s forehead disappeared immediately. He was smiling a happy smile.

“You listened to me”, he said. “You brought your own lunch.”

Shou shrugged awkwardly.

Yutaka’s expression changed again. It seemed to do so with each new thought.

“You were prepared”, he stated, now looking surprised. “In case I’d make you do something stupid again. You planned to skip class again?”

Shou did his best to avoid Yutaka’s gaze.

“I just thought it would be nice to have my own lunch for a change, too”, Shou defended himself. “It had nothing to do with you.”

“So, you weren’t hoping we’d do something together?”, Yutaka assured.

Shou shrugged again. He did not want to lie to Yutaka and hurting him on purpose by saying something he didn’t even mean. But he also didn’t want to look desperate or give it room for misinterpretation.

Yutaka swirled around on his heels.

The room was almost empty by now.

“Sensei?”, Yutaka called out.

Utahiroba Sensei groaned and made a face.

“Please, spare me”, he said. He seemed to be only half-joking. Shou could understand him. No matter how much of a liking he had taken to him, he had to admit that Yutaka could be a real pain in the ass.

“Can we stay in the art room during lunch break? We have our own lunch with us and would like to continue working”, Yutaka asked innocently.

Utahiroba Sensei gave him a long look. He did not seem to believe a word Yutaka was saying.

“I didn’t expect you two to be so studious of all people”, he observed sarcastically.

Shou noticed that some girls had stopped by the door to listen to the conversation. Yutaka had that effect on people, he assumed. He always seemed to be putting on a show.

“We just feel at home here”, Yutaka said. “After having to stay for so long last night.”

Utahiroba Sensei waved his index finger at him warningly.

“You should be careful”, he advised Yutaka. “Not everyone has my patience. Your attitude will get you in trouble someday.”

“Oh, it already does. Constantly”, Yutaka said and beamed at Utahiroba Sensei. “Thank you.”

Utahiroba Sensei snorted and walked towards the door, shushing away the girls from there on his way out.

“What about your friends?”, Shou asked. “Aren’t they going to miss you?”

Yutaka waved his arm dismissively, while restoring his lunch box from his bag.

“They’ll do fine without me.” He sat down on a desk that had been moved to the back to create space for the easels.

Shou got out his bento as well and swung himself onto the windowsill. He just had to tilt his head slightly to look out onto the schoolyard that was filled with students right now. Through the glass, he couldn’t hear their voices at all. Inside the room it was quiet.

“You didn’t have to stay”, Shou said. “Not because of me.”

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to point out to Yutaka that he didn’t need him. Or if maybe it was his way of thanking him; of acknowledging that he was grateful he had stayed.

“But I wanted to”, Yutaka said lightly.

Shou started unboxing his lunch. He was straining his brain for something to say. Now, that Yutaka had stayed with him instead of meeting his friends, Shou felt the need to be entertaining, to redeem the sacrifice somehow. But the pressure only made his mouth feel dry and he couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. Maybe they should have gone to the cafeteria.

“Can I ask you something?”, Yutaka suddenly said.

Shou looked up from his food, feeling cold. He didn’t like it when people wanted to ask him questions. It was usually not a good sign. And there were a lot of questions Yutaka might ask him, that Shou did not have an answer to. What if he wanted to know why Shou had wanted to spend lunch break with him? What if he asked what that had been between them last night on the rooftop? What if he asked about girls? What if he asked about boys? Shou was starting to panic.

“Why are you trying to impress Sakura with something you are bad it? That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What?”, Shou asked.

“I mean, I saw your sketch. And I kept thinking about it all night.” Yutaka laughed shortly. “I hardly slept it all. I mean, you really suck at drawing. And that would be fine if there was nothing else you are good at. But you have real talent. Why not use that to impress her?”

“Sakura likes drawing”, Shou pointed out.

He did not add that he tended to get slightly second-hand obsessed with things sometimes. It wasn’t just that he wanted to know about drawing to impress Sakura with it. He also wanted to learn about her. He wanted to understand what she liked about drawing and art. And if she liked it, Shou already liked it a little bit, too.

He tended to his food, because that way it was easier not to pay so much attention to Yutaka.

“Yeah, but if you dated, wouldn’t she want to know about what you like?”, Yutaka insisted. “She tells you about herself and you tell her about yourself and in the best-case scenario, you end up liking each other. She doesn’t tell you about herself and then you repeat after her. That would be boring and slightly creepy. You won’t get the girl like that.”

“Thanks for putting so much thought into how I’m failing”, Shou grunted.

Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he had wanted to spend time with Yutaka or what he had actually found likeable about him. He wasn’t angry, but he was annoyed. For Yutaka it was easy to talk about himself and make a girl like him that way. If Shou wanted to be liked, he had to play dirty.

He shoved some rice into his mouth.

“But you are so good at music!”, Yutaka exclaimed. “If you had joined the music group for the project week, you could have written a song. And afterwards, you would have gone to her and said: Hey, Sakura, listen to this, I wrote you a song.”

Shou shook his head.

Even if he had joined the music group, he knew that he would never have dared to approach Sakura with a song, when she probably didn’t even know his name. He wasn’t that kind of person.

“It’s not that easy”, he said.

“Yes, it is”, Yutaka said. He was mumbling a bit. Probably, he was currently eating, too. “Writing songs is the ultimate way to drop her panties. It’s like you have a superpower, but you are just not using it.”

Shou fumbled with the chopsticks in his hand and focused on the food in front of him. He was aware that Yutaka was staring at him.

“Nobody will drop their panties for me that easily”, Shou said. “Look at me.”

Yutaka gave a noise that sounded like a cry to war. Shou flinched.

“What are you even talking about?”, Yutaka said angrily. “You are really charismatic, Shou. If the girls saw what I saw during that performance of yours, they’d be standing in line to go out with you. Your act just needs a little smoothing out. You have too many ideas, too many thoughts. The world is not ready for you yet. But only a little dose at once and people are going to go crazy for you.”

Shou looked out of the window, where he saw the other students below. He could not imagine any of them going crazy for him. He did not know what Yutaka saw in him, but he was absolutely sure that it wasn’t there.

“I don’t want to be smoothed out”, he finally said. “I don’t want to make compromises. Not when it comes to music. I’d rather …”

He broke off.

“… fail at drawing”, Yutaka concluded. He spoke softly.

Shou nodded without looking at him.

It was easier to approach Sakura on a field of her liking. That way, he wasn’t giving away of himself too much at once. When it came to music, he could bear giving up. But he couldn’t bear failing.

“Aah”, Yutaka exhaled loudly. “I guess there is only one thing that can help you.”

Peaking at him with shy curiosity, Shou turned his head.

“And that is?”, he asked.

“An excellent wingman”, Yutaka said.

Shou laughed.

“Seriously, you need someone who is so excellent, that you are basically not involved at all until the deal is closed. That’s the only way.”

“And I figure you are that excellent?”, Shou assured.

“I am”, Yutaka confirmed. “I will get you laid in no time. All I need from you is to write a love song, pay me about 2 million yen and get some plastic surgery.”

“Oi!”, Shou shouted, but burst out laughing. He was mostly relieved that Yutaka was joking now. He did not really like to talk about his own weaknesses.

“Also, just to know what I’m working with. When it comes to the size of your penis, would you say you are …”

Shou jumped from the windowsill and grabbed the closest thing he could find to throw it at Yutaka. It was a brush and it was red with paint.

Yutaka dodged just in time, but the brush hit the table and left red paint streaks on the surface.

Yutaka threw back his head and laughed.

“If you want to find out about the size of my penis, you ought to buy me dinner first”, Shou said.

“Is that an offer?”, Yutaka wanted to know and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Because technically, I shared my lunch with you yesterday and I think that …”

Shou grabbed the next thing he found. It was a sponge that felt dry but was drenched in the colour green anyway. It had probably been used to smudge paint on a canvas before. Shou threw it, but this time, it landed on the floor before it even reached Yutaka. It caused him to break off his sentence, though.

Shou felt embarrassed by Yutaka’s way of talking and knew that the only way of making him shut up, was to beat him with his own weapons. He also knew that it was almost impossible to make Yutaka feel embarrassed, though. If he even wanted to try, he had to come at him from a direction he wasn’t expecting.

“Alright”, he said, suddenly completely serious. “I am still saving myself up for Sakura, but just some groping should be fine.”

He watched Yutaka’s reaction closely. His neck seemed to colour slightly.

“Oi, what are you saying!”, he shouted and Shou laughed.

He realized that he would never have been able to make these kinds of jokes with Sakura. Or any girl, really. They would be grossed out. But Shou actually enjoyed joking like this. He liked not being quite sure if they were just being perverts or maybe flirting. He liked the mixture.

“I thought you …”, he started, but then dodged, as he saw Yutaka bending forward and grabbing something from next to an easel.

This time, it was Yutaka who tried to make him shut up. It felt like a victory. Shou started laughing while throwing himself to the floor.

He told himself that he was just breathless and his heart was just beating so fast, because of the guffawing and the shouting and the moving around. It wasn’t because he got excited by what their words implied.

Something sailed right over Shou’s head and caused a loud thud as it hit the window pane behind him. Then the light suddenly dimmed.

Shou stopped laughing.

He looked at Yutaka. Yutaka made a face.

Slowly Shou turned around, still kneeling on the floor and looking up. A plastic cup was lying on the window sill. The window pane had turned blue. Paint was dripping down the glass. It looked as if a blue bomb had exploded against the window.

“I thought it was empty”, Yutaka said.

Shou stared at the window some more. The paint was now dripping onto the window sill as well. The light that fell into the room was tinted blue, too.

For a moment, they were silent.

Then Shou snorted with laughter. After a few seconds of hesitation, Yutaka fell in with his laughter.

Somehow, Shou wasn’t able to stop. He didn’t even know what was so hilarious, but the whole incident seemed just typical for Yutaka. It seemed like the kind of thing Shou would have disliked him for a few days ago. Trouble seemed to follow Yutaka around. But to his own surprise, Shou enjoyed trouble quite a bit.

The bell rang out.

“Oh damn”, Yutaka mumbled.

Shou jumped up and collected paper tissues from next to the sink. He was carrying them over to the window when the door opened and the other students entered the room again.

Utahiroba Sensei was with them.

He took one very long look at the window. He seemed to reconsider his entire career.

“I had my doubts”, he said. “But I told myself: Jun, put some trust in those kids. I wish I hadn’t.”

He sat down at his desk, waving at Shou to hurry with the tissues. There was something resigning about his motions.

Shou hurried over to Yutaka by the window, while everyone else picked up working on their canvases again. Together, they started wiping the window. They left behind blue streaks on the glass.

“Seriously”, Shou mumbled under his breath.

“Too bad I missed”, Yutaka whispered back. He was unusual for him to speak so quietly and somehow, it made Shou’s stomach feel clenched. Yutaka’s whispering voice had something intimate to it. “You’d look adorable in blue.”

Shou kept his eyes fixed on the window.

“I’d look like a Smurf”, he said.

“Nah. You’d look like Stitch”, Yutaka said and chuckled.

“Thanks a lot”, Shou said dryly and nudged Yutaka with his elbow while wiping the window sill now.

Yutaka nudged him back without saying anything. It felt nice in a way that Shou couldn’t quite explain.

Yutaka balled up the tissues he had used. They were bright blue by now.

“That should do”, he said loudly and looked at the window.

There were blue streaks and smears everywhere. The glass remained a light blue.

“It does not!”, Utahiroba Sensei shouted over. “Get a cloth and water and do it properly. I don’t want to hear complaints, apologies or explanations. I don’t even want to know what happened. I just want it to go away.”

Shou made a face at Yutaka that implied how close to a nervous breakdown Utahiroba seemed to be. It was only Wednesday, but Kyan Yutaka was already about to finish him.

Then he went over to the sink to find a cloth and a small bucket he could fill with water. When he returned to the window, Yutaka was storing away their lunch boxes. Shou watched him for a moment, as he got out his mobile and typed a fast message with his back to Utahiroba Sensei.

Shou felt a short flash of jealousy. They had had so much fun just now. Why did Yutaka feel the need to talk to someone else at this moment?

Wringing out the cloth, Shou started to clean the window pane once more. This time, the smears were finally coming off.

Yutaka strolled over again, leaning against the window sill and watching Shou.

Shou felt upset that he wasn’t helping, but then he had found only one cloth. There wasn’t really anything for Yutaka to do. He was more upset about seeing him with the mobile, honestly.

“My friends asked why I didn’t join them during lunch”, Yutaka said all of a sudden, as if he had been able to read Shou’s mind.

“Well, I’m sorry for keeping you”, Shou said.

He was angry at himself for sounding so cold. Yutaka had not done anything wrong. He wasn’t owning anything to Shou. Their joking hadn’t meant anything special, so Shou was acting weird now, even in his own opinion. He didn’t understand why he felt so annoyed. But he didn’t know why Yutaka brought up his friends in the first place now, either. He didn’t need to remind Shou of the fact that he had better people to hang out with.

“What? No!”, Yutaka said hastily. “It’s just. Well, they asked me to go to karaoke with them in the afternoon after school.”

Shou kept wiping the window without looking at Yutaka. He also didn’t understand why he was telling him that now. Sure, he was popular. He had friends with whom he went to karaoke. Good for him.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like come along”, Yutaka added after a short pause.

Shou stopped in his motions for a moment. Then he washed out the cloth in the bucket, wringing it again. He did so only that Yutaka wouldn’t notice his hesitation.

It was nice of Yutaka to ask. And it wasn’t like lunch break where they would be in the same room anyway. If he didn’t seriously want Shou to be there, he didn’t have to mention it. He could have gone off with his friends after class without telling Shou.

“It’s like”, Yutaka cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s something like a group date.”

Shou sucked in his lower lip and tried to look indifferent as he wiped the very last paint dots of the window. His right hand was blue now.

“So, there are girls coming along?”, he asked as casually as possible.

Maybe they were missing a guy to even it out and that’s why Yutaka had invited him. Or he was continuing with his promise to find Shou a girlfriend. In that case, Shou found it a little weird how eager he was. Not that he wouldn’t like Yutaka introducing him to girls. But he wished him to be less eager about it nonetheless.

“Well, yes, some of the other guys are bringing girls along. I mean.” Yutaka cleared his throat again.

Shou thought that his behaviour was somehow off. He had the feeling that Yutaka was trying to communicate with him through a code that Shou did not understand. What was he trying to tell him? Was he trying to indicate that Shou should try a little harder, if he really wanted to date someone?

“Also”, Yutaka added and suddenly sounded more cheerful again as if he was glad, he had remembered this in time. “You like singing, right? I’m sure you’ll do great at karaoke.”

“So, it’s about that again”, Shou observed and put the cloth into the bucket. The window was clean now. “You still want to prove your point that singing will make me popular.”

“I just thought it might be fun”, Yutaka said defensively.

Shou took up the bucket to carry it over to the sink. He was half-expecting Yutaka to come along to talk him over. But he remained standing by the window.

Shou emptied the bucket into the sink and started scrubbing his right hand. No matter how much he cleaned it, though, it remained a light blue.

Even after giving up, he kept standing by the sink, letting cold water run over his hands. They were starting to feel numb already. He needed time to think.

He wasn’t quite sure, if he wanted to join Yutaka and his friends.

He had always hoped for an opportunity like this. Getting invited to group dates and meeting cute girls took up a large part of Shou’s daydreams. And the rest of the daydreams didn’t really count since they were mere sexual anyway.

He wasn’t really keen on spending time with Yutaka’s friends, though, because they were probably as annoying as he had imagined Yutaka to be. But outside of school with no one watching them and gossiping immediately, the pressure wouldn’t be so high and Shou would feel more comfortable. If he was comfortable, he actually got along with people quite well most of the time. He was a funny guy. People liked that. And if it was karaoke, it was something that Shou would not embarrass himself at. It wasn’t like sports or drawing. He was good at singing. After all, Yutaka might be right. Music might be the one thing that got him a chance to impress the girls.

But then the atmosphere of a group date usually felt so tense. Girls didn’t really feel attracted to Shou easily and in this group, he wouldn’t have friends backing him up. The only person he really knew would be Yutaka.

And somehow, he didn’t know about Yutaka either.

Because Shou knew that he would feel uncomfortable seeing Yutaka joke around with his friends and possibly (not possibly, surely) flirt with a girl. He would feel jealous. And he didn’t understand why that was. That was weird. And he didn’t understand why Yutaka was trying so hard to hook him up. Maybe he wanted to be a good friend. But then, just sometimes, Shou had the feeling that maybe Yutaka liked him differently. And if that was true, then it did not make sense if he wanted Shou to be with someone else. So, Shou was either misreading things completely, or Yutaka was putting him to a test. A test, of which Shou wasn’t even sure if he wanted to pass or fail. His feelings were weird. And Yutaka was weird. And the whole thing just made Shou feel like it was really too weird altogether to put up with it for an entire afternoon. He wouldn’t be able to stop wondering about stuff.

If he agreed to come along, Shou would not be able flirt with a girl. He’d be wondering about Yutaka’s behaviour and how it made him feel and he would go quiet and brooding and he wouldn’t be much fun. He wouldn’t have much fun, either.

Shou thought of Sakura.

He thought of how pretty she was and how calm and how she looked really nice when she smiled. She looked like she would listen to Shou and like he would be certain how to feel about her. If she batted her eyes coyly, there would be no mistaking the gesture and her flirting would be gentle and unambiguous. It wouldn’t be loud and pervy and rude and it wouldn’t leave so much room for misunderstandings. And if he looked at her body, Shou would feel absolutely sure that he desired her, because she was a woman and he was sure about women.

Shou liked being in love with Sakura. It was easy.

He turned off the water and walked back to his easel.

“So?”, Yutaka wanted to know as if he had done nothing else but wait for Shou’s answer in the meantime.

“I’m not interested in going on a group date”, Shou said. “I only like Sakura.”

“Uhm.” Yutaka took up a paint brush and turned to his easel. There was no paint on the brush and for a moment, he flicked it between his fingers so wildly, that Shou was sure he would drop it. Then his hand became steady and he put out the brush against the canvas. He didn’t seem to be aware he was still lacking paint.

“Sure”, Yutaka said. “No problem. I mean, I understand. You told me about Sakura. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine”, Shou said, feeling guilty that he had made Yutaka feel like he had made Shou uncomfortable by his invitation. “I was nice you asked, actually. Maybe I’ll get back to it, if it doesn’t work out with Sakura”, he added half-jokingly.

Secretly he thought that it wasn’t Sakura he worried about. To be honest, he had just picked her, because she appealed to him. Shou was ready to fall in love with any pretty girl. He wouldn’t mind being introduced to someone else on a group date. He just didn’t feel like it today. Because the whole paint incident during lunch break had left him confused. Confused about Yutaka. Once he got over that confusion, he was ready for dating again.

Yutaka let out a short, dry laugh.

“Yeah, sure, why not”, he stated vaguely and looked at the paint brush in his hand astonished. Finally, he seemed to realize that he had forgotten the paint. His face wore a funny, quizzical look. It looked pretty cute.

Shou wished Yutaka had asked him to do something else tonight. To steal up to the roof again. Or grab dinner together. To break into the school office. Or to watch a movie. Even karaoke. Shou wouldn’t have minded what it was, really. If it had been just him and Yutaka on another adventure, he would have agreed for sure.

#Golden Bomber #Kiryuuin Shou #Kyan Yutaka #kirikyan #fanfiction #fanfic #utahiroba jun

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years ago

Note

do you still take prompts? could you do one where post mj haymitch has a photo of Effie in his wallet or just somewhere in his house or something and maybe katniss or peeta see it and are like wtf??? x

Here you go! The first prompt of the year! [X]

A Picture In A Wallet

Peeta wiped the sweat off his brow with hisshirt, discarding it to the side once it was done. It was far too hot under themidday sun and the shirt was filthy anyway. He surveyed the work they hadaccomplished that morning when Haymitch leaned back and pressed his hands atthe small of his back. The partition wall that would stand between the kitchenand the customers area was up to their hips. Haymitch hesitated and thendropped the brick still in his hand on the heap on the floor.

“Not bad.” his mentor sighed.

“Yeah.” Peeta smiled. “If we keep up like this,we can probably move on to the roof next week.”

They were progressing slowly but surely and thebakery was slowly taking shape. It looked like barely more than a split carcassright then. They had the four outer walls but they still needed to finish theinside and there was no roof to protect them from the sun.

He checked the blueprints he had sketched whileHaymitch, after a moment of hesitation, took off his dirty shirt to wipe hisface too. He knew his mentor was self-conscious about the scar on his stomachbut it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before and nobody would wander in atrandom. The whole place smelt like cold sweat, cement and dust and it wasn’treally nice but Peeta was getting used to it.

“We will need to think about the plumbing too.”Haymitch pointed out, stealing the plans from his hand to look them over.“Guess we can probably do most of that ourselves but it wouldn’t hurt to haveit checked by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Peeta smiled and nodded his agreement. A fewpeople had offered their help with the rebuilding but he didn’t want to taketheir attention away from the more urgent housing problem. And, to be honest,he also liked the idea of doing this with his own two hands. Haymitch’s helpwas welcomed but it didn’t bother him to work alone when the older man wasn’tin any… shape to do so.

“Hello?” a young voice called from what wouldbe the bakery’s entrance once they put on a door.

“Coming!” Peeta called out, his stomachsuddenly rumbling. Most days, he packed some lunch or they walked back homebut, sometimes, he ordered something from Sae’s new restaurant on his way over.It was a small gesture to help her start.

He tossed a bottle of water to Haymitch on his wayout. The man’s hand shot out and he grabbed it out of the air without muchgrace but with precision despite the fact his attention was still on theblueprints. One day, Peeta vowed, he would manage to catch him unaware – whileHaymitch was sober that was, itwasn’t much fun otherwise.

The young boy Sae had hired to make take-outdeliveries greeted him nervously outside, never too keen on entering the place.Tobby’s mother had forbidden him to go in any of the building still inconstruction and since it wasn’t a bad rule to follow, Peeta never insisted.

“Afternoon, Mr Mellark!” The kid flashed him atoothy smile and handed him the lunch basket. “Mrs Sae says it’s wild boar inthe sandwiches today. Miss Katniss killed one this morning.”

“She killed a boar?” he asked, slightly worried.It seemed like a big beast to take out by herself. A little too dangerous.

“Oh, yeah!” Tobby exclaimed, stretching hisarms as wide as they would go. “It was big like that.”

Peeta chuckled, sensing the boy wasexaggerating a lot. All the kids were fond of Katniss to her eternalpuzzlement, they worshiped the ground she walked on. She kept muttering aboutthe stupid Mockingjay role but he thought it had more to do with the fact sheoften came back from the woods with various huge animals slung over her not sofrail shoulders.

“Wow!” he humored the kids, feeling around hispockets and coming up with a whole load of nothing.He was sure he had money in there… He always left money in his pockets in case…Remembering a particular discussion with Katniss about emptying pockets before putting clothes in the hamper – and thusmaking it easier for her when it was her turn to do the laundry – he groaned.“Haymitch?” he called out. “You’ve got any cash?”

“Wallet’s in the bag.” came the gruff replyfrom inside.

“Just a second.” he asked Tobby, briefly comingback inside to find Haymitch sitting on one of the unopened bags of cement,slowly sipping his water. Peeta handed him the basket, hiding a smile when theolder man jumped on one of the sandwiches as if he was starving, and rummagedaround the old messenger bag Haymitch sometimes carried around when he neededto stop in town for grocery shopping. His hand clasped on the cold metal of hisflask long before he found the wallet. It was an ancient frayed leather thingthat was falling apart and Peeta proceeded with caution as he grabbed a fewnotes and walked outside to pay the kid. “Here.”

Tobby thanked him, handed the change over,carefully pocketed the money and ran back in the direction of the restaurantfor his next mission.

Peeta watched him go with a fond smile, knowingit was still too soon but hoping someday he could convince Katniss to have oneof those. He was going to put the coins safely back in their designed area butthe small zipper seemed stuck and he struggled with it, a bit afraid ofbreaking the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if Haymitch was keeping that old thingout of sentimentality or laziness – with him, both were equally possible – andhe didn’t want to tell him he had been the one to tear in two what might be afamily heirloom.

It was almost inevitable that he would drop thewallet.

What fell out of the torn lining and into thedust of the street now…

Peeta stared at the pictures for a few secondsbefore picking them up along with the wallet, tossing a guilty glance over hisshoulder. The oldest one was yellow and grainy, one corner was burned and itwas difficult to really make out the faces but he knew he was looking at Haymitch’sfamily. He just knew. His mother, his brother and a much younger Haymitch.

The second one was a Polaroid that seemed tohave seen better days. It had been crumpled at one point and then carefullyflattened out but it was damaged.

The only time Peeta had seen Effie without herwig and make-up had been in the Capitol’s belly and his memories from thatperiod were hazy to say the least but he recognized her without a single momentof hesitation. And it threw him. Because the woman on that picture was youngerand completely carefree. Also visibly very naked but anything that could havemade him uncomfortable was hidden from view.

On the picture, Haymitch’s broad arm was wrappedacross her chest, over her breasts. It seemed he was trying to pull her back ormaybe to catch the camera she was visibly holding. She was laughing, her freehand coiled around Haymitch’s elbow. Haymitch was naked too – or at least Peetaassumed so given that the shot mercifullycut above their waistlines – and while he was scowling, there was also asmile tugging at his lips.

Peeta wasn’t sure how old Haymitch was onthere. He would have said mid-thirties but it was hard to tell. The war hadaged their mentor. Sometimes, he mused that the Quell��s victor looked fifty instead of forty-two.

“You’re coming or what?” Haymitch called frominside. “It’s too hot to eat outside, boy.”

Peeta startled, feeling embarrassed and guiltyeven if it had been an accident. The picture was obviously a cherished one andit was such an intimate moment… He put everything back in place and stoppedtrying to make the coins fit.

He walked back in the bakery with an apologeticshrug and handed wallet and change over. “Sorry, I can’t make it work.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes and placed hissandwich down – half of it was gone already. He manipulated the wallet with theease of habit, making the recalcitrant zipper behave. The wallet was placed inhis pocket and he picked his food back up, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow whenPeeta simply stood there.

“It’s not rat if that’s what’s keeping you fromthe food.” Haymitch offered.

He forced a smile and picked up his sandwich,sitting on another bag of cement. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat but itwould do.

“Katniss caught a boar.” he informed him.

“Nice.” his mentor smirked.

They ate mostly in silence. At least untilPeeta couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Have you heard from Effie?” he blurted out.

The bottle of water froze midway to Haymitch’slips and was slowly placed back down.

“Not really.” the older man answered toocalmly.

Grey eyes darted to the bag where the flask wasand Peeta awkwardly cleared his throat. “She hasn’t called us in a while.”

“She’s fine.” Haymitch dismissed. “Probablybusy partying. You know how she gets.”

“How do you know that she’s fine if you haven’theard from her?” he insisted.

His mentor was studying him now. “Any reasonyou’re so interested in Effie suddenly?”

There was a hint of suspicion in Haymitch’svoice that had Peeta wincing. “No, it’s just… I guess I was just wondering ifyou kept in touch.”

“We’re hardly best friends.” Haymitch scoffed.“Can’t say I expect her to call me every two days for some gossip session,Peeta.”

“But you were close.” he insisted. He hadn’tneeded to see the picture to know that. There were looks and private jokes thathad made him feel like they enjoyed arguing too much for it to be genuinedislike. They butted heads. That was how they worked but when it came down toit… Haymitch and Effie were a formidable team. “I mean…”

“What doyou mean, boy?” Haymitch cut him off, a warning growl in his voice.

Peeta inspected his sandwich more closely thannecessary. “Were you and Effie…”

“None of your business, is it?” his mentorsnapped, tossing what was left of his food back in the basket and haulinghimself up. Peeta couldn’t say he was surprised when Haymitch grabbed his bagand pulled out the flask. He seemed to freeze for a second, his thumb strokingthe engraving on the side, and then he took a long mouthful before glaring backat Peeta. “You’ve been snooping.”

He flinched at the accusation and winced.“Pictures fell from your wallet. I didn’t mean to look.”

Haymitch’s hand flew to his pocket where he hadplaced the wallet, his face grim. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you still carry the picture.” he pointedout. “So it must mean something.”Haymitch looked away, his jaw clenched. “Are you and Effie still…”

“No.” his mentor spat. “Now, drop it, kid.”

“But…” he pressed. “Haymitch, if you still feelsomething for her…”

“Never said anythingabout feeling for her, did I?”Haymitch snarled.

“You’re carrying her picture.” Peeta rolled hiseyes. “You don’t need to.”

“I’m telling you. Drop it. Now.” the older man growled and Peeta lifted both hands in a peaceoffering. Haymitch took a few more sips of liquor but it didn’t seem enough toassuage his anger. “Don’t go and talk to anyone about this either.”

“Who do you want me to tell?” he snorted. “Andanyway… It’s not like… It’s not like before,you know. Nobody will care.”

“I care.”Haymitch hissed, snatching his shirt from the ground and slipping it back on.

“I don’t think she’s doing as well as she saysshe does.” Peeta stated firmly.

It wasn’t something he had felt he could saybefore because it was a small betrayal toward Effie. But it had been nagging athim for some time now. She called now and then, never very regularly, and sheregaled them with stories of parties and her fabulous new job and her hugebrand new apartment… Katniss always ended up rolling her eyes and leaving him aloneto listen to her prattle. He did listen.That was how he had noticed she was trying too hard to convince them. He didn’tbelieve her and it made him wonder what it was really like for her in theCapitol.

Haymitch paused, the bag’s strap over his head.He finished shouldering it slowly, clearly debating something. In the end, hismentor sighed. “Plutarch is keeping an eye on her for me. If it becomes…problematic, he will tell me.”

“Have you tried to call her?” he frowned.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, boy. She madethat very clear.” Haymitch scoffed.“She wants her space. Works for me.”

“Maybe she wants to talk to you again and shedoesn’t know how to go about it.” he offered. “She always asks about you when she calls.”

Haymitch shook his head. “She’s done with me,Peeta. Given what happened to her… I can’t blame her. Drop this. Please.”

It was shocking to hear Haymitch say please. Peeta couldn’t remember him everusing that word.

It was the only reason he let his mentor gowithout putting more of a fight.

He didn’t think Haymitch was angry, not really,but the man didn’t like it when it became personal and it was clear that Effie Trinket very much counted as apersonal subject.

He finished his sandwich and then went back towork but he stopped after another single row of bricks. His heart wasn’t in it.

It didn’t take him long to gather his thingsand trek back to the Village. The honking from Haymitch’s house was a familiargreeting sound by now but the geese’s owner was nowhere to be seen. Peeta toyedwith the idea of seeking him out to apologize but he was pretty sure Haymitchwould be in one of those moods that were only solved by a hard binge. Nothinghe would say or do by that point would be appreciated.

He hurried back to his house instead, smilingwhen Katniss’ head shot out of the kitchen.

“It’s early.” she commented. “I thought youwould be a while longer.”

“I didn’t really feel like it.” he shrugged,stealing a kiss on his way to the stairs. “I really need a shower.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” she teased,making a show of wrinkling her nose.

It was a whole hour before he lifted the phonefrom its cradle, ignoring Katniss’ questioning look. He dialed the number, hiseyes darting all over the room. His girlfriend had been working on herremembrance book, carefully copying something from a letter Annie had sentabout Finnick, but was now studying him with a small frown.

“Are you calling Doctor Aurelius?” shehesitated. “I can go in the living-room if you want some privacy.”

“It’s not Doctor Aurelius.” he answered rightbefore the ringing finally stopped as someone picked up at the other end of thecountry. “Effie?” he asked when there was nothing but silence.

“Oh, Peeta!” she exclaimed with her usual cheerand what he thought to be relief. “Howgood to hear from you, dear! What a surprise!”

It was difficult to say for sure because shehad always been over the top, ridiculouslyover the top, but he didn’t think he imagined the edge in her voice, the strain. He indulged her in some smalltalk, listening to all her fabulous daysin the city and sharing the progress of the bakery’s rebuilding… Katniss hadlong stopped listening to the discussion, focusing back on her book.

“I was calling for a reason, actually, Effie…”he said when there was a lull in the conversation. “I was wondering… I coulduse some advice. It will be finished soon and I was thinking I should dosomething special for the reopening…”

Katniss glanced up at that but she must havethought it was a reasonable explanation because she didn’t ask any question.

“Oh, you definitelyshould!” Effieagreed with what he guessed to be real enthusiasm.“I think you should have a tasting. Freesamples, perhaps a small party… Something to show your future customers whatyou would offer and to get to know them.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I knew you would knowwhat to do. You always do.” he agreed.

“Now, you are tryingto flatter me, dear.” she laughed.

“Maybe.” he grinned. “Because I have no ideahow to organize something like that and you’re an expert.”

“Peeta…” she hesitated.

“I know you’re very busy and everything but…Maybe you could take a vacation?” he cut her off. “We would love to see you. Weall miss you. Haymitch was just telling me today how much he would like it ifyou could come.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the otherend of the line that matched almost perfectly the way Katniss’ head shot up. Hemade a face and waved his hand to indicate he would explain later. She didn’tlook reassured in any way.

“Did he?” Effie asked uncertainly.

“Oh, yeah…” he confirmed, praying he wasn’tlaying it too thick. “I think he really misses you.”

“I verymuch doubt that, Peeta.” she denied.

He hesitated. Haymitch would kill him. He would kill him.

But maybe if something good came out of thiswhole thing he would be too grateful and forget to?

“I was surprised too.” he offered withuncertainty. “Did you know he kept a picture of you in his wallet? That’s howwe came to think about you to organize the reopening actually.”

“You are mistaken.” she insisted. “He doesn’t have a picture of me.”

“Oh, he does.” he winced. “I wasn’t reallymeant to see it, I think. You’re not really… Well, it’s obvious it’s a privatepicture.” He could pinpoint the exact second she realized which picture it mustbe. “I didn’t really look, honestly. But it wasyou. I’m sure. And… Honestly, Effie, I think he wants to call you but he thinksyou won’t want to talk to him. He even said if you wanted to come to Twelve fora bit, you could stay with him…” Only silence greeted him at the other end ofthe line. Katniss was gesturing wildly, probably trying to tell him he wascrazy. “Or you could stay with us, of course. Whatever you like best.”

“He keeps that picturein his wallet?” sheasked after a whole minute.

“With the one of his family.” he confirmedsoberly.

He heard her lick her lips. “I will… I will think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.” he promised.

They didn’t linger long after that. They saidtheir goodbyes and then he was faced with a very wide-eyed Katniss.

“Have you completelylost your mind?” she hissed.

He sighed and explained everything.

She still wasn’t convinced.

Haymitch reappeared at dinner, not as wasted asPeeta had feared but very much drunk. They all walked on eggshells and ignoredthe elephant in the room. Their mentor looked sad, not angry, and Peeta andKatniss kept exchanging glances behind his back. Katniss’ gaze was accusative.

Peeta hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.

His fears were put to rest the next morning,long after Katniss had left to the woods for her daily hunt, as he was about toleave to work on the bakery.

A woman was making her way up the Village’sstreet, struggling with her suitcase. He recognized Effie at her bearingsalone. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, her hair was loose on hershoulders in wild curls and she looked tired. She must have hopped on a trainthe previous afternoon.

He lifted a hand in greeting, ready to go helpher, but the words died on his lips when he realized where she was headed. Hereally should have said something but he followed a little behind her insteadand watched when she stopped in front of Haymitch’s front door, nervously runningher hands on the fabric of her dress to smooth it before knocking.

It was a couple of minutes and a few rounds ofknocking before the door was torn open and Haymitch appeared, a dark scowl onhis features.

It was almost comical how fast the scowl fadedwhen he realized who was standing there.

Peeta was too far to hear what was said. Heheard the echo of Effie’s nervous laughter as she explained what she was doingthere but that was it. Haymitch’s lack of reaction seemed to make her flusteredand after a whole minute of him doing nothing, she nodded as if to herself, herexpression closing off, and she turned away, her hand grabbing the handle ofher suitcase.

Haymitch’s own hand shot out to cover hers.

She turned to him once more, her face an openquestion…

Peeta wasn’t sure what he was expecting…

But the way Haymitch embraced her was explicitenough in his opinion. He watched his mentor bury his face in her neck, watchedthe desperate way they clung to each other…

And he decided it was the right choice afterall.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #post mj #book!verse #the kids #angsting h #no wig no make-up #not established

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donaldresslerfanfic · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas Time.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3439

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Forty Two.

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

I discovered that Liz had kept digging into the files that Mags had taken to my office, and we had some cases to take over to ensure we got Maggie's old clients and possible threats covered.

I worked with different other task forces to follow their daily activities and to make sure they were under surveillance 24/7.

Soon enough we had out holiday break and when I got back home from the post office right before lunch, I saw Mags with a bag, and was standing on the side of the stairwell. She removed a hidden panel and I could see the distinctive stacks of money she had hidden under there.

I closed the door, making her look at me and give me a smile.

"You're early" she said, then took two handfuls of stacks and dumped them in the bag.

"Yeah, I just had to sign off for the holidays" I walked and saw another couple of stacks drop on the bag "okay Walter White, what's all this?"

She smiled at me and my reference, then continued loading the money.

"Since we're going to my sister's place for Christmas I decided to take the money to buy the house from her. I called a realtor from Rhode Island and my dad's house with 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, an attic, basement, and 1.024 square feet was valued by him on 345k. The half of that is 175k, it's 45k more than what I have but it'll be enough for my sister to buy anything in here, she could buy a terrain and build in it, have a costume home for her a my nieces and nephew"

I stood there watching her unload all of her hard work on a bag, I could never understand how people got so attached to some things

I assumed my face mimicked my thoughts, when Maggie got a glimpse of me as she finished she gave me a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just upsetting seeing this" I motioned at the bag "you're giving up so much because you can't let that house go"

She gave a lip tight smile and closed the compartment in the staircase.

"Someday I might sell the house just not today"

A little unsettling thought invaded me, and while she picked up the heavy bag I took it and carried it upstairs.

"But you're not thinking to buy it and move there right?" She was walking in front of me towards the bedroom, and I could see her shoulder shrugging.

"I don't know, why?" She said over her shoulder.

I stuttered at first, leaving the bag on the floor of our bedroom and pacing the room.

"Mags if you move out to Rhode Island I.... It's a large travel from there to here and couldn't go with you until I finish this Reddington thing, maybe if I get transferred but that-" in the middle of my rant I turned to her, finding her with a big mocking grin on her face. I undid my tie and gave her a little smile as well. "Oh you think it's funny, scare me like that?"

I think she wasn't expecting me to jump on the bed and go at her, she screamed and chickened out in the corner of the room, when I got her up my arms and flew her to the bed and attacked her ribs, knowing that if there was something Maggie was, it was ticklish.

She screamed whem my finger attacked her ribs and she tried to fend me off with her legs, she let out a large laugh and I downed my lips to hers, drowning her laughter, accompanying her with my own little chuckle.

I pulled back slightly, but this place on the bed and between her legs was possibly my favorite, she hugged me by the neck while she took a deep breath and ran her hands on my hair, she loved to mess it up for some reason.

"Is the prospect of living without me so terrifying?" She said, I didn't hesitate in nodding, and downed my lips on hers one more time "you've got nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere, and specially not without you."

I pulled her to a sitting position while still holding her by the waist.

"Do you have anything to do now?"

"Christmas shopping" I made a disgruntled sound and stood up, still holding her in my arms, I left her on the floor and began to undo the buttons on my shirt. "you don't have to come if you don't want to"

"It's not that, it's just that I was already getting excited to do something else" she smirked and placed a little kiss on my lips.

"I'll wait for you downstairs"

Everyone had a favorite holiday, and Mags was definitely Christmas. I didn't mind it that much, I don't remember the last time I celebrated it, but it has been longer that five years, that I knew. I think one reason why they gave me the Reddington file was because it was too straining to follow him. I remember spending New year's eve's overseas following him, and it definitely made my relationship with people bad. With Audrey, my mom, my brother. The only friends I had were my unit.

One distinctive point of difference between my relationship with Audrey and now Mags, was that Mags understood why I did what I did. Why it was so important for me to catch him, and why is it so important for me to continue in the task force.

We did our Christmas shopping and had dinner at night, getting up early to head over to Maddie's house. Since we couldn't clear airport security with a bag full of cash without raising suspicions, we had to take the long route and drive 6 hours minum to Rhode Island. I didn't mind at all to drive, especially if Mags was my copilot.

I hadn't had a holiday vacation in years, and if I had it at some point, I bet it wouldn't be as memorable as this one.

Before christmas Mags presented her sister the money for her to buy half of the house, and they spent a day, two at most, getting all of the paperwork done so they could pass the deed of the house on and put it to Mags name. After that they spent a lot of time house hunting in DC, Mags was over the moon her sister was coming to live near her. But since they couldn't move until the girls finished school, they decided to buy a terrain and have a house built costume, and of course, Maggie was going to design it.

Christmas came and went, Maddie made a little joke about how the present boxes were getting smaller and smaller when I presented Mags a set of earrings I saw her eyeballing a long time ago.

After Christmas, and since Maddie had to spend New year's Eve with Ethan's family, Mags and I drove back to DC, and in there I planned a little something for New year's Eve.

I had Maggie dressed for a night out, and after we settled in Alexandria, we ate in the local food post, then ended up in the rail of the river to wait for the fireworks.

Mags was propped up against the rail and I was hugging her by her waist, pressing her back to mine. I led my lips to her neck and kissed, she moved her face to the side and I could kiss her on the lips before she smiled and broke the kiss.

"Any new year's resolution agent Ressler?"

"Mmmm, let's see" I pressed her to my chest and sighed "I want us to travel more, I want to live in the moment, stablish date nights and stick to them, learn how to cook for you" she smiled while I placed a little kiss on her cheek.

"You forgot be happy"

"I already am happy" she smiled sweetly at me, and turned to look ahead, I placed my chin on her shoulder. "And you?"

"Oh, god, do you have a minute?" She joked, I followed and looked at my watch

"4 minutes until New years."

"Okay quick. Get married, have a baby, those are like the standard every year resolution, but also totally travel, stop worrying so much, get another tattoo"

"Another one?"

"Yeah, you're supposed to have them uneven, what? Are they a turn off?"

I shook my head no, because they definitely weren't, I loved her tattoos, they were minimalistic and delicate, they fitted her perfectly.

"I've never had a new year's kiss before" she mentioned, looking up at the sky.

"Who said you were getting one?" I joked, making her nudge me in the ribs scoldingly, but still with a smile on her face.

I turned her around for her to hug me by the shoulders. I pressed my forehead to hers as I heard the countdown begin. Her smile grew wider at the sound of people cheering down 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

I pressed my lips down on her when people around us began to cheer Happy New Year, my hands moved from her waist to her lower back and the space between her shoulders.

That night, while I watched the fireworks reflect off her eyes, when we made love, when I had her sleeping on top of me, there was only one thought in my mind.

I wouldn't let it go past this year, I was going to ask Maggie to marry me.

Maggie.

After a memorable Christmas time and new year's Eve with my family and my amazing boyfriend, I put all of my focus on my sister's new house.

Being an architect had it's perks, I knew a lot of the people in the industry and me being me I had a lot of friends and friendly faces everywhere I went, getting the terrain for my sister's house wasn't a challenge, in a good neighborhood, close to school, it was sold to me pretty cheap.

The building itself took time, and while I supervised all of it I also worked in my firm, so to say the least I was very busy, maybe even busier than Don, and that was saying a lot.

I had three projects to oversee, plus the one that I was already checking out, my sister's sketch needed to be finished for her to give me the thumbs up and I had it all in a deadline.

I had settled in the kitchen table after I got off work and I didn't realized how late it was until Don came back from work and plopped a bag next to me.

"Hi gorgeous" he said, I left the pen in the table and looked up, waiting for him to lean down and kiss me "busy?"

"You have no idea" I complained, he finally gave me a kiss and I continued down with my work.

"It must be important if you're willing to pass on ice cream" he tapped the container and took the bag.

"And by the look of it, pass on sleep too"

I heard him put the ice cream on the freezer, then do something else.

"Don't forget about the date tomorrow" he said placing a cup of coffee next to me.

I gave him a smile and took the bag, and as soon as he sat down on the couch and turned the TV on, I quickly checked the date on my phone. Time really flew by, tomorrow was our first year anniversary. Thank God I preemptively bought stuff to gift to Don, when I was out and I saw something he might like I bought it and kept it hidden until it was time for me to give them.

I was summed in my work, only getting past the first project when the doorbell rang, Don stood up and went to get it, coming back with a flat box.

He left the box on the table, the smell of pizza slowly getting to my nostrils and making my stomach rumble. He got a beer for us and sat down next to me, I moved my stuff a little out of the way and sighed, rubbing on my forehead.

"I'm getting a headache"

"You can't do this later?" He passed me a slice of pizza and opened the beer for me.

"No, I'm super delayed, and now that you reminded me that we had to go out tomorrow I really have to crank it and finish at least 3 projects tonight"

"Sounds like that new position is a bit overwhelming"

"It's not, I've just taken a lot of jobs thinking I could do it. And I can, I just need time"

"And why have you taken so many jobs?"

"Because I still need to give my sister another 30 grand, and not to mention I don't have-"

"Money for your wedding" he interrupted me.

"I know that it sounds very cliche to you, but I have big expectations for my wedding and not having money for it makes me angry." I replied a little annoyed, I'd never liked it when people joked about me saving for my wedding, people save for years for their children's tuition, is it because it makes me sound selfish?.

"We'll figure this out Mags, I have money I can-"

"No, thank you" I interrupted this time "I can work something out, if you want to help, just keep me fed. But preferably healthy fed" I said taking another slice of pizza "I couldn't fit a pair of jeans this morning, and I'm also unhappy about that too"

"Buy bigger ones" he presented as a solution, that made me chuckle, as if it was that simple.

"What did you do today?"

"Nothing interesting, followed a missing child that turned up yesterday"

"Missing children sometimes turn up"

"Not if they were declared dead"

I frowned and twisted my lips.

"Okay, weird. As much as I would like to hear about his conspiracy theory, I have to get back to work."

I cleaned my hands on my jeans, something Don always looked at me scoldingly for, then got back to work.

He really tried to stay up with me as long as he could, but I insisted on him going to bed, he still had to work tomorrow and I could sleep in for a few more hours before going to work myself.

I didn't went to bed until 4 am that night, and even though I could sleep until 7:30, that wasn't enough rest time for anything. The following day I was a zombie, I was still the same energetic me but it took a lot of coffee.

My sister had approved of my design and I took care of buying the materials to start building,

I squeezed some time and got off work early, when I got home I threw myself in the couch, exhausted. I woke up to soft kisses on my jaw, an overwhelming scent of cologne and aftershave. Even though I was conscious I couldn't open my eyes.

"Should I cancel the reservation?" I head Don ask me softly in my ear. I forced my eyes open, it was 7pm.

"No, I'll get up now, give me 20 minutes" I got up, thinking that I was down on the couch, but I wasn't, I was on my bed.

I showered and got into a nice dress and a pair of heels, not that high but still high enough to accentuate my legs, then got on Don's car.

"Did you finish what you had to?" He said while driving, placing a spare hand on my thigh, touching the bits of skin that weren't covered by the dress.

"Yeah, thankfully, told you I just needed some time"

We parked outside a building and I couldn't help but gasp when I got off the car.

"You didn't bring us to Sakerum"

"We can go somewhere else if you don't want to" he said grabbing me by the waist and leading us to the entrance.

"I freaking love Sakerum"

I really did love Sakerum, it's a rooftop restaurant in DC and ever since I found out about it, it was my favorite Asian fusion restaurant, the ambiance outside, the decor, the food, everything was perfect, and I wouldn't pick other place to celebrate one year with Don.

He had made a reservation and we sat in a corner piece, placed our picks and waited. I held Don's hand while I got comfortable next to him, placing my head on his shoulder since we were sitting one next to the other.

"What'd you do today? Caught the bad guy?"

"Yeah, I did. Those missing children? We found more, tracked a full colony of presumed missing children. Turns out the guy who got them missing was actually a guy who worked on getting these children a new place if the parents gave them up for adoption"

"That's horrible. So he faked the children's death and got them to this colony?"

"Yeah, and then when they turned 12 they killed them"

"Okay, that's ultra fucked up. Thank god you got that guy"

"Woman" he corrected.

He cupped my cheek with his hand and brought me in for a kiss.

"And by the way" I said running my hand from his waist up to his chest "I like you a lot in black"

He smiled while I leaned again and kissed him one more time. We got interrupted to be served some wine, then were left alone again. We both picked up our glasses and held them up.

"Happy first anniversary Mags" he began, looking at me in the eyes, I could see a different glint in them while his eyes moved on top of mine "you've uh..." He stopped for a second, and I could feel his other hand curl up to mine "you've made me really happy. All I want in life is to pay you back with more happiness. All of those things that you want? White picket fence, marriage, children, I want to give you all of that if that means I'll get to see you smile everyday. I-"

I stopped him, because at this point I was holding back tears and I couldn't help to let one drop on my cheek.

I had placed my hand on top of his chest to make him stop, and I had to put down the glass to clean up my cheeks. When I was a little more composed I grabbed the glass again and gave him a little embarrassed chuckle.

"I love you" he finished, and I leaned to kiss his lips again.

I ran my hand on his shoulders and pulled him in, giving him another short kiss before I said

"I love you more Don, you have no idea how much you've changed my life" he smiled over my lips and kissed me again, being interrupted when we got served our order.

"Where's my gift?" He said, leaving the glass on the table and leaning over to start eating

"It's at the house" I said, doing the same.

"Ah, it's one of those gifts?" He said suggestively.

"No" I rolled my eyes at him playfully "it's not that kind of gift, it's just a big box"

I saw him look on the inside of his suit jacket and give me a little smirk

"Want mine now?" I nodded eager, I loved gift exchange, which is why Christmas was my favorite Holiday of all. He took out a little brochure and handed it to me. I enthusiastically took it and opened it. Inside there were plane tickets and promotional photos of Beach resorts.

"What?" I asked with a big smile.

"It's a cash in vacation, I know that you can't take that much time off with your new job, but whenever you want we can take a week off in Maui"

"Are we going to Maui?" I asked in a high pitch voice. Before he could confirm I held myself to the slopes of his suit and pulled him to me, kissing him again. He chuckled against my lips and placed his hands on my waist, holding me closer.

I thought that we really should stop kissing and get to the eating part of the dinner, so I very reluctantly pulled back and handed him the envelope back for him to store in his suit, but boy didn't I want to skip on this dinner and fuck him in the car.

#donald ressler #agent ressler #the blacklist #the bl fanfic #diego klattenhoff #donald ressler fanfic

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guestbusters-blog1 · 8 years ago

Link

Sometimes you don't realize

Just how much you love someone

Until they're gone

------------

"I'll be back in a week," he had told her just a few days ago, preparing to take off on Toothless near the clubhouse. "I can't ignore Dad's birthday… but I can't ignore the Edge's safety, either, so I'm leaving you in charge while I'm gone."

Astrid had felt worried at his leave, and to be honest, sad. She understood why Hiccup had to leave. He loved his father, and wanted to be there for him on his birthday. But Astrid felt uneasy. What if something happened while he was gone? What if he crash landed with Toothless on a deserted island and no one knew? What if he was captured by Viggo and Ryker? Too many horrible possibilities ran through her mind, and she hated all of them.

"I know," Astrid had sighed. "I just wish I could come with you."

Hiccup smiled, patting Toothless on the head. "I know. I wish that too. But if the Edge comes to be under attack while I'm gone, you're the only one who will know how to set up the defenses." At her concerned expression, he added, "I promise I'll hurry back."

Astrid nodded. "Okay. Just… be safe."

"When am I not safe?" Hiccup grinned. He paused when Astrid sent him a glare. "Fair enough… well, I see you in a week. Bye!" He took off the landing strip with Toothless, and the two soared through the air, perfectly in sync with one another. They glided up to the clouds, and a minute later were out of sight.

Astrid still stood there for an hour after, though, feeling too worried to do anything but watch her friend go.

And the next few days weren't any better. Astrid was miserable without Hiccup around, and she discovered just how much she depended on him. The other Riders, of course, complained at her often sharp tone, but she barely acknowledged them as she stormed away.

Okay, first thing's first… check the perimeter for weaknesses, and fortify the parts that need work… She whistled for Stormfly, and stood at the doors of the clubhouse, watching the sky. Astrid knew that Hiccup wouldn't come back today, but there was still that faint hope… oh, gods, she missed him.

Stormfly landed beside her, the dragon squawking with excitement at the thought of a flight. Astrid frowned when she went over her plans to check the base. Everything seemed… bland, almost. Unimportant. Without Hiccup around, how did she know exactly what needed to be done and what didn't?

Confused, Stormfly shuffled on her feet, waiting for Astrid to climb on. The girl was snapped back to her senses, and shook her head. Stop being a baby, she told herself as she slid onto Stormfly. Hiccup will be back in a few days. You can last that long. You did it before when Hiccup, Snotlout, and Fishlegs went to help Johann from the wild dragons last year… She paused before nudging Stormfly to take off. So what changed?

"Let's go, girl," she said.

Stormfly cooed, and leapt off the platform with a powerful push of her claws. Astrid was about to direct the dragon towards the coast, when a pang of loneliness hit her. Hiccup and her used to make these rounds together, and it felt odd not being able to do it with him.

She found herself flying Stormfly towards Hiccup's hut, and bit her lip. Maybe Hiccup had laid out a list of things he wanted to get done, and then Astrid could do them. At least then she'd have something to do that Hiccup needed.

When the girl landed Stormfly next to Hiccup's hut, she hopped off and slowly walked inside after pushing open the door. The interior of the room was bland, but there were many of Hiccup's wild inventions laid around. The loft where Hiccup slept in loomed above her, and she knew that was the place she needed to be.

Astrid climbed up to the platform that Hiccup slept in, and looked around. Of course, everything was in a mess, as it usually was when Hiccup was working recently. "Now, where would Hiccup keep a list of chores?" she whispered, walking over to his untidy desk. It was littered with crumpled papers and sketches of new inventions, but Astrid sensed she could find something useful if she looked.

Maybe in his notebook? she guessed, frowning. After a minute of searching, she finally found it buried under the rest of Hiccup's papers. "Ah! Here it is," she muttered, and flipped it open.

She was surprised to see what was first in the journal.

There was a detailed drawing of Astrid on the first page, every mark carefully drawn. Astrid could even count every hair on her head that Hiccup had stroked down with his charcoal, and felt her heart thud faster as she examined the sketch more.

The picture of herself was so lifelike… her eyes were full of eagerness and determination, and she had her usual faint smile decorating her face. But the way Hiccup had so elegantly drawn the girl… it took Astrid's breath away.

All of the sudden she felt curious, and wondered if there were any more drawings inside. So, if a bit sheepishly, Astrid turned the page.

The girl sucked in a breath when she realized what was there.

Journal entries.

"I shouldn't be reading these," she said, against snooping into Hiccup's private works. "They're his own thoughts, and…." Astrid trailed off when she noticed her name in one of the paragraphs. Well, she reasoned, if my name is in there, I should have the right to see what it is.

With a nervous swallow, she began to read.

--------------

Dear myself,

Astrid looked really pretty today.

I wanted to compliment her about it, but the last time any boy said that she looked nice got a bad twisted wrist, so I held off. I want to tell her someday, though. I'm just not sure how she'll take it.

Astrid's getting prettier by the day, I think. I'm not sure she notices it yet, but it's still easy to tell that she's still the same Astrid she was all those years ago, if not on the outside anymore, then on the inside.

I thought about asking Johann for a pearl necklace to give her, but I quickly decided against it. Astrid isn't the one for necklaces. Maybe I'll get her an ax instead.

Until the next entry,

-HHH III

--------------

Astrid froze, and a breath caught in her throat.

What?

Hiccup thought all of these nice things about her, but had refrained from saying them in case of offending her. Which he could never do, because he was Hiccup. It just wasn't in his blood to insult someone.

Astrid took in a deep breath. She wasn't sure if she wanted to read any more, but was soon lured in by the entry.

----------

Dear myself,

I almost lost Astrid yesterday to Odin's Scourge, and every time I look at her now, I want to hold onto her forever. Of course, I can't do that or she'd strangle me. Or attack me with her ax. Either way, it'd be painful.

I wonder how she feels about almost dying. I want to confront her about it, but she already seems to have forgotten the incident, so I don't mention it.

My fears are worse at night. I dream about what would have happened if we hadn't gotten to the Buffalord in time… what if I had failed? Toothless comforts me when I wake up from a nightmare, but he can't erase the memories- or those terrible feelings...

I hope Astrid doesn't feel this way. And if she does, I wish she'd talk to me about it. I hate seeing her suffer when I can help.

Until the next entry,

-HHH III

--------------

Dear myself,

It turns out, Viggo put a bounty on me. Yep. Great news, I know.

You know what's even greater? I got kidnapped last night, and was only rescued today. I have to admit…. I was scared during the whole thing. I honestly thought I was going to be killed.

But then Astrid, my father, and the other Riders appeared. They saved me, and I'm really grateful. I had lost my prosthetic once the Riders arrived, but didn't expect to get any help. So when Astrid came over and helped me up, it felt nice to know she cared, because she always seems to put on a warrior face, not letting anything bother her. Yet when I was slightly injured, she lowered her walls and revealed concern for my well being. It was a new thing to experience, and I'm curious to see if she'll do it again.

Tomorrow, I'm looking forward to seeing her. You know, to thank her. I hadn't realized how much I missed seeing her until we were separated. But, she'd probably kill me if I told her that. Maybe in the future I'll ask her if she feels the same way.

Until the next entry,

-HHH III

--------------

Each word felt like an arrow to the chest.

Hiccup… did he actually feel this way? Did he truly miss her when they were gone, like she felt right now? Astrid's eyes darted down to the next entry, and she read it. Then she read another one. And another.

In each one, Hiccup mentioned Astrid and a piece of how he felt about her. His writing touched the girl deeply, and tears formed in her eyes. She'd be so selfish… never giving a second thought of her relationship with Hiccup. Sure, she had always loved him as a good friend, but never stopped to ponder if there was something more going on between them.

And right here was proof that there was. Well, at least in Hiccup's mind.

Suddenly, it felt like he was a million miles away from Astrid, making her almost wilt with sorrow. She'd have to wait days until he returned… and right now, that felt like forever. When he got back, she promised herself, she'd confront him about this.

Yes. She finally would.

Blinking back hot tears, Astrid closed the journal and placed it back on the table. "Come back soon, Hiccup," she whispered. "Please."

--------------

Rain slammed against the top of Astrid's hut, making her grimace from her seat in the room.

It was late at night, and Hiccup was supposed to have been back by now. In fact, he should have arrived hours earlier, which caused Astrid to begin a small panic. What if something happened to him in the storm? What if he was hurt or in trouble?

Astrid got up from the chair, and started to pace. She couldn't imagine living in a world without Hiccup. No, nothing had happened to him… she was just overreacting. He must have gotten caught up, that was it.

Stopping her footsteps, Astrid stood in the middle of her hut, and hugged herself.

After a sigh, she took a breath in as she stared at the floor. He'd be back soon. He had to be. After everything she had learned about his feelings, she wasn't going to give up. It wasn't too late.

Oh, if only I told him sooner…

"Astrid."

That faint, playful, yet stern voice echoed across the room, traveling over to the girl. She shivered, daring to hope that her pleads would be answered. Wanting the speaker of the voice to be him.

It had to be.

She looked up, tears evident in her crystal blue eyes. A hand flew to her mouth when she saw him in the doorway.

With rain-soaked hair that dripped freely onto the floor, he looked a bit awkward. Every strand of his auburn hair was pressed flat against his head, and his eyes were like two green jewels in a sea of white sand, both welcoming yet set back.

Hiccup.

Before she knew it, Astrid ran at the boy and threw her arms around him, placing her chin on his shoulder. It felt nice there, despite the recent wetness of the rain. "Don't scare me like that again!" she whisper-scolded. "I didn't know where you were, or if you were in trouble… gods, Hiccup... "

Hiccup winced. "Sorry. Toothless had a bit of trouble flying in the rain, so we had to stop on a couple of sea stacks on the way here... so, what happened while I was gone?" He chuckled. "Well, anything besides the twins and Snotlout blowing up things?"

Astrid closed her eyes, clutching him tighter. "Hiccup, I… I found your journal."

She felt Hiccup stiffen in her grip, but he didn't pull away. "A-Astrid… I can explain. If it offended you in any way-"

But Astrid had had enough of Hiccup's protesting, of his selflessness. So, she planted a kiss on his cheek, smiling when she saw his dazed expression. "That's for everything you wrote in the journal," she told him.

Hiccup smiled weakly in return.

Then, Astrid leaned in and kissed him again- this time on the lips.

"And that's for everything else."

#hiccstridrtte #hiccstrid #thepurplewriter333 #theguestbusters #thepurplewriter333fanfiction #whileyouweregone #whileyouweregonethepurplewriter333 #cutehiccstrid #httyd #httydfanfiction #howtotrainyourdragon #racetotheedge #rtte

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imafoxylilringirl · 8 years ago

Text

Place Called Home

Prologue/Chorus: Someday I’ll Go Where There Ain’t No Rain or Snow��

(five years ago)

“That’s the place!” Nick shouted as Finnick passed their destination by almost half a block.

Nick left the van as soon as they were parked and walked to the small, one bedroom two story house. He checked his phone and the picture matched up. It looked... cozy.

Better words come to mind, really. Cramped especially.

The grass was a little overgrown, it was amusing to have found any grass, living in this part of the city but some mammals managed. Older, smaller houses littered between the large apartment buildings often did. They had their own little plot of land. They were more land than house more often than not.

There were a yellow rose bush planted on either side of the pathway up to the door. He had been told before that yellow roses mean friendship and welcome in the language of flowers. They were his mother’s favorite.

She was the reason he was here. Her birthday was soon and her hobby room was growing bare. He looked through some of her knitting magazines and found some projects highlighted. Fibers she never worked with. He did some searches on Cougarlist and found a basement sale. Skeins of angora wool among the list.

He knocked at the door and there was no answer. He waited then found the doorbell pull. She had to be home she had said she was always home in the e-mail.

“That’s rare...” He pulled and could hear the ringing of the melodious bells.

“Ah! One moment!” A panicked voice yelled up from the basement window a couple yards away.

There was a clatter and he realized he had heard thumping noises all along. Would explain why the knocks on the door didn’t get reacted to. Even when steps could be heard close to the door it took a good 3 minutes before it opened.

“H-hello!” A flustered voice and long ears with the thickest, longest, softest, white wool he ever saw answered. The smell of anxiety crashed into him like a wave from the ocean. The wooly folded down and his eyes followed to see a squirmy, dust rag of a young doe with upturned pale, yet vivid blue eyes. She wore ear phones around her neck, sound coming out of them and what looked like a predominately white and green sailor school uniform with a red scarf.

It’s 10 A.M. what was this kit doing home? A bunny home? With this setup I expected goats and old ones at that. Heck older bunnies. An old wi-doe. But a family?

“Good morning, Honey Bunny. Is your mommy home?” Nick smiled and said in his most sweet voice. He regretted it as soon as he heard the snort. She was laughing the hearty laugh of a grown doe. He felt like a fool. What could he say? Bunnies threw him off. He wondered if this was how Finnick felt when mammals thought he was a child when he wanted to be seen as an adult. Or more accurately if they found out he was... at least she laughed instead of dick punched him.

“No, thank the rutting Moon.”

Small paws smacked went up and her own mouth shut. Most mammals didn’t expect words like that from a bunny. Her ears blushed brighter.

“I’m at the very least 10 years younger than you think,” she said smoothing her hands over her pleated skirt. She had forgotten that he was going to be there when she had gotten dressed this morning. She was binge watching the one of her favorite childhood animations and wanted to cosplay today. Who was she kidding? She would have cosplayed even knowing someone was coming. Costumes made her feel secure and like she could be someone else... anyone else.

“I’m Rin. You wanted some of my homespun, right? C-come in.” If she hadn’t laughed tears of anxiety would have more than likely overwhelmed her. Even now they stung her and threatened to spill. She wasn’t the best with meeting new mammals. She was already starting to feel the squeeze of panic in her heart. She saw his ears move behind his head. She knew she did something wrong, she always doing something wrong. Was it when she laughed? Of course it could have been her slip of the tongue.

It had to be a bunny. And of course she’s scared of the big bad fox. I could drown in the smell of her anxiety. Why is she asking me in if she’s going to be that scared? He looked down as her small paw reached out for his larger one and he was shocked when she actually pulled him into the messy living room.

Balls of yarn. Yards of fabric, piles of books and comic books, sketches. And in the middle of it all was a path. A path leading to the kitchen door.

“Sorry about the mess... ” Rin said the inside of her ears feeling like they were on fire. She could barely hear the music coming from her headphones with the pulsing circulating through them. She always loved listening to music. Other than the two people in her life it was her only saving grace when she had to interact with strangers. Or go outside. “I was looking for a book and my current project drawers kinda exploded... heh...heh....”

“Did you ever find the book?” Nick said with a grin of relief, coming to understand he wasn’t the one she had the problem with per se. It was something fast to pick up on. At least to him. He spent most of his days mammal watching.

“Eeheheh...” Ears shot up and back down and a nervous laugh spilled out of her as they walked down the stairs to the basement but she felt loads better with him teasing her. She realized she was still holding his paw and let go. “I forgot which book I was looking for, grabbed a different one that I was looking for last week and decided I wanted again. It’s probably back under everything else that I pulled out of the drawers.”

There were outfits in many different sizes that hung from the pipes that connected water to the tiny house. There were classic music instruments that looked like they were pulled straight from antiquity. There was a weaving loom, a spinning wheel and several drawers and tote bins piled to as high as logic and gravity would sustain... minus the logic. The spinning wheel and the bins were packed tightly together and the weaving loom had just barely enough room around it for it to exist in the small room let alone to have a stool set in front of it. Being a small bun had it’s advantages it looked like. It was clearly the thumping he heard before. Underneath it was a laptop that had the frozen image of a young lioness in an identical school uniform. On the wall, behind the harps, other stringed instruments and photos were rugs of different textures.

“What are you selling?” He was too fascinated by all the objects he didn’t notice her stepping off into an adjacent room that held the house heater or the even smaller if possible room the size of a walk in closet. In the center of the room was a dress form an a silky, shimmery, and beaded white wedding dress that was as stunning as all wedding dresses. Beyond that hanging on the wall was shelf with wooden bobbins and the beginnings of a lacy veil. He was speechless. /HE/ was speechless... “Wow, Snowball. What is it exactly you do?”

“I much prefered the other nickname, Stranger.” Her upturned eyes looked sideways and a soft smile played at her short muzzle. “I do what I can. Mostly I create things, at least I try. I call myself a textile artist.”

“I’d say you succeed, Honey Bunny.” Nick smiled. He could feel her heat rise in a room this small. He wondered if it was from his words or her being brave enough to request it. Then it could have been she dragged a strange fox into her home without even knowing his name. He watched the long wool on her tail bob happily. “Nick Wilde. What all are you selling?”

“You asked that already,” Rin smiled and reached his pads up to touch the wedding dress. She had a heightened sense of weight of things and what they felt like against her fur, her nose and the inside of her ears but she liked seeing his reaction to actually touch it with his pads. It was a completely different sense compared to her sense of touch. She loved differences of all animals. She liked the reaction he had. “Anything down here except for this is basically for sale. Are you interested in more than the yarn?”

“I might be.”

Rin opened up a gray bin an there was vividly dyed balls of yarn. Nick searched for what he wanted and asked questions about what he needed for his mother’s project.

“I’m guessing you aren’t selling that beast of a weaving loom or the spinning wheel either.”

“Oh... yeah... if there are any takers. You’re the only person to have come though.” She didn’t sound or look too happy. She wasn’t but she would give anything to reach her goal. She looked up at the dress. “Everything must go. There simply isn’t enough room. Starting a family takes money. Need a bigger house. Need less stuff. Need a real job.”

“Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

“Oh yes! It’s been a long time coming.”

“I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in your dress on the day.”

Rin sighed.

“I still haven’t even decided what I’m making for myself yet.”

“That dress isn’t yours?” Nick’s eyes flicked to the dress.

A hearty laugh rang in his ears again.

“Nope. My twin brother, Sugar, is getting married to Kit. I introduced them a few years back.”

Nick put the balls of yarn into hatbox that was offered to him and they walked through the room with the heater back to the craft room.

“So what’s the story with this?” Nick gestured to the unorthodox collection. “There’s got to be a story.”

“Ho, boy. You just opened yourself up for a WORLD of hurt.” Rin climbed up to the top of the stack of totes and started lowering them to him. “For you see, I am a spinner of yarns a weaver of tales. Do you really want to know the story?”

Nick shrugged and smiled. “I have the time. I have to look through all this stuff, after all.”

“You’re really interested in my junk?!” Rin threw her arms around his waist and gave him the biggest bear hug a bunny could manage.

“If you don’t kill me, Doll!” Nick patted the fluff between her ears. “Now, that story.”

“Have you ever had a dream? Something that was ripped from you? A dream that you gave away after other people tried to rip to shreds?”

#Nick Wilde #Lilrin German #OC #Fanfiction #Zootopia

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peace-coast-island · 8 years ago

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#ChoicesCreates: Friendship

Title: Quaintrelle (The Royal Romance) Summary: Quaintrelle - a woman who emphasizes a life of passion, expressed through personal style, leisurely past times, charm, and cultivation of life’s pleasures. Enid Zuberi (MC) writes to a dear friend.

Dear Seraphina,

It’s still hard for me to accept what happened but I’m trying my best. Your mother stopped by a few days ago with a box that you left for me. I didn’t get the courage to open it until last night.

The first thing I saw was the handmade sketchbook you got at an arts and crafts fair a few years ago. I remember you telling me that you wanted to use it someday but you were also afraid of ruining it. You always wanted to save it for your masterpieces. It makes me sad to think of all the wonderful art you could have drawn. I always wished that I could draw as well as you.

The sketchbook was kept on your self, waiting for the right occasion to be used. You wanted to open it on a towel laying on the sand with your art supplies spread out, ready for inspiration to strike. A relaxed breezy day on the beach with just the two of us. Funny how we took days like that for granted until time starts running short.

We never thought the sketchbook would be opened in a dreary space that became your second home whether you liked it or not. instead of being surrounded by paintbrushes and pens, there were IVs and equipment. It hurt seeing you struggle with holding a pencil, those once fluid lines turn wobbly and unsteady. That was the summer that marked the beginning of the end.

No matter how hard it was, you challenged yourself to fill one page with your art. I always admired your determination, even when things were bleak. During the time you stayed at the hospital, you sketched whatever came to mind and when I visited I would bring some of your art supplies. Looking through your sketchbook, I have to say that a lot of these are masterpieces.

I don’t know why you left this for me though. I understand the pictures and your camera as you were an avid photographer. And that nautical keychain I helped you win at a fair after spending several tickets trying. Your jar of paper stars we made the night after we graduated high school with our wishes written inside them.

But why your sketchbook? You left a letter for everyone in an envelope but you stuck mine in the book. In the PS, you told me to keep making masterpieces to fill it up. I wasn’t sure what you meant since my drawing and art skills are nowhere near yours. I guess that’s why it took me over a week to finally respond to you. It feels weird doing this so I can’t promise you that I’ll keep up with this but it’s worth a try. At least I’m feeling a little better getting my feelings out like this. So that’s what I’m gonna do with your sketchbook.

To quote you: “Someday we’ll meet again in the far future and you’d better have a lot of stories to tell me. Hell, I’ll come back to haunt you if you’re just sitting around mourning for an eternity. Promise me, you’ll live, Enid. Not just for me, but for you, for us.”

That was the last thing you ever said to me and I’ll never forget it. So I’ll fill these pages and when we meet again, I’ll share my stories.

From your best friend forever, Enid

P.S. - If you are gonna haunt me at least give me a sign so I know it’s you!

Today would’ve been your twenty-second birthday. So for you I’m rowing a boat and releasing a balloon in the air for you. It’s light blue, your favorite color, and I tied one of your favorite ribbons at the end, the light pink lace one that you like to wear in the spring. The balloon actually reminds me a lot about you, a free spirit letting the wind carry her away.

Remember the hidden cave at the beach where we often spent our summers? Hard to believe that it’s been a few months since we last came. It feels strange being here without you. Of course I couldn’t come alone and took Ollie with me. We couldn’t stay long, it was too much for us. That’s why I suggested that we spend the rest of the day on the boat. Ollie also wrote a message for you on the balloon, I didn’t see what it was though - keeping that a surprise for you!

We were out until pretty late, so late that we almost didn’t notice it was getting dark and the boat was going in the opposite direction. Instead of going down memory lane, we just sat and watched the world around us. If you were there you’d be pulling our your paints and a canvas to capture the scenery. I kept an eye on your balloon until it faded into the evening sky. Now you can wander the stars at your heart’s content.

Happy birthday Sera.

I never thought I’d end up back in the waiting room of the hospital so soon. This is the sixth time I’ve been in this position.

First my grandfather, who I barely remember. I think I was around two or three and blissfully unaware.

Second time was my aunt, around the time I was able to understand that sometimes it doesn’t get better. A year later I attended a funeral for the first time.

Third was my grandmother and by then we knew it before the doctor told us. She kept her head up until the very end.

Fourth was my father after a long battle. You and Ollie were there for me and my mother from the diagnosis to his final moments. I can’t thank you two enough for helping us through a difficult time.

Fifth was Seraphina Castiglioni, my best friend. You fought twice before, triumphant each time. But after years of remission it came back stronger than ever and your days were slowly fading away. Still, you lived every day to the fullest and left the world with a smile while holding my hand.

Now I’m back in the waiting room, sixth time with my mother. It’s been a few weeks and she’s gone through a lot of tests. I’m afraid but I have to stay strong for her, for us. At least Ollie’s here with me so I won’t be so alone. I really hate being in this room.

Sera, I miss you so much. Please give me the strength to get through the next few days.

I did it. I went out to the cave alone. And I’m glad I did.

I can’t remember the last time I was at the beach, it feels like such a long time ago. But I guess that happens when your life changes at an instant. Ollie’s doing well in school, I insisted that he’d go back instead of taking the semester off like he wanted. I feel bad for him since he’s close to Mom but we didn’t want him to drop everything for us. Mom made him promise that he make the Dean’s list again. I promised to keep him updated on her condition.

Mom’s doing as best she can. Still, there are days when she can’t do anything at all and I feel terrible for her. You know how I hate being helpless. It hurts seeing her like this. And the same for seeing you and my father go through the same. Why do things like this happen to people? Why?

At least today was a good day for her. She insisted that I go out and treat myself. I think the new medications are helping out a lot but her doctor says it’s too soon to tell if things are getting better. I’m glad that she’s able to spend the day out of bed and doing stuff. When I left, she was working on her garden, which looked more lively now that she was there. I told her not to wear herself out and she laughed and said that it’s a mother’s job to worry about her daughter, not the other way around. Then she told me to be back home in time for dinner.

It took a bit longer than expected to reach the cave. The sky was a bit cloudy and it got sort of windy later on. Finally after some difficulty, I made it to the cave. Walking in there alone felt like I was going down memory lane. I can still see us running around and hear us talking about things like it was yesterday. But at the same time it feels like a lifetime ago.

Remember how we used to go treasure hunting? You always knew the best places to find sea glass and seashells. What about the first time we went cliff diving? Ollie and I were nervous while you just dove right in. And how we’d have picnics in the cave? I noticed that there’s a basket left in the back where we hid stuff.

Then I found a small box hidden behind it. I opened it and saw a note that was in your handwriting. It said “To Ollie, with love, Sera.”. Underneath was a silver bracelet with our names engraved on it. This was your present to Ollie, something you meant to give him when he came back from college. I remember seeing you stop by a jewelry store to pick something up.

Was that why you wanted us to go with you to the cave last summer? I know you told me not to dwell on the past too much but seeing that box, I wished that we went out that day. It still wouldn’t change much but still, I’d give anything to have one more day with the three of us hanging out.

With all the things going on later that summer, it’s no surprise that you forgot about it. There’s a few other things we left in here like some old pictures, a few treasures we found, and some notes that are too hard to read now. It’s hard to believe that a year has passed since you left the box in there and the last time the three of us spent the day in the cave together.

You were always stubborn, you know that? By then you could barely get out of the house but you insisted on going to the cave. Possibly for the last time, like you were saying goodbye to an old friend. Despite your frail appearance, you looked as bright as ever. That was the last time you stepped outside.

The next day you thanked me and Ollie for one of the best days of your life. For as long as I live I’ll never forget that day. You wanted us to remember you in a way that makes us happy. That’s why I want to hold on to that day, to remember the bright, lively Sera who lives by the wind and sea.

#ChoicesCreates #choices #playchoices #The Royal Romance #headcanon ramble #Enid Zuberi #hospital mention tw #death mention tw #wow this went a bit longer than i thought but i had a lot of ideas #idk this could make for a longer fic #was thinking of ending it with an entry that takes place early in trr but it didn't feel right for a good ending

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eddiejpoplar · 7 years ago

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By Design: Genesis Essentia Concept

In terms of physical appearance, this flashy, highly attractive all-electric sports car is as pure a dream car as it’s possible to make. Practicality is sacrificed to style everywhere, but I suspect that was intentional. Witness the sublime all-glass roof, exquisite in profile and plan, unblemished by ordinary details like rain gutters, rearview mirrors, or windshield wipers. There’s ample structure within, but it’s all well hidden with no external manifestation. Rear-seat headroom is severely restrained, but who cares? It’s magnificent visually, and that’s certainly what was desired. Bumpers, marker lamps, license plate brackets, locks, all those real-world necessities distributed over the whole body, are simply ignored for the Essentia. Aesthetically, that’s all to the good. Practically, not so much.

When I started work for a major manufacturer 64 years ago, stylists were told by the best body engineers in the business that side windows had to be a couple of inches inward from the nominal body surfaces, and they had to be flat because curved windows were too expensive to even think about. But we could sketch and factories could make extreme wraparound windshields just two decades after the first curved windshield in a production car (1934 Chrysler Airflow Imperial).

Ten years after we were told it was unthinkable, curved side glass was featured on 1964 Ramblers. Curved glass, later generalized throughout the industry, was still set in from the ideal surface, though. Engineers couldn’t do flush glass, or so they thought, until Audi showed the way 20 years later. So maybe a lot of what we see here will be with us sooner than we expect.

In fact, perhaps we should consider the Essentia as the Car of Tomorrow (though it is not fully autonomous), because many of its deviations from today’s normal practices could become standard soon. Consider its lack of regulation-height bumpers and the fact that the rear spoiler is vulnerable to damage from truck front ends. Bumpers will be unnecessary if self-driving cars all but eliminate crashes, and as more of the total human-driven fleet becomes computer-aided, even those cars will (probably) stop themselves before they hit anything. But that has no bearing on the fleet on the road today, many of them half of a century old and totally without driver aids.

So we’ll just get rid of them. Older (and not very old, at that), primarily diesel cars are being restricted and soon might be banned outright in many European cities, including Mercedes-Benz’s home town of Stuttgart. Someday soon we Americans may find our cherished early Mustangs, Camaros, and their ilk banished from urban areas, too. If that happens, in-town fender-benders will become rare indeed. But that doesn’t mean we’ll all travel in bland, characterless pods. Instead, many of tomorrow’s cars—like this one—can, and probably will, be gorgeous objects precisely because they’ll be impervious to (or at least unthreatened by) traffic damage, if not to acts of God. But electronic protection won’t stop falling trees or rising flood waters. Not yet, anyway.

Worth Noting: The images here are not retouched photographs. They’re not photos at all, actually, but instead computer-generated renderings, made from the same data set that formed the tooling for the body panels.

1. The lower lip of the nose, derived from the lower corner air scoops, is really nicely modeled. Why those big air inlets are there at all is another question.

2. This hard line defines the separation of external lower body surfaces and the bubble canopy roof from the interior panels of the complex front end, with its transparencies allowing a look at the front suspension components.

3. The glass extension of the windshield, which might nominally be considered the hood, is depressed from the principal envelope, dropping down sharply behind the grille, which is itself set behind the triangular main air inlet.

4. This elegant crease represents the fender profile and disappears in the rear deck in the same way it rises from the body skin here.

5. You get a clear impression of the depth of the side indentation in this view. There is a passage from the front corner inlets to the leading edge of the side cove.

6. It’s hard to believe that these two tiny light bars are capable of providing adequate headlight illumination, but LEDs and computer-controlled reflectors are able to do amazing things today.

7. The main blade of the lower lip runs into the corner inlet; a separate blade finishes the fender form behind it. Beautiful modeling, but any aerodynamic benefit is not discussed.

8. Three Layers back, this textured grille closes off the part you can see.

9. The nicely modulated triangular inlet shape, with a softly curved upper bar and a pair of kinked straight sections joined by a nice radius at the bottom, makes a pleasant composition.

10. Just behind is a parenthesis-shaped grille frame with a single horizontal bar running the full width and a pair of bars above the outer ends. It’s all a little complicated.

1. The entire roof shape is elegantly aerodynamic, a perfect fastback profile.

2. The rear-seat headrests are visible and suggest this cabin is meant for two adults and two children—not two couples.

3. It might have been good to have a little more rise in the fender profile over the rear wheels, but this is smooth and subtly graceful, hard to fault.

4. Back up to a wall, and it’s the spoiler trailing edge that will touch, not the nominal bumper strike face.

5. The curve at the rear of the door is superb, though the front door cut is unusually convoluted. Door length is exceptionally long, tough for access in tight quarters.

6. A curiosity is the ending of the upper side lamp so that a line tangent to the two light blades is not parallel to the panel edge behind them.

7. The intricate wheels are a visual mixture of old-fashioned wires and thin-ribbed alloy designs, milled from solid billets. Exceptionally impressive objects, however made.

8. A nice bladelike nose leans rearward both above and below the strong peak line derived from the lamps. No bumper protection at all for this dramatic concept car.

1. The sharp crease on the front fender peak carries on all the way past the end of the roof glazing.

2. The subtle hard line generated by the leading edge of the hole in the top of the nose carries all the way around the car.

3. The fluidity of the glass “hood” flowing up into the windshield can be appreciated in this high rear view.

4. A particularly nice detail is the small, flat band described by the hard line on the nose that is just a bit behind the intersection of the backlight and the painted skin, making a slight—very slight—break in the fastback profile.

5. Another reasonably hard line defines the break from fastback profile to full-width rear spoiler.

6. The central round-bottom V-shaped feature occupies some space below the oval indent described by the spoiler edge, above, and the diffuser surface tapering forward and down.

7. The upper edge of the diffuser panel runs below the nominal bottom of the body, leaving a gap so the diffuser seems to be completely detached.

8. The side cove, very much like that on 1956-62 Corvette C1 models, has no trim outlining its shape but does have a rib to catch the light that runs from behind the rear door cut into the big front fender outlet just ahead of the door.

1. Thumbwheels in the spokes are practical. Someone has seen a Tesla Model 3, it would appear.

2. The fat, leather-covered steering wheel rim looks sharp and is flattened at the bottom to signify “sport.”

3. The square-cornered digital data panel looks out of place amid the voluptuous curves and soft materials. A soft surround with internal corner radii would be nice.

4. The manner in which the layered side treatment carries all the way around to the toe board is aesthetically pleasing and should be good for cabin quiet. Not that electrics are noisy.

5. Likewise, the diagonal pleating at 45 degrees from the seat centerline aesthetically successful, providing directional thrust visually and suggesting comfort.

6. The texture of the cockpit sidewall changes slightly at the front door cut.

7. The joining of the door side-panel upholstery coming away from the armrest to the seat cushion leaves no gaps for pens or glasses to fall into. It is an impressive detail that promises excellent comfort.

1. The rear edge of the spoiler is described by a flat band, the lower edge of which outlines the rear fascia oval encompassing the rear lamps.

2. The lower surface of that oval is in opposition to the underside of the spoiler. Well sculpted.

3. The two-bar taillights recapitulate the front-end theme and are wonderfully simple and thus elegant.

4. This hard line softens a bit toward the center of the car, but the rear panel is clearly defined.

5. Four pendant fins in the rear diffuser suggest racing intentions.

6. The bottom edge of the rear fender sweeps upward dramatically.

7. The lower profile of the sill flows upward from the rear wheel opening then turns downward to parallel the bottom edge of the cove.

8. This rib curves upward from its origin at the end of the side cove then thrusts forward into the black hole at the back end of the front fender.

#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger 6

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jonathanbelloblog · 7 years ago