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reinepadova · 3 years

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To Be Seen

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‘A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.’ Will I be able to hear yours?

It's almost sunrise. Mei might wake up soon.

Stella let out a short, measured breath, wiping a hand on her skirt to get rid of the excess dust – and slime death, she mused in mild satisfaction – before reaching up to get to the next ledge.

Sudden tremors made her freeze. Her thoughts race at the impossibility of another attack when an ocher column emerged horizontally next to her with a small blast. She sighed.

How could I forget.

She shot steely eyes up, narrowing at the glowing horn tips peaking over the edge of the mesa, with the creature attached to them no doubt resting luxiously at the top while waiting patiently for her to complete her ascension.

They've been over this. It's like the creature's ears are merely decoration with how much it doesn't listen to her. “Mr. Guardian. Please. We're absolutely close now. As helpful as you have been, its time you return to protecting your area. Trouble won't find me again this time. I am sure of it,” she stressed, forcing more confidence in her voice than what she actually feels. She ignored the aches and pains in muscles she wasn't aware she had. Stubborn creature. Why won't it leave her alone?

Silence met her for a long minute, making her perk up.

Is it finally considering? Thank the ski –

A low, dismissive grunt and a visible snout, tilted upwards, made her eyebrow twitch and her whole body deflate. She pursed her lips, reluctantly pulling herself on the resonating stone with a wary eye, dusting her hands absently as she stood. When she turned bland eyes at the creature, calm amber orbs met her.

A tense stillness lingered, an edge of pressure settling in her chest as she maintained eye contact. Wills battled like an Electro Crystal, shocking and numbing you when you get in the way. It lasted for a long moment before the serpentine thing shook its mane once, flicking its tail broadly at her, reminiscent of how she would wag her finger at Mei after getting caught doing mischief. Stella fumed, eyes sharpening like daggers at the condescension.

They've been like this all evening until the early morn: her, trying to discourage it from following – nay, 'guiding' her way – while it persistently stuck at her side, snout prodding at her leg intermittently before pointing at another way. Admittedly, the turns and drop points it led to made the journey back easier – and safer – keeping well away from the groups of snoozing chubby geo energy.

When she tried to outrun it – after gesturing in appropriate gratitude, like how the people of Liyue would – its body coiled before spiraling up, graceful and grand, into the air, golden spikes shining against the moonlight, before facing her, eyeing her smugly, gaze now level with her own. Stella felt the heavy weight of her bag on her tired shoulder again as the floating guardian cruised easily, nudging her shoulder this time to another path unknown but undoubtedly still safe. Her patience grew thin, like waves eroding stone on the shore.

Stella squared her stance, determined to argue her case for the final time. “Look. I appreciate your guidance. But I just need to go over this hill and up to the Chief's residence. See those steps? They lead right up to it. So with all due respect, I request we part ways here. I'm sure you have better things to do than keep me company.” Mr. Guardian only blinked back, ever stoic, ever steadfast, like the rocks and gems it so resembles.

A different angle then? Stella cleared her throat, softening her tone. “As grateful as I am by your...escort, that place needs your attention more than me. Isn't that why you lingered? I'm not even one of the residents. I'm a complete stranger to these parts. You know this, yes? I won't loiter, I promise. I'll be on my way right after I get my charge. So just... ,” she huffed lamely, throwing a careless gesture behind them before climbing the final stretch to the hilltop, feeling the burn of golden orbs on her downturned face. An unusual sliver of guilt and sorrow grew, her heart thudded painfully with the weight of her emotions and the flash of dark memories.

In her world, all she knew was solitude. The discover of her unique blood, after an experiment gone wrong, made her both the target of envy, and adoration within their clan. An unholy reverence surrounded her person that no one is allowed to reach, to interact – less her value lessens.

If she bore children while in her 'highest' state – a form that fills her with self-loathing – she will produce perfection – or so her relatives would justify. Her descendants will be strong, beautiful, flawless. They can never succumb to any illness deadly to man, and will endure life with longer vitality. Her songs can soothe and heal, whether they be as benign as cuts and scratches, or as ruinous as broken bones or scalded skin.

Nothing is impossible – especially if you disregard the fact she'll feel the pain as each broken seam would stitch back together, each regeneration and painful growth slicing deep.

Hers was a life generations of her family has sought for, has craved for.

The power at their fingertips... no matter the cost...

She's the perfect bargaining chip... until she isn't.

I made sure of it.

Stella absently stroked at her abdomen, glancing at Mr. Guardian, eyes turning thoughtful as she focused on the present.

Nevertheless, no matter how less lonely she felt on the walk back to Qingce Village, she's not exhausted enough to forget her senses. She could just imagine how bizarre the sight of her will be entering the quiet settlement, a floating serpent at her side. The sight of gleaming claws and sharp teeth will cause a stir. And she's no fool. No matter how...subdued it seems, the power pouring out of its scales could not be ignored or understated. It's small stature is no doubt a front of what its truly capable of. It must be a guardian for a reason.

But, as intimidating as it may be, she felt... protected while in its presence. Safe. It's... nice.

However –

I can't get used to it. I just can't afford to.

If her guess was correct, the guardian is bound to this place, like all the other stone statues dotting in and around the village. As secure as she felt knowing someone, or something, will have her back, she knows once she and Mei returns to the harbor, she'll be the one to take care of things. She'll be the one that needs to do the protecting.

Until... until Mei is of age. Maybe have a family of her own. Someone else would cherish and protect her. And she'll... after that...

After that –

Stella minutely shook her head, stopping herself from letting her heartache show.

She won't linger on the thought, on the maybes or whatifs. That future is still so far away, so uncertain.

Even though she knows her future is uncertain –

Until then, I need to make sure Gran-gran's send off goes well. I just have to deal with life, one day at a time.

She eyed Mr. Guardian again, who remained unmoved, with a golden gaze both ominous and resolute. Its body was poised yet rigid, telling her how adamant the creature was about sticking with her until her journey's end.

She turned her head away, brows furrowing at the sight of orange light peaking at the distance, thoughts racing. The village may be full of the elderly and children, but they're hardworking, morning people, that rise with the sun. Spotting her and her unusual companion wouldn't be difficult. And because its full of the elderly and children, panic might erupt, causing unnecessary damage she knows she won't be able to compensate while already running low on energy – and mora. The Glaze Lilies she worked so hard for might also get lost in the process.

In short, not hiding the creature will be a hassle. And lastly –

Stella studied the stubborn creature as she rested a hand on her hip. A finger, tapping. “Alright, fine. You want to know why I don't want you going with me?” It tilted its muzzle, eyes turning intrigued. “I'm not exposing Mei to you. I promised to protect, and care for her. She already has enough heart ache as it is. I don't want her getting a heart attack from being face to face with something that has deadly claws and fangs.”

-{-}-

Golden orbs widened, thrown off guard by the admission – or was it a threat – the dig of claws on the ground easing. After a long moment, Morax could not help but chuff – the only way he could show amusement in this form – with eyes closing in relief, and great sympathy.

To protect with resolution. To uphold that which one has agreed upon with conviction –

The siren is more like a geode then. Many layers still guard her crystalline core.

He blinked, considering.

Morax then shook his mane, dismissing her worries gently, before floating up back at her side. He made one of his whiskers drift up, waiting until the lady directed her perplex eyes on him, before tapping at the end of her nose, chuffing slowly. She let out an indignant, but charming squeak, dispelling from the morose aura she surrounded herself in. He stretched out, encircling her form with his, and nuzzled softly at her shoulder. He paused, giving her time to make up her mind, before curling up more when he felt curious fingers slowly pet at his scales.

There is only so much he could do with this form, a far cry from the freedom that speech has granted him in his other when negotiating or imparting knowledge. It is... different, but not an unwelcome experience. He could only hope she is lucid enough to understand his meaning: comprehension, compassion, and comfort. For not only does he want any innocent under his watch, directly or indirectly, to go unscathed, but also to sate the growing curiosity he has for such an interesting entity – is she of the divine? Is she only mortal, but not of this world?

Will she be a threat to his Liyue?

He may yet know. Maybe not for a long time. But until then, he will oversee, he will keep watch – just as he has done for more than the past three millenia.

Hm. How peculiar. The thought seems... heavier, somehow.

Ah. He could feel the weight of her stare, full of disbelief. He refrained from snorting, giving her more time to digest that he's not just all brawn, unyielding like the Ice Crystals in Dragonspine. He can be as soft as clay when the need arises.

Eventually, her shoulders sagged, wordlessly admiting defeat. He closed his eyes again, satisfied.

Never has his persuasions failed. He is not about to break his record now.

-{-}-

Arriving at Granny Ruoxin's was easier than Stella thought, the sun barely peaking over Mt. Qingce. All was still and quiet, except for the bubbling waters and creaking wood from Ms. Bai's mill. She hurried, self consciously sneaking glances around her.

The moment they arrived at the steps, she turned and place her bag down, opening the flap.

“Inside,” she gestured with a pointed finger, raising a brow when the creature blinked back. “Since you seem unbothered of revealing yourself to people, I assume they're used to you here. But Mei isn't. I prefer controlling how you two would meet, even though its the Lilies I want to show her more.”

When the guardian narrowed its eyes, seeming to think it over, Stella closed her own, running a hand through her hair, channeling what remains of her composure.

Feeling movement and the soft brush of fur, Stella snapped her eyes open, seeing the guardian's tail curl up over the glowing blooms before settling, remaining still, like a large coil of braided rope around a wooden pole – except its a rock-like creature surrounding delicate little flowers. It's quite an enchanting sight.

Eyes softening, a small smile finally graced her tired face. “Thank you, Mr. Guardian.” She chuckled at the muffled, reply snort.

-{-}-

“You're back! Bekfast is ready~ Look! Mei helped Chief-dàmā lots!”

Mission failed.

Stella smiled, blank face a front to the series of fluctuating emotions coursing through her body. She watched the energetic girl stop long enough to set the table, tongue sticking out in concentration, before hopping back over to Granny Ruoxin.

“Don't just stand there, young lady. Dust yourself off and eat your fill. Little Mei has been excited to let you try her, ah, version of the Noodles with Mountain Delicacies,” the village chief crooned, eyeing her bag speculatively, but otherwise said nothing else about her night run.

“Yes. I'll, ah, go do that,” she muttered, facing forward to hide her back better. Its either Mei thought I was out early morning, or she's more perceptive and more understanding than a little girl should be. Her shoulders sagged again. She's maturing too fast.

When the busybodies turned back to coo excitedly at the stove, Stella mutely trudged to the next room, arms hugging a few choice items she snatched from a basket on the way.

Shutting the door with a soft kick, she kneeled at a corner, arranging the apples and sunsettias in a neat pile before shouldering her pack down. Star dotted orbs welcomed her at the opened flap, before a long muzzle slipped out, sniffing curiously at her offering. She hummed, “It's not much, I know. Unfortunately, the meat can't go missing before breakfast.” Stella stood, wetting a clean cloth nearby to scrub at her dusty face. “You prefer that don't you? With those teeth, you're definitely a predator. Or are you one of those spirits that prefer something exotic? Like a dish with fins or tentacles or – ” The creature reared back, snout scrunching in offense. Stella stifled a giggle, surprised at the unusually strong reaction.

Looks like its not made of rocks after all.

She quickly moved behind a screen, both to hide her amusement and freshen up. “That's good to know then. We're a long ways away from the sea. Just thinking about going to the harbor and back here is already exhausting.” She waited until she heard the telltale crunch of fruit being consumed before taming her hair, and using another cloth to wipe at herself as best she could.

“Lala? Lalaaa! You're taking so long. Mei's food will go cold!” A loud bang and the rush of small feet, which skid to an abrupt halt, silence following right after. Stella knitted her brow, confused, before her eyes widened, struggling against her clothes, sweating again for an entirely different reason.

-{-}-

In the many years Morax has existed, conquering all that oppose him, that threaten the safety of his chosen land, he fought foes that would otherwise destroy the very flesh and bones of beings made less than the divine. He subdued those that were as fierce and explosive as lava, that were dark and deceitful as magma, and those that were as cold and savage as the wild waters of the seas.

But the age of gods and monsters have passed, and a new age arose. A prosperous age. An eon of peace, much soughtafter. An era where the fragile could grow freely, in between the cracks of devastation and desolation. To spread their reach, and flourish. To learn. To improve. To create. To thrive and beautify, until those years of senseless destruction is but a distant memory, a myth, to be debated until the sands of time bury it completely.

A time now, where a tiny babe could boldly approach him, awe and amazement coloring her diminutive features, before gesticulating in proper, albeit clumsy courtesy. A whispered “Bìxià” solemnly left her lips. He rested on his haunches, blinking slowly, before nodding in acknowledgement. The child suddenly turned away, as if nothing had happened, inquisitively digging through the opened pack. She squealed, understanding immediately where the glowing is coming from.

Such splendid manners from a child so young. Sharp as a blade, but still so carefree. She is well cared.

Before long, the Miss... Lala was it? – or was this just a demonstration of the child's affection to the lady? – stumbled from behind the privacy divider, stuttering an explanation for his presence. She stopped at the child's happy sounds, eyes wide. Her shoulders relaxed as he continued to eat his humble meal, eyes closing to hide his amusement.

Ha! So even a fiery siren such as she can lose composure. Fascinating.

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A/N: I don’t know why I’ve agonized over this chapter. Mostly about how Zhongli should be addressed. Ah well~

#To Be Seen #zhongli x female OC #zhongli x oc #fanfiction #companion mini exuvia #shapeshifting archon #zhongli

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jenetica · 3 years

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A Brief Note from Our Sponsors: Us.

Greetings! If you’re here, it’s likely that you have questions or complaints about our decisions regarding the Calendar Girls series. An ominous start to this discussion, but truly, we welcome you! If you’re here, it means you have been emotionally impacted by our work and, even though this context isn’t the cheeriest, we are so, so grateful you (1) enjoyed our work enough to care about it, and (2) want to develop a better understanding of our process so that you can engage with Calendar Girl more.

First of all, we understand why you’d be upset with us! The cliffhanger at the end of AotM was a DOOZY and leaves a LOT of important questions unanswered, and we left you readers hanging for a LONG time. This post will, hopefully, assuage the worst of your fears without giving away too many plot points.

That being said, please note that there WILL be spoilers ahead. If you want to see the story unfold as we intended, do NOT read this post further. We will tell you now that the post addresses the Deadpool’s identity, our decisions regarding the construction of AotM and the final cliffhanger, our decisions regarding developing the sequel as a prequel, and our plans for future installments. And, naturally, the accusations of “queerbaiting.”

Let’s get started.

QUEERBAITING

It makes sense to open with the most serious issue, so let’s talk about queerbaiting. For anyone here who doesn’t know, queerbaiting is defined as the purposeful insinuation of a homosexual/queer relationship, only to backtrack/subvert that insinuation to avoid the queer relationship. For an example, see: Supernatural from Season 4 and on.

We have received accusations of queerbaiting for about four years, based exclusively on the reveal at the end of the final chapter. Similarly, we have received complaints that we duped readers into reading hetfic. So, to get things out of the way, yes, Deadpool is Gwen. No, it’s not a trick of the light, or a mistake, or some odd resemblance. They are one and the same. HOWEVER, that does NOT mean that we have queerbaited anyone.

First of all, the tags of the story are honest, and they always have been. AotM is tagged as a “Multi” fic, meaning that there are relationships of multiple orientations involved, and it is tagged with Peter/Gwen as well as Peter/Wade. Careless Whisper is tagged as F/M. We have never suggested or implied that the story would exclusively be slash fiction. We actually left multiple hints that Wade enjoyed femininity, at least as a practice, if not an identity. iFlail and I discussed this issue at length as we wrote/edited AotM and carefully crafted the story with queerbaiting in mind.

Peter is an unreliable narrator, he always has been, and he always will be. In AotM, Peter assumes Wade is a man and thus, for the purposes of the narrative, Wade is one. The truth, however, is less clean than that. We won’t get into the details here, but safe to say, gender is not binary, it is not permanent, and it is not inexorably linked to one’s biology. Wade has a complicated history and a complicated/unique sense of identity. We have always intended for him to be that way, just as we always intended for him to be notably, pointedly smaller than Peter.

The accusations of queerbaiting and/or conning readers into reading “het” fic are exclusionary of the greater conversation of gender identity. It was, frankly, disheartening to see so many people assume heterosexuality based exclusively on the last word of AotM. We hope that our work will challenge readers to be more mindful of the expansive world of gender, and to avoid assuming that a specific kind of pairing might involve specific kinds of body parts.

If you have any questions or reservations about our queerbaiting at this point, you are either welcome to keep reading future installments of this work to learn more, or you are welcome to stop altogether. The choice is yours.

CONSTRUCTING THE STORY ARC - PRESENT, PAST, AND FUTURE

With that hot-button topic out of the way, let’s talk about the greater concept of ending a story of a cliffhanger, our thoughts behind building this series, and our goals for future installments.

The second part of the Calendar Girl series, Careless Whisper, was written first, and it comes first chronologically. I (Jenetica) initially worked on the story by myself, as an exploration into the concept of “Gwen becoming Deadpool” to see how it might play out. I ended up writing a story I loved, so I moved onto the next part of the story, set four years later. This ended up becoming Angel of the Morning.

@iflailfic, a good IRL friend of mine from college, came onboard (after I wooed her with several stories worth of porn, as you can see through a jaunt through my posted works) to help me edit. She fell in love with AotM and, as we worked on first draft edits, she floated the idea of AotM coming before Careless Whisper. Honestly, I rejected the idea at first (not sure if she actually knows/remembers that part, lol), because I couldn’t fathom how we would be able to link the parts of the story together. But, eventually, I began to realize her point: AotM introduces our protagonists, develops the “current” world for the series, and has a more dynamic/engaging plot.

The cliffhanger was a joke at first. My idea. I think my exact words were something like, “LOLOL what if we just ended on ‘GWEN?’ OMG IMAGINE hahahahaha.” But, as we continued to edit… it became the perfect way to end things. Anything that came after that point felt like trash. If we’d expanded any further, we ran the risk of falling headfirst into Part 3 and doubling the size of AotM. Let’s be real, the ending is, all waiting aside, an absolute nuclear bomb on the rest of the story.

We talked about the likelihood of enraged readers. But we rationalized it by telling each other/ourselves that we had Careless Whisper written, so the wait wouldn’t be too killer.

Best laid plans.

I (Jenetica) take full responsibility for the time it took to start posting again. Over the last four years, I have gone through a number of experiences that challenged my sense of self and pushed me to become a different person, including moving halfway across the country, attending a relatively prestigious law school where I was no longer “the smart kid in the room,” and losing the relationship that I later learned was toxic and abusive. I lost my confidence in a number of ways, including my confidence as a writer. I became terrified that I would never produce anything that lived up to AotM, and that I would disappoint the many (many!) readers demanding answers. Luckily for me, through that adversity I found rewarding friendships, a beautiful partner who treats me the way I’d always fantasized/written about people like me getting treated, and an engaging career that leaves me with enough energy to write. My experiences are mirrored by iFlail, who went through a different, but similarly life-changing, series of events. But through this all, we never lost hope in this story, and we always planned to complete the series. We are wiser, stronger people now, and we both believe that the story will be richer for it.

Which brings us to now, and our plans for the future. We do NOT intend to wait another four years to post X Gon’ Give It To Ya, the third and final installment of the series. We have spent countless hours brainstorming the plot, and all that’s really left to do is put it to paper. But, for people who are afraid of being burned twice, we will warn you now that Careless Whisper is JUST a prequel. If you want to know what happens after the “Gwen?” reveal, you will not get any answers until XGGITY (which I have, as of just now, decided to pronounce as “Ziggity”). We hope you stick around to watch Careless Whisper unfold, but we will understand if you want to wait until XGGITY to start reading again.

IN CONCLUSION - FINAL THOUGHTS

The Calendar Girl series has received more attention than we’d ever dreamed, and regardless of whether you liked or disliked our work, we want to thank you for taking the time to read it. If you made it to the end of AotM, we did something right, and again, we are so grateful that so many people have stuck with us this far.

We encourage everyone, moving forward, to keep a close eye on the tags that we use for our stories. We may not tag everything relevant, for the sake of preserving mystery about the plot, but we will be sure to tag everything that may be triggering or concerning, like self-harm, violence, or expected brand of romantic/sexual interactions. We will be adding this warning to the beginning of each story in the series.

Additionally, we want to acknowledge that there is a stark difference between legitimate concerns about the story and unfounded attacks on our character. Our decision to make this post is our attempt to dissuade the latter: We are not queerbaiting, and we have no interest in “forcing” people to read content that is not to their taste. However, that doesn’t mean that our execution of AotM, Careless Whisper, and/or XGGITY will be beyond reproach. The conversation on gender politics has evolved tremendously over the years that we’ve been working on this series, and it will undoubtedly continue to evolve as we progress into the future. We encourage constructive (!!!) criticism and open conversation on ways that we can improve our story, even if it involves tweaking published work to avoid mishandling deeply personal issues.

That said, if, after reading this post, you are still upset and/or unconvinced about our intentions for this series, we encourage you to stop reading it. We are not compensated for this work, and we have spent hundreds (probably thousands, by now) of hours striving to make the Calendar Girl series the best that it can be, for our own benefit. We believe that it may be the best fanfiction we will ever produce, and our satisfaction with our work is our priority. We will continue to post with that priority at the forefront, and with the demands of our reader base playing second fiddle. Similarly, we expect our readers to prioritize their needs above all others. We ask for your patience and your kindness moving forward and, if you cannot give us that, you are welcome to close the tab and move on with your life to other ventures that suit your interests better.

For those of you that choose to stay: You are in for a hell of a ride. We are both anxious to get through Careless Whisper, because we are both SO excited to share XGGITY with you. We believe it’s going to knock your socks off. We hope to see you there.

Thanks, everyone, and happy reading!

#angel of the morning #calendar girl #spideypool #hashtags

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delicrieux · 4 years

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Hey, Dee. Can I order something with Poe Dameron x Reader where the reader is a scavenger kinda like Rey and he gets stranded in a desert like planet so they are forced to stick together? I hope it makes sense. Love your stuff!

& i love u homie xx also this gif is so lovely oh my

The crash was what is to be expected — powerful, sudden, and, for lack of a better word, breathtaking. To an observer standing by it appeared as wild and as beautiful as a comet, or a miniature star that clipped and fell from the sky followed by a pink-violet-blue trail of fire. But it was only a small ship that struck into piles of sand and sprung it everywhere along with black smoke.

You lingered, far enough to be safe, yet close enough to see a figure dressed in an orange jumpsuit roll out of the ship. Three suns shine happily in the cloudless sky. The heat is palpable; you can see it in waves. You can only imagine how terrible it is to be plunged into it in a blink of an eye, let alone after surviving a crash. You note the figure trying to stand yet it tumbles down, no doubt still in shock from the rough landing and the absolute dry, scratchy, hot air, burning sand.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself, starkly aware that the figure lays unmoving.

You drop your things (not that you have many) and sprint through mountains and hills of pale sand, sweating, cussing, contemplating whether should you really help. It’s the right thing to do, they will die if I don’t, one part of you pipes up as you draw nearer, smoke watering your eyes, your muscles aching from the jog. They might be more trouble than it’s worth, another part chimes in, and you slow, breathing hard, coughing, suddenly wildly aware that the stranger is entirely at your mercy. It is a frightening thought, and you almost turn back when you note the engine’s hiss grow louder, but the figure twitches and you do not have the heart in you to leave them there.

You are neither gentle nor awfully concerned with the stranger when you rush to them and grab their hand and yank them on their feet. The one whose arm you sling over your shoulder turns out to be a barely conscious man, confused and uncomfortable, his face dyed in blood and soot. He tries to say something, but his voice dies on the tip of his tongue and he only grunts and wheezes once you pull him forward as fast as you can and as far away as you can before the ship explodes, tripping over your feet.

“I can’t...” He wheezes, eyes closed painfully, “—breathe...”

“Just...” You are not a medic, nor do you have anything to help him, and you rack your brain for possible solutions but nothing comes to mind. You’re useless, even when you try to help. “Just... Keep trying. Try not to pass out. The suns should set soon so it’ll be easier. Just... try to hang in for a few more hours.”

And the suns did set, and the evening was otherworldly, pink-orange and calm, and the suns were nothing but small glowing orbs slowly swallowed by the horizon, instead of deadly three eyes watching, judging from above. But as they did the temperature dropped and it cooled drastically, the sand still emitting embers of heat but it too dissipated gradually. The man, whose name he could not say due to his burning throat, lays in a makeshift bed in your humble home made in an old abandoned ship.

“What’s that?” He asks, his voice hoarse and tired, though curious. You glance at him from your seat by the fire.

“Dinner.” You state simply, waiting for the meat inside the foil to cook.

“So what is it?” He continues to question. He had been restless since he woke up. “I... can’t imagine a city nearby. Or... is there one?”

“There’s nothing here.” You admit, “No city nor commune. There are no other people and nothing grows. Creatures do live in the sand, however.” You give him a small, humorless smile, “Hope you like scorpions.”

He makes a face and you assume he does not. Then, “If there’s nothing here, then... How did you get here?”

“Same as you.” You say with a shrug, “I crashed. This,” You glance up, “was my ship.”

Silence hangs between you. You can tell his curiosities are hardly satisfied, but he keeps to himself for the moment. He wonders, most probably, how to get out of here, if there even is a way. He realizes that there probably isn’t, considering that you’re still here.

“I’m (Name), by the way.” You introduce.

“Poe.” He flashes you a crooked smile, worn-down from today’s thrills, yet still undoubtedly charming. “Best pilot the Resistance has to offer.”

You snort, “If you’re the best, I’m concerned for our future.”

“Hey!” He flares, a tad offended, “The controls went haywire, okay? It’s like this planet, it...”

“—Pulled you in?” You finish for him. He stares, speechless for a heartbeat, then nods solemnly. “I know. Happened to us, too.”

“Us?”

“Were five. Two went scouting and never returned. One went searching for them. Didn’t come back. And the last one went missing a few days ago.” You explain quietly, “As far as I know, I was alone on this planet for at least two days.”

Words have weight and yours are enormous, enough to swallow you up. It makes you uncomfortable in a sort of primal, unknown way. Your hands tremble lightly as you squeeze them into fists.

“Well, you aren’t alone anymore.” He says softly and somehow you instantly feel better, “And we’re gonna find a way out of here. Together. No matter what.”

You give him a small smile and a nod. It’s good to have someone to talk to again, even if it’s a stranger that fell from the sky. You would never admit it, though. But you know that Poe realizes that on his own.

Together. Okay. We’ll get out, together.

#poe dameron #star wars #poe dameron x reader #star wars imagine #imagine #imagines #poe dameron imagine #star wars rise of skywalker #star wars the sequel trilogy #star wars the last jedi #xreader #reader insert #reader #fanfic #request #oscar isaac #plz marry me u beautiful man !

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cuthian · 3 years

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A Song Only You Can Hear Chapter Four

Hey everyone!

Sorry for the wait. I had exams and then I had to figure out my plot line. Please check the updated tags; and feel free to blame PJO_Connoisseur for all of it ;)

A nice long chapter with A LOT of angst. Please prepare.

Some of you will need tissues.

Thanks for reading!

Love Annaelle

P.S. I was too impatient to wait for this to be beta'd completely, so thanks to Juulna for checking grammar and such, and a future thank you to PJO_Connoisseur for when they check it for whether or not everyone is in character.

FOUR

“Maybe a good relationship is just [several] idiots who don’t know a damn thing except the fact that they’re willing to figure it out together.” — Unknown author

18 DECEMBER 2020 (4:36 p.m.) WILLIE

Willie trailed shaking fingers across the cymbals on Alex’s drums and swallowed thickly. He’d been somewhat relieved to find that Luke wasn’t in the studio when he got here, because it gave him the precious few minutes he needed to collect himself, to get his thoughts in order before he’d have to see Alex again.

He didn’t know what he’d poofed in on earlier, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

He knew that Alex and Reggie had dated, but he’d thought it long over. The way Alex had talked about it made it sound like it hadn’t been that serious to begin with, but whatever had happened up in the house today, it’d looked far from casual before Willie had poofed out.

He didn’t think Alex and Reggie had even noticed him.

Willie dropped his hand to his side and sighed. He didn’t want to be suspicious about this, didn’t want to be the kind of boyfriend that got weird around his boyfriend’s ex just because they were still close, because he knew how much Reggie meant to Alex, knew how much Luke meant to Alex and if he was going to feel weird about Reggie, he’d probably start feeling weird about Luke too, and Willie wasn’t that guy.

He really wasn’t.

He trusted Alex and he liked Reggie and Luke both, and he’d never even considered being worried about it before—he’d even joked about it with Reggie before.

And yet… he couldn’t get the image of his boyfriend sitting pressed close to Reggie, one of Reggie’s hands between both of his and their heads bent close together, out of his mind. It’d looked intimate as hell, and even if he hadn’t quite been able to make out their words, he’d still been very reluctant to stick around—hadn’t really wanted to see the way Alex would react when he saw him.

He didn’t want to see the guilty look Alex would undoubtedly have shot his way because it would mean that Willie was right and there wassomething Alex should feel guilty for.

Right now, all he’d seen was his boyfriend having a rather intimate discussion with his best friend.

Right now, that’s all it was.

God. Willie hoped that was all it was.

They had bigger things to worry about. If what he’d overheard at the Ghost Club was even remotely true, Caleb had been after the boys for far longer than any of them had known.

He wasn’t sure what that meant, wasn’t sure why, but he knew it couldn’t wait.

When the door opened and Julie filed in, followed closely by all three of the boys—and he wasn’t sure what to make of that, what to think of Luke having been in the house too, potentially with Alex and Reggie—Willie exhaled in a rush, running trembling hands through his hair before trying to smile at Alex, who was looking at him wide-eyed.

“Hey hot dog,” he tried, but his smile must’ve looked pained because Alex’s expression changed from confused to worried in a heartbeat and before Willie could stop him he was rushing forward, hands soft and gentle when he pressed them to Willie’s cheeks, like nothing was different, like Willie hadn’t seen him with Reggie earlier, like… like everything was the same it’d been yesterday.

“I’m fine,” he told Alex, leaning back enough so that Alex’s hands slipped from his cheeks. “I overheard something at the Club, I—I need you guys to sit down, okay?”

Alex blinked at him with wide, blue eyes, but he backed up obediently, settling on the couch beside Luke, who was pressed close to Reggie, holding Reggie’s hand in a white-knuckled grip and… shit, Willie really didn’t know what was going on anymore.

“So?” Luke said, looking up at Willie defiantly. “What was so urgent?”

Willie blinked a little, taken aback by the harsh tone, but nodded anyway. “I overheard Caleb talking to someone—I don’t know who, I didn’t recognize their voice, but…” he swallowed thickly and wrung his hands together. “They were talking about killing someone. Killing them and making sure they came back as a ghost with… with powers.”

When he looked up, Reggie looked perturbed and confused, Luke’s expression very similar, while Alex looked a little green around the gills. Julie, on the other hand, was frowning impressively at him and demanded, “Did they mention a name? Any way we can find them and maybe warn them?”

“No,” Willie shook his head. “No, not really. Only that it was a man, and that—that ghosts were flocking towards him. Like… like he was a beacon, or something. Not enough to find him. But that’s not—”

“Willie,” Alex said shakily, but Willie shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.

“That’s not it,” he continued. “That’s not the thing I have to tell you guys. It’s—” He hesitated. “They mentioned making sure they didn’t have a repeat from last time… making sure he didn’t disappear for twenty-five years.” He trailed off there, leaving the implication of his words hanging in the air between them and watched as it hit all three of the boys differently.

Luke’s expression went from confused to baffled to furious understanding, and it took Reggie a few seconds of complete confusion before he, too, looked like he understood what Willie was trying to say.

Alex, on the other hand, looked completely unsurprised, as though he’d expected Willie to say something like this, like Caleb arranging their murder was expected rather than baffling, and though he looked nauseous and on the verge of an anxiety attack, he didn’t look as surprised as his two bandmates.

Julie, too, looked far less surprised than Willie would’ve expected.

“That makes sense,” Julie muttered. “That’s why he was so desperately trying to get you guys to join his club,” she told the boys, glancing towards them, “He lost you three once already, arranged for your murder, he couldn’t risk losing you again.”

“He said—” Alex said hoarsely, leaning forward with his elbows planted firmly on his knees, head in his hands, “The guy who killed us—Maggie said he always insisted ghosts made him do it.”

“Oh my God, that’s right,” Reggie breathed, his eyes wide.

“We have to find him,” Julie said reasonably, and Willie looked at her expectantly. “We have to find him and figure out what he knows—see if Caleb or whoever was working for him let anything slip or said anything that might point to why he wanted you guys dead.”

“Maggie knows,” Reggie whispered. “Maggie went to see him once, when she was still trying to figure out what happened to us. She knows where he’s locked up, she knows his name—”

“I’ll call her then,” Julie nodded determinedly. “I’ll call her and explain what we know, explain that we need to find him, so that we can figure out what we’re up against.” When all four boys blinked at her, she heaved a sigh and added, “We need to know why he’s so dead set on having you guys join his stupid little club. If we know why, we can start to figure out how to get him to back off.”

“I don’t know,” Willie said slowly. “Guys, he’s dangerous. He nearly killed you last time. Again.”

“He doesn’t know we’re onto him,” Julie pointed out. “It’s worth a shot.”

Luke nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, glancing towards both Alex and Reggie before he nodded. “Okay, give Maggie a call; see what she knows about this guy, where we can find him, how we can talk to him.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and sighed, “Maybe she’d be willing to go with us to see him, since, you know…”

“We’re dead and he killed us,” Alex finished dryly.

Reggie looked like he was going to throw up and Willie could relate.

Now that that immediate crisis was out of the way, all he could focus on was the way Reggie kept darting looks at Alex and Luke, gnawing nervously on his lower lip, the way Alex was fidgeting restlessly and had been the entire time he’d been down here, even before Willie had told him what he’d overheard, the way Luke had planted himself between his own boyfriend and Willie’s and—

And he was probably reading too much into it, seeing things that weren’t really there, because he needed to trust his boyfriend rather than jump to conclusions based on a three-second glimpse of a conversation between two best friends.

“Okay,” he said shakily, “I guess I—I guess that’s all I came here for. I’ll—I’ll go back before I’m missed, or before Caleb realizes I heard something, I don’t want—”

“Do you have to go already?” Alex interrupted, standing up from the couch with a hopeful smile and damn if Willie wasn’t so fucking weak and gay for his handsome drummer boy looking at him like that. He could feel himself give in, could feel himself lean into Alex’s touch when the other ghost rested a hand on Willie’s elbow, letting the drummer steer him away from the rest of the group.

He focused his attention on Alex, who trailed his fingers down Willie’s arm to interlace their fingers.

“So, what’s up, buttercup?” Willie drawled as Alex pulled him towards the little flower nook, settling on the piano bench and smiling up at his boyfriend, because… because he wanted to trust Alex. He hadn’t done anything wrong, as far as Willie knew, and Willie certainly didn’t have any reason to be snippy towards him—being stressed about Caleb’s plotting and the future of the Ghost Club ghosts was no excuse to be an asshole.

“Uh,” Alex said, settling down beside him, fidgeting with Willie’s fingers. “I, uh—I was talking to Reggie earlier—”

“I know,” Willie interrupted quietly, and when Alex looked up, wide-eyed, he added, “I poofed into the house first, heard you talking, but—” He swallowed thickly and looked away, a little afraid to see the look on Alex’s face. “It looked hella intimate, so I poofed right back out, I—I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh,” Alex breathed. “You saw us?” And when Willie dared look up, Alex’s expression was one of complete and utter panic, and Willie’s heart sank.

“There was something to see?” he asked faux-casually, even though he felt like he was going to hurl.

“Uh,” Alex stammered, cheeks flushing red as he averted his gaze. “Sort of?” he squeaked, looking up at Willie with an utterly apologetic expression. “It’s—we—I—uh. I kissed Reggie. A little.”

Willie exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut.

Just like he’d thought, then.

“What. The. Hell, Alex?” he demanded, pushing up off the bench to pace in front of it. “I mean, I—what exactly do you expect me to say to that?”

Alex looked up at him with big, shiny blue eyes, and God, Willie hated that he loved him so much, that he loved Alex enough to want to stick around to listen to an explanation even after knowing Alex kissed his ex-boyfriend and that Willie had been a hair away from catching them.

“It was my fault,” Reggie said, and Willie spun on his heel to find the other ghost standing on the other side of the piano, fidgeting with the sleeves of his flannel. “I kissed him. I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No,” Alex interrupted, standing from the bench too, giving Willie a pleading look, “No, it—it’s my fault, honestly. Really, Reg, if you hadn’t, I—”

“Are you seriously arguing about this right in front of me?” Willie demanded in disbelief, looking between his boyfriend and Reggie incredulously. Reggie flinched and Alex looked suitably chastened, and Willie felt like everything was falling apart all around him and he had no idea how to stop it.

Luke came up behind Reggie, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his vest, and said, “Just tell him what you told me, guys. He deserves an explanation as much as I did.” He glanced at Willie and added, “It’s not a justification, but… it’ll make some sense, at least.”

Willie stared, “You okay with this?”

“Oh, no,” Luke laughed, high and bitter and insincere. “No, I am not okay with this, but at least now I know why it happened.”

“What does that even—” Willie began, but Alex cut in before he could even finish his sentence.

“I lied to Reggie,” he exclaimed, and when they all turned to stare at him, he continued, cheeks flushed, “When we broke up. I lied to him about why I wanted to stop what we were, and—”

“When we were talking about it,” Reggie interjected, “it was like everything came back. Everything I felt back then, everything I haven’t really thought about since we broke and I—I wanted—I needed—I needed to know if I still—if—”

“If you’re still in love with my boyfriend,” Willie concluded, crossing his arms over his chest.

He was well aware he was being rude, but he didn’t feel exactly charitable either. Towards either of them—Reggie might’ve kissed Willie’s boyfriend, but Alex didn’t seem exactly sorry about it either, and Willie didn’t know what to do with that. After Alex had told him about his previous relationship with Reggie, he’d sworn to Willie that he didn’t need to worry about it, that they were great friends still and that any and all romantic feelings were behind them and Willie had believed him.

“So when you told me this,” Willie waved his hand between Reggie and Alex vaguely, “was all over, were you lying? Telling me what I wanted to hear?”

“No,” Alex said pleadingly, reaching out towards Willie. “No, Willie, I promise I wasn’t lying—I didn’t think—we didn’t think—” Willie stayed where he was, let Alex take his hands in his, let his boyfriend draw him closer because he wanted to believe Alex, he did—

“So what now?” he asked. “Am I just supposed to forget this happened?”

“No,” Alex shook his head, clutching at Willie’s hand so tightly it almost hurt. “No, I’d never ask you to—Willie, I’m so sorry.” Willie didn’t resist when Alex pressed his fingers to his jaw, guiding his chin up so Willie had to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” Alex repeated. “I never, ever want to hurt you, and I know that I am now, and I’m so sorry.” Alex’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears and the thing was that Willie believed him, but he didn’t know how to just get past this either.

“Do you love him?”

Willie’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and he hated that Reggie and Luke were here to witness this, but… well, it was what it was.

Alex heaved a sigh and shrugged miserably. “I don’t know—I mean…” He glanced towards Reggie and gave a sad little smile, “I don’t remember how to not love him. But I—I love you. And I—I don’t know if I still have romantic feelings for Reggie, and I—”

“I don’t know either,” Reggie admitted quietly. “I think we need to—to—"

Luke grimaced and Willie glanced between them with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “So,” he uttered slowly, “what, you’re asking permission to figure out whether you’re still in love with each other?” He looked at Alex in disbelief. “You want me to sit by and watch while you and your only serious ex-boyfriend figure things out?”

Alex stared at him with a pained expression but didn’t say anything.

Willie scoffed, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “You know,” he sighed. “I know I told you I’d do anything for you, hot dog, but…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this.” He looked up at his boyfriend—his wonderful, beautiful, cheatingdrummer boy—and asked, “What if I say no? What are you going to do if I say I’m not okay with this?”

Alex blinked, opened his mouth to say something and when no words came out, closed it again.

It was enough of a confirmation.

Willie tried to ignore the sharp, shooting pain in his chest and shot a sad smile towards Alex. “Do whatever you want, Alex. You’re going to anyway.”

Before Alex could say anything else, he poofed out.

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

18 DECEMBER 2020 (4:57 p.m.) LUKE

Luke let a soft groan fall from his lips when Willie poofed out and Alex kind of crumpled down onto the piano bench, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around himself.

“That could’ve gone better,” he muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair as Reggie fidgeted nervously beside him. Luke didn’t have to look at him to know his boyfriend’s eyes would be fixed on Alex—if today hadn’t happened, Reggie would probably already be by Alex’s side, clumsily trying to comfort him, and that meant the only reason he wasn’t was because he was holding back for Luke’s sake. Of course, if today hadn’t happened, Alex wouldn’t be upset in the first place.

Luke sighed again and nudged his shoulder against his boyfriend’s.

“Go hug him,” he said. “I’ll find Willie. Talk to him.”

Reggie looked back at him with wide, watery green eyes and whispered, “Luke.” Luke smiled shakily and fit his hand around the back of Reggie’s neck, pulling him in so their foreheads rested together.

“I love you,” Luke whispered, tightening his fingers on Reggie’s neck. “And I hate this, but I get it. Talk. You’ve got some time. Julie’s calling Maggie, and I’ll go find Willie. Talk, figure out what you both need to to figure everything out, and we can talk.”

“I love you,” Reggie whispered in response and Luke smiled like it didn’t physically hurt to hear Reggie say the words when he still might end up choosing Alex over Luke in the end.

He let Reggie go and watched, stomach twisting uncomfortably, as Reggie fit himself onto the bench beside Alex, looking away when Alex collapsed into Reggie’s arms. He wasn’t sure where to look for Willie, but the skatepark where Alex had introduced him to them seemed like the best place to start, so with one more glance to his best friend and boyfriend, he poofed out of the studio.

He didn’t find Willie at the skatepark, or the museum, or the strip or anywhere else—until he poofed up to the Hollywood sign, because he was pretty sure Alex had mentioned a date there once, and found Willie sitting on top of the ‘H’, slumped against the side, arms wrapped around himself.

Luke took a deep breath and tried to make sure he was calm, collected, before he poofed himself up onto the sign next to Willie. “Hey man,” he said casually, trying not to wince when Willie looked at him with glassy eyes, rimmed with red.

“Hi,” Willie croaked, before slumping back to rest his head against the cool metal. “Alex send you?”

“No,” Luke shook his head, shifting so he could sit with his legs curled up underneath him. “No, I just… If anyone knows how you’re feeling right now, it’s me, and… I mean, I definitely want someone to talk to, so I figured you might too.”

Willie huffed out a breath, shaking his head, and looked back at Luke. “How are you this calm? Your boyfriend cheated on you. With my boyfriend. After they both promised us there wasn’t anything to worry about, that their relationship was definitely over and done with.” His voice was shaky, just like it’d been on the night he’d confessed what Caleb had done to them, and Luke wished they were actually close enough for him to just wrap himself around the other ghost in a tight hug that Willie so very clearly needed—not to mention how much Luke himself wished someone would hug him.

“I’m…” Luke heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair before he turned sideways to face Willie. “I’m not calm, or okay, or anything you seem to think I am. I think… I think that what Alex and Reggie did today is the most reckless, selfish wildly out of character thing either of them has ever done in their entire lives.”

Luke swallowed thickly and fiddled with one of his rings. “And… I guess I… I get it. And that’s both better and worse, because I don’t like it, I’m not happy about it, but after I let Reggie explain, I did get it. I get why it happened and why they can’t just pretend that it didn’t.”

Willie blinked at him, lips parted, and Luke sighed again. “Okay, look, they didn’t really do a great job of explaining, earlier—”

“No shit,” Willie huffed, and Luke smiled a little despite himself.

“How much did Alex tell you about their relationship?” he asked cautiously.

Willie shrugged, but pulled himself up, turning so he was sitting cross-legged too, facing Luke. “He told me they hooked up a couple of times after you and he broke up, and that they tried dating seriously too, but that it didn’t work out, that their dynamic didn’t work so he broke it off a couple of months before you guys died.”

Luke shook his head. “So basically nothing,” he muttered. “Okay. There was a lot more to it than that. Reggie’s told me… well, not everything, I don’t think, but a lot more than that.”

Willie swallowed thickly. “Okay,” he whispered. “Tell me then. Why should I understand?”

Luke wrapped his arms around himself and leaned his head back against the side of the ‘H’. “They’d been… messing around regularly—and exclusively, despite what Alex seems to think—since ’92. Reggie had a girlfriend for a couple of months in ’93, but that didn’t really work out, and after that…” Luke sighed and shrugged. “After that he was only ever with Alex. Reg says they didn’t really call it dating or anything like that until ’94, but in hindsight it felt like it anyway.”

Willie looked away, and Luke kindly pretended he didn’t see Willie wipe at his eyes.

“So they were serious,” Willie said quietly.

Luke shrugged helplessly. “I think so. More serious than they knew too.”

Willie sighed, but it sounded more confused and frustrated than angry this time, and when he looked back at Luke, his eyes were clear and dry. “So why’d they break up? If everything was so good, if they’d been together that long, if they were in love? Why would Alex lieand say it wasn’t serious?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, man. He can be a dumbass sometimes, and…” He shook his head and looked down, tangling his fingers in his necklace. “He didn’t actually say why he broke up with Reggie in there, did he?”

Willie shook his head mutely.

Luke sighed. “He figured out I was in love with Reggie too.” He rolled his eyes and admitted, “To be fair, it probably wasn’t very hard, I don’t think I was subtle about it at all, but… yeah, I think.” He fidgeted with his necklace nervously. “I think he freaked out a little when he realized how I felt. He’s always been… After he came out, his parents… they were never really cool again, and he hung onto us for support a lot.” Luke smiled sadly and said, “Not that we minded, obviously, but we became his entire family really fast and the idea of losing us terrified him.”

He sighed. “I don’t know, of course, I haven’t asked him, but… I’ve seen him react in more illogical ways when he’s scared we’re going to decide we don’t want him around anymore.”

Luke bit down on his lip as he remembered Alex coming out to them, tears in his eyes, knuckles white with the grip he’d had on his fanny pack when they’d been thirteen, and the time Reggie had gotten into a fight with someone at school who’d insulted Alex and had his nose broken and Alex had somehow managed to blame himself—remembered those fraught first few days after their breakup, where Alex had walked on eggshells around him, terrified that Luke was going to kick him out of the band for not getting over his feelings fast enough.

“Reggie’s like that too,” he said quietly. “Abandonment issues. They’ve done weirder stuff than this.”

“So,” Willie said slowly, frowning hard. “So he broke up with Reggie because he was afraid you’d kick him out of the band if he didn’t?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know for sure obviously, and I doubt he did it with that consciously in mind, but… I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out he let his anxiety brain convince him that there was no way I’d let him stay around if we were both in love with Reggie, if he was dating Reggie and I wasn’t, and broke up with him to save us all the trouble.”

Willie groaned and dug his hands into his hair. “…and that’s what he lied to Reggie about.”

“I think so,” Luke nodded. “He told Reggie it wasn’t working. That he didn’t feel the same way, so Reg kind of pushed away everything romantic he felt for Alex, refused to think about it.” He chewed down on his lower lip and said, “He wrote it all down, wrote dozens of songs, and never played them, until…”

“Until now,” Willie finished, looking up at Luke with reddened eyes.

“Yeah,” Luke whispered. “Until now.”

Willie heaved a very heavy sigh and thumped his head back against the wall behind him, staring up at the sky. “I get it,” he said, voice thick and choked. “You were right. It’s both better and worse to understand them.”

Luke nodded quietly.

They sat together in silence, and Luke wondered how Alex and Reggie’s conversation fared—and then promptly realized he wasn’t sure he wanted to know at all. He understood, and he sympathized because he loved Reggie and he could see how much this was hurting him too, could see how torn up Alex was over the entire thing and… and they were his best friends.

In the end all he wanted was for both of them to be happy.

That didn’t mean he was looking forward to having his own heart broken though.

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Willie piped up after a while. Luke looked back at the other ghost contemplatively and then shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I told Reggie to find out what they need to figure this—to figure themselves—out, to talk to Alex, but I don’t—I don’t know what is going to happen now.” Willie huffed a breath and jumped to his feet, pacing the little platform anxiously in a stunning approximation of Alex’s expert model strut, tugging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Willie exclaimed. “I want to understand, and I do, okay, but—but I don’t want to have to sit by and watch him fall in love with someone else.”

“Me either,” admitted Luke. “But what choice do we have? Demand that they don’t resolve their thing and have all of our relationships suffer for it?” Willie groaned and threw his hands up in exasperation before he plopped down beside Luke, leaning their shoulders together casually.

“At least we’ll have each other, right?” he joked, and he felt Willie huff a reluctant laugh before the other ghost tipped his head back against the wall, smiling weakly.

“Promise you’ll run away with me if this doesn’t end well?” Willie quipped, looking at Luke with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and heartbroken, and Luke found, a little unexpectedly, that he was willing to do a lot to erase the heartbreak from Willie’s eyes.

He nodded, offering him the most sincere smile that he could muster. “Sure. I’ll teach you how to play the guitar and you’ll teach me how to skate and we’ll make everyone jealous with how rad we are.”

Willie snorted a laugh, and Luke smiled too.

“We should go back eventually,” Willie said after they’d both fallen silent for a few moments. He sounded devastated at the mere prospect, and Luke was still a little taken aback by the strong urge he felt to shield his newest friend from heartache.

“We don’t have to yet,” he said quietly. “We can just… sit here, for a while.”

Willie chuckled weakly and rolled his head to the side again, eyeing Luke carefully. “How’re you doing with all of this? You’ve said you’re not okay, but—”

Luke shrugged. “I mean… this sucks. This whole thing…” His voice broke, and he shuddered before he whispered, “I love him. I just… In the end, I just want him to be happy, even if that’s not with me.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m sure I’ll get over it if I need to.”

Willie gaped at him, and Luke stared back for a second before Willie huffed and yanked him in for a hug. Luke’s arms came up to grip at Willie’s shoulders automatically, and he blinked owlishly for a few seconds before he sank into the embrace. He felt Willie shudder in his arms and choked, “Bet you didn’t realize you needed a hug too, did you?”

Willie snorted a laugh right in his ear and Luke smiled.

“We’re going to work this out somehow, bro,” he whispered. “One way or another.”

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

18 DECEMBER 2020 (4:43 p.m.) T’NIA

She had just put Regina down for a nap and was headed back down the stairs to join her sister and her family for hot chocolates after their walk when she heard Maggie’s voice drift from the spare bedroom. She hesitated for a moment just outside the door, unsure if she should interrupt, before shaking her head at her own hesitation. She and Maggie had no secrets anymore, and as unbelievable as half of their life was these days, at least she knew Maggie wasn’t hiding things from her.

She knocked lightly on the door, waiting for Maggie’s assenting grumble before she let herself in.

Maggie sat cross-legged up against the headboard, wearing a much-too-large white linen shirt, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, a blanket tucked in tight around her waist and legs. It was, perhaps, the most undone and casual she had ever seen Maggie look in days, and it made her insides feel warm and her legs wobbly.

The only thing that ruined the intimacy of the moment was Maggie’s unsettled expression as she stared down at her phone.

“Hi,” T’Nia said quietly.

Maggie didn’t look up, but the line of her shoulders stiffened just so, and T’Nia barely resisted the urge to run to her wife to offer comfort. It was an old urge, one she’d not experienced in quite some time, and one she wasn’t exactly pleased to feel again. Maggie hadn’t had a lot of bad days in the past three years, hadn’t needed to go to therapy more than once a month in even longer than that, but the risk of the depression hitting her hard was always there.

“Hi,” Maggie finally said, glancing up from her phone for a second before directing her eyes back down.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” T’Nia asked as she moved into the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind her. Even though she and Maggie didn’t actually spend much time in San Diego and even less time staying with Ende, the room was still cozy and warm and was quite similar to their own bedroom back in L.A.

“Julie called,” Maggie said, still not looking at her, “They need my help locating—” She bit her lip and sniffed, “Jacob Tafani.” T’Nia stood rooted to the spot, warring with her instinctual response to rage that Julie had exposed Maggie to a trigger like that so blatantly and her urge to run and comfort Maggie.

“Why—are you—” she stuttered ineloquently, but Maggie mercifully shook her head before T’Nia managed to stutter her way through the question.

“They think they’ve found the ghost who ordered them killed,” she explained. “And I’m not… I want to help them. They deserve to know what happened.” She looked up at T’Nia with shiny, wet eyes and whispered, “I… I’m just scared of what it’ll…” She shook her head again and choked, “I don’t want to go back there, T’Nia. I can’t go back there.”

She exhaled shakily. “Does it make me terrible to not want to? He’s my brother, I—”

T’Nia still felt shaken, unsteady and unsure of how to respond to her wife, but she moved towards her anyway. “Reggie loves you,” she said in a soft voice. “If you tell him this is… this is too much, he’ll understand. He’d never ask you to do this if you said it was too difficult.”

Maggie looked down and away, and T’Nia knew she was repressing her instinct to wave away T’Nia’s concern, her reassurance that Reggie wouldn’t want her to do anything she didn’t want to.

She was drawn from her thoughts when Maggie touched her hand to T’Nia’s lightly. “I know he wouldn’t ask me to,” she said quietly, seriously. “But... I want to help them too. Julie can’t get into the prison, I’m the only one who’s been there before. We know he’ll talk to me. It’s just not… not great.”

“No,” T’Nia agreed. “No, it isn’t.”

She looked down to their hands and swallowed thickly. “You know that I just want what’s best for you,” she then said in a rush of words. “Don’t you? And your brother adores you. No one is going to be angry with you for making this choice for yourself. No one will be offended if you can’t do this.”

Maggie smiled tremulously. “I hope so.”

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

18 DECEMBER 2020 (5:17 p.m.) REGGIE

There were shiny tear tracks on Alex’s cheeks and the whites of his eyes were more red than white, and Reggie had never seen him look this miserable—not when Luke had broken up with him, not when Alex had explained, tears in his eyes, that his parents weren’t okay with him being gay, not when he’d broken up with Reggie, sad and apologetic—and he hated it.

He didn’t want Alex to be miserable.

“Willie’s gonna understand,” he urged, pushing himself off from the arm of the couch, arms still clasped tight against his body, and taking a tentative step forward towards Alex, who looked at him, eyes wide and unsure and filled with pain, but didn’t move back. “You and I both know he’s—he’s the coolest guy ever. He’s angry and he should be, you know, I did kiss his boyfriend, but—”

He breathed in shakily, hands trembling when he unwound his arms from around his own torso to reach for Alex before thinking better of it and pulling his hand back again.

“Alex,” he whispered, keeping their eyes locked as he took a tentative step closer. “I’m sorry,” he repeated the apology he’d been repeating for hours. “I’m sorry that I kissed you and screwed everything up for you and Willie. I’m sorry, Alex. I just got so confused when you—with—with everything.”

A tiny, involuntary sound fell from Alex’s lips and Reggie wished he was brave enough to reach out to comfort him again, to show him that Reggie could deal with whatever leftover feelings he still had—he’d been able to do it thus far, and he could do it again. “We don’t have to do this,” he continued, ignoring the wobble in his voice as he pressed on, desperate to make Alex smile again. “We’re not—you broke up with me for a reason, and I should—I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have pushed.”

He swallowed thickly and looked down at his hands. “Doesn’t matter why, right? We broke up. We moved on.” His voice broke and his breath caught for a long, distended moment—he felt dizzy and afraid but also strong because he should have said these things hours ago, before he kissed him—before Alex lifted his free hand and lightly brushed his fingers across Reggie’s cheek, and Reggie’s breath left his lungs in a rush.

“Maybe,” Alex whispered. “But I still did it for the wrong reasons. And I lied to both of us. I thought,” Alex hesitated, “I thought you were okay with us breaking up. You’ve joked about it, you’re—you’re with Luke, you’re in love with Luke.”

“Because I thought we broke up because you weren’t in love with me,” Reggie replied unsteadily. “I thought you didn’t feel the same way I felt—I’m not a masochist, Alex, I don’t actually enjoy unrequited love. You told me it was over and I tried to move on.”

“Did you?” Alex implored, his eyes wide and so scared and confused that it made Reggie’s heart clench.

“Yeah, I mean, I—I thought you didn’t love me, that you knew how I felt about you and… and didn’t want that,” he began, though he was hesitant, because he wasn’t sure about any of this, wasn’t sure how to describe his feelings for Alex anymore.

“I didn’t think you wanted to schlep me off on Luke the second you figured out how he felt about me.” The words were deliberately blunt and Reggie hated the way Alex flinched away, but he followed, staying close, not quite touching but close enough to feel the muted warmth from Alex’s skin radiating onto his own.

He’d promised Luke they’d start figuring this out and Reggie wanted to.

“That’s not—Reg, of course I loved you. I loved you so much—” Alex tried, but Reggie was on a roll, was getting out all the things he wished he’d said back then, and he couldn’t stop.

“But not enough to fight for me,” Reggie interrupted. “Not enough to want to fight to keep me. I was yours, Alex. You wouldn’t have had to fight at all; you should’ve just talked to me.”

“Reg...”

“Why wasn’t I—why weren’t we worth fighting for, ‘lex?” His voice shook as he spoke and maybe he’d have been embarrassed if it’d been anyone but Alex hearing him like this, but it was Alex. Alex had held him when he cried hundreds of times, had seen Reggie make a fool of himself a thousand times over, had seen him at his most vulnerable after his dad kicked him out and took care of him—there wasn’t much Reggie was ashamed to show in front of Alex.

Alex gave him the kind of heartsick expression he’d given Reggie the night he broke up with him, and this time he didn’t hesitate when he stepped closer, pressing both hands to Reggie’s cheeks. “Alex,” Reggie whispered, feeling off-balance and a little shaken and just a little afraid, because they’d screwed up once already today, and he wanted—

He wanted everyone to be okay, he wanted to stop hurting Luke and Willie and Alex and himself and he wanted to be sure.

“We were,” Alex said softly, intensely. “We were—you were. And I wanted to, but…” He shook his head and admitted, “I was scared. I knew how you felt about Luke because you’d always been honest about it, and when I found out how he felt, I—”

“You ran,” Reggie whispered. “Like you always do.”

Alex looked taken aback. “Reg, I don’t—”

“Yeah, you do,” Reggie nodded, and he swallowed thickly, looking away. “You always had one foot out the door. You spent our entire relationship running away from me, from us, Alex. Every time things were hard, or complicated, you’d run. The only thing different about the breakup was that I stopped chasing you.”

“That’s what you thought?” Alex choked, looking aghast as he stared at Reggie. “That I—that you were the one chasing me the entire time we were together?”

“Wasn’t I?” Reggie demanded, pushing away from Alex to settle back down on the couch. “Like when I told you how I felt about Luke, you stopped talking to me outside of band practice for two weeks, and when my dad kicked us out, you got so up in your own head you convinced yourself I’d break up with you so you tried to leave me first and I… I tried to keep you every time. By the time we broke up, I figured… I figured maybe I’d been trying to fight off the inevitable anyway.”

He drew his lower lip between his teeth and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking hard against the burn of tears in his eyes.

“Reggie,” Alex whispered, sounding devastated, and Reggie had barely had the chance to look up at him before Alex was suddenly on his knees in front of him, his hands large and warm on Reggie’s thighs. “I’m sorry,” Alex continued, his blue eyes wide and sincere, “I’m sorry I made you feel like I wasn’t all-in. I was—I really, really was. I wanted—I wanted us to be real, but—”

“We were real,” Reggie interrupted hoarsely. “It was real to me, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes were glassy with tears as he whispered, “It was to me too, Reg. I think… I think I got scared of how real it was.” He looked down and reached out to take Reggie’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “Maybe… I got so freaked out when I realized how Luke felt because… because it’d change everything. If he told you and you picked him, I—” He broke off and looked away, and Reggie’s heart ached, but Alex just exhaled a shuddering breath before continuing, “But if you didn’t—if you’d have picked me, us…”

“No denying how serious that would’ve been, right?” Reggie whispered.

Alex shot him a watery smile. “I told you,” he whispered. “You scare me, sometimes.”

Reggie exhaled a sob and nodded before slipping off the couch and throwing his arms around Alex, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. They hadn’t hugged like this, just the two of them, since the last time Reggie had spent the night with Alex, a week after they’d broken up, and Reggie had almost managed to forget how much he loved Alex’s hugs.

Alex took a second to catch up, to process what was happening before he wrapped his arms around Reggie’s waist, clutching at Reggie just as tightly as Reggie clutched at him.

“I’m sorry,” Reggie whispered against Alex’s shoulder, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of Alex’s hoodie.

Alex huffed a breath and whispered, “Me too, Reg.”

Reggie had no idea how long they stayed like that, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, wrapped in a tight hug before the door creaked open and Willie and Luke stepped in. Reggie pulled away from Alex slowly, something that felt a lot like guilt twisting his stomach at the expression on Luke’s face, even though they hadn’t been doing anything but hugging.

He pulled himself back up the couch and looked up at his boyfriend, who shot him a small, uncertain smile. “Hi,” he squeaked.

Luke shared a look with Willie before he crossed his arms over his chest. “Willie and I have some… concerns.” Willie nodded tersely without taking his eyes off of Alex, who stood beside the couch, fiddling with his rings nervously. “And ground rules,” Luke added. “We’re—you guys have to figure out how you feel about each other, and about us, and we get that. But there have to be ground rules.”

“Anything,” Alex blurted, and Reggie nodded urgently.

“Nothing happens behind our backs,” Willie said, voice steady but clearly wrought with emotion. “I—we get that this is hard to figure out and that emotions can run high, but—”

“We’ll tell you everything,” Reggie promised immediately. “Everything.”

“And try to avoid kissing people that aren’t your boyfriend,” Luke piped in, chewing on his lower lip, and when Reggie looked up at him, Luke was looking back at him desperately, fingers twitching against his biceps.

“And be honest,” Willie whispered. “Whatever it is, please keep talking to us.”

Alex nodded wordlessly and that seemed to be all that Willie needed to throw himself into Alex’s arms. Alex let out a soft, hurt sound and caught him, wrapping his arms tightly around Willie and Reggie couldn’t help but smile because he could see the softened line of Alex’s shoulders, the tension that had drained from him the second Willie touched him.

Reggie still wasn’t sure what he felt for Alex anymore, but… he really did just want to see him happy.

He tore his gaze from Willie and Alex when Luke sat next to him, hands shaking and lower lip pushed out just a little into a tiny pout. “Hi,” Reggie said again, quietly, tentatively reaching out for Luke’s hand.

“Hey baby,” Luke whispered, tangling their fingers together.

“I’m—" Reggie began, but Luke shook his head, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“I know,” Luke said, squeezing Reggie’s fingers. “I know, baby. I forgive you. We can—we’re going to figure this out. All of us.” He sounded so sure, so convinced, like he’d bend the rules of the universe itself to make things right, and Reggie believed him.

“I love you,” Reggie breathed hopelessly, because he did.

Luke huffed a laugh. “I know,” he said. “I know. I love you too, baby.”

----------

READ IT HERE:

Start from the beginning:

Unfinished Business:

(1) (2) (3)

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

A Song Only You Can Hear

(1) (2) (3) (4)

Or read it HERE (BaMBaT), HERE (UB) OR HERE (ASoYCH) on AO3 :D

#A Song Only You Can Hear #ASOYCH #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #reggie/luke #Alex/willie #willex #ruke #reggie/Luke/Alex/Willie #ot4 #BamBat #BamBat sequel #peterpatter #Lisa writes #my writing

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

Text

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

I have requests and ideas for all of the prompts, so no more requests from this card will be accepted. I’m planning on writing and posting all of these within the month of December and probably a bit into January. If you don’t want to see these stories, block the tag #false bthb, if you would like to be tagged in future stories shoot me an ask!

This prompt got away from me a bit so it’s split into two parts. The prompt comes into play in the second part. Requested by @atlasistryingherbest I hope you enjoy it, the second part will be up tomorrow!

General tagging: @im-an-anxious-wreck (you're gonna be tagged in mostly bthb this month as that's the project I'm working on, so if you'd like this changed to only the multichapter fics or general one shots please let me know. Thank you again for the interest!)

My Sunshine Part 1

Summary: Patton thinks he’s finally caught the break he needs when he finds and falls in love with Roman. Ignoring the warning signs until it’s too late Patton ends up losing more than he had dared to gain.

Warnings: more for part two but story contains human trafficking, implied non consensual sex and starvation

Prompt: Denied food as Punishment

Ships: Royality, Patton x Roman

WC: 4, 166

Patton skirted around another group of students, clutching his rather heavy school bag and trying not to bump into anyone in his rush to his bus. The college campus wasn’t exactly large but the crowds remained a nuisance no matter how small the classes were. Seeing the bus start to pull up to the sidewalk for its hourly trip into the downtown area he quickened his pace, desperate not to miss it again. Thankfully getting to the back of the waiting line with time to spare he took a breath and finally managed to zip his bag closed, hoisting it over his shoulders and looking around to see if he could recognize anyone from his classes.

Having just moved into town for school a month ago Patton didn’t really have any friends yet, just people who would occasionally ask him for a pencil only to not give it back- but that was fine! Whenever he ran out of pencils to give he could just ask them for one and he would know they’d have one since he had given so many of his away. If nothing else he figures a missing pencil was as good an ice breaker as any to start a conversation with somebody.

Lost as he was in his thoughts he immediately snapped out of it when he caught sight of one of the cutest men he had ever seen. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to cover it when he saw the stranger laugh at whatever the person next to him was talking about and reach up to push longish, curly hair out of his eyes. The stranger seemed to suddenly become aware that he was being stared at, turning his head and somehow immediately locking eyes with an extremely flustered Patton. Offering a king smile and a small wave Patton was sure he turned at least ten different shades of red before he managed to tear his eyes away and trip up the stairs to the bus to plop tiredly in the first empty seat he could find.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned at his own stupidity, lamenting the fact that he had been caught ogling someone he didn’t even know or recognize from any of his classes. He had seemed so nice though, not even seeming fazed at being stared at- though with such a confident air that he seemed to have Patton thought maybe he was used to it by now. All he could hope was that he’d never see the stranger again and if he did he wouldn’t remember Patton as that creepy guy in the bus line who probably looked half dead for as much coffee he consumed to keep up with his life.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much he grimaced as he hoisted his pack up yet again as his stop came into view, dreading another afternoon spent on his feet trying to hear people’s orders and write them down correctly while the general noise of the restaurant made it a challenge to get his own forcibly friendly “Hello, what can I get for you?” to be heard. Shuffling off the bus with everyone else he quickly jogged down the block and around the back of the restaurant he worked at, swiping his apron on in the same motion of throwing his bag down and scooting it under a table and out of the way. Smoothing his hair bag and rubbing what he hoped was most of the tiredness from his eyes he put on his best smile and waltzed his way out onto the main floor, tagging out his shift swift for which he was barely acknowledged before they gestured to a family just getting comfortable for him to service.

Squaring his shoulders and taking one more deep breath he began walking over to them. It was just a five hour shift, he could handle a five hour shift.

-----

He could barely handle a five hour shift.

Frowning down at his bag that contained his barely started on homework his fingers fumbled with the knot of his apron as he desperately tried to work it off. Huffing in frustration he bent his neck painfully to get the top part off and shimmied hip hips while yanking the bottom part until he was finally able to kick it into a wall. Dragging a hand over his face he snatched it up and hung it up rather aggressively before getting his bag and hurrying out the back door to catch the bus back to his run down apartment. The ride was as uneventful as ever but he almost missed it when he finally reached his apartment only to see a corner of an envelope sticking out from under the door that would undoubtedly contain the rent bill he would have to scrape together enough change to meet again.

Although he was grateful to be away from his family and that he had been able to get into college in the first place it was an expensive path in life that he had to work hard at two jobs to maintain, still barely managing to scrape by each month. Since switching campuses to be closer to work opportunities it had only seemed to get worse. If he had a roommate it might be different, at least taking some of the financial burden off his shoulders but he didn’t know anyone in this town enough to ask and he definitely didn’t want to invite people he didn’t know into his life with an ad in the newspaper calling for a roommate- who knew if they’d even pay rent or pick up after themselves or leave his things alone. No, Patton was a little too paranoid for that. Flopping face down onto his couch he wormed his way half under the back cushions and seat cushions until it was just a little too tight and sighed contently, letting his eyes finally drift shut as he gave his legs a rest. His stomach growled not ten minutes later however, making him groan and debate whether making something would actually be worthwhile. Realizing he still had work to do anyway he carefully got up and rolled up his sleeves, wondering if that frozen pizza in the freezer was still good.

A little while later with pizza in one hand and a pencil in the other he worked his way through his math and science homework, stacking them to the side as he made way for the english paper he had yet to start. He was still trying to work through basic classes before he got to...whatever it wsa he would decide he wanted to major in, though sometimes he was intimidated but the already nearly overwhelming workload he had to tell himself it would all be worth it. He just had to smile through it and push through until he came out the other side with a bright a nd shiny degree and an even brighter future. Of course, that optimism could only take him so far as he stared at the book report he was supposed to be at least outlining, a quick glance at the clock telling him that if he wanted to shower, now would be the time if he didn’t want to be late for his stocking job. Working at a warehouse form one to seven in the morning definitely wasn’t ideal but it paid well and it was just enough to keep him floating while he worked his way through school. Wincing as he stood up on wobbly, half asleep legs he dumped his plate in the sink and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower before he had to be at the warehouse for his shift.

Stumbling out of his apartment complex still struggling to get his jacket on he happened to look up and see an unfamiliar car parked across the street. I wonder if someone else is moving in, he thought, squinting in the darkness of the early morning to try and make out details. He thought he saw movement in the drivers side but the beeping of his watch let him know he had a very limited amount of time now to get to where he was going, so turning on his heel he booked it to the warehouse a few blocks down, any other thoughts drowned out by the apprehensionsion of the promised monotony to come.

-----

Patton was dead on his feet by the time his shift ended and he made it back to his apartment. Making side eyes at the couch wit his notes still scattered on the coffee table he shook his head and went down the short hallway to his bedroom instead, peeling off his shirt and pants as he went and flopped onto the box spring, flopping his arm around for his treasured dog plushie before curling onto his side and beginning to snore within minutes. When he woke up to his insistent alarm five hours later he groaned and threw the plushie at the offending machine to no avail. Stretching out his stiff muscles he reached over and pressed the button to get the thing to shut up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Another day, another...well just another day really. He had half an hour to make himself somewhat presentable and make coffee, maybe try to scratch out part of that english outline before heading off to class and repeating the daily routine of rushing around and catching quick ten minute naps when he could. Thankful today was Wednesday, meaning he had two more regular days and then Saturday he only had to get through his warehouse shift before he was free for the weekend. He made a face at the dust clinging to nearly every surface in his room.. Maybe he’d use that weekend to clean a bit.

Coffee brewing, face washed and toast wolfed down he did actually manage to get a quarter of his outline done before he had to gather everything up and leave. Taking a thermos of caffeine for the road he made it out in record time to catch the bus, idly noting the car from last night was still parked across the street, though it was clearly empty now. A dark blue Sudan with tinted windows from what he could. Shrugging he went to wait in line with everyone else; what he wouldn't give for his own car.

----

It wasn’t until the following week that he saw the car in a different place, this time parked in front of his restaurant. The only reason he really noticed it was because he had honestly been wondering when the thing would be toed considering it never seemed to leave the same spot from across the street. Shrugging the fleeting interest off he quickened his pace and got his apron on, shimmying the bottom part over his head since he hadn't got the knot undone and bending his neck forward to properly don the front loop. Smoothing himself out while shoving his bag under the table and fishing for his notepad and pen he stretched his face into yet another believable smile and pushed his way out of the kitchen and to his shift switch, only to freeze in place when they gestured to a table with a lone figure sat at it.

This cannot be happening, he thought with dismay. At the table sat the very stranger who had smiled at him after catching him staring last week. He was just as cute as ever and had a relaxed, easy smile on his face that Patton instantly felt himself melt for. Now is not thee time Patton, he scolded himself as he straightened his apron and walked over, palms sweating an embarrassing amount with knees he hoped to God weren’t visibly shaking.

“Hello, what can I get for you?”

The man looked up and his smile only grew wider as he cupped his chin. “Have we met?”

Sputtering, Patton clutched his notepad to his chest as he struggled to string a coherent thought together. He knew! He knew and now he’d get to tell him what a creep he was and-

“I’m certain I would have remembered the name of a person as cute as you if we had.” The man leaned forward practically purring. “Patton is it? That suits you.”

Patton barely heard the other half of what was being said to him, the word “cute” bouncing around in his skull too many times for him to properly concentrate on the actual conversation. He turned his incredibly red face away from the others gaze, not quite sure what to say back, thankfully the man saved him from having to respond by finally leaning back and taking the menu up again. “I’m very sorry, where are my manners? I’m keeping you from your job aren’t I?”

He was but heck if Patton was going to agree with that statement. The kinder he was the more this person might tip, and besides, he actually was very cute especially up close. He didn’t mind a bit of casual flirting especially since the other didn’t seem to have anything against him.

“You’re fine sir! I um- I don’t mind.” That being the closest Patton could get to actually accepting a compliment he quickly moved on. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes actually! I’d like a chicken sandwich with tomato and a chef’s salad on the side.”

Nodding, Patton looked back up from his scribbling. “And to drink?”

“Water would be lovely.”

Taking the menu, he nodded again. “It’ll be right out sir.”

“Thank you, Patton.”

The use of his name set him on edge for a second but he quickly brushed it aside. He was just being nice, sure maybe overly nice- but this was the first full blown kind of conversation he’d held with someone who wasn't his landlord or boss in weeks. If the stranger wanted to use his name that was fine. He’d just have to learn his!

Busy as the restaurant was in the afternoon he was slightly disappointed he hadn’t seen the man leave but made his way over to the table to start cleaning up while he had a free minute. Lifting the check book his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the tip that was left. A solid fifty dollar bill lay next to the receipt, and on the latter a phone number was written along with a name.

“Roman.” Patton breathed out. He realized he was holding a third month's rent in his hands, he could get groceries this week...proper groceries! Like...Patton pursed his lips in thought, maybe fruit and vegetables? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bitten into an apple that hadn’t gone completely soft from sitting in the cafeteria for far too long. With stars in his eyes and a name in his heart he pocketed the tip and went about the rest of his shift in a daze, not even noticing the dark blue Sudan still parkly in the parking lot as he made his way back home.

----

Roman was absolutely charming- in every sense of the word. After their first phone call where Patton had thanked him endlessly for the very generous tip they had been texting and calling nearly nonstop. The flowery, flirty way he spoke, the way he looked at Patton like he was hung on the moon, even the way he said his name like he was cradling something precious, it was almost too much. Patton’s workplace had become a regular place for Roman to eat, always sitting at the same place and getting there seemingly right as Patton’s shift started. Tired still though he was, he found the monotony broken at last by a welcome smile to greet him every day of the week, and he was absolutely living for it.

Patton was ecstatic when Roman asked him on a date the following week, securing Saturday as the day they’d meet up at a different restaurant and hang out. He felt like he was floating, like finally something was sliding into place and everyday that it got close to the weekend just made him even more motivated to finish his shifts and homework so he could talk to the one who had so quickly captured his attention. The days flew by, and when Saturday finally came he rushed through his shift at the warehouse to go home and sleep, wanting to be well rested for his first date in years.

-----

Despite his excitement, Patton ended up oversleeping and rushing in vain around his apartment, throwing together a haphazard outfit consisting of a soft blue, non-work polo and light jeans. Sliding his feet into his usual tennis shoes and running quick fingers through his hair he could only hope that was enough as he ran out of his apartment and down the stairs to the street below. The restaurant wasn’t far thankfully and he was able to jog there in no time at all, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a sweaty mess to the other man who always looked impeccably out together. Spotting him at a table on the far side of the joint next to the windows Patton made his way over and sat down nervously.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I overslept and I tried to hurry but-”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” Roman lain a hand on top of Patton's leaving him to fight to contain his blush. “I wasn’t waiting that long and besides, this place has a lovely view.”

Turning to look out the window, Patton had to agree. The restaurant had a wonderful view of the local park, families playing with their children or pets as the Saturday afternoon wore on. He watched the families almost wistfully, almost but not quite missing his own as he watched one play hide-and-seek while another helped their child across the monkey bars. He was so enraptured by the sight before him he didn’t notice Roman’s gaze turn calculating before his easy smile slid back into place, placing his chin in his hands as he joined Patton in people watching.

“Someday, when I leave this town, I’d like to be settled with a family like that.” Roman’s voice brought Patton out of his own thoughts, making him turn to his date with a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like to have someone to take care of and love, and have them love me back. It sounds perfect doesn’t it?”

Patton flicked his eyes away for a second before smiling again. “It does. To be stable and settled down with kiddos, that’s the life I want.”

Seeming to sense his hesitation Roman cocked his head to the side. “Got a bad experience with families?”

“I-” Patton again was slightly put off by the stranger's forwardness and apparent skills of perception but he brushed it aside, finding it nice to be listened to. “My family and I didn’t get along very well I guess. We don’t talk at all now.”

Roman’s eyes flashed as he nodded. “I understand that. My family doesn’t talk to me much anymore either. It happens.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Patton looked away again as the waitress walked over with water and menus. Quietly thanking her Patton skimmed the list of items searching for something cheap. Settling on a club sandwich with a side of coleslaw he closed the menu just in time for the waitress to come back. Taking their orders she quickly left them alone once again, Patton trying desperately to hide a yawn behind his fist.

“Am I boring you already?” Roman said teasingly, and Patton’s face burned in embarrassment.

“It isn’t that I swear I-”

“It’s okay! Tired from work, I take it?”

Patton nodded gratefully and scratched his neck. “I work two jobs with school and I just- I’m a mess.”

Roman chuckled and shook his head. Hardly! That’s quite admirable of you actually, you work so hard for what you have.”

Patton smiled a bit at the table, blush dying down a bit as he breathed. “I guess so yeah.”

“Well I know so!” Patton flinched slightly as he raised his voice but Roman didn’t seem to notice as their food was placed in front of them and they dug in.

“We should really come here more often, this was exquisite!” Patton’s eyes shot up as he heard that. We? More often? Did that mean-

“You think entirely too loud for my liking my sunshine. Please forgive my forwardness, but would you like to do this again sometime?”

Patton beamed at the other man, twisting his fingers nervously under the table. “I’d love to, Roman.”

-----

The next couple months went by in a blur, having dates when they could manage them and extended phone calls when they couldn’t. Then a weekend finally came when they could go out again, deciding meeting at the same restaurant was fine since it was so good last time. Thankfully Patton wasn’t late again, sliding in a chair across from Roman and taking the menu in his hands.

“Hey Roman!’

“Hello my love, it’s good to see that smile again.” Face heating quickly Patton hid his face behind his menu and ignored Roman’s soft chuckles, deciding to order the same thing for simplicity's sake. Giving their orders and receiving their drinks left the two alone and Roman took the opportunity to lean forward with a serious expression, making Patton squirm nervously in his chair.

“Patton, I have something I want to ask you, and you can absolutely say no if you wish to.”

Pressing his lips together Patton nodded for him to continue.

“I know how hard you work, what with two jobs and school on top of that; you’ve told me you sometimes struggle to meet the rent. We’ve been dating for a couple months now and I was wondering, would you like to move in with me?”

Taken aback by the question Patton could do nothing but gape at the other man, silence stretching between them as he tried to comprehend what he was hearing.

“I understand the hesitancy but I feel like it makes more sense. I could pay most of the rent while you contribute the rest, we could trade off making dinner, it’s a bigger apartment I’m sure so you could get out of that run down building. Plus it's closer to your campus so you wouldn’t have to take the bus, and I could always drive you to work.”

“Roman- that’s incredibly generous of you but I can’t ask you to do that.” Declining drove a stake through his heart but Patton was determined to stay firm. He wasn't a charity case, and even if the answers to nearly all of his problems were sitting right in front of him he knew he had to refuse.

“Patton, you aren’t asking, I am.” Roman looked imploringly into his eyes. “You do so much, let me take care of you.”

Biting his lip, Patton looked back at Roman nervously. This was an incredible thing that had just landed right in his lap- he wanted to say yes so badly but what if they didn't work out? If they broke up Patton would be on the street, he didn’t know anyone besides Roman and his bosses and the latter he knew wouldn’t think twice about some poor college student living on the sidewalk. Plus he felt like the relationship was moving so fast, though he didn’t really have much to compare it to other than little high school flings so maybe he was just paranoid. But it was so difficult to keep up with the rent, and if he had the security of Roman- not quite the roommate he had imagined but definitely better, maybe everything was finally looking up.

Squeezing Roman’s hand he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Only if you're sure and I’ll of course help out around the apartment in any way I can!”

“I don’t doubt it my love.” Their food was placed in front of them, as Roman nodded. “We can move you in today if you like. It wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Smiling giddily Patton nodded. Yes, everything was certainly turning around for the better.

-----

As they left the restaurant with Roman leading him to his car so they could start packing up his apartment, Patton nearly froze on the spot but managed to keep walking like nothing had happened. He climbed somewhat nervously into the car he had been seeing outside of his apartment, outside of his restaurant and even sometimes outside of the rather remote warehouse where he worked. He shut the door to the dark blue Sudan carefully and buckled his seatbelt, pushing the buzzing in his ears aside as he settled in his seat and listened to Roman’s idle chatter.

Everything was looking up. It would be fine.

This work is also available on AO3!

Part 2 here

#false writes #false bthb #bthb #bad things happen bingoo #patton sanders #roman sanders #unsympathetic roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic

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casualkoalafart · 3 years

Text

Life These Days.

Disabilities are associated with weakness. The biggest disability is living in an unhealthy mindset, and getting trapped in it. Perspective(s), and the ability to control your perspective, is strength. It gives you power, rather than feed your deterioration. Strength and success are different for everyone and do not have and specific unit of measurement, despite what society depicts. Everyone is different, and is seen different. The idea that you have to look and act a certain way that is unreachable to 99% of us is mental abuse. No matter your race or religion, we are all equal in the eyes of the natural world, although it is a sad, unnecessary, and certainly outdated fight that too many still face today within our human world. The only things that truly matter come from within, and often require some searching through trial and error. I am certainly not perfect, I have made more mistakes and bad choices in my life than I can count, and I want to learn from them. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future. My past does not define me. The person you are within your family, your friends, your workplace, your neighbourhood, and your society are all strangers to each other in one way or another. They are aware that each of them exists, but a different thought process prepares you for the presented environments.

One person’s strength is someone else’s weakness. Winning the lottery could save so many lives if put into the right places, however it could also be the death of you if you are overcome by addiction, greed, or any other toxicities. The ability to put yourself into someone else’s shoes is a mindset that many of us as humans lack, whether we like it or not. After all, how are we supposed to relate to someone who is starving if we don’t know what it is like to be truly hungry? How do we understand what an abused child sees in the world if our brains were developed in a safe and healthy environment? These are uncomfortable thoughts that often lead to the sad path of “ignorance is bliss.” For others, it may have a lasting impact of giving them their purpose in life. Like becoming a detective, a therapist, or a positive role model to whatever cause speaks to them.

Everyone has the right to speak, but not to be heard. Some people are heard by too many and get overwhelmed, and begin a filtering process that should not exist toward their feelings and emotions. Some people are getting heard by too many and are abusing their power through brainwashing impressionable people too scared to think for themselves. Some people are getting heard by the wrong people, inevitably feeling judged and out of place in the world. Humans have great instincts, but often do not have the confidence to follow them. Finding someone like-minded is refreshing, just as finding someone that believes in something that you do not can feel offensive and cause you to become defensive. These lessons that present themselves to us in the form of challenges make us who we are. Everyone expresses themselves differently, and that is what makes the world so beautiful. Art, music, literature, traditions, food, drink, and each unique personality makes life worth living. For those who have yet to find a way to express themselves, the opportunities to deal with their thoughts while also feeling safe and understood (despite whether the view or perspective is the same as the listener), are everything. The right to speak gives you the right to be judged, something that many find out the hard way. It can be discouraging, and that feeling of failure sticks with you more prominently than any win, especially to yourself.

Every mind is its own universe, and the energy that comes from it we feel is seen by who (or what) we call god. We strive to be heard and felt, because after all we can only truly feel our own feelings, and we want to share those feelings with others. Listening and hearing others in the way they express themselves through whichever outlet best suits them brings power, empathy, and unity. The sense of being alone in the world is a feeling that has unfortunately impacted everyone. As unique and different that we all are, we are the same in that sense. I feel my energy is felt through the earth, and I find comfort in and with those who share my perspective. I feel I am most understood and heard by animals, my family, and my best friends. I am really attracted to the energy from animals because I have yet to find my way in the world, my true outlet for my feelings and expressions, or something that I feel is my purpose. With animals not being able to communicate with language, and since I cannot always seem to put things into words for others to understand me, I feel a true connection through the brainwaves, the loving and healing energy we make and willingly give to one another, specially made for each being. I do not want my energy that I create to come from animals, because I do not want to take from them. They already willingly give so much, but we continue to take and take and take until there is ultimately nothing left.

Right now, the world is speaking to us with the undeniable statistics through every outlet and source possible. Unfortunately, we do not listen, and the next warning I fear will be fatal. Global warming, fires, floods, plagues, are begging for us to acknowledge that we are killing our Mother Earth, and we are not listening. Hatred, inequality, and the sensation that we cannot make a difference in these challenging times is going to undoubtedly be our last fight, and we must keep fighting. With lockdown forcing all of us to reflect in this time, our biggest strength would be to come together while we are apart. Many of us feel our weakest, and as strange as it sounds, we could use that to our advantage. Turning weakness into strength is not only achievable, it is necessary. Humans are so incredible, we are inventors and have made a way to connect all of us, in the idea that by doing so, no one is alone. This creates a broader sense of loneliness, being surrounded by the internet world but still not being seen for who you are. So, we are back at the beginning again it seems. Some people go to extreme lengths to be heard or remembered. The idea of being alone is a powerful feeling that can lead to either good or evil, or in tragic (but not rare) cases, suicide. We need to understand that the rising of mental sickness is another form in which our planet is letting us know that we are literally killing ourselves. Too many are unable to deal with stress, guilt, pressure, loss, and so on. Drug addictions, accidental or purposeful overdoses, and self-harm are all fatal hand-me-down outlets to deal with man-made problems that we should never have had to deal with in the first place. These man-made problems are not made up or any less real than a hurricane. They create new emotions, ones that we are not equip to handle, forcing our bodies to call for any response to these ever-evolving threats, and are often fatal solutions. Depression and anxiety should not be a mental illness, they are simply emotions that come with the good of life. Nobody is happy all the time, and the idea that life should always be happy is sad in itself. When there is life, there is death. Where there is good, there is bad. Where there is love, there is hate. Instead of teaching each other how to handle the yin and the yang, we prescribe drugs like opioids, while also trying to convey the image that drugs are bad and drug addicts are failures. So many poor people are brainwashed into thinking that marijuana is bad, but for some reason popping pills to manipulate your body to function is normal. Writing this makes my heart race, and I cannot describe the feeling because it is a cocktail that is mixed with emotions that do not belong together. We do not know how to deal with so many things because to put it bluntly, they are not natural and they evolve every day and are designed to break us.

Our relationships with each other is everything, and our compassion and ability to hear others is power. Emotions, and being able to talk about and express them, is a gift and a privilege. We have been given the false connotation that feelings are weakness, that the idea of healthy options and outlets of expression for them are also weakening. Someone who takes anti-depressants to cope with feelings, drinks excessively to not have to feel, and take drugs may have the sensation that they are being stronger than someone who goes to therapy. This is backwards, and we as a society need to understand this together. Our strength of our ability to exchange knowledge is getting the best of us with the media not passing on the right messages. The government favouring the majority and purposefully challenging the minority is poisoning all of us, because we are all the same. It can give a person too much power, the corrupt idea that you are somehow better than a person who is not on social media, planting trees for a living. It will give people who do not have a platform a feeling that they cannot make a change to the world, since they are just one person. Evilness derives from this false and discouraging perspective. It will not give the right people anything, it will eventually take from them everything that matters.

There is strength in getting up in the morning, brushing your teeth, creating a healthy routine. Don’t cut yourself short. You’re doing great. It’s not supposed to be easy.

I did not filter myself writing this, and I hope I did not offend anyone who took the time to read my thoughts. We are all just trying to find our place in the world. In the perspective from our planet, no person is above or below another. Society, a man-made revolution, needs to help spread the right messages. We are all part of society. You are society.

The idea of posting this to the world gives me anxiety, however I am doing it because I know I am not the only one who feels this way, and I want anyone who can relate to this message at all to know that they are not alone. I am also posting this to let ANYONE know that if they want to talk about something, I am happy to listen and to hear them. I hope this message can inspire you to feel comfortable in your mind, your body, and to not be embarrassed or feel shame to share yourself with the world through your personally suited outlet. I would love to see your art, hear your music, read your words, or learn other forms of expression from you.

In writing this, I have escaped in a sense. I have allowed so many overwhelming thoughts and emotions to form words, and with this vulnerability comes a sense of relief that I hope everyone feels they have access to.

I am so overwhelmed and overcome with emotions all of a sudden, and then they go away as if they were just thoughts passing by in a train, just making a quick stop to drop off some passengers and pick up others on their way to an unknown destination. I wish that I could control the waves in which I feel so helpless, heavy, weak, and overcome. I wish I could pace myself. I know a quick way out would be to inebriate myself, a desire of what seems like freedom is powerful and can become uncontrollable in seconds.

I really hope I am confident enough to share this one day. My goal is to organize my thoughts and feelings into words that I can be proud to own, unapologetically.

Thank goodness for computers. I love the idea of having a beautiful mind and expressing words through pen and paper. Making my words beautiful through calligraphy and ink created with my own specific muscle movements. I have a strange admiration for penmanship. However that is not the case, as my mind is a mess with thoughts that come and go at what seems like the speed of light. I am grateful for the ability to edit my words efficiently through text. But, with the sense that I am feeding into the “everything is instant” perspective/generation of society, I am also disappointed in myself for not being able to slow down my mind enough to hand write most of what I choose to put into words to remind my future self. Or my present self.

I feel like after starting this page, I have opened a vault. One that should never have been a vault to begin with, but a welcoming and open-minded space. Instead of numbing and silencing my mind, I would like to have the strength to escape my escape, get my bearings back in a healthy way by reading other people’s escapes, appreciating their art, or listening to stories. Grounding myself back into reality. That I am actually okay. That I am just another person. A somebody, or a nobody, depending on my perspective.

I feel like I have experienced so many emotions today, that my body was overtaken by my mind because it was trapped. I can’t even remember writing some of it, which is curious. Hopefully that is where dying comes in, to release your trapped mind. Not now of course, but that is a nice and comforting thought for me, to think that in facing your worst fear you achieve real freedom.

I am glad I wrote it down, to reflect on later.

Everything written above was written on February 5th, 2021. It was snowy today. I had a lot of butterflies feeling my mind race so fast on so many deep levels. It is now 21:22, and although I still don’t quite know how I’m feeling, I feel like I have said what I needed to for the day. I also did not drink any alcohol today, which I am proud of after doing so much self-reflection. I am going to cuddle with Sammy, play games, and try to feel at peace with where I am in the world and in my mind.

Goodnight.

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barryallenis · 4 years

Text

A Different Time

What would happen if 2020 Barry Allen met 2049 Iris West-Allen?

Trial and Error. That had been the basis of the last few weeks facing the daunting and nearly unprecedented goal of creating an artificial speed force.

Now this was not frivolous trial and error; whims being thrown at the wall to see if they’d stick. Every idea was planned, calculated, fervently scribbled across a dry erase board before ever being tested.

However, this particular trial was their biggest risk yet. Risky, in that it would take the most out of Barry’s rapidly depleting speed to attempt. But it was the best idea they had thought of in weeks. And as his powers depleted with every clock tick, it became more and more essential that they find an answer.

That is how Barry ended up here, in this unintended destination, clad in red suit, fixed in the front entryway he had left from just this morning.

How had he ended here? Back in the loft?

Unless...

Barry moved quickly deeper into the foyer, though not sure exactly what he was searching for at such a rapid pace. He ignored the angry light flashing from his wrist watch as he scanned the open loft in front of him.

What could prove this was the speed force?

A sun beam caught a glass vase on the table that sat comfortably behind a very different sofa than Barry remembered. His eyes gravitated towards the light stream, bringing into view all the tables contents. He slowly removed his cowl to get better vision. A glass vase full of seemingly fake flowers, a few books (gold etched titles illegible in the sunlight) and a few framed pictures. One, housed a familiar portrait of him and Iris laughing in the park, the other, however, was a picture he had no memory of taking.

There was the couch he remembered, and on it, he and Iris, beaming towards the camera. Or rather, he was beaming towards the camera, and Iris was beaming towards the dark curled bundle that sat on her lap.

The feeling that hit him was indescribable, but it was, unmistakably, unlike the dreamlike wonder Ramsey had dangled in front of him in a child's mobile. It felt … real. The dimbles on his cheeks, the loving gaze Iris placed on their daughter, the squint of the baby’s eyes that looked as though she were just about to laugh, it all felt too visceral. There was no mirage involved this time.

“B - Barry?”

Barry spun around through the haze that picture had created around him to another sight that shook him to his core. His wife, older and grayer, but unmistakable, the wife he had seen just this morning, in that very spot, whipping toothpaste from her mouth as she stumbled down the stairs for her to-go cup of coffee.

This was surely the future, Barry thought. The light on his wrist flashed darker, but Barry didn't pay it any mind. Maybe things had corrected after all. He, and Iris and Nora all in the future together...

“Iris.”

She darted her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry I just - it’s been so long since I’ve heard you say my name.”

And there, almost like twisting a healing wound, Barry felt the same feeling he had when grabbing for the daughter he couldn’t hold. But this wasn’t a mirage, he reminded himself painfully, this was real.

“What - what year is it?”

“2049. What year are you …?”

“2020.”

Iris bit her lip.

“So you don’t even know -“

“About Nora?” Barry finished.

Her eyes widened. “You - you know about Nora?”

“She - she came back in time to 2019 but she - you don’t know any of this, do you?”

She shook her head, her eyes moistening, she closed them like the saturation was making it unbearable to see. “God what have I done?”

Barry stepped closer to her, her body stiffened like she was receiving an unwanted approach by a stranger on the street.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked. “It’s just been so long I -”

What was this timeline? Nora was alive but he was … gone? The idea that another crisis would take him away from his family when he had been given a new lease on life felt like being stabbed, a feeling which he did in fact have a real life comparison to. He had so many questions that he knew he shouldn’t ask. But one, currently, beat out the rest.

“Where is Nora?”

Tears were falling now, openly, Iris shook her head again, “She ran out that door, just before - all because I kept…” she met Barry’s eyes again, and in their gaze her resolve shifted. Her back straightened as she stared pointedly at the face she hadn’t seen for decades. “I protected our daughter above everything, like we said, the best I could -“

Barry’s throat felt tight, “I know.”

Iris huffed a laugh while liquid in her eyes remained. “You know? How do you know?”

“Because I know you.”

Her locked eyes on the super-heroic man were not met with grasping reassurance but instead oozed with sincerity. He truly did know her, every part, or at least, the Iris she has been in 2020. If she were honest, she wasn’t sure she could even remember who that was. What stood in front of her was Barry, undoubtedly. But it wasn’t her Barry. This Barry belonged to an Iris from another time. Her Barry, the one that was supposed to grow grey streaks and wrinkles with her, that was her Barry, and he was not here.

“Aren’t you gonna ask?” She said suddenly.

“Ask what?”

“Where you are?”

“I don’t think I -“

“Crisis.” Iris blurted, feeling an unwavering lack of care for the fact that revelations such as these could lead to lapses in the timeline. Maybe it was the cumulation of the last 30 years or maybe it was simply the last few minutes, but she didn’t give the words a second thought as they escaped her mouth. “The newspaper headline we couldn’t change this time.”

It was then that Barry realized what he was in was not his future. It was a future. A previous one, one that no longer existed. And staring at his tear stained wife, knowing his daughter had just stood where he stood, he couldn’t quite tell whether that made him happy ... or sad.

What he was in was real, at a time. But it wasn’t real anymore.

“Iris...” What could he say? And if he had really entered a now extinct timeline what did it even matter? However, looking at his wife’s tear stained cheeks it felt like it mattered a great deal. So as his mind raced thinking through the 30 year gap that stood between them, he too, blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Because it was already what he had spent the last several months telling her. “You are an amazing mother.”

Tears filled again. She felt like she was back in 2024, right back to one of the last nights she had with her husband. They laid across a couch she couldn’t bear to sleep on again as he cradled their sleeping daughter in his arms for one of the very last times….

“I did what I had to do, to keep her safe. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice but after everything... Barry I couldn’t risk - I couldn’t risk losing her too.”

Barry’s mind felt waves of emotions all at once. Heartbroken, knowing Nora’s fate, and heartbroken, knowing decisions he made had put Iris in this much pain.

That was real. He did that.

“I’m sorry Iris. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. That I put you in a place where you had to make that decision. I’m sorry … that I wasn’t there to see our daughter grow up. That I left you - that I left our family.” He swallowed hard, “And I know 30 years later maybe this doesn’t mean anything, and I deserve that. But I need you to know how proud I am of you. Of all that I know you accomplished in your journalistic career, and of the amazing, intelligent, kindhearted daughter you raised. Iris I saw the kind of person she is, right now. She didn’t get that from me.”

It suddenly became unbearable to look at him. The red suit, the puff of hair he’d leave bouncing about, the dimples that were still there, so young, just the way she remembered them. She honed her sight on floor lines.

“Please ... ” she kept her eyes trained downward, weighing the gravity of the words she so wanted to say. “Please … don’t do it. If I can ask anything of you, it would be to please… choose a different path.”

Between the look on her daughter's face as she sped away and the stark reminder she had just been slapped with right in front of her, Iris suddenly felt more desperate than she had in 30 years. She was ready to rewrite time for a different outcome. To bring him back. She’d risk any disturbances her plea may cause.

Finally, Barry found a small sliver of hope in a promise he actually could make.

“Iris I will always come running home to you. No matter what.”

#westallen #barry allen #iris west #the flash #iris westallen #i feel like these might be some controversial choices for Iris #but i can’t even imagine what the last 30 years must have been like #especially knowing what she did to noras powers #mywriting #myfics

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andy-loves-corgis · 5 years

Text

All of The Lights - Ch 4 (TRR AU)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: well, now just the dysfunctional Rileyx Liam and the awful Liam x Madeleine

Rating: PG

Word count: ~ 3,300

Notes: I’m so sorry and I hated this chapter, that’s all I can say. Thanks, whoever is still here ♥️

WARNING: Read the Prologue! Every chapter has TWO timelines, Before (about a year before the Prologue) and After (two years after the prologue), if you don’t pay attention to that you might get confused!

Fast cars, shooting stars

BEFORE

Drake stretched his fingers absentmindedly, after a week immobilized he decided upon taking the gauze off and though a little sore, they seemed to have healed perfectly.

“What in the seven hells?!”

Liam was horrified, Drake could see by his contorted face looking outside the tinted windows of the limo.

Looking like every bit of a Cordonian Sweetheart, Riley stood in front of the press, half of her chocolate locks now a deep shade of red, some blonde spots seen between the brown and the red, redder than Liam’s livid face.

“I’m telling you, Drake. She has a very unique way of driving me insane” Liam said burying his face in his hands.

“I think it suits her” Drake tried to control the smirk in his lips.

Yes, Riley had her own way of bringing hell to Liam, or basically anyone who crossed her way. He knew she had been stressing over her broken ankle and not being able to care for herself, whether dying her hair herself or painting an entire wall of her home, she would always find a way to express her need of change.

Leaving the limo with a now very composed Liam, Drake spotted another livid individual, Madeleine’s nostrils flared under her perfectly done makeup, of course she would hate to divide the spotlight with Riley.

The press went wild as Liam walked to Riley, pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek, and whispering something on her ear that made her face fall as he turned smiling to the camera.

That’s none of your business

He just walked away from the frenzy of the crowd, who had just spotted Leo, poor guy, Leo was suffering so much he even lost weight, which could be completely related to his drinking habits and whole-night sex with his maids. The future king was doing anything to forget that he would soon to be married to one of those uptight bland women or worse... Madeleine.

On the far corner, next to the boats, Drake found his father’s pupil, looking as tired as someone could be.

“You look like shit, Bastien” Drake laughed, standing beside his only living father figure.

“Every night with Leo takes a week out of my life span” Bastien whispered.

Drake tried unsuccessfully suppress a laugh.

Looking at all the nobles in their exclusive designer clothes gathering around the harbor just to see those girls who never tied a knot in their life, Drake felt glad for living in the invisible sidelines, he always thought that he preferred the snarky comments and side outraged glances than the fake smiles and sugar-coated condescending words.

“I hate those stuff, how to you manage to survive to every one of these things?” Drake sighed as soon as the boats sailed. “It’s just so boring.”

“It’s just work, it’s not every time that we are breathing on some terrorists neck” Bastien simply said. “Sometimes you are in Bósnia-Herzegovina at 04:23 am to pick up a drunk heir to the throne.”

Drake snorted again, excusing himself to get some water.

“No, Liam, YOUR problem is that I didn’t tell you I was going to dye MY hair!” It was undoubtedly Riley’s voice behind the drink station.

“Well, if you wanted so much to look like Olivia, you should’ve dyed it all” Drake could almost picture Liam’s smirk, knowing he’d hit a soft spot.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

Drake cleared his throat and the voices turned to angry whispers, until he heard hard steps towards the Riva, Liam appeared chewing the insides of his cheeks and adjusting the collar of the shirt under his sweater, barely throwing a second glance at Drake.

The commoner made his way to the secluded place where Riley stood leaning on a fence massaging her temples.

He was about to greet her when they heard the cheering voices of the crowd.

“Shit!” Riley exclaimed.

Even though what unfolded in front of him wasn’t anything new, every time Drake saw Riley inhaling deeply before putting the most dazzling smile on her face, he was amazed - saddened to the core, but amazed nonetheless.

“Oh hi!” She said in a cheerful tone, if Drake hadn’t grown up with her, he might have believed she was happy. “Mind to help?”

One of her crutches had fallen to the ground and Drake quickly lowered himself to get it, he noticed her swollen calves and a crease formed in his eyebrows.

“Thanks” she smiled and left walking like with her head held high.

Sometimes he couldn’t understand what it took to be like that, to live like that.

Madeleine won, obviously, as if she hadn’t paid Nick Thompson to sail for her, but in the end, it was all power games during social season.

Imagine a dozen of the most well-crafted women of the kingdom, they were molded since they were able to walk to sit still, look pretty, pour tea and to think like true strategist.

No, Cordonian court wasn’t a complete sexist place, of course as in any patriarchal society men would have the upper hand on the ladder to success, but women were always behind that.

Drake watched as Madeleine hugged Riley while the other suitors clapped, those sweet smiles only hiding their next step.

“Do you like whiskey?” He heard Liam’s voice next to him.

“Was that even supposed to sound like a question?” Drake rose an eyebrow to his best friend.

“Hope McCallan isn’t too cheap for you” Liam’s smirk grew.

“Liam, every time you come up with the whiskey talk it’s because you’re gonna ask me to do something I don’t wanna do... what is it?”

Liam cleared his throat but kept the smirk

“Well, there’s whiskey... in Olivia’s yacht”

The prospect of that night becoming a huge nightmare has shifted to 112%.

“Please...?” Liam gave him a forced smile.

Gathering all the force he still had, Drake just nodded, rubbing his eyes to avoid the scowl.

Well, at least there will be whiskey.

Olivia’s yacht was big enough for a family of four to live comfortably, but oddly enough she gathered her guests on the small deck by the jacuzzi.

The sun was setting and they were a swimming distance from the shore, but the view was still a breathtaking, sipping from his whiskey, Drake noticed that Riley was focused on another view.

By the jacuzzi Liam laughed with Olivia, their elbows touching as they sat side by side in the hot water. To any spectator the scene unfolding would look as friends having a good time together, but to anyone who knew that little love triangle, it was way more than that.

York: I’m about to throw myself in the waters.

He tried not to laugh at the message on his phone, Riley was known for being dramatic, so he casually walked to the jacuzzi, under Kiara’s blushing gaze and Olivia’s scowl.

“Hey” he squatted next to Liam. “I don’t think Riley is feeling well, I’ll take her back okay?”

Liam’s knitted his eyebrows puzzled.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s feeling nauseous” Drake came up with the first excuse he could think of.

“Oh, well...”

“Leighton can take them to the shore, Li” Olivia interjected without looking at Drake.

“See you at the palace” Drake taped Liam’s shoulder, wetting his hand in the process.

He walked between the crowd, their champagne glasses glinting on the fading sun.

“Let’s get out of here, York” he looked at his miserable friend.

“Thank God” she answered grabbing his hand for support.

It was a short way to the shore and they made their way in silence as droplets of sea water splashed on their faces.

Drake helped her hop on his truck and finally felt at ease feeling Riley get comfortable turning the radio on.

Night fell as the black truck made its way through the woods near the palace where a clearing welcome then along with a smirk Riley couldn’t suppress.

“And I thought you were just going to leave me alone in my room to scroll through Twitter” she laughed as he helped her out of the car and proceeded to open the pick up truck bed where some pillows and covers awaited them.

“I got your back, York” he smiled as she got cozy on the pillows and he pulled his guitar.

After a minute of only the soft melody he was playing and the wind hushing on tree leaves she turned to him.

“Sing something”

He gave it a little thought, slowly striking the chords before he decided.

I wanna be drunk when I wake up

On the right side of the wrong bed

And never an excuse I made up

Tell you the truth I hate

What didn't kill me,

It never made me stronger at all

Love will scar your make up

Lips sticks to me, so now I maybe lean back there

I'm sat here wishing I was sober

I know I'll never hold you like I used to

But a house gets cold when you cut the heating

Without you to hold I'll be freezing

Can't rely on my heart to beat in

'Cause you take parts of it every evening

Take words out of my mouth just from breathing

Replace with phrases like 'when you leaving me? '

Should I? Should I?

Maybe I'll get drunk again

I'll be drunk again, I'll be drunk again

To feel a little love

“That’s beautiful... and sad. You should really start playing it somewhere” her small voice filled the silence. “Is it about Erika?”

Drake shrugged.

“I guess it was when I first thought about it”

“You never told me why you two broke up” she propped herself on her elbows.

“It just didn’t work out”

“Well, I never liked her” Riley laughed.

“You never liked any of my girlfriends, York” he threw a pillow at her.

“Hey! I’ll like her when it’s the right one okay?”

“Yeah, now shut up and look up” he adjusted himself next to her.

He heard her soft gasp at the sight of the falling stars, as if she was the same 10-year-old girl he brought there along with his sister and father to see their first meteor shower. He felt her hand grabbing two of his fingers and smiled.

“Make a wish, Walker”

AFTER

The sun wasn’t too high in the sky when he finished shaving, God forbids Madeleine saw a glint of facial hair on anyone at any of her events, not that he minded what she thought, but he rather be invisible at this event.

A cup of coffee and a croissant later, he found himself at the site of the barn raising, it would be so fun watch the nobles having the day to pretend they have any inclination to do hard work. Penelope and Kiara for example were wearing high heels, he betted 5 euros one of them would fall in 5 minutes.

Drake laughed to himself but got pulled out of his thoughts by a loud engine blasted on the road, the feeling of déja vu overcoming him, he knew exactly who loved loud engines drawing the attention to her entrance.

Shit

A white Bugatti stopped at the entrance and for a second, after seeing the frightened face of Hana getting out of the car, he forgot that he was pissed.

Although he remembered on the next second when Riley got out of the driver’s side laughing heartedly, she was wearing a simple plaid shirt, jeans shorts and sneakers, all the flashes were on her, the first press appearance since she was back two weeks ago.

“Lady Riley! Lady Riley!” The press screamed to get her attention. “How does if feel to be back?”

“Amazing!” She smiled, but he saw right through her, she didn’t get any better at hiding her lies and discomfort than she did at 18.

“Lady Riley! How do you describe your style today?”

“Riley York ready to build a barn” Maxwell made his way through the press to hug Riley and Hana.

“Lady Riley! Don Brine here! We see your coming with a new crew, Lady Hana and Lord Maxwell, does this has anything to do with your best friend getting engaged to your ex while you were away?”

Her smile faltered for a second, Drake held his breath without even knowing, across from the press he finally acknowledged Madeleine grabbing Liam’s arms forcefully while the future king didn’t blink watching Riley getting close to them.

“I think I’ll have to set the record straight” she pulled Madeleine’s hand into hers, locking them in an uncomfortable hold. “Liam, Madeleine and I all grew up together, and some people change along the way, some relationships change along the way.”

Riley’s angelic face gave the future monarchs the sweetest smile, Drake could almost touch the longing in Liam’s eyes.

“Liam and Madeleine will rule wisely and will be remembered for generations, and I couldn’t be more than happy for them. i guess that’s all.”

“One more thing Lady York. Ana de Luca for trend. We got an anonymous tip that you were away on a rehab clinic for self harm, what do you have to say about that?”

Drake saw Riley twisting Madeleine’s hand.

“Ana, some people don’t know when to shut up” she smirked and left them under the urges for more words and flashes blinking.

He watched as Liam cleared his throat and gave his speech on the barn raising, completely mechanical as he forced himself not to look over to Riley laughing with her friends.

Drake saw himself standing awkwardly with his hands buried in his pockets until he felt a light touch in his arms.

“It will all happen again, won’t it?” Kiara’s black eyes met his and wandered where Riley was. “She’s a bulldozer Drake, I remember how you were when she left, how Liam was, god, even Penelope...”

“Shall we start?” Liam started gathering everyone, not giving him any time to answer Kiara.

“Kiara and Penelope can help with the hay, Maxwell and Hana can take care of painting the fences and... Drake and Riley will work lifting the wood of the barn walls.” Madeleine smiled proudly at herself and Liam choked.

“It’s too much of manual labor for a Lady, my dear, I’m sure Lady Riley could trade places with Maxwell” Liam pondered.

“No way, it would give my hands blisters!” Maxwell interjected and Riley laughed.

“Don’t be silly dear, Lady Riley spent the last year as a working woman in America.” Madeleine’s fire gaze pierced through Liam’s blue eyes.

“Hey Liam, it’s okay really, I used to do some heavy lifting at work...” Riley finally spoke and Liam’s gaze went from her to Drake.

At that moment Drake understood why Liam didn’t want her inside the barn.

“Told you so..” Kiara whispered beside him.

“I can help you two...”

“No, you can’t!” Madeleine exclaimed more fiercely that she probably intended. “We need to make rounds and pose for pictures dear, it’s our engagement event after all.”

“Then we should go!” A completely anxious Penelope stated, wanting as much as any of them to be excluded from the awkwardness.

Drake sighed and made his way to the structure of the barn without a second glance to Riley. He was preparing the wood when she reached their spot.

“Hey, let me help” she said smiling and reaching for the wood he was carrying, he didn’t reply.

They worked in silence for almost an hour, she didn’t back up from any activity, from carrying heavy buckets of water for the horses, to helping him pulling up the wood.

“We’re still a good team!” She exclaimed after most of the work was done, he stole a glance and her proud look and warm smile, a drop of sweat descending from her neck.

“We’re not a team” he grunted at his relapse.

The smile vanished from her face.

“After everything, how you can say that?”

“After everything, how can YOU say that?” Drake spat turning fully to her. “Why the hell did you come back, Riley? Why didn’t you just disappear and let us live our pathetic lives here?”

“Why didn’t you let me drown, Drake? It would definitely be better than be here now, right?”

Drakes face fell, and suddenly flashes of that fateful afternoon flooded him like the gelid winter see, the white dress plastered on her numb skin, the muttering blue lips, his heart beating so hard in his chest, wanting to trade places with hers, to make her alive again.

He got close to her, closer than he should for the sake of his sanity, he could feel the heat coming from her body as her resolve slowly crumbled and his rage grew.

“Go to hell, Riley. Fuck you!” She shrank at his words, spat so cruelly it made her eyes watery.

Drake suddenly couldn’t breath so he left the almost finished barn to the hired workers to complete, the sun hanging low in the sky only heating his chest more, he wanted to scream, but he refused to be seen by anyone of the court, so, like a coward, he just sneaked out.

The humming sound of his truck engine was the only thing calming him right now, he drove aimlessly for more than an hour until night came and he saw himself somewhere he almost forgot it existed, somewhere he locked in her mind along with every other memory of Riley.

He sat on the empty boot of his truck, opening a can of beer and looking at the sky, as if he was a child, he was desperate for a shooting star so he could ask for everything to be normal again.

The loud engine once again pulled him from his thoughts, the white Bugatti now had several brown spots of dirt on its side, she sat on the hood, no respect for a €4 million car, one more reason he could add to the list for hating her.

“I’m sorry.” She said without looking at him, her tired eyes lost, miles away, in the sky.

Drake looked at the beer in his hands, then back to the sky.

“I shouldn’t have said that today.” He heard her sighing. “I actually never thanked you, so thank you, Drake.”

“For what?” He gave another gulp to his beer.

“For taking me out of the waters, whichever mean it has, you saved my life in more ways than that for years, but that day, that day I only came back breathing because of you.” Her eyes were full of tears once again, eyes pleading to him. “I didn’t come back to screw everything, I just... I miss my best friend, Drake.”

“I just can’t understand why, Riley?” He licked his dry lips, thinking of how to say it. “You gave up on us, you decided to stay, and then... why? You really meant it? You really wanted it?”

He really hoped she said no.

“Yes” Her voice was almost a whisper. “I wanted to die that day.”

“Why?” He tried in vain to keep his emotions under control.

“I don’t know” she dried her cheeks with her sleeves. “ I came back to try and find it out, it’s the only thing holding me back, I need to find out. Then I promise you’ll never hear of me again.”

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softpeetabread · 6 years

Text

University Life Part 7

This is +7k words long!! I’ve received a lot of feedback for the first few parts and I’m glad that you all are enjoying this seemingly out of control story. Thank you to everyone that has supported this, whether it’s by liking or reblogging. I hope that you all enjoy this new bit!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

The blurred image of rushing trees outside the window had entertained Katniss for a couple of minutes before she felt woozy. She thought she’d been used to watching trees and other types of greenery pass by as she and Peeta drove to school, but this new speed the train brought proved her wrong. She and Peeta were headed to the Capitol for their interview with Caesar Flickerman and she was certain this was also a contributor to her lightheadedness. She decided to focus on Peeta, who sat beside her sketching quietly. She welcomed the peaceful moment because her companion always had that look of concentration on his face as he undoubtedly immersed himself in the vision present in his mind. There seemed to be a world that only he could see and he presented it beautifully through his artwork.

They weren’t alone on their trip, though, much to Katniss’s chagrin. Amongst the phone calls they had received after the news that they had been in touch with Caesar, one of his colleagues had contacted them about being their escort and would help them with getting ready for the interview. Effie Trinket had gone on and on about how fabulous it would all be, and how this trip coincided with her return to the Capitol after spending some time in District 12 with her boyfriend, who she was bringing along. Katniss would have cared less about this woman’s personal affairs if it hadn’t involved her dear uncle Haymitch. He was such a recluse that she wondered how he talked to people, but it turned out he could be social if he wanted to, or if he was coaxed into those situations. Katniss wrinkled her nose when Effie said she and Haymitch were dating because there was no way her uncle—so curt, unruly, and insufferable—could charm someone as bubbly and enthusiastic as Effie. Yet there was little she could do to protest their company. Effie had a job to do and Haymitch did know a thing or two about the Capitol himself after going back and forth for his involvement with the military. It’s funny how small the world truly was.

It's not that she was embarrassed of her uncle (although, she held a different opinion about his drinking problem), but he and Katniss had the tendency to argue and she could be quite aggressive with him when he pushed her buttons. It was the complete opposite with Peeta who made her feel relaxed. She hadn’t put those two sets of emotions together, at least not in a long time, so she worried about coming off as hostile to Peeta. For now, Haymitch and Effie had left them alone and she didn’t even want to wonder what those two were up to.

Surprisingly, Peeta and Haymitch got along, or at least they could hold a decent conversation unlike when Katniss talked to her uncle. His talent for speaking and using the correct words people wanted to hear always impressed her because it was just talking, but there was something about Peeta that made everything he said believable and soothing.

Katniss was curious to see what Peeta was sketching, but she thought against stealing a peek since she didn’t want to disrupt his concentration. Instead, she studied his face and noticed how long and blond his eyelashes were, casting shadows over his eyes as he blinked. She wondered how they didn’t tangle together or if he ever realized how thick they were.

There was a moment where he lost his focus and looked up to meet her eyes. How long had she been staring at him? Two minutes? Two hours? Regardless of the time, Katniss felt heat rush to her face as she turned away, fighting a smile.

“What were you looking at?” Peeta asked.

“Your eyelashes…I was wondering what they’ll look like with all the make-up they’ll put on you.” She could have been honest and told him how pretty she thought they looked, but she couldn’t let him know that. However, she wasn’t lying when she mentioned the make-up.

Effie had mentioned they would have a stylist and a prep team to get them ready, which meant having their hair and make-up done in addition to having wardrobe they would provide. Katniss thought it was a waste of time and money, but it was the Capitol and they wanted for everyone to be full of glitter and shine.

Peeta chuckled. “Hopefully, we’re able to keep our faces. Have you seen what they look like?”

Katniss laughed at his implication. “They do look ridiculous with so many alterations they get done.”

“I guess having make-up on would be relatively harmless and normal.” Peeta made a good point, but she wondered if they could object to anything they didn’t agree with or if they had to go with whatever their prep team proposed.

They heard a shift from the door and Effie came through with a folder in her hand. “Alright, children. Let’s work on your interview. I have a list of questions Caesar may ask you, though know he won’t make them all in one night. You have to be prepared to answer the ones he decides to give you, and he may even make some up on the spot.”

Katniss’s talents did not include public speaking. Just thinking about being in front of people made her nervous, and having cameras zoom in on her face set off a new kind of anxiety she didn’t recognize. Even if she tried to convince herself that it would be fine because she was doing this for Peeta, she couldn’t help feel her stomach curl and stir. Effie would be helping them work on their answers and give them a mock interview, but even with the practice, she was afraid she would mess up. She wondered how Peeta could do these kinds of things without feeling nervous. He was confident and sure of himself when addressing people, making him quite popular amongst different groups at their university.

She didn’t know what she expected from the set of questions Effie had, but at least they weren’t as difficult to answer as she had thought. They were more or less basic, asking where they came from and what they were studying; what plans they have for the future; what they do on their spare time; how Peeta developed his talent and how he found inspiration for his fiery piece. Perhaps it was because they were students and not celebrities, but if they were going to get asked those sorts of things, then she didn’t feel she should worry so much about what to answer. They spent around three hours working on them, though, and Effie gave them advice on how to answer, which gave Katniss the impression that she and Peeta had to be extremely polite and mind their manners. It was all about manners with her.

That led to their escort evaluating the way they walked and moved, too. Effie sent Peeta to Haymitch so she and Katniss could work on her etiquette, and even though it pained Katniss to watch him leave them alone, at least he wouldn’t see how humiliating this type of training was. There were a lot of things Katniss couldn’t predict, but she was sure that this whole ordeal was made so she wouldn’t have the slightest ounce of peace of mind. It would have helped if Effie hadn’t been such a drama queen about every little thing they did, but Katniss tried to keep her cool, taking deep breaths and thinking about other things besides walking out of the room or ripping Effie’s papers in half to shut her up. She was not only here to help Peeta, but she was also Haymitch’s girlfriend and the last thing Katniss needed was to upset her.

“You must walk like a lady, Katniss,” Effie said for the third time after Katniss walked from one end of the train cart to the other.

“Will they even notice if I miss a couple of steps?” Katniss asked with slight irritation in her voice.

“Of course they will. They will notice every two steps, every step, every half-step. Your posture, your strut. It’s all important.”

Katniss did her best to walk the way Effie instructed and once she was satisfied, she had her practice with a pair of heels. They were too tall, too thin, and they pinched her toes, so Katniss had a difficult time adjusting to them and relied on holding on to one of the seats. She wondered if there was any way she could use her own shoes, but she doubted that would be negotiable. Effie took her hand and helped steady her, and Katniss was able to practice for a couple of rounds before she walked on her own with the monstrous heels.

“Does Peeta have to worry about any of this?” Katniss asked.

“That’s why I shooed him away. Haymitch is helping him,” Effie said as she looked over Katniss. “Pick up your chin and square your shoulders; you’re slumping.”

Katniss was not about to hear her say these things more than once so she tried learning quickly. She had to give her credit, though, for taking her job seriously.

“Why my uncle though?”

Effie gave her a mischievous smile. “Well, I have to put him to use, too. We can’t have him just drinking up the whole bar without earning it first.” She gave Katniss another look and bit her lip. “Hm, maybe if I put a book on your head, that would help you…”

With a forced smile on her lips, Katniss stood as straight as she could, sticking out her chest to prove she was doing everything Effie said. “Do we really need to use a book, Effie? I’m learning a lot from your instructions.”

“I’m not entirely pleased with this,” Effie pouted. “We’ll reach the Capitol by tomorrow so we can pick up on this again in the hotel. And work on the way you answer questions.”

The dismissal turned Katniss’s forced smile into a genuine grin. Maybe if she hurried, she’d still catch Peeta with her uncle.

Her prediction about Haymitch being at the bar was correct, but Peeta wasn’t with him, which disappointed her. She was about to walk back when her uncle called her to join him for a drink.

“You know I’m not old enough to drink,” she said.

“Then get some lemonade or something,” Haymitch responded, as if it were the logical thing to do.

“Where’s Peeta?”

“Said he’d go to his room. I have a vague feeling he went looking for you, though.”

If there was anything Katniss would order, it’d be another drink for her uncle so he’d leave her alone to find Peeta. However, he was in a rather talkative mood, which meant he was tipsy enough to be conscious and sober yet also enough to lose some of his inhibitions. She sat down on a stool next to him to humor him.

“How’d you manage to land that one?” Haymitch asked before taking a sip from his drink.

Katniss looked at him with confusion, not understanding what he really meant.

Her uncle rolled his eyes before speaking again. “You won’t even talk to a wall, much less people. Yet your friend is someone like him. He talks a lot.”

“Perhaps it was my sunny personality,” she answered sarcastically.

Haymitch snorted and shook his head. “Or you threatened to kill him.”

Katniss glared at him, feeling the annoyance build up in her body. “Let’s say I did. What did you do to convince Effie? Threatened to throw her off a bridge? Cut off her hair?”

“You’d be amazed what I can do while sober,” he said, though he didn’t sound very mocking about it.

After a moment, Katniss sighed and decided to keep some peace since Peeta was on her mind. “We’re childhood classmates. Started talking to one another a few months ago, though. Been friends since.” She took Haymitch’s glass and set it beside her—just enough to keep Haymitch from reaching—deciding to test out just how skilled he was without his liquor. “Your turn.”

Haymitch huffed out a breath through his nose in attempts to relax. “She’s a reporter in charge of District 12 and then transfers the news to the Capitol. There’s been special editions for veterans and we talked. Took her out on a few dates. Now, we’re here.”

“I took you for a hermit,” Katniss chuckled.

“Who says I’m not? Just because I go out in public doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back to my house,” Haymitch said with a scowl. “I took you for a misanthrope.”

“Well, you’re not too far off. I make exceptions, though.”

“Like the boy?” Haymitch asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Katniss took a deep breath as she tried to keep her irritation at bay. What was he getting at? “Yeah, like him.”

“I don’t know how you did it, though. You have the charm of a squirrel that’s been run over,” Haymitch snorted.

“Probably learnt from you since we’re related,” Katniss bit back. There was enough venom in her words to paralyze a person, but she knew Haymitch couldn’t be fazed by them. In part, it was true that she learnt from him to toughen up and have thick skin. His words didn’t usually hurt her and she noticed hers didn’t either. Maybe this was why she didn’t like making friends.

“How’s the interview prep going?” Haymitch tried reaching for his glass, but Katniss pushed it farther away.

“I’m putting my charm to use,” Katniss deadpanned.

Haymitch got up and took a bottle from the other side of the counter. The bartender had gone off and left him, which was a mistake really. “Too bad because in the Capitol, you have to make people like you. With your attitude, you’re not off to a real good start, sweetheart. And if you want for the interview to go well for Peeta, you’re going to have to try a lot harder to not come off as roadkill.”

Now that wasn’t fair! Katniss knew this wasn’t her forte, but it’s not like she wasn’t trying, either.

“Then give me some suggestions.”

Haymitch managed to open the bottle—it was one of those kinds where the aluminum is the only barrier between the liquor and its seeker—and took a swig from it. “Since you can’t borrow charisma from your friend and I can’t give you mine, then find an angle you can use. You’re a young college student. You’re a painter’s muse. Work with it.”

How could she ‘work with’ two details? Effie had said the interview would last anywhere from five to ten minutes, depending on how it progressed and how long Caesar talked, and that terrified Katniss. She gave Haymitch his glass back before hopping off her stool and going to search for Peeta. She found him in his room, looking over the paintings he had brought with him from his apartment. He kept Caesar’s painting in a different room since it was a lot bigger than the rest, which kept prying eyes away from it, including Katniss’s. Peeta wasn’t allowing her to see the final piece, even though she posed for him.

The challenge to make a new painting for Peeta’s commissioner was difficult because he let Peeta decide on what would go on the canvas. After a few days of thinking, Katniss had gotten an idea when the archery shooting range opened up at the gym. Maybe it wasn’t something Peeta would consider, but she would feel the utmost comfortable in her natural habitat. She was glad when Peeta agreed to the idea and decided this time to take pictures of her rather than relying on memory. Katniss knew he would be painting her with a bow and arrow, but the rest of the piece was hard for her to put together. He could do anything, really.

The paintings she could see, however, were in Peeta’s room, carefully stacked against each other, separated by a delicate material provided by the Capitol. He had mentioned to Caesar about his other works and the talk show host was more than happy to have him bring them along. He had friends that showed interest ever since he talked about Peeta and his art. It made Katniss smile knowing that people were supporting Peeta. She had never seen something like this happen, but she was glad to witness it.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with Effie,” she sighed as she took a seat on Peeta’s bed.

“Brutal etiquette classes?” Peeta asked.

“Who knew coordination involved having to think about how you walked?” Katniss took one of the pillows and hugged it. It wasn’t as warm as Peeta, but she’d make do for now.

“I can switch with you, if you want. Your uncle seems to know what he’s doing,” Peeta offered.

Katniss gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks. I just talked to him, though. Gave me a proper pep talk.”

“What’d he say?”

She told him about Haymitch’s advice and what he thought about her and Peeta listened intently. As much as she tried to steer clear of any complaints, her tone gave away that she was evidently bothered by her being in front of a camera.

“I’m not very good at talking to people,” she said with a defeated sigh.

Peeta sat beside her, not being able to hold back a smile. “You’re good at talking to me, though.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

“How am I different?”

Katniss tried to think of something that set Peeta apart from everyone else, but she wasn’t sure if she could convey it with just words. All this time, he had been worried about not being able to do her justice when she was the one that struggled to do that very thing now. “Well, you’re…you.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “That’s very insightful, Katniss.”

She couldn’t help chuckle at his sarcasm. “You know what I mean!”

“I do and that’s why we’re friends!” As he spoke, he took the tip of her braid and flung it over her back playfully. He seemed to recognize something then. “What if we do that? Play off each other’s banter?”

Katniss tried chewing the idea. “How, though? We’d be talking to Caesar.”

“Yes, but we could also fill in things for one another.”

She tossed him the pillow she had clung to. “That’s not banter, Peeta!”

He set the pillow aside and took her hands in his. “Follow me with this. Whenever you and I talk about the same thing, you light up at some point. I’ve noticed this today, actually. Your uncle gave us a weird look when you started to laugh about something.”

“Did he mention it when he was helping you?” Katniss asked with an arched eyebrow.

“He asked me if you were sick and mentioned you never laugh unless you have a fever,” Peeta chuckled.

“To be fair…he’s right.”

“Then, worst case scenario: we induce a fever for you so you can be giggly with Caesar,” Peeta shrugged, as if doing such a thing could be that easy.

Katniss knew that wouldn’t be necessary. She more or less understood what Peeta said and tried to relax about the subject.

The following morning brought her some more comfort as she and Peeta did what he suggested, in addition to her using Haymitch’s advice. After practicing their interview several times with Effie, she brought in Haymitch to rehearse with them and Katniss tried her best not to be sarcastic while answering him, but there was only so much she could take and realized Caesar could not be as intolerable as her uncle.

Arriving at the Capitol gave her different types of shock, not just the typical one with anxiety. From what she could see through the train’s windows, there were people waiting outside dressed in all sorts of colorful clothing. They were all ridiculous and exaggerated, and after seeing Effie with her voluminous wig and hat, she looked relatively normal, professional even, with her blazer and pencil skirt.

The culture shock set in when she and Peeta stepped off the train and took in the new world they’d been exposed to. District 12 was calm and peaceful with an abundance of nature trails and the woods to provide a tranquil environment. The Capitol, on the other hand, was flashy, full of lights, skyscrapers, billboards, and pollution. It was surprising to see so much artificial color in the sky that Katniss wondered where the energy even came from to power everything. She and Peeta were stunned and looked up to observe the buildings surrounding them. She could see faces of actors and models on advertisements, and a giant screen with Caesar’s face on it promoting his show.

There was a flash of a camera at first to the right of Katniss’s line of sight, followed by a dozen more and at some point, she had to keep her eyes closed in order to regain her focus. There were screams coming from the people that had gathered around the train station, and then it clicked for Katniss that the people weren’t waiting to board the train they had come in, but rather they were waiting to see them and they somehow knew their names because they were screaming them out. It was worse than her classmates back in the university, but at least she had Peeta to guide her away from these people. Effie prompted them to follow her and Katniss hadn’t even noticed she had latched onto Peeta’s hand until he gave hers a squeeze so she could walk with him. She didn’t let him go until they were boarded onto a large white vehicle, but even then, she sat beside him and they were both able to see through the window the eccentricity of the Capitol. Katniss didn’t envy them one bit; she was not a fan of so much light or ostentation. She wondered if Peeta thought differently since he was more open to new environments.

The hotel in which they would be staying was a tall building with countless stories, and Katniss wondered if it had an end to it. The staff wasn’t as colorful as the pedestrians on the outside world, and instead they looked serious and a bit emotionless. For one thing, she was glad about that because she didn’t think she could tolerate the freak show with the abrasive color schemes that were a sight for sore eyes. Once checked in, they were brought up to their room, which was a large suite with three rooms, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and a balcony. This could be a house back in her district for all she knew. Because Caesar had invited them, he would be paying for the expenses, even if Peeta had protested against it. It was strange to Katniss how someone could go out of their way to accommodate them when they hardly knew each other, but something good was happening to Peeta so she would take it for all it was worth.

They still had a couple of hours before their prep teams arrived, so Effie drilled Katniss and Peeta again about their etiquette and answers they would give to Caesar. After covering the same things multiple times, Katniss started to feel confident, but she still didn’t think she could be as self-assured as Peeta.

If Katniss had thought Effie was odd, their prep teams proved that there could be higher levels of strangeness plus more. She had never met someone who could gush and talk so quickly and excitedly as the six people that walked in, speaking to Effie about this and that and things Katniss didn’t understand or care about. It hadn’t been five minutes since the teams’ arrival and she was already getting a headache. Effie introduced Peeta and her to their prep teams and they praised Peeta for his work of art that had, apparently, gotten the Capitol in such a frenzy to know who this talented artist was and why Caesar Flickerman, of all people, was so interested in him and his muse. They looked at Katniss and touched her hair, face, arms, and other places she couldn’t even keep track of due to the commotion these people were making about how exotic and different and beautiful she was. She had thought there was nothing appealing about her; she didn’t know how to be sexy or charming or even coquettish, so there was no point in pondering over how attractive she could be. With so many voices saying she was pretty, gorgeous, stunning, she believed it less. Compliments were supposed to be a one-time thing, weren’t they? The short compliment battles she and Peeta had were different. They were aggressive and competitive and they said the comments in a sort of defying manner, being more of a battle than a compliment. Whoever blushed or laughed first lost and Katniss almost always won. Those were fun because Peeta and her knew how that game worked. Even if they did play it like a game, Katniss usually disguised her comments with actual compliments she was too shy to give Peeta on a normal occasion. The somewhat empty compliments she received from the prep teams weren’t part of the little game they played, though, so she couldn’t take them very seriously.

Being separated from Peeta and brought into different rooms made her feel uneasy, but they couldn’t be kept together. Their procedures weren’t the same and the prep teams had to focus on their assigned person. Katniss suspected this was also to keep them from getting distracted so they could do their jobs properly. Surely, she wouldn’t need so many people getting her ready, but Katniss was proven wrong when her team got to work on different tasks. One prepared a tub full of lotions and creams and other perfumed concoctions while the other two rid her of her body hair. It was painful and a bit invasive, but Katniss couldn’t really object. When it came time to get her into the tub, she felt nervous about being nude in front of her team, but they wasted no time in removing her robe and leaving her naked momentarily before receiving help to soak into the tub. At first, the flurry of flowery-smelling chemicals stung her tender skin, but afterwards, she felt the soothing sensation they were supposed to have on her.

As the three worked—Flavius, Venia, and Octavia—they all talked to one another, occasionally asking Katniss questions before getting back to their conversation. They were excited because they would get to be backstage in Caesar’s studio while Katniss and Peeta had their interview with him, and they would be able to go to parties and more events with more celebrities, and how exciting all that would be. Was Peeta suffering the same way she was or was he tolerating it better?

“What’s it like to be a painter’s muse?” Octavia asked Katniss as she worked on her nails. She had made a face when she saw how short Katniss’s nails were and mentioned she didn’t have much to work with so she made it her mission to give her long, beautiful nails even if they would be fake.

“I’m sure it must feel flattering!” Venia answered for her. “Does he ask you to pose for him for other types of artwork?” She applied a type of foundation that felt cool against Katniss’s face.

Katniss thought of the question as just curiosity, but Venia’s tone was a bit implicative of something she couldn’t figure out and then she became more confused when Flavius and Octavia slapped Venia’s arm playfully, telling her that was a private question. The giggle fit that followed added to Katniss’s confusion.

Given the fact she’d only posed for Peeta once, it wasn’t much of a fantastic experience the way they were all expecting, but at least he let her decide where she wanted to pose. It sounded so simple, though, and these people were so excited. Would it crush them if she gave them the honest truth, or would it satisfy them if she gave a vague yet inflated answer? These people didn’t know Katniss and Peeta. The less they knew, the better for them.

“Well, Peeta makes it a priority to make me feel very comfortable is all I can say,” she shrugged, which wasn’t far from the truth if she thought about it.

That was enough of an answer for them and they continued on with another topic Katniss didn’t bother following. It was difficult to zone out, but she found a way to distract herself by looking at the room she was staying in. She had been guided to sit on a cushioned chair near the window so the illumination of the light coming from it lit up the room splendidly. The colorful lights that came through it were muted enough to not bother Katniss.

It felt like hours had gone by because she was feeling restless and irritated, but once her prep team stepped back to admire their work, she was allowed to stand so she could look at herself. If she complained that they were obnoxious, they made up for that with their ability to transform a person into an ethereal creature because that’s what they did with her. Her hair was adorned into an intricate bun woven with braids; her face was made up with a soft and sweet palette of orange, red, and pink eye shadow and powder, but the false eyelashes gave her eyes more volume and even made them look bigger; and despite the false nails, they looked delicate and elegant with the red nail polish and studded crystals over them. She had never had this type of treatment before. She not only looked otherworldly, but she even looked pretty. Perhaps that was the Capitol effect.

She had been told her stylist, Cinna, would be bringing her dress and other accessories, and she was about to ask for him when a knock on the door answered her thoughts. It opened when her prep team gave the okay to enter and a dark-haired man with gold eyeliner walked in, a dress bag slung over his left shoulder and a large rectangular chest held by his right arm. He set his things down and introduced himself to Katniss before dismissing the excited prep team.

“You two have been making quite a commotion,” he said with a smile.

“Really, it’s all Peeta’s talent. I just so happen to be in the painting,” she answered.

“He must have had a good reason to pick you. Artists take inspiration from the world around them,” Cinna pointed out. He tugged on Katniss’s bun and she felt what must have been a bobby pin slip through her hair.

“He’s a creative person. I don’t think there is anything he can’t put on a canvas.”

Cinna opened the chest he brought and took out five boxes of different sizes before placing them on the chair. He handed one of the smaller boxes to Katniss before speaking.

“Not everyone chooses to play with fire, though. Have you wondered why he decided to have you surrounded by it?”

Katniss wasn’t sure what to expect when she opened the box, but underwear certainly wasn’t it. Of course, the Capitol had thought of everything to provide for her, and surely, Peeta was receiving the same type of treatment. She wondered if he also received a similar box. Would they know he preferred boxers over briefs? The only reason she knew that was because they had gone grocery shopping together so often that in one of their trips, he mentioned he wanted to buy a new pack and she’d accompanied him. Somehow, it hadn’t been discomforting to see the pictures of men’s groins on the labels of the plastic bags and she hadn’t thought of anything in particular when she was with Peeta, even giving her own opinion about what to get. The reverse hadn’t happened, where he’d accompany her to buy her own underwear. She knew she shouldn’t feel self-conscious, but having Peeta know she wore panties didn’t sit too well with her. He probably didn’t care, but she wasn’t ready for that type of experience just yet. It felt a bit ridiculous since she knew what type of underwear he wore and he hadn’t even so much as blushed when she found out.

“No…I assumed he pictured something in his mind and just went for it,” Katniss answered when she was able to find her voice again.

While she changed into her undergarments in the bathroom, Cinna took care of opening the rest of the boxes and taking out their contents, arranging her shoes beside the chair’s leg, and the jewelry she would be wearing on the desk top. He’d taken the dress out of its bag and unzipped it, ready to help slip it on Katniss when she walked out. All the while, they had continued their conversation and she found it so easy to talk to him, almost as easy as it was to talk to Peeta. Katniss felt like she could trust him. Maybe it was his unassuming attitude or his genuine smile, but she didn’t feel like she had to force herself to speak to him.

“I don’t think we should let that inspiration go to waste,” Cinna said as he zipped up her dress. “Hopefully, he doesn’t mind if I borrowed his idea.”

Katniss gave him a curious look. “Will the dress light up?”

“Only if you spin around. Caesar makes a point of asking his female guests to twirl for him. This will definitely make an impression.”

There was a sense of danger coming from the dress and Katniss felt rude for wanting to remove the beautiful red gown she had on. “Is it real fire?”

“No, it’s synthetic. It’ll look real, but that’s the point. It’ll match Peeta’s art with you being on fire.” Cinna’s words were reassuring and helped calm Katniss down, if only for a moment.

With the accessories in place, Katniss could see the sparkle of the earrings and the necklace when light bounced off the jewels while her bracelets looked like delicate flames surrounding her wrists. He helped her with her shoes, which were not as tall as the pair Effie had lent her to practice with on the train, and her look was complete. Despite this, she began to feel anxious, as if she hadn’t prepared enough. The time for the interview was approaching fast and the fact that she was ready to go didn’t make it any easier to process.

“I’m nervous,” she said as Cinna smoothened out her dress.

“Have you ever been interviewed before?” he asked.

“Not on live television. I don’t feel as confident as Peeta does. We’ve talked about what to do in case I freeze, but I don’t feel like it’s enough.”

Cinna pursed his lips in thought. “Why not keep your focus on something else? The cameras can be distracting, but if you look at someone else in the crowd, that would certainly help you.”

Katniss looked at him and thought of something. “Will you be in the crowd?”

With a smile, he nodded and caught on to her idea. “You can find me and pretend you’re talking to me. Pretend you’re answering my questions.”

“Hopefully, it’ll be that easy.”

“Is there anything you and Peeta do that helps comfort you?”

Katniss thought about it for a moment before remembering how she had held on to him as they left the train station. “I usually hold his hand and that helps me.”

Cinna placed individual orange and red crystals on Katniss’s arms and cheek. “Okay, so you have two options to choose from. Focus on either Peeta or me. Caesar won’t let you flounder around, either. Trust me, you’ll be fine and you’ll even enjoy yourself.”

Katniss wanted to believe him. If what he said was true and she could put her focus on these two people, then she was sure the interview would turn out fine. She would have Peeta by her side and he wouldn’t let her choke. Cinna would be in the crowd, surely cheering for her and giving her reassuring looks. Somehow, the pressure to perform well was slowly fading. She would have fun with it.

When she walked out of the room with Cinna, the others were already in the living room waiting for her. Katniss recognized the back of Peeta’s head—he was the only blond in the room—but he looked transformed. He wore a striking black suit with a red tie and cuffs, and his hair was combed back, looking shiny and flawless. They had joked about him getting made-up, but Katniss didn’t see anything on his face other than a bit of powder, which was probably customary for people who appeared on television to wear anyway. She wondered if he, too, would be lit on fire if he spun or did something with his sleeves.

“Look at you, Girl on Fire,” he said as he approached her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, although what she felt was amusement instead of annoyance at his teasing. “We need to give you a nickname, too.”

“I thought it was ‘The Artist’.”

“No, it needs to be a mouthful like mine.”

“Think about it on the drive over to the studio. We have to go already,” Haymitch interrupted.

“Why don’t you stay behind, uncle Haymitch? There’s a bar here,” Katniss suggested, hoping he’d listen to her, but knowing he wouldn’t.

“And pass up the refreshments over at the studio? That’s a trip I have to make, sweetheart.”

Katniss rolled her eyes at him, but the irritation was short-lived. Effie had a planner in her hand and she was marking something off her list before telling everyone that they needed to make their way down in order to head to the studio. A jumpy sensation settled in Katniss’s stomach, but Peeta offered her his arm and she slipped hers under his willingly. Their stylists and prep teams would be accompanying them for any last-minute adjustments, but at least they weren’t going in the same car as Peeta and her. She didn’t think she could handle listening to them talk about nonsense for another minute.

Even with the late afternoon sun, the city looked different from the time they arrived earlier in the morning. It was a sort of transition stage before the night life arrived and Katniss could only imagine what it was like. The arrival to Caesar’s studio had the same reception as the one she and Peeta received at the train station, only this time there were far more people and they were being held back by a thin transparent wall and security guards that were three steps from one another, all lined up. They couldn’t all be here to see them, could they? They weren’t even that well-known and it felt odd that they would be screaming for them. The Capitol must really be fond of artists if there was so much of a commotion already. All Katniss could really do was hold on to Peeta as they were led inside by Effie, who was all too familiar with the procedures.

They were given a printed schedule that she went over with them, which wasn’t much really. Caesar would introduce them, they would have their interview, Peeta would present his painting to Caesar, and then there would be some kind of challenge towards the end. If she had known that they were going to compete in something, she would have brought comfortable shoes with her. Sarcastic remarks aside, she really did wonder what Caesar would have them do. She and Peeta had watched a few episodes of his show to get an idea of what they were walking into, and it made sense that there would be some kind of challenge because Caesar would come up with some strange activities for his guests. Most of it was improvisation, so she wondered what would be set up for them.

The talk show host approached them a few minutes later when he spotted them and he seemed ecstatic at their presence. Compliments were thrown, small talk was made, and the tense atmosphere Katniss had sensed broke when she got familiar with Caesar and his mannerism in the short amount of time they spoke. He explained how the show worked, where they would enter from the stage and where they would take a seat near his desk, and they would have a fabulous time, he was sure of it! He reminded them to wave to the crowd and smile before he left to get ready. A small, electronic box was attached to Peeta’s and Katniss’s hips and microphones were hooked onto the collars of their attire so they could talk through them. Touch-ups for make-up were done by their prep teams. Cheers and encouraging comments were given, though Katniss found it weird that someone would tell them to break a leg. She spotted Cinna and Portia, Peeta’s stylist, sitting in the same row together, and she felt better at the reassurance that not only was someone she knew in the crowd, but Peeta was with her. The smile on his face was the sole reminder that she had come here for him and she wouldn’t have wanted for this to happen any other way. His energy seemed to cross over to her body and the electrifying feeling of adrenaline rushed through her, as if Peeta had given her his good vibes. Of course, they were going into this as one.

The loud, jazzy tune played that signaled the show had begun and Caesar took his place as he began his opening monologue, welcoming the crowd and giving them a brief summary of what the show would contain. There was static that briefly came from Katniss’s microphone and Caesar introduced Peeta and her as his guests. The crew from back stage gave them their cue and Katniss slipped her hand into Peeta’s, holding onto him tightly before walking onto the stage and being met with the rumbling cheers of the crowd that awaited them.

Did you think I was going to pass up the opportunity to include the District 12 Team? By team, I don’t just mean Effie and Haymitch, but the whole styling pack. I, personally, love Hayffie, so I had to add that to this story as well. Did you also think I was going to let K and P go alone to the Capitol? ;)

I picture Caesar to be like a combination of Graham Norton, David Letterman, Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, and Conan O’Brien. (I watch them sometimes lol.)

I imagine the Capitol to be a mix of New York City, Las Vegas, Hollywood, and Seattle. My brother has gone and he mentioned that people dress rather eccentrically, so while writing this, I pictured them. The Capitol also gives me that casino vibe of LV, the ‘Big City’ vibe from NYC, and the star-studded atmosphere of Hollywood. I’m from a small town in southern Texas and I’ve gone to big cities like Dallas, San Antonio, and Austin. The culture shock wasn’t as great for Dallas and San Antonio, but for Austin, I was quite appalled. I’m open to liberal settings, but I was hit in the face with Austin. So I definitely feel for Katniss and Peeta since they’re from a small town and then they come to the Capitol, which is probably huge and full of lights and they’re probably bugging their eyes out.

Also, Idk about y’all, but I don’t think finding out what type of underwear your friends use is weird. I’ve gone with my best guy friend grocery shopping and he needed new underwear so I browsed with him and gave him some of my opinions. Given that I’m gay, I should have been repelled by all the pictures of guys’ concealed dicks, but it was pretty funny to be there. He’s never gone with me to Victoria’s Secret, but he knows what I wear and I’m fine with that. Katniss isn’t me, though, and I know she’s not the most open to sharing about her body and all that, but I think if she knew what Peeta wore, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe someday, he’ll find out what she wears. ;) As for the compliment battle, if you haven’t seen a video of that from celebrities on youtube, you haven’t lived. The cast of Love, Simon did one and it was great. Usually, the battles I have with friends aren’t written tweets; we just say things like “You’re cute.” “Your FACE is cute.” “Hey, BITCH, I love YOU.” Stupid shit like that in a very aggressive tone. P and K wouldn’t swear at each other, I can’t picture either of them calling each other bitch, but maybe little shit sometimes. I have been listening to the comments about hotel shenanigans and believe me, I will get to that! We just have to get through the next part, which is their interview. I will try to update next weekend. School is starting this Monday and I’m also moving into my apartment so I have a busy weekend. Fingers crossed that I can get to writing something during some of my free time. Let me know what you think!

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark fanfiction #the hunger games #fanfiction #fran writes #university life #it's been a stressful few days but it's finally posted #here's a tiny bit of hayffie

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sakhi76457545-blog · 5 years

Text

Best Wishes For Anniversary

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Models

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Points of reference

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More....

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theclaravoyant · 6 years

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AN ~ for the Anon who prompted “Skitz + ‘Don’t Cry’ by Guns and Roses. I was tossing up a couple of ideas, but after 5x22 this is what came to mind. MAJOR SPOILERS for 5x22. Works as a coda/missing scene of sorts near the end.

Daisy deals with recent events, and the question of where to go from here.

Established Skitz, but I don’t mind if you’d prefer to interpret as brotp. Rated T. Angst with a Happy/Hopeful Ending.

Read on AO3 (~1200wd)

don’t you cry tonight

Daisy took a deep breath and carefully unfolded the postcard. It was dusty, discoloured and ancient and as she ran her finger along the side, it felt like it could collapse and blow away in the wind at any moment.

Her limbs felt a lot like that too, with exhaustion and the buzz of the Centipede serum warring in her veins and her heart too heavy to give it an outlet. She wanted to run, scream. She wanted to curl up on her bed and cry and cry and cry. But when tears filled her eyes enough to blur Fitz’s handwriting, she just wiped them away. Took another deep breath. The world was still turning, after all. They’d had a great victory today and it had never felt so hollow.

Her arms were still burning with the weight of throwing Talbot into the sky.

Her lungs dragged breath in and out of her chest with the knowledge that she had only been able to win because Coulson had volunteered to die.

Her heart. Her heart ached because after all this it was a freak accident that had taken Fitz away. It was a sudden, violent, incomplete death. He’d saved Polly and Mack. The day had been won. Yet still, the cosmos had demanded its price.

And maybe she shouldn’t have cared so much. Maybe it shouldn’t have hurt like this. There were still a lot of wounds between them that needed stitching, after all. But she’d always believed they’d get there eventually: that, bad as it was, it would not be forever. It seemed impossible that she’d be mad at him forever. She only wished she’d had more time, to get there naturally - or at least, to be there when he died. To hear him plead for the others’ lives as the world collapsed and he couldn’t stop it. To hear his true heart bleeding through: good even in his final moments. The man she knew. Maybe then, she’d cry.

Then again, cruelest of ironies, he would be the one that she would want to go to. Mack was having a hard enough time with his friend dying in front of him, dying clutching his hand, dying under his watch. Simmons had just lost her best friend and partner of almost half her life. And May, well, as kind and helpful as May could be at times, she just wasn’t any good at grasping that all consuming need to scream and cry and rage against the dark. Daisy had no doubt she’d felt it in her past, but it was not something she dared revisit. It was buried too deep. The only one left who might get it was Coulson, but the thought of going to him – even the thought of him, at all, at the moment - sent a spike of pain through her chest, seared her lungs like the Gravitonium had.

She was alone.

Not as alone as she once had been, not as alone as she could have been. As mixed and matched and patched up as her family was, she knew they’d come back together after all this. Because of all this. But still, there was something that she and Fitz had always shared, something they had never quite defined but something that she needed in this moment, and she missed him acutely. She longed to feel his warm body cradle hers. For the coldness and distance that had plagued them to disappear. She longed for the intimacy between hearts that she had stumbled across in him; the very same one they had lost, and never had the chance to get back.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have him hold her like he had that night when everything had gone wrong. To wrap his arms around her and anchor her like a ship lost in a storm. To tell her exactly what she need to hear. To fix it, fix her, fix everything between them. Somehow, it didn’t make it better to know this hadn’t been his way of trying.

That, she could have handled, Daisy thought. It was not as though Fitz had not tried – even succeeded – at dramatic sacrifices in the past. If Mack had come back saying, he died saving me, maybe that would have been a different story. If he’d died having an impact. Fixing the future. Saving the world. If he’d died with a purpose – even if it had been for her, Daisy thought, she could have handled that. It wouldn’t have seemed quite so cruel. Perhaps it even could have been a little noble; a man looking back on his life, his choices – realising he’s strayed from who he wanted to be – choosing to right the ship even if it meant dying in the end. Dying right.

But not like this.

None of us saw it coming, May had said. We’re lucky he even made it as long as he did. But there was no way he was ever getting out of there alive. We stayed with him, though. We did the best we could.

It wasn’t enough, Daisy had said. And left. And ended up here.

It wasn’t enough to save the world. How could that not be enough? How could all their fighting, all their circular arguments about whether or not time was fixed – all their hoarse-throated bickering about destiny and choice – all the tough, violent, barely tenable decisions they’d made - how could all that feel so fruitless? Even now, Daisy was not sure of the answers. She felt as baffled by it all as she had the very first time she’d looked down at that postcard.

Working on it. Fitz.

It felt like such a Fitz thing to say, too. She’d sometimes imagined the tone with which he’d written it. Reassuring them, knowing they’d be scared? Making a promise to himself? Or, perhaps, a little bitter, with the kind of grumpiness they had always mocked him about, as if he could imagine them haranguing him already. Daisy smiled a little at that, and a tear splashed down onto the paper. She hurried to wipe it away but all of a sudden revelation hit her.

The postcard, the original question, was the answer all along.

The original postcard was somewhere on this base.

The original Fitz was still somewhere in space. Frozen. Waiting for the world to end.

Daisy bolted from her room, holding her breath in case she was somehow mistaken. Clutching the postcard to her chest because as long as she had it, they had answers. They had hope. She bolted into the lab where Jemma was packing away some things and only then did she share this precious hope.

Jemma’s eyes lit up.

Their sense of mission bloomed and, bittersweet as it was, it gave them a direction. Undoubtedly, it was a direction that was hard to read; it was pointing at the horizon and saying first star on your left and straight on til morning. But it was something. It was closing the loop. It was snatching Fitz’s life back from the jaws of fate – again.

It was Daisy, sticking her long-suffering hula girl to the sill of the cockpit and watching it tremor, and thinking of Fitz. She remembered the line, last time he’d remarked upon it, when Jemma had salvaged it from the Bus and returned it to her – something like, get it? she shakes, just like you. More than that, she remembered the smile on his face. The pride and joy. He must have been thinking up that one for hours, the nerd.

She still didn’t cry though. Not really.

This time, she smiled.

#daisy johnson #daisyjohnsonfic #skitz #fitzdaisy #aos fic #aosficnet #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #aos s5 #aos spoilers #mcd

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safdsdg · 3 years

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rudylozanole · 3 years

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10 best designer belts to buy in 2021

One of the most ubiquitous, practical and undoubtedly essential accessories is, somewhat surprisingly, the most often neglected. Of all the leather goods out there, the only one that everyone needs is a belt. Whether it’s a dressy black leather version to wear with your suit or just a sturdy roughed-out calfskin option as part of your daily rotation, all of us need a reliable belt to secure their pants. While big buckle designer belts have been a finance bro and rapper favorite for generations, for many, most belts are either wildly garish or much too mundane. In reality, though, when we talk about developing a daily uniform and personal style, adding a signature belt to the daily rotation is crucial.

1. Gucci Double G Leather Belt:

We had to kick things off with one of the most iconic belts of all time. For many, the interlocking “G”s on theGucci Double G leather belt are not just a sign of affluence, but an internationally-recognized signifier that you have “made it”. Despite introducing the logo in the 1930s, the belt buckle truly came to prominence in 1995, during the celebrated and ostentatious Tom Ford era. While big-money hedge fund managers wore the belts alongside various other flashy designer threads during the '80s Wall Street power-suit era, the oversized belts went mainstream with the Gucci explosion under Ford’s reign. Exceeding 42mm and easily visible from a distance, the belts are guaranteed to make a statement made of alligator skin belt. The high-end Italian ostrich skin belt leather and durable brass mean the belt will last for years, and while the size may go in and out of style, quality doesn’t. While the new Alessandro Michele-led house has plenty of garish options, we recommend sticking to the classic gold Gs on brown leather. Even if Gucci’s current hot streak comes to a close, this belt has already held out for 30 years, so it’s more than a safe bet. This is also made from elephant leather belts.

2. Prada Saffiano Leather Belt:

While, like many European luxury brands, Prada began as a leather goods business, the brand didn’t explode onto the fashion scene until current designer Miuccia Prada introduced her wildly popular woven nylon bags and triangular metal badge logo in 1977. Since then, Prada’s most successful items by far are made of nylon. Strangely enough, it was a marriage between the beloved triangular metal badge and the house’s celebrated Saffiano leather that gave birth to one of the most popular men’s belts around. Made from high-grade leather covered in a cross-hatched protective wax—referred to as “Saffiano” and what originally put Prada on the map—the water resistant material is about as durable as can be, but simultaneously both luxe and subdued. With the addition of the small-yet-unmistakable metal badge, the belt has been revered both in and outside of Italy for generations. Mostly consisting of alligator skin belt and ostrich skin belts.

3. Off-White Yellow Industrial Belt:

Yes, we know this will be divisive. Off-White’s infamous industrial belt has as many fans as it does haters. Naysayers be damned, apart from Virgil Abloh’s connections and personal fame, this is one of the designs that put Off-White on the international fashion map. When Abloh first launched the label in 2012, the men’s line was primarily still T-shirts and hoodies. While the women’s line began with full ready-to-wear collections early on, Off-White men’s began slowly, with many of the cut-and-sew pieces failing to get nearly as much traction as the cotton basics. The Industrial belt changed all of that. A calling card of hypebeasts the world over, today the belt is available in a range of colors and materials and is used as a strap for handbags, backpacks and even luggage made from alligator skin belt as well as shark skin belt. Still, despite the numerous options, we would recommend sticking with the original. While you may love the association, the belt is a large part of Abloh lore, and may we be worth something one day. Also, oit includes elephant leather belts with a combination of stingray belts.

4. Louis Vuitton Damier Print 40MM Reversible Belt:

Dating all the way back to the house’s trunkmaker origins, the Damier canvas was initially introduced by Louis Vuitton himself, even predating the interlocked LV logo. A specially coated material with water resistant properties, it was considered revolutionary at the end of the 19th century. With such a rich history and a direct connection to the house founder, for the most part the Damier pattern has not changed since its inception, apart from a special edition graphite version introduced in 2008 to mark the pattern's 120th anniversary. Similar to Prada’s Saffiano, the coated canvas face wraps the leather behind it, creating a textured look while protecting the hide beneath the surface. It includes alligator skin belt and shark skin belt too. Though both the classic brown and graphite (which is only available on men’s accessories) are great options, under Virgil Abloh’s current direction, everything is constantly being reworked, including new takes on the iconic print, also have ostrich skin belts While Abloh’s modern Damier belts quickly sell out and demand a premium, if you’re looking for the latest fashion accessory, snatch one up if you get a chance. If you’re hoping to stick with a classic, the normal print will do just fine.

5. MA+ Fully Stapled “+” Belt:

Available in a dark black or oxblood red and cut extra long with wrapping in mind, the belts hold a cult status amongst avant-garde enthusiasts and early Grailed users alike. With alligator skin belts and stingray belts available. While the belts are by and large the same season to season, a specific version is particularly coveted: the fully stapled cross belt. While every MA+ piece features the labels “+” logo in some fashion or another—in clothing it’s most often with two contrast color tack stitches—some leather pieces feature two perpendicular sterling silver staples forming a cross with additional combination of elephant leather belt and shark skin belts. In the case of the fully stapled belt, these “crosses” run the length of the belt from buckle to tail, adding literal grams of sterling silver, with a cost that reflects it. While they are difficult to find—and even more difficult to purchase at a reasonable price—amongst serious clothing enthusiasts, nothing else compares.

6. Salvatore Ferragamo Fixed Gancini Belt:

While Salvatore Ferrangamo’s infamous belt has had its share of unflattering associations–finance lackeys, B-list rappers, seedy jewelers—as we officially embrace early-2000s fashion, its inevitable return is imminent. It also provides an alligator skin belt and highly modern ostrich skin belt. A slightly cheaper alternative to a Louis Vuitton or Gucci belt, the Ferragamo iteration features the house’s “Gancini” logo, or two backwards horseshoes linked together to form a clasp. The hardware is a reference the family’s farming roots and the founder’s history as a shoemaker.While negative associations helped the design fall out of favor with the fashion set, as fashion as a whole pivots towards the early-2000s for inspiration, the label's history, newfound design chops and sordid past prime it for a comeback. It is also known for its elephant leather belt and shark skin belt.

7. B.B. Simon Fully Loaded Swarovski Belt:

Largely aligned with the Ed Hardy, Affliction or True Religion genre of fashion, if you told anyone you were hunting for aB.B. Simon belt more than three years ago they simply would not have believed you. Providing with best alligatore and stingray belts and known for its shark skin belts and elephant leather belts. Yet, after countless co-signs from every Soundcloud rapper you can think of, suddenly kids across the globe are paying top dollar for the Swarovski-studded fully-decked out B.B. Belt. While we don’t necessarily endorse the trend nor say we fully understand it outside of the rapper cosign–go ahead, call us “old heads''—but as the trend continues well into 2020, B.B. Simon belts look like they’re staying for the foreseeable future. Made of various leathers—ranging from python to simple calf—and available in a rainbow of hues and even more stone variations, there is no set styling recommendation here; if you’re going to go for it, commit and go big. Confidence is key here, and this piece isn't for the faint of heart.

8. Bottega Veneta Black Intrecciato Belt:

For those who miss the #OldCeline and who always wished for Phoebe Philo-designer menswear, Daniel Lee’s Bottega Veneta debut was monumental. Cheekily referred to as #NewBottega, Lee’s designs were lauded for possessing the same sort of luxurious practicality that Philo made famous. His menswear in particular struck a chord, and various items ranging from woven loafers to leather pants were immediate hits with best alligator skin belts and shark skin belts. Of course this being Bottega, leather—particularly the house’s proprietary woven leather technique—was a focus and what Lee has managed to conjure up using the signature intrecciato is marvelous, belts included. While old Bottega Veneta leather accessories were often mundane, featuring the same weave time and time again, Lee has played with proportion creating belts with a much more substantial leather weave with elephant leather belts that not only look striking, but will age incredibly. Though Lee’s aesthetic—and price point—is surely not for everyone, the new Bottega Veneta leather intrecciato belt is an amazing entry point.

9. Rick Owens Studded Performa Belt:

Historically, Rick Owens collections are marked by androgyny, drape, extensive use of leather and a limited color palette as they have alligator skin belt and stingray belts. As of Fall/Winter 2020, however, Owens’ has opted to move in a different direction. Following collections inspired by Kiss costume designer Larry LeGaspi and tribal dress, Owens presented Performa, a collection that referenced both Kansai Yamamoto and Joseph Beuys, combining color with performance and structure in a wholly unprecedented way. The result was daring, bold and surprisingly colorful, with pieces ranging from bubble-gum blue leather pants to blood red officer’s coats.

10. Hermès “H” Belt Buckle with Reversible Strap:

Last—but certainly not least—is the best of the lot. While flashy finance types and fashion trend chasers may reach for a Gucci or Louis Vuitton belt, the subtly mega-rich pull out their Hermès “H” belt. If the day traders all have Ferragamos on, the C-Suite level employees are rocking their “H”s proudly. The sign of the elite the world over, Hermès—itself easily one of the most expensive fashion brands on Earth—has catered to the world’s business elite for decades, providing them with six-plus-figure suits and seven-figure furs for their significant others. Also with highly fashioned alligator skin belts and shark skin belts available. While the “H” belt is nowhere near that price point (clocking in at nearly four figures for a basic leather version) it is easily the most expensive “fashion” belt out there. That said, like a Cartier love bracelet or the label’s notoriously difficult-to-purchase Birkin bags, class comes at a cost. If you have the cash to spend and are looking to nonchalantly stunt forever, go with the Hermès. You won’t be disappointed.

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rosalyn51 · 7 years

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Photo: Matt Smith and Claire Foy in The Crown by Jason Bell

Peter Morgan returns with Matt Smith and Claire Foy in The Crown from Netflix

The Netflix show is back for season two with a philandering Philip, the Queen in a standoff and all the drama of Suez. The writer tells Stephen Armstrong about his hit ‘deranged institution’.

The Sunday Times, Oct 29, 2017

Ardverikie Castle perches on the edge of Loch Laggan in the Highlands of Scotland. Here, on the wild moor, part of its extensive estate, everything is breathtaking — especially the cold. It’s April, but there’s still snow on the ground, and the camera crew are wrapped up like polar explorers. In the distance, Claire Foy trudges towards them in the Queen’s country uniform of battered green coat and thick tweed skirt. She carries a shotgun; nearby, a dead stag sprawls on the ground — a successful kill for Her Majesty.

During a break in filming, Foy stares thoughtfully at the animal’s corpse. “This is just not something that has ever been part of my life,” the 33-year-old Stockport-born actress ruminates. “She shot her first stag when she was 21. It’s funny to try and think how that would feel. And it’s slightly odd to think she was so young when she shot and killed something as beautiful as this.”

The “she”, of course, is Queen Elizabeth II. Foy’s delicate portrayal of the young royal as she comes to terms with her father’s death, takes his throne and learns the job — while experiencing the passions, tastes, desires, dislikes and family tiffs any twentysomething modern goes through — made the first season of The Crown, Netflix’s epic drama of monarchy, a huge global hit.

“The first moment I realised how huge it was came when I went to the Golden Globes — somewhere I’d been roundly ignored before — and suddenly everyone was coming up to me,” Foy recalls. “It was a wake-up call. It means I’m probably more nervous about season two than I was first time out.”

When it launched in November 2016, season one provided small-screen comfort food for a world nervous about the future. In season two, there’s little cheer to be had. In the first episodes, we get a mix of the chaos of the Suez Crisis — the inept fumblings of the PM, Anthony Eden (Jeremy Northam), as he tries to wriggle around the disapproval of the UN and the US to fight a small, doomed war — and an affair between Prince Philip and a ballet dancer.

“I wanted to throw light on Prince Philip in a way that hasn’t been done before,” says Peter Morgan, the writer of the series. It’s safe to say he has achieved his ambition. Philip begins season two in a cold standoff with his wife, resentful of her status and losing himself in a boozy lunch club co-founded with Mike Parker, his philandering private secretary. As Philip’s inappropriate relationship with the (fictional) ballet dancer comes to light — presumably based on the real Duke of Edinburgh’s rumoured fling with the actress Pat Kirkwood — he and Parker are packed off on a lengthy, laddish tour of the Commonwealth.

There, Philip is honeytrapped into revealing his dark secrets — his pro-Nazi sisters, his mother’s mental-health issues, his father’s money troubles — to a flirty journalist. Parker’s wife divorces him for infidelity, and everything descends into something of a free-for-all. Season two also follows Princess Margaret, played by Vanessa Kirby with a beautifully judged mix of vulnerable heartbreak and waspish arrogance, as she joins London’s swinging scene, dates the photographer Antony Armstrong-Jones (Matthew Goode), screams around the streets on motorbikes and finally marries the bloke.

Matt Smith plays Philip in the first two seasons. (There’s to be a full recasting every two seasons to keep the actors age-appropriate, with Olivia Colman taking over as the Queen for series three.) He admits that he initially found the storyline tricky.

“Young people think he’s prone to gaffes,” Smith says. “But actually, when you get into the man ... He was revered in the navy. He is very bright. He is a great moderniser. He is incredibly funny. He’s on the front line. He’s in the scrum — obviously he’s an alpha. And then he has to kneel in front of his wife. It’s the 1950s, yet he’s told to give up his job and name — his kids will take his wife’s. You can see how you’d go, ‘Hang on. I didn’t sign up for that.’”

“I thought everyone knew Philip had an affair,” Morgan says. He seems surprised at my astonishment. “Nobody has identified the people involved, and I’m not going to do that. I’m not a vindictive person. I’ve just done my best to stick to the facts as I have them.”

It’s a technique that has served him well. By the time The Crown finishes, assuming it runs for all six of its planned seasons, he will have written more than 60 hours chronicling modern Britain for stage and screen, with Elizabeth Windsor at the heart of most of them. True, it was The Deal, his speculative account of the Granita dinner at which Tony Blair persuaded Gordon Brown to shelve his leadership ambitions and serve as chancellor, that diverted his career away from Richard Curtis-style romcoms. But it was The Queen and The Audience that sealed his paradoxical fate: to be a staunch republican with little interest in the monarchy — who says of his work, “The approval of rabid republicans or anti-monarchists is important to me” — and yet who somehow seems to be the only person who can write a convincing portrayal of Elizabeth Windsor.

“Maybe it’s because I am an outsider — both my parents were refugees.” He scratches his head. “If you had told me I would be doing this, I would have told you it was mad, hallucinogenic conjecture. I wouldn’t have guessed there would be anything more to say about this countryside woman of limited intelligence who would have much preferred looking after her dogs and breeding horses to being queen. But now I’m here. Life is strange.”

Morgan is also writing what will almost certainly be seen as a definitive historical document with global reach. Netflix is notoriously tight-lipped about viewing figures. But its quarterly results show that at the end of June this year, the site had 104m subscribers worldwide; in the US alone, figures from companies that monitor Netflix viewing suggest 3.5m Americans watched The Crown in the first month.

The show is planned as six seasons. Season three will be the Wilson era; four focuses on Thatcher and introduces Diana. Each season needs up to two years to prepare and film, so we’re on course for series six to air around 2025, by which time the Queen will be 99 and Prince Philip 104. In other words, it is highly likely to coincide with the deaths of one, if not both, of them. Millions around the world will undoubtedly be glued to this as if it were the definitive story of the Queen’s life.

Morgan grins as he contemplates the idea that he would end up as the chronicler of the second Elizabethan age. “Authorised royal biographers are so straitjacketed, deferential, fawning and unadventurous that they can only be after a knighthood — or they’re completely scurrilous and insolent, like Andrew Morton or Paul Burrell.”

Whether through deference or insolence, he rarely names the Queen, usually saying “Her”, with an emphasis that suggests capitalisation. “I think there’s room to creatively imagine, based on the information we have about Her,” he shrugs.

It has been reported that he and his producers were relieved that the BBC was not involved with the project, as that would have inevitably meant co-operation with the palace. Morgan has had no contact with the palace at any stage of his career — “And I think that’s great.” He leans back in his chair. “They don’t comment on what we do, there’s no co-operation, and as a result I don’t owe them anything.

“When people ask if She’s watched it, I say I have no idea and I don’t want to know. I mean, She’s ninetysomething years old and barely knows what the internet is, so I live in hope that She hasn’t seen it, never watches it and doesn’t give it the slightest thought.”

The more Morgan writes about Her, however, the more her survival strikes him as impressive. The Suez Crisis marks the beginning of his sense of wonder. “I think Suez is a metaphor or an echo of what we’ve subsequently seen in Iraq and Brexit: a massive error of judgment by a hubristic prime minister who rushed into an ill-considered decision with catastrophic effects and consequences for the country,” he says. “Iraq is obvious — but Brexit probably influenced this season more.”

He remembers meeting George Osborne and David Cameron at a dinner party just after their 2015 victory and thinking: wow, these guys are going to be in power for a generation. “Seeing the deference with which they were treated by other politicians, there was a unanimous acceptance of their authority,” he says with a short laugh. “If I had opened a book at that point and said, ‘Within nine months, this entire political class will have caused total havoc and a political catastrophe as big as Suez,’ you couldn’t have got the odds for that.

“When you compare that to Her having been in office for as long as She has and the absence of any catastrophic errors ... They’re survival organisms, like a mutating virus. Look at how many prime ministers are wheeled out in coffins, on stretchers, having made fools of themselves: Downing Street is full of sick people. And yet She survives. It is clearly a deranged institution and a completely insane system, but perhaps it’s the insanity that makes it work. Belief in God is so deranged that it makes absolutely no sense, but it holds people together somehow.”

If season two’s treatment of Eden is a guide, Blair and Cameron need to cancel their Netflix subscriptions soon. Eden’s cocky hubris, frantic drug-taking and woeful incompetence are delivered with a withering sneer.

“I’m reliably told Cameron sleeps well at night, which is mystifying,” Morgan shrugs. “Eden definitely didn’t sleep well, he was a broken man. I think Blair manages to sleep well, and we hate him for it. Yet all three are defined by their errors. Cameron will only be remembered for his misjudgment around a referendum, the horrors of which have barely started.” You sense Morgan is looking forward to writing him.

Later, in Lancaster House, the St James mansion that doubles for Buckingham Palace, I ask the producer Suzanne Mackie if she was worried about the public’s reaction to the controversy in season two.

“I think we always worry the British public might reject us because they have preconceptions about the royal family,” she nods. “But I’ve been with the project from the beginning, and I remember Peter saying he wanted it to be deep, dark and truthful. That era and that class were brutal — but I think he finds the humanity and vulnerability in it, and that’s what people see.”

Matt Smith strolls up — he has just finished his final scene as Philip and is preparing to hand over to an as-yet- unnamed replacement.

“It was hard to give up the Doctor —you want to play it for ever. But with this, you know you can’t,” he says. “Peter is writing Thatcher and Diana for season four, and I couldn’t play that era’s Philip, so I’ll just turn into a punter, the way I did with Doctor Who. I’m looking forward to seeing where they take it, to be honest.” He gives a sly smile.

Morgan wriggles a little uneasily when I relay Smith’s praise. “I’m not good at being happy, so if I hear that people like what we’ve done, I’m immediately consumed with fear that they will be let down by what I’m doing now,” he sighs. “I’m a miserable git.

“But in the end, I’m blessed with the richness of the history of the second half of the 20th century. I’m also blessed because the system She is in is so ridiculous and illogical that even just to unpack it from a point of view of reason or logic is such a joy. And that’s why I do what I do and I’ll keep on doing it until they stop me.”

The real-life events of season two

October 1956 The Suez Crisis: the UK, Israel and France invade Egypt, then retreat in defeat 10 days later.

November 1956 Prince Philip opens the Melbourne Olympics.

January 1957 Anthony Eden resigns as PM, citing ill health, after manoeuvres by mutinous Tory MPs. Harold Macmillan takes over.

January 1957 Prince Charles starts school at Hill House.

February 1960 Princess Margaret and Antony Armstrong-Jones announce their engagement and marry at Westminster Abbey in May.

June 1961 The Queen throws a banquet for the visiting US president John F Kennedy.

November 1961 The Queen visits Ghana.

March 1963 The secretary of state for war, John Profumo, goes before parliament to deny any ‘impropriety whatsoever’ in his relationship with the showgirl Christine Keeler.

June 1963 Profumo admits lying to MPs and resigns.

October 1963 Macmillan resigns, citing ill health. Alec Douglas-Home takes over.

Locations, locations, locations: where the latest series was filmed

Photo: Double whammy: Claire Foy, left, and Vanessa Kirby in ‘Buckingham Palace’ ALEX BAILEY/NETFLIX

Buckingham Palace A number of government offices and stately homes doubled for different parts of the palace — the state rooms were filmed in Lancaster House, in London, now managed by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Wrotham Park, in Barnet, supplied the audience room, and Wilton House, near Salisbury, provided the spectacular ballrooms that hosted JFK’s state dinner.

Royal stomping grounds Ardverikie Castle, in the Highlands of Scotland, provided the exterior, the estate and some of Balmoral’s interiors — the lodge was built in homage to Victoria’s holiday home. Ardverikie has previously been seen in Outlander, Mrs Brown, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen and as Glenbogle in Monarch of the Glen. Knebworth House in Hertfordshire filled in the gaps, having already appeared in The King’s Speech and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and doubled as Wayne Manor in Batman. Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire played Windsor with uncanny accuracy – designed, as it was, by James Wyatt, still fresh from working on Windsor itself. Englefield House, near Reading, stood in for Sandringham, and Addington Palace was Clarence House. The Munden Estate in Hertfordshire served as Kensington Palace, and St Albans Cathedral made a rather convincing Westminster Abbey.

London Margaret’s glamorous gadding was shot mainly on the streets of the city: on the Mall and in parts of Mayfair and Soho, says the director Benjamin Caron — it required little CGI. The Gazelli Art House in Mayfair supplied Antony Armstrong-Jones’s exhibition space. And hospital scenes were all shot in Hornsey Town Hall.

Royal Yacht Britannia To capture Britannia’s exteriors, the team flew a camera mounted on a drone over the yacht in Ocean Terminal, Leith. They also used HMS Belfast for the crew quarters and grimier interiors, as well as a giant fake deck constructed on the edge of a cliff in South Africa. The deck hung out over the sea, providing a suitable backdrop for oceangoing scenes on Philip’s world tour.

The rest of the world South Africa provided the locations for the Suez invasion (the team had to build their own tanks), the Queen’s visit to Ghana, and the Amazon — courtesy of the Keurbooms River. South Africa also served as every one of the countries on Philip’s world tour, with the exception of Antarctica, which was shot in a quarry near London. Various locations in Hungary supplied Philip’s links to Nazi Germany.

Everything else Elstree Studios in Hertfordshire hosted the rest of the sets, including the royal family’s private quarters, 10 Downing Street, the gates of Buckingham Palace, the cabin of a private jet and a few rooms on Britannia.

The Crown is on Netflix from Dec 8

#the crown #claire foy #matt smith #vanessa kirby #matthew goode

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