Saturday Snippets
Apr. 13th, 2024 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluedalahorseI worked on some fic today and intend to keep working on it as much as I’m able!
This is Young Royals fic, post-series. I’ve sent August and Nils to Georgetown for university, and Kristina’s come to see them in Washington DC. This may or may not be spoiler-free, so I’m cutting it just in case. Content note for some implied past struggles with disordered eating.
“These shirts. Isn’t this one old?” Kristina reaches over and pinches the bit of fabric just above the cuff of August’s shirt, then looks to Nils “Tell me he’s been wearing his new ones.”
“His what?” says Nils.
August pulls his arm away. He tells himself it’s only so he can spear another bite of crab and avocado onto his salad fork. “Nils doesn’t pay attention to what I’m wearing.”
“Everyone’s going to pay attention to what you’re wearing,” says the queen. “If it makes you feel better, they’ll pay attention to me first.”
“She sent me shirts for work,” says August to Nils. Then to the queen he adds, “Thank you, Kristina. It was thoughtful.”
They’re supposed to use first names in relatively informal settings like this—of course they are, they’re family, Kristina has told August a thousand times that they’re cousins and he’s an adult and it’s not 1905 so she isn’t “Cousin Kristina” or “Aunt Kristina” or anything that sounds like a hand-knit sweater or an overstuffed armchair with a cat in it. But it might be nice, August thinks, if they had an extra word as a buffer zone between them.
“Have you worn the shirts yet?” says Kristina. “We’ll sort things out if they’re the wrong size. Do they fit?”
“They’re the right size,” says August, and that’s true. But it doesn’t mean they fit. The cut is off. Or maybe it’s the color scheme—Easterly pink and yellow checks, burnt orange, dusty light blue with darker blue pinstripes. None of which August would have picked out for himself, or with his mother or Rickard’s help.
August doesn’t say anything more. Instead he stares down at the remaining slice of avocado on his plate, and his stomach tightens, because the avocado doesn’t look like food anymore.
I hope everyone is having a great evening, and I wish fruitful writing time to all who write!
This is Young Royals fic, post-series. I’ve sent August and Nils to Georgetown for university, and Kristina’s come to see them in Washington DC. This may or may not be spoiler-free, so I’m cutting it just in case. Content note for some implied past struggles with disordered eating.
“These shirts. Isn’t this one old?” Kristina reaches over and pinches the bit of fabric just above the cuff of August’s shirt, then looks to Nils “Tell me he’s been wearing his new ones.”
“His what?” says Nils.
August pulls his arm away. He tells himself it’s only so he can spear another bite of crab and avocado onto his salad fork. “Nils doesn’t pay attention to what I’m wearing.”
“Everyone’s going to pay attention to what you’re wearing,” says the queen. “If it makes you feel better, they’ll pay attention to me first.”
“She sent me shirts for work,” says August to Nils. Then to the queen he adds, “Thank you, Kristina. It was thoughtful.”
They’re supposed to use first names in relatively informal settings like this—of course they are, they’re family, Kristina has told August a thousand times that they’re cousins and he’s an adult and it’s not 1905 so she isn’t “Cousin Kristina” or “Aunt Kristina” or anything that sounds like a hand-knit sweater or an overstuffed armchair with a cat in it. But it might be nice, August thinks, if they had an extra word as a buffer zone between them.
“Have you worn the shirts yet?” says Kristina. “We’ll sort things out if they’re the wrong size. Do they fit?”
“They’re the right size,” says August, and that’s true. But it doesn’t mean they fit. The cut is off. Or maybe it’s the color scheme—Easterly pink and yellow checks, burnt orange, dusty light blue with darker blue pinstripes. None of which August would have picked out for himself, or with his mother or Rickard’s help.
August doesn’t say anything more. Instead he stares down at the remaining slice of avocado on his plate, and his stomach tightens, because the avocado doesn’t look like food anymore.
I hope everyone is having a great evening, and I wish fruitful writing time to all who write!
