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back-and-totheleft · 5 months ago

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"I don't assume I have any power"

Robert Downey Jnr, no stranger to nocturnal excess, once observed how an evening out with Oliver Stone was 'like pagan Rome, 26AD'. When I meet the director at lunchtime in a hotel room in Edinburgh he looks very much as if he is regretting just such a night-before. His eyes seem wary of the light; his big gap-toothed grin could equally be a wince; he reaches with some fervour for coffee.

In fact, Stone's fatigue is innocently explained. He has, he says, flown in the previous night from Bangkok where he has been scouting locations for his life of Alexander the Great, starring Colin Farrell, which goes into production next month. (Stone is not a man to shy away from the big subject: having made his obsessive epics on JFK and Nixon, there are not that many ways to up the stakes, but Alexander is possibly one.)

'We're doing the stage work in England,' he says, 'a lot of other stuff in Thailand and Morocco. It's a fast shoot. We have to do the whole thing in a hundred days. So it's going to be like an old-fashioned military machine.'

In the past year, Stone has had a good deal of first-hand experience of how just such an operation might work. He is in Edinburgh to launch the documentary film he has made about Castro's Cuba, Comandante, the result of an unprecedented three days of interviews with the dictator. The film was scheduled to be shown by the HBO network in America in May. 'But unfortunately,' Stone explains, apparently surprised, 'it got politicised by the Cuban American lobby in Miami. Millions of emails were sent to HBO. They really pounded it. And, of course,' he adds, 'Castro gave them some juice by arresting these dissidents in April.' HBO pulled the film.

The irony of this is, Stone suggests, straightfaced, that he was not at all trying to make anything 'political'. 'I mean, I ask him a few questions. But it was a broad picture of a strong man, a comandante. I wanted to ask him his feelings about life and death, about the future, about globalisation, philosophy rather than politics…'

The best moments of their encounter offer little human insights, as Stone's neurotic camera dwells on the detail of Castro's life: the dictator's boots with a Nike logo, the exercise regime he undergoes in his office, keeping in shape, at 75, for his people; his coy admission of having enjoyed Titanic and Gladiator and how Sophia Loren was his pin-up. Sometimes, too, Stone's bluff line of questioning works. 'Everyone seems to like you, Fidel. Why don't you hold an election?'

Often though, Stone's film threatens to take its place alongside the key sycophantic interviews of our times, Clive James on Barbra Streisand, say, or Tony Benn on Saddam Hussein. In part this seems a technical fault. The intimacy Stone is afforded by the use of digital cameras does not sit well with his love of bold gesture and grand emotion; he struggles with subtlety and contradiction and wit. Damien Hirst, oddly, once said that 'Oliver Stone had no irony, and I applaud him for that'. That lack is very much to the fore in Comandante.

Stone the interviewer is predictably anxious to be a co-star, sporting a dictator's moustache, and stranded somewhere between acolyte and best buddy. Much of the fascination of Comandante thus comes from his increasingly clumsy efforts to establish a kind of locker-room banter with Castro.

At one point Stone, with a leery grin, offers to break the American blockade by smuggling Castro some Viagra (as if, we are invited to understand, either man would ever require it?). In a limo, Stone becomes Ruby Wax and starts rummaging through the stuff on the back seat. Inevitably, he comes up with a gun. 'Do you still know how to use it, Fidel?' he wonders, his arm around the older man's shoulder. Just for a moment Castro looks tempted to remind himself.

Despite appearances, the pair had met only once before, in 1989 at the Havana film festival, which featured Salvador, Stone's first film. 'I thought he was a charming man,' he recalls, 'and a movie star, no question about it. The hard part of Comandante was cutting. We could have used almost anything from the 30 hours of film. I was amazed at his inner strength. His morality. He really believes in a dream. It's like Don Quixote.'

And is he as naive as Quixote at times, too?

'No, he reads voluminously. He reads the internet, he reads books, he loves writers, he's friends with [Gabriel García] Márquez. He's an introspective man. He talks about the terrible effects of global warming…'

And he also would have sanctioned a nuclear war…

'He had a good life, but he chose a hard path, and he has stuck with it. Stayed in power. The truth is, it seems to me, the people like him.'

In conversation, as in his work, Stone is not inclined to shades of grey. In the film he happily lets Castro get away with his assertion that Cuba is the 'most democratic country on earth' and explain how he has furthered the cause of gay liberation (Castro expelled many gays, along with 'other scum' in 1980, and they are not allowed to join his party). I wonder whether Stone decided not to press him on these issues because he thought it important simply to give Castro a platform?

'Whether he is in denial or not, my job is not to judge the veracity of his answers,' Stone says. 'My job is to try to open him up, really like a movie director tries to open up an actor. If you see deception, it is up to you. If you see him lying about torture or about gays, then that is up to you. I did not see it, but I present it for you to judge.'

He suggests there are some freedoms in Cuba that are not enjoyed in America, the freedom to see his film for a start. Could he work there, live there, do a Hemingway?

'No,' he says, with slightly belligerent illogic, 'because I was raised in the North, in North America. But if I grew up in Cuba I would grow up healthy, with an education, no doubt a foreign language, whereas if I grew up in Honduras or Guatemala I would probably get sick, likely die before I was three. I'd be scared shitless of government troops coming through and taking my mom and dad out and saying, "Who did you vote for in the last election?"'

But Castro has been in a position to create proper democracy?

'The people in these places do not care about elections,' Stone says. 'They care about good water and healthcare. The things of life. The things that Iraq for example needs now. No one there is wondering about voting, they want electric ity and sanitation. That's what matters.'

It would be fair to say that Stone, the Vietnam veteran, has never run away from a controversy. (Rather, he's prepared to fly half way around the world to promote one.) Comandante, of course, offers him another chance to expose some raw nerves at home, and for good measure he has just completed a similar film about Yasser Arafat. These are the latest chapters in a career in which he has spent Oscar night with Mexico's Zapatista guerrillas and been sued for responsibility in the murders committed in America by a young pair of teenage lovers who had stayed up all night watching his film Natural Born Killers. (The case was thrown out, but the film, a glamorously violent 'attack' on glamorised violence, struggled to recover.)

Though he is reluctant to say so, Stone's element is this kind of scandal. It allows him to indulge his maverick self-image. In some respects he proves, according to Michael Douglas (who won an Oscar in his film Wall Street) 'that in Hollywood you can be an artist and a capitalist at the same time', though Stone's critics would dispute the first description and he would take exception to the latter.

For a while, at least, he seemed to have understood the trick of making powerful issue-led films (Salvador, Born on the Fourth of July) that also appealed to the box office. (Platoon, his 'anti-establishment' Vietnam film, made $160 million.) He says he sees all of his films as coming out of the same place. 'I work from a need to dramatise what I see in the world around me,' he says, a vision that typically involves an element of megalomania, a dose of paranoia, and a liberated relationship with historical fact.

Are his insights about Castro feeding into his idea of Alexander the Great?

'Being with a world leader, seeing him work, has given me more insight into power, certainly. It is interesting to feel it, that power. The thing about these people, be it JFK or Nixon or Castro, is that the things that they are dealing with are the things we all deal with except on a much grander scale. I mean Nixon's government, it seemed to me, was a result of his childhood demons. Castro had a very happy childhood. And that seems to be the root of his sense of morality. He has married just one time; he may have many other children, but he has stayed true to that idea of marriage.'

In this (arguable) propriety, Stone has suggested, Castro reminded him of his late father, Louis. If he were making a film of his own life - and perhaps all his films are that to a degree - you are left in little doubt that his father would figure centrally in it. Louis was a successful Wall Street broker; the family had Jewish roots, a fact which Oliver was told to deny because of his father's fears of persecution. Pointedly, Stone dedicated both Nixon , his study in paranoia, and Wall Street , his morality play on greed, to his father (whose evening Scotch Oliver once laced with LSD); the films could be seen, in turn, as a working through of his own demons.

Despite his apparent obsession with powerful men, though, Stone does not believe that he is in thrall to power himself, still less trying to force the world to fit his idea of it. 'I don't for one second assume I have any power,' he says. 'I can make a movie that has an effect on the world, like JFK say. But real power is something you build on, can hold on to. In movies you start over every fucking time. I am concerned about power, but I have no power.'

I quote to him something his wife once said - 'I don't think Oliver could make a movie without being completely in love with the main character' - and wonder if that applied to Castro?

'To a degree,' he says. 'But that does not mean that I would be in love with a dictator if I did not admire him. I mean I'm not going to fall for Saddam Hussein. But I would try to humanise him. Nixon was the greatest liar of all. But I tried to humanise him. We should not get into the Hollywood thing of always having a sympathetic hero, because it undermines drama. Can we really say we like Oedipus? Or Lear? But they make great drama. America sentimentalises drama.'

There must, given his engagement in the here and now, be a temptation to bring his own American vision up to date? Has he thought about doing an Iraq film, or an al-Qaeda film?

'Well, I think a terrorist film would be an important thing to do,' he says, 'but you know even Comandante can't get on the air in America. The British are much more independent-minded: you see that in this inquiry that is going on. In America it is much more easy to float a stupid idea - you know, Iraq is the source of the 9/11 attacks - and people in the main will buy into that without questioning it too much.'

The great challenge for someone like him, in this environment is, he says, to stay true to himself. He hopes that, in 20 years' time, at 75, he will still stand for something, like Castro. 'It is very hard to maintain a vision and a voice. Nobody wants singular statements.'

Stone is pessimistic about his prospects of getting his own singular statements financed because he believes these attitudes are hardening. 'There's a danger,' he says, 'that we are turning into a giant lynch mob, you know, that mentality. The greatest film to be made at the moment would be a version of The Ox-Bow Incident, that Henry Fonda movie. A movie about hanging three people in a cowboy town. That blind vigilantism is what you see everywhere in America now, in the media, in the people. America wants to see Schwarzenegger wiping up the baddies. They wanted vengeance for 9/11. They wanted to kill Arabs. That was why Bush got away with it. It was a lie, that war, and as Goebbels I think said, the bigger the lie, the more they will believe it.'

However much you think that phrase could happily sum up the director's career, Stone is one of the few Americans prepared, eager, to say that the reaction to 11 September was 'disproportionate and hysterical'. What we need, he says, is a Costa-Gavras to come along and make a big film about terrorism and imperialism. Part of him certainly wishes he could do it but he believes there 'would be so much pre-judgment of it, no one would want to go near it'.

Instead, Stone is looking forward to finding some contemporary resonance in Alexander the Great's imperial progress. Baz Luhrmann is making a film about Alexander too (with Leonardo DiCaprio as the lead) and you imagine the pair will offer, if nothing else, a compelling contrast in style: Stone's polemical realism against Luhrmann's insistent light-footedness.

Stone says, of course, that there is no element of competition, though it is hard to imagine him not relishing it. The only thing he admits to be racing against is the script. 'You could tell any number of stories about Alexander because he is such a powerful character. But we are going to make an attempt at one. It's a big-budget movie, but of course,' he says, grinning, 'I will be shooting it like a guerrilla, I guess.' He likes that idea. 'No rest for one hundred days!' For a moment, the prospect seems to wake him up.

-Tim Adams, "Oliver's One Man Army," The Observer, Aug 31 2003

#Oliver Stone #the guardian #the observer #comandante #Fidel Castro #Alexander #Cuba #documentaries #parents #louis Stone #leadership #power

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onesunofagun · 3 years ago

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I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way.

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables.

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual.

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating).

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign.

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted.

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men.

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link.

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself.

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT?

They’re horse people.

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap.

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned.

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf.

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

#tloz #tloz oot #Ocarina of time #legend of zelda ocarina #nostalgia #ingo #malon #talon #lon lon ranch #hyrule #zelda meta #legend of zelda #gerudo #ganondorf #zelda discussion #zelda theory

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bestintheparsec · 4 years ago

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As Does the Snow

Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You and your neighbor, Frankie, get snowed in together.

A/N: I wrote this down when the power was out while I was—you guessed it—snowed in. Nothing too deep/angsty in this (for once), just softness. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it!

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: none, some obvious tropes (snowed in, there was only one bed)

*Masterlist pinned to my page

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, prompting you to drop the pile of clothes you’re holding to answer it.

“Hey, Santi,” you answer the familiar friendly voice on the other end.

“You lose power yet?” he asks, slight concern in his tone.

“Just about an hour ago,” you reply, peering out the window. The sun’s still out, so you’ll be okay for a few more hours until it sets.

You’d all been expecting the power to go out, of course. The news has been tracking a seemingly out-of-nowhere snow storm that’s been headed your way, starting its impact a few hours earlier. You hadn’t expected to lose power so soon, though—it usually takes a lot more ice or wind to damage the lines. You’ve been preparing as best as you can for the cold nights ahead. With the lack of heat and power, it was bound to be a long night or two.

“You have everything you need, right?” he asks after a short silence. Santi and the other guys, most of them, live closer to the city and away from the countryside that you'd chosen to live in. With the way the roads are, everyone's been warned not to drive if possible. Not that there’s anywhere to go.

“Yeah, I always do—”

“Listen, I was wondering if you could go stay with Frankie during this whole thing,” he chimes in.

Frankie lives across the street from you—you’ve been good friends with him ever since you moved in years ago, even becoming a part of his group of ex-military friends when he introduced you to them, and you'd fit in like you’d always belonged there. It’s perfectly reasonable that Santi would ask you to go stay with your friend to hunker down during a storm. You would all stay with each other if you could, but seeing as that’s impossible and you and Frankie only have each other right now…yes, completely reasonable.

Fuck, who are you kidding?

What seems like a long time ago, you realized you had feelings for Frankie. And, by some luck—or not—you found out they were reciprocated.

But things don’t always work out the way you want them to; hell, it seems like things never do. At the end of the day, you both had wanted to pursue something more with each other, but life got in the way, just as it often does. You both had a lot going on in your lives back then, things you had to deal with and sort out alone. Ultimately—awkward conversations and deep talks and all—you’d both decided it was best if you simply stayed friends, lest things become overcomplicated.

And so you did. Despite this small history, things haven't really been awkward since then. He’s still a good friend to you, one of your best friends, really, and the subject hasn’t been mentioned again ever since.

Only, you haven’t really moved on. You haven’t been much good at leaving the feelings behind you, either. At first you just kept shoving them away, trying to convince yourself that you felt nothing at all whenever you were with him, nothing except friendly love for one of your best friends. But despite your best attempts not to, you found yourself slowly falling more for him. Being close to him for this long has made it even harder for you to move past it.

Not that you've addressed any of this again.

Had you sorted out the things you were dealing with back then? Maybe. But you’d both decided on what was best, years ago, and given that Frankie hasn’t brought it up again since, it’s likely he wants to keep things that way. Time tends to help some people to move on, where it drives the knife in deeper for others. Frankie’s been on plenty of dates since then, even a relationship or two. So you know you were probably just a momentary interlude in his love life, someone he stopped thinking about in that way long before you could ever even think about moving on. You're nothing more than a good friend to him now. And so you've kept your continued feelings for him to yourself, allowing them to thinly layer your friendship like a light dusting of sugar that’s never quite sweet enough to stand on its own.

But the thought of sheltering with him for a few days? You're not sure if you can keep your feelings contained if you're with him for that long and with that much free time to get lost in your thoughts. But given the seriousness of the storm, you were both bound to end up at one or the other's place, anyways.

You must have been silent for a little too long, because Santi speaks again, breaking your thoughts. “You can watch over each other, that sort of thing. Besides, you know how he can be…” he trails off, waiting for you to answer.

“I—yeah, I’ll go over there,” you finally agree, nodding to yourself. “I was going to check up on him eventually, anyways. I’ll go over as soon as I finish up what I’m doing.”

“Sounds good—let us know if you run into any trouble. We’ll find a way over there if we need to.”

You mutter a quick thanks and remind them to stay safe before hanging up, tossing your phone onto the couch with a resigned sigh. Moments later you pick it up again, quickly sending a text to Frankie to ask him if it’s alright for you both to bunker together for the night. Which he quickly agrees to, of course—you’ve spent many evenings over at his place, or his at yours.

Really, you don’t know why your brain’s suddenly trying to make this weird for you. You’ll bring some snacks and blankets, and it’ll be just like any other Friday night you’ve spent with him. Not weird. There’s nothing there (at least on his end) for you to feel awkward about.

You shake your head and finish your emergency preparations, trying to be done with it before it gets dark so you can head over to Frankie’s.

Exhaling deeply first, you ring Frankie’s doorbell.

“Coming!” His deep voice calls from inside.

You shove your hands into your pockets then change your mind, moving them to grip anxiously onto the straps of your backpack. Another few moments pass before you hear Frankie trod to the door. He answers it with a soft smile plastered on his face, the same one he uses every time he greets you. Immediately taking the bag you’re carrying off your arm, he beckons you inside and you follow, shrugging off your backpack.

"Did you need help with anything?" You ask, dropping your bag onto the ground and looking around the darkened place. The windows are covered, there's flashlights and candles out on the table, and a couple cases of water are stacked in the kitchen.

He’s layered up in clothing just like you are—a familiar flannel button-up peeking out from under his jacket. His hair is messy like he’s been running around all day, which he probably has been from the looks of it. If you had to describe it, he looks like...home.

Stop it, you mentally chastise yourself.

“Nah, I’m just making some final tweaks,” he remarks, walking over to pull the living room curtains shut. “The house is warm enough for now, but it won’t be long before it starts feeling like the inside of a fridge in here.”

He turns back to face you with a different sort of smile on his lips, a gentle expression you can’t quite make out.

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie’s been in deep for you, too. He knows you'd both agreed not to date, but over time he's come to greatly regret that decision. It was the right one at the time, but he can't help but wish things had gone a little differently. There’s no one he’d rather be around, and any and all dates he’s been on over the years have failed for the same reason—they’re not you. They could never be you.

Chances come and go, and his has gone. In more ways than one you’re a light in his life, someone he couldn’t ever deserve, and somehow he’s lucky enough to have you in his life at all—even if it’s just as friends. If he’s a better person now, a lot of it’s because you’ve been there to pick up the pieces, the same way he does and will always do for you without a second thought.

But something you can’t help him with is the fact that he’s fallen for you, hard, long after you’d both agreed to just be friends. And he keeps on falling.

He knows people change their mind all the time, but he’s been unwilling and unable to bring it up again with you. For all he knows, that agreement had just been your gentle way of telling him “it’s never going to happen.” He doesn't want to risk scaring you off and losing one of the best people in his life.

Frankie comes back to reality, watching you smooth out the front of your shirt.

“Okay, well, I brought some of my blankets in case we need to pile them up…” you say, pointing to the large bag you brought. “And since your stove is electric, it looks like we’ll be eating snacks for dinner.”

“That’s bold of you to assume,” he retorts, walking over to the kitchen. With a silly gesture, he proudly uncovers a large dish full of one of your favorites.

Frankie is certainly no chef, but he can put together a dish or two, even going out of his way to learn how to make the things that you both love. He puts a hand on his hip, amused by the surprised look on your face. “I made it before the power went out. They did teach us some things about preparation in the military, you know,” he teases, dimple on full display.

“And here I was packing junk food and sandwiches, like a loser,” you jest, grinning back at him. Frankie somehow always manages to make your life a little better. He beams and your chest constricts at the sight.

"Oh, we'll definitely need those for later," he reassures you with a grin. "If the guys were here that'd all be gone before the worst of the storm even hits," he adds, making you laugh.

Some of your favorite nights with Frankie are the ones that are completely uneventful, ones where you relax after a long day of work and binge your favorite snacks while watching some crappy movie on the couch. Then again, it's always the little things that make you happy when it comes to him.

Once you've had your dinner you both get comfortable next to each other on the couch, chatting about life and nothing in particular, the way you often do—minus the lack of electricity and a mostly dark room that’s barely lit up by a couple of small camping lights Frankie has. No doubt the other guys would make things a lot more chaotically entertaining if they were all here, but you’re happy it’s just the two of you now—even if it does make it harder for you to think straight at the moment.

Frankie says something that makes you chuckle and you look up at him, noting the delicate smile on his lips and the way it almost balances out the tired lines under his eyes. He meets your eyes, and if he looks like he wants to say something else, it's probably only in your mind because he doesn't.

The wind outside makes itself known, rattling the windows in its wake. You're suddenly grateful you'd agreed to come and stay with Frankie. Although you’re lucky to have a shelter, these kinds of storms are best when you don't have to ride them out alone.

You also become hyper-aware of how intimate the moments you share with Frankie are. At the end of the day, you're glad he's in your life, even if it's not the way the younger version of you wanted. You still have him and he has you, and that's really more than you could ever ask for.

A chill suddenly makes its way through you.

"Are you shivering?" Frankie stops talking mid-thought to ask you.

"What? No, I—" He cuts you off with a chuckle and shakes his head, reaching down into your bag. With a quick movement he pulls a beanie on over your head, purposely tugging it past your eyes as you laugh and playfully smack his hand away.

"Watch yourself, Morales," you attempt to glare at him as you smooth down your hair, but fail to contain your smile when you see that goofy twinkle in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. The grin is still on his face as he moves to fix the beanie on your forehead. Another quiet chuckle escapes his lips until his fingers move away from your forehead, accidentally grazing along your cheek.

It’s not the chill that makes you both fall abruptly silent.

It’s almost as if the wind wiped the grins off your faces as Frankie looks into your eyes with an intense gaze. His hand still hovers along your cheek, neither of you seeming able to move. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s impossible for him to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears right now. Your imagination must be getting the better of you again, because you almost believe that there’s something wistful about the look on his face.

But just like that, he drops his hand and you both avert your eyes.

“It’s, um...getting late,” you break the silence. “We better get settled before it really starts getting cold in here.”

Frankie clears his throat, nodding in agreement and standing to pile some blankets onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Um...you know I don’t have the guest room set up. There’s just the bed in my room. You go get cozy, I’ll take the couch.”

"What? I'm not gonna steal your bed, Fr—"

“And I'm not going to have you uncomfortable in my house,” he brushes you off with a wave of the hand. “It's fine, querida, really. You know I've knocked out on this couch more times than I can count." Your chest warms at the sound of his pet name for you. It's harmless, just something he's always called you. But for some reason it makes your face warm to hear it this time.

“No, I mean...isn’t it better if we share? I think the whole point is to keep our bodies warm. It’s easier to do that if we’re in one room.”

He finally meets your eyes again, holding your gaze as though there's more than one thing on his mind, then runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I...Are you sure? I really don’t have any problem with—”

You smile softly at him, trying to hide any indication of awkwardness in your tone. “Yes, Frankie, it’s fine. Really. Besides, we can stack all our blankets together this way.”

He smiles back. “I have a big, fluffy one we can use, too.”

All the remaining heat in the house has definitely dissipated now, leaving behind a frigid chill. It's bearable for the time being, but leaves your skin covered in goosebumps anytime you expose so much as a sliver of skin to the air. The last time you checked, the snow had already made a significant cushion to the ground outside, and was still going strong.

You've been in bed for an hour or two, huddled into a ball underneath several layers of blankets and refusing to move because it only makes you colder to shift the air around.

Frankie's asleep next to you—you assume he's asleep, anyways. Neither of you have said a word in a while, and with the pattering sounds of snow falling outside, you're getting drowsy yourself. Still, you haven't been able to fall asleep, not even when you jam your eyes shut. It's too cold, for one thing, and for another, it's difficult to ignore the fact that he is right next to you. It's a big bed and there's a decent space between you, but still.

You shift positions yet again, trying to wrap yourself tighter in your section of the blankets. You move to readjust one of the blankets that's gotten pushed away, accidentally bumping Frankie's arm in the process. You grimace, hoping you didn't wake him.

"Your hand is like ice," Frankie's quiet voice suddenly fills the room.

"Oh—Sorry. I thought you were asleep," you mutter back, your voice muffled by the blankets.

"No. It's hard enough for me to sleep even when there's not a historic snowstorm going on." He jokes, though you know it goes deeper than that for him.

Not really knowing how to respond, you remain silent. Rolling onto your side facing away from him, you tuck yourself further into the blankets before resolving to pull them up and over your head entirely.

Frankie's soft laugh rumbles next to you. "Seriously, your skin is frozen," he tells you. “You’re like the opposite of a space heater right now,” he chuckles and you can hear the grin on his face.

You push the blanket off your face, feigning a groan. “Freezing weather and a lack of heat lends to poor circulation, Francisco.”

"I know, I just…maybe it would…it might be warmer if we slept closer together." His voice is so soft that you can’t help but think how nice it would be to fall asleep to the sound of it every night.

When you don’t answer right away he quickly adds, “Or not—I wasn’t trying to...I didn’t mean—Sorry.” Frankie shuffles uncomfortably under the covers.

“No, you’re right,” you murmur hesitantly, barely louder than a whisper. “It...would probably help.”

A beat of silence.

Then you hear Frankie gently move his pillow over towards you, scooting himself in until you can feel his warmth against you. He doesn’t move again at first, you only feel his chest rising and falling against your back. But ever so slowly, he wraps an arm over you, the weight of him sturdy and comforting. You can tell he’s tense—hesitant—until you place your own hand on his, holding him closer to you. Feeling you make yourself comfortable must put him at ease, and he relaxes around you. Neither of you say a word, just lay there sharing each other’s warmth.

You’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on some late nights on the couch before—things two normal, friendly people do, right? But you’ve never let yourself think too much about it. You can hardly help it now, reveling in the way you feel safe in his arms, fitting perfectly along the curve of his body. You are warmer, although some of it may be because of the way your pulse is just a little bit quickened. You wouldn't mind if you had to stay like this forever.

Frankie quietly exhales, his breath warm against the back of your hair. “Better?” he finally speaks, his voice gravelly and hushed, not much louder than the sound of snow hitting the window.

A pause. “Yeah.”

You feel him relax even more, burying his cheek a little more into the space above your shoulders. “Let’s try to sleep, then, querida.”

And just like that, Frankie Morales manages to make you fall a little bit more in love with him.

It’s then that you realize—it’s always been simple with him. Everything is always...easy with him. Nothing’s overcomplicated or messy; it’s just you and Frankie. It’s what drew you to him first, long ago. It wasn’t the outspoken openness that that others had, nor the confident resolve, but the quiet way he cares for you. The way he manages to always make you laugh, even at the times when it’s almost impossible to. The way he makes you feel so whole that you forget there was ever anything missing in the first place. That’s how he found his way, permanently, into your heart.

For Frankie, it’s always been you. You’re a grounding presence to him, someone who’s made him familiar with peace again over the years.

He lies there listening to the sounds of your breathing, sure that you’re finally fast asleep. He feels sleep coming over himself, too. He knows he’ll sleep a little easier tonight with you. He’ll weather anything when it comes to you. That’s how he knows, and convinces himself that once this storm business is over, he’ll tell you. For now, he lets himself follow you into slumber. His last conscious thoughts are of how he wouldn't mind having you in his arms like this every night, and if it weren't for your warmth lulling him to sleep, he might've confessed to you right then and there.

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#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #my ff

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years ago

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Was Napoleon a tyrant? I don't necessarily think he was: at least, I believe he was a better alternative to the absolute monarchs he was fighting. But there are those who disagree. What are your thoughts on the subject?

This is a can of worms to be sure.

I mean....how are we defining the word tyrant? All monarchs are tyrants to someone. Monarchy, by its very nature, is tyrannical in one way, shape, or form, no matter who is at its head. Even in the more neutered forms we see now days with the British. The Queen still exerts a ridiculous amount of power, all things considered.

Napoleon was no better or worse than any other monarch in Europe at that time. Indeed, better than some, worse than others. Because you know, he was human!

This got VERY long. SO LONG. Choice excerpts from below the cut:

"'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it."

"(And I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system. Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door. Napoleon: Hush.)"

"Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor."

"Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight! (I'm putting my money on Napoleon.)"

tl;dr: a more or less benevolent emperor who had his faults and who was intimately aware, for better or worse, more than most monarchs, that the head is only tenuously attached to the body. (Skim to the bottom for my thoughts on the personal things i.e. how I interpret Napoleon's actions and brain)

But, more seriously, as with most absolute statements, I am opposed to calling him a tyrant because it is reductive and serves no purpose except to make broad sweeping political statements that I believe are far more about the person making the statement exemplifying their modern political, republican position (as in, actual republican-I-support-the-existence-of-republics not the gop) rather than expressing any sort of truth about the past. (wHaT iS tRuTh.)

For historical purposes, it can over-simplify the situation and lead to skewed interpretations of events because you're coming in with this word that has a lot of modern, 20th and 21st century baggage to it.

And, because these people are coming in with this big, bad word of tyrant as a label for Napoleon, it doesn't allow them to engage with the nuance and complexities of his reign.

Anyway.

Napoleon, as emperor, supported centralized power held in his own hands, with support from other governing bodies (senate, council of state etc.). However, Napoleon had a lot of influence in the structuring of these governing bodies and the subsequent appointments as a means to exert control over entities that would otherwise be able to act somewhat independent from him and impinge his power.

We see this consolidation of power beginning, obviously, under the consulate. 'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it.

There was the whole theatre around the Tribunate offering to extend Napoleon's tenure as First Consul for another ten years as a means of thanks/showing gratitude for all he did for France (Fouche was like: fuck that, let's just make a statue of the guy). Napoleon played the part of Humble Servant of the Public and refused both statue and the ten year extension. (Very Julius Caesar: You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?)

In actuality, though, he was pissed because he wanted it extended for life.

This resulted in the Council of State deciding "independently" (i.e. Napoleon wasn't present but he sure as hell influenced that Council session) to hold a plebiscite in order to ask The People two key questions: 'Should Napoleon Bonaparte be consul for life?' and 'Should he have the right to designate his successor?'

Napoleon nixed the second question saying to Cambaceres, 'The testament of Louis XIV was not respected, so why should mine be? A dead man has nothing to say.' Which is to say, he knew people would vote for him to be Consul for life, but the prospect of him choosing a successor, a la the Roman Empire, and having that choice be without input from the people and respected upon his death? Less clear.

(And, I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system.

Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door.

Napoleon: Hush.)

For the Plebiscite, there were around 3.56 million votes for Yes to the question of Napoleon as consul for life and only around 8,300 for No.

The turnout rate was 60% which is uhh...impressive! (To be fair, there was no real evidence of tampering with the vote. Unlike in subsequent Plebiscites, such as the results for Do We Make Him Emperor, which were absolutely doctored. But, considering the highest turnout ever seen in the French Revolution was around 30/35%, double that is certainly something.)

Lafayette was pissed with this. He kicked up a fuss in the Senate and wrote to Napoleon saying that his 'restorative dictatorship' had been well and fine for now but has Napoleon thought about restoring liberty? and that he was certain Napoleon, of all people, wouldn't want an 'arbitrary regime' to be installed!

Napoleon: Bold of you to assume that, Lafayette.

There were, at this time, some mumblings and grumblings about tyranny from the liberals and those still wanting to continue the experiment of the French Republic, to be sure. They increased as time went on and Napoleon's power continued to consolidate.

Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor.

Lafayette: WhAt Is tHiS??

Napoleon: Look into my face and tell me honestly that you are shocked.

His government, as Consul and as Emperor, was centralized and very top-down in how it operated. Little was done without Napoleon's input.

The seemingly democratic institutions that had propped him up into power were retained and Napoleon used them as a means to facilitate his rule. As noted earlier, Napoleon had a heavy hand in appointments and the processes in place to fill various offices. Nothing was really...independent of him and his influence.

Though, in terms of Image Building of Empire, Napoleon worked hard to try and maintain the façade of impartiality as emperor. That he was head of state, sure, but all state apparatuses operated independent of him.

(Why is Napoleon's hat so big? because it is full of lies supporting the imperial image making machine.)

That said, when it came to filling those offices, Napoleon focused on merit more than anything as he wanted his governing officials to be capable, hardworking and, above all else, loyal.

(A good quote from Napoleon in one of his more Eat the Rich moments of the consulate: 'One cannot treat wealth as a title of nobility. A rich man is often a layabout without merit. A rich merchant is often only so by virtue of the art of selling expensively or stealing.'

Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight!

(I'm putting my money on Napoleon.) )

This is getting really long and I feel that I've not addressed anything in a useful manner, but am I going to stop? No.

Napoleon, himself, at least in 1803, did express some conflicted views about assuming an imperial title. To Roederer he said, 'So many great things have been achieved over the past three years under the title of consul. It should be kept.'

Cambaceres said to Napoleon that upon assuming an imperial title 'your position changes and places you at odds with yourself.' No longer are you merely a public servant, an upholder of the Republic's ideals. Now you are a man wearing a crown, trying to be the upholder of the Republic's ideals.

(nb: I feel that duality is something Napoleon never fully got a handle on. He would veer strongly into authoritarian monarch then have moments of Rousseau-ian Idealism.)

Napoleon was insistent that his rule be a parliamentary monarchy (keeping the governance framework implemented in the Constitution of Year VIII, if I am not mistaken. But don't quote me on that.) and that the French were not his subjects but his people.

So, the imperial government worked thus with the Legislative process divided between four bodies:

Council of State which would draw up legislative proposals,

Tribunate which could debate on legislation but not vote on it,

a legislative body which could vote on legislation but not discuss it, and

Senate which would consider whether the proposed legislation conformed to the Constitution.

The Senate and the Legislative body could, theoretically, curtail Napoleon’s freedom/power. However, considering the fact that he was involved in the appointment process of these offices, and the general rhythm of daily governance, how much power they were able to exert over him was limited.

(This is at his height! Of course, towards the end we see a shift in that. But that's largely tied up in his military defeats and the British banging the door knocker demanding to be let in. Also they brought with them some friends. You might have heard of them? Bourbons?)

The initial terms the Senate brought to Napoleon with their offer of accepting him as a hereditary monarch included, but weren't limited to:

liberty cannot be infringed

equality cannot be jeopardized

sovereignty of the people must be maintained

the laws of the nation are inviolable

all institutions were to be free from undue imperial influence (e.g. the press)

the nation should never be put into a position where it needs to behead the head of state. Again.

Napoleon was uh. Not best pleased with this and had a new version drafted up that included acknowledgement of the sovereignty of the people, but a lot of the other things (e.g. freedom of the press) were cut out.

Yet, Napoleon maintained certain parts of the French Revolution's values which were reflected more in the 1804 Code Napoleon and other legislative and legal pieces than in the initial terms of Senatorial acceptance of his imperial title.

Some of the things enshrined in the Code that were carry-over from the Revolution include, but aren't limited to, the abolition of feudalism, equality before the law, freedom of conscience (to practice their own religion), gave fixed title to those who had bought church and émigré lands during the 1790s, and the equality of taxation was maintained (tax those aristos and the church). Also, there was affirmation of the idea of careers being "open to talent" rather than an accident of birth (as touched on above).

The Freedom of Conscience clause in the Code was a further formalization of several Articles Napoleon amended onto the Concordat in 1802. The Articles guaranteed the principle of religious toleration and made the Protestant and Jewish churches similarly subject to state authority (alongside the Catholic).

These are just a brief summary of some of the more liberal/revolution-informed aspects of Napoleon's governing.

The non-liberal ones I believe we're all pretty familiar with: suppression of the free press, roll-back of rights for women (women are for babies!), reinstatement of slavery (which he later reversed circa 1810/12-ish), top-down Emperor-has-final-word approach to ruling (Napoleon was all about Authority From Above, Trust From Below) etc. etc.

At the end of this, I would say Napoleon's empire falls into that "benevolent monarch" situation. For a given value of "benevolent." As stated at the start, he was like most other monarchs in Europe at the time. Better than some, not as great about certain things as others.

Really, it all ties back to Order and Stability.

Napoleon's assent, and his approach to strong, centralized ruling, was a result of uncertainty and constant government change over ten years of revolution alongside the growing belief, by 1803, that a republic like the Romans or Greeks was not going to happen any time soon. Not without constant warfare and the forever looming threat of a Bourbon restoration.

In addition, Napoleon was doing imperial drag. (If that makes sense.) He was dialing the notch of Emperor up to 11 - being the most emperor of all emperors. So, state control was absolute because he couldn't show any signs of weakness - either in his own body, his familial body, or the body of state. The court protocols were intense and over-the-top at times because he had to prove he was not just a second son of a parvenu lawyer from the sticks. No! he was worthy of this pomp. He was worthy of imperial majesty. He was worthy of the crown and scepter.

Napoleon was not raised to be anything other than a military officer and a middle-class head of a family (would have been a MASTER at doing Sunday Dad Puttering About the House). When he dawned the mantel of power, particularly that of empire, he had to make it up as he went along. For such a self-conscious and proud man, this was difficult. He never wanted to misstep and be embarrassed - on a personal level, political or military.

At the same time, he was reared on Rousseau and Revolution so still had those values and ideals imbedded in him, and those fears and memories. Napoleon knew as well as any Frenchman that a monarch's head is easily removable should it become necessary. Therefore, he sometimes ran roughshod over the liberty to ensure security. For better or worse, that was the choice he made.

Napoleon was a flawed leader with a complex approach to governing that was focused on a centralization of power within him while, at the same time, trying to be the Successor of the Revolution, the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire. Layers! Like an onion.

His approach as emperor really was within the realm of normal-for-the-times when compared to most other monarchs on the European stage in 1800. He also granted liberties to his people that were unheard of in other countries.

I feel like all my Napoleonic ramblings end with the same message: Dude was nuanced. Dude was complex. Dude did good things and bad things. Dude helped people and hurt people. Dude contained multitudes. Because he was simply human, at the end of the day.

ANNNNNNND we are done.

Gods bless all y'all who made it this far.

Have my favourite picture of Napoleon at Tuileries as a prize.

hmm that beautiful heavy, handed symbolism.

#napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #ask #reply #napoleonic #history #19th century #imperial myth making #napoleonic identity

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azureflight · 3 years ago

Text

So, I have just binged the first season of The Remarried Empress

And I have some thoughts:

First of all, I am really curious as to how Navier will react when she learns that her new husband has been preparing for a war of conquest against the country empire of her ex-husband, which also happens to be her home country. That war, is gonna be doozy.

Beyond that, however, their reputation is at an all time low and their have their work cut out for them in the Western Kingdom.

There was some merit to the argument that marrying an experienced, well respected lady who knows state craft would help with Heinrey’s image to become more serious, however, the circumstances of their affair did the exact opposite.

For now, it looks like their playboy king went and involved himself with an international scandal, having an illicit affair with the empress of the neighboring kingdom and getting himself in trouble.

Far from looking mature, he looks like a fool who almost got himself killed and a war started over his dick.

Navier, on the hand, looks like a cold and calculating seductress. It looks like as soon as her husband brought a mistress she immediately began to work on an out, seduced the obviously foolish prince and then jumped ship. It makes her look greedy, power hungry and potentially vindictive.

Not to mention, I won’t be surprised if people start to assume the real reason for the divorce was partially the affair between Navier and Heinrey and that Sovieshu didn’t like being cheated on.

Being a foreigner with an image of too reserved and “shrewd” was enough for the people of Western Kingdom to demonize Naiver, but with all the surrounding scandals, it is almost a given. This is some Helen of Troy level shit show, The Diplomatic Edition.

And I don’t think her simply being a good queen will be enough. Yes, Navier is pretty great in the affairs of the state, understands how actual ruling works and is a highly qualified bureaucrat. Unfortunately, none of that matter to common folk, they don’t see it. They can tell when their own life gets better/worse, but it takes time for those effects to cascade, and the credit can easily be stolen, blame easily shfited, her normal queenly work, along with charities won’t be enough.

Not to mention, any future tensions with Eastern Empire will be blamed on her. People will either think she is the one doing it as revenge, or it is happening because of her. Either way, future war can easily be blamed on her, which would rapidly erode whatever goodwill or sway the crown has over their subjects.

They need to find a way to quickly ingratiate both of them with the public.

Looking at the way the relations were perceived in the Eastern Empire before the whole divorce shit show, it doesn’t look like actual politics of war has been initiated by the Western Kingdom. Heinrey and his crew were getting prepared, yes. But it doesn’t look like they had started to sell the idea of a war to the public. Before any action can be taken, the population and the army, nobility, merchant class and various other key holders need to be convinced that the war is righteous, just and necessary.

On that regard, I think Heinrey’s plant o declare himself emperor and rename his realm an empire can work, if done right.

People like bold young kings who try to grow the power of the realm. His declaration is sure to take over the news and scandals of his marriage, as that would be a major diplomatic shift involving all other realms.

Symbolic as it may seem, titles and names actually hold a lot of weight. A peer suddenly starting to call themselves with a higher and more prestigious title, is sure to not only irk potential rivals, but also make them feel agitated and threatened. After all, why would you start calling yourself emperor, if you aren’t gonna try to exert dominion over fellow kings, or try to directly challenge the other emperor?

This move has the potential to be seen arrogant and foolish, but done right, it could be a moment of national pride for Western Kingdom’s folk. I might be reading too much into this, however, from Heinrey’s inner dialogue as well as his brief conversations with comrades, it looks like the people (or at least some people) in the Western Kingdom feel like they are being looked down upon by the East, and have immense pride in their own military might.

So this declaration could be their moment of standing up for themselves and their own worth, refusing to be content with a lesser position. If done right, if sold right, this could immensely chance the current dynamic. Then Navier being a well known and skillful empress would actually come into play.

People may not care about it by default, but once conversation shifts to whether Western Kingdom deserves to be an empire or not, having a “real” empress, a highly regarded lady with exceptional breeding, would actually work to legitimize them. While Eastern Empire will have a lowborn, tactless, potentially fugitive slave, as their empress.

This could help rebrand any tensions between Western Kingdom and Eastern Empire. Instead of being about or caused by Navier, it would be about the west calling themselves an empire and the east trying to stop them. That could galvanize the public, the army, and would work well with the pride and ambitions of the nobility.

Another thing that could work, is a trade deal with Luipt to expand reach to another continent. It certainly fits the image of wanting to elevate the status and power of the Western Kingdom. In this case, Navier and Kaufman already being familiar, having a relatively close relationship and having already done the bureaucratic aspect of it once, helps. They could quickly arrange the deal and it would be a move that helps them not only domestically, but internationally.

The empress of the east gets divorced and the diplomat of the Luipt immediately goes to her new kingdom and gets a deal there? That makes it look like the actual power and potential of the east was the empress. It sends the signal that Western Kingdom’s imperial ambitions have merit and international support. That would shift the other kingdoms from hostile to adaptable, willing to change to whom they give more regard.

Another kingdom so readily and swiftly accepting their deal would also makes westerners feel validated. And again, an ambitious trade project to another continent would quickly make the whole imperial deal legitimate act of national growth, instead of it seeming like a foolish playboy’s attempt to appease his manipulative lover.

There shouldn’t bee too much of a time gap between those two however, and it shouldn’t take too long to declare the whole empire thing either. Otherwise their impact on correcting the images of Navier and Heinrey as well as justifying their new titles would be lessened to the point of being irrelevant.

Beyond those, I wonder how the dynamic between east and west will playout. Sovieshu is a fool who is way in over his head. Can Heinrey use it?

We have seen both courtiers and loyal aides, as well as other nobles make loud and quite indignant objections to the whole divorce. They won’t all just change their loyalty, obviously. However, this could be a sticking point for many years to come, a wedge that can be exploited.

If Sovieshu antagonizes Navier’s family, that could greatly alarm and upset the other high ranking nobles. Surely, there will be those who will enjoy it as they would be rivals with Trovis, however, no noble, especially no duke, will like how quickly the emperor discarded and sabotaged such an elevated family. It goes against all of their senses of safety and specialty.

In these type of societies, most of the loyalty is owned to individuals, not to “people” or to the land. There are exceptions, obviously, however, it is entirely within the realm of possibility that with Navier’s marriage to Heinrey, several nobles who may be displeased with Sovieshu could start looking to the Western Kingdom as a better patron. If the west can start stripping nobles from the eastern empire, that whole war would not only be an easier sell, but way easier to win. Remember, all those nobles have their own armies.

Overall, I am quite excited for the second season, let’s see how it all goes. Maybe all of my guesses and prediction are wrong, maybe the story will go in an entirely irrelevant direction. I’m just here for the right and speculating is fun while waiting :D

#the remarried empress #navier #heinrey #sovieshu

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howtofightwrite · 4 years ago

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Q&A: Scuttling your own Argument

So, before we get started today, we don’t usually respond to every misogynistic shitpost that hits our inbox. So, let’s turn this garbage into a teachable moment.

Women have a lower reaction time than men, this has been proven. How would this affect combat?

There’s a couple problems with this. I mean, there are many flaws with this question, but I’m going to focus on two.

The first: As we’ve said many times, “bold claims require strong and convincing evidence.” This may come as a shock, but, “this has been proven,” does not count as a citation.

We live in a world where people actually argue that the planet is flat because they cannot physically see the curvature of the earth. Keep in mind, we’ve been to space.

We live in a world where people are more inclined to believe in ancient aliens than accept the idea that the non-European civilizations were able to construct great architectural works.

This is before we get into examples like Andrew Wakefield. Wakefield falsified his research on MMR vaccines in the late 90s. He claimed he’d found a link between the MMR Vaccine in common use, and incidents of autism. Except, his entire goal was to capitalize on the resulting vaccine scare, making money off of a new market for diagnostic kits, and a “replacement MMR vaccine.”

“This has been proven,” doesn’t mean a thing without a citation.

Now, what has been proven is that the author of this question is an idiot, and the evidence is in their text.

Women fight all the time. You only need to look as far as your local police blotter to see evidence of that, in case you’ve somehow never observed this personally.

Beyond that, many armed services include women, including in combat roles. The most famous example is the IDF, but Germany, France, Australia, the UK and US all train and deploy women in combat roles. Russia is often also held up as an example, and during the Second World War, they fielded female snipers, though, as far as I know, they don’t currently allow women in combat roles. In the case of the US, there are women in the SEALs and Rangers, which seriously undermines the idea that they’re somehow unfit for combat. Seriously there are female Special Forces Operators. (There may also be some women in the British SAS, I’m not 100% sure, though the Service is not gender restricted.)

Also, those militaries conducted extensive testing to determine if they found women eligible to serve, and before you hop on an unfounded argument of, “political correctness skewed the results,” it’s worth remembering that military testing often skews hard to support the status quo. If your claim had any merit, you could be assured that various militaries would have been proclaiming it from the rooftops as the reason they couldn’t accept women into combat roles (or, why they should be blocked from military service entirely.)

So, I said the author was an idiot, and I’m not basing that on their unfamiliarity with military service demographics. When you’re writing an argument it is very important to chose your words carefully. The way you phrase things can shape, or undermine, your argument.

In this case, it’s his question: “How would this affect combat?”

The choice of, “would,” assumes a false variable. When you’re asking a question where all of the components of an argument are true, you ask, “how does this affect combat?”

For example, after a technical discussion of the internal workings of the AK47, you would not ask, “how would this affect the rifle’s performance in combat?” You would ask, “how does it affect the rifle’s performance?” If you were speculating on changes to the design, then, “would,” would become the correct term.

(Also, “would,” is the correct term in the previous paragraph, because you are not asking those questions.)

The two variables in the author’s question are their reflexes assertion, and whether women fight. They probably assumed women do not fight. (I can only assume this is because they didn’t do any research, and apparently, have never met a member of the opposite sex.) However, once you establish that women do fight, “would,” dictates that the other variable must be false. Meaning, they have just unintentionally stated that their reflexes assertion is untrue.

What I can’t prove is that they’re misreading early neuroplasticity studies. If you’ve never looked into it, neuroplasticity is a fascinating subject. Your brain is a remarkably adaptive organ, and this can result in significant neurological differences between individuals based on their experiences. Neuroplasticity can affect reflex time, and it is probably why martial artists who get their start as children have significantly faster reflexes than those who start as adults. Your brain is far more plastic (meaning adaptive) during childhood. Plasticity does remain in adulthood, but your brain loses adaptability as you age. However, if that is the case, it’s important to understand that these differences are the result of experiences and activities, not gender.

-Starke

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Q&A: Scuttling your own Argument was originally published on How to Fight Write.

#fightwrite answers #Starke answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years ago

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In the analysis of CaptainFlash's fic, a common theme of the notes is "this is not how Edelgard is", as in the claim is that she is being mischaracterized. But for how much the claim gets thrown, there's little in the way of "this is how she SHOULD be written". And so a question I have is - for fanfic writers, how do you think Edelgard SHOULD be written in order to be true to canon? Assume both from a perspective of BL/GD fic and a BE fic.

Well, I believe that I have put in guidelines at the very least lol, but I get where you're comin' from.

Edelgard is bold, fearless, arrogant, self-serving. She is detached from others for the most part, she does not like being challenged (and not just because the other person is oh so wrong and it just annoys her because how could they be so wrong - no, when her flaws are pointed out to her she does not listen to what the other person says). She allows those in her care to be hurt - sometimes mortally - to get what she wants, and almost always without any guilt or regret. She thinks she's the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most correct. She uses people, lends out her men like tools. Violence is the first option, and peaceful surrender something she will never consider when asked to do so. She looks down on those who oppose her, no matter how they do so, whether they stand their ground and fight to the end or if they try to surrender - that they've fought against her at all is worthy of derision in Edelgard's eyes. She's racist towards the Nabateans and will always kill them. She looks down on religion and those who believe in it. She's deceptive and manipulative. She's selfish and power-hungry. She has no self-awareness, saying things that are factually incorrect without knowing that they're incorrect often, accuses others of doing the morally reprehensible actions that she performs often.

Those above traits ought to always be incorporated into her character no matter what the route - at the minimum, these are the traits an author must work of off from a ground level in the beginning of their fic, because these traits are always present in Edelgard. Of course there are nicer traits - she's a romantic, she's secretly childish (and not in the strictly derisive way either, but that she likes sweets and teddy bears and is embarrassed about it), on the rare occasion she'll try to accommodate for someone (Bernadetta... when she's not setting her on fire that is), she very obviously cares a good deal about family (again, I don't really count Dimitri here for her since she forgot him and even then didn't know they were step-siblings). Edelgard isn't literally, actually, 100% No GMO's evil evil, she has her traits that can make her likeable, but there's a very big reason why she's not just an antagonist, but a villain.

If an author genuinely wants to make Edelgard grow out of a villainous status and be a genuinely good person, they must work through the numerous flaws she has. Her moral bankruptcy, her selfishness, her hunger for power, etc. etc., these must be actually addressed in order for her to have even a chance at being better.

Like, take Flayn's kidnapping for example. In canon, we know that Edelgard willingly hands over the Death Knight to Thales with quite literally no fear in her at all, and we know she must have had, at the very least, some clue as to what the guy was using the Death Knight for (since she teleports to directly where Flayn and the Death Knight are, and will even take them both away if over 25 turns have passed). There are a couple ways to go about this scene in a fic trying to make Edelgard a better person: either 1) have sufficient build-up of Edelgard's very gradually growing morals, have her commit the crime anyway, and then feel a twinge of guilt that steadily grows larger as she grows as a character, or 2) have her commit this crime with little to no guilt at the current state of her character arc, keep building her character until she gains more self-awareness over what all she's doing, and then have her feel guilt. These possibilities (and likely more that I can’t think of at the moment) keep her flaws intact while still allowing her some room for growth; the flaws are acknowledged, and so they can be properly grown out of.

But look at Cap'n's version of events. Remember, in canon, Edelgard was directly involved with the kidnapping. Cap'n, however, not only has it to where Edelgard was forced to hand over the Death Knight, not only was she terrified of Thales while doing so, but she had no idea that Flayn was being kidnapped. It ignores all of her flaws and places her into a status of helpless victimhood, and places her on a higher moral ground than Thales when in reality, in that moment, she is just as bad as him. Her flaws can't be grown out of because they've been erased. This is a prime case of canon!Edelgard being swapped out for Woobiegard - we aren't seeing Edelgard feel guilt for allowing Flayn to be kidnapped, we're seeing Woobiegard feel guilt. Woobiegard doesn't have these flaws that Edelgard has, so she doesn't have to have them acknowledged - which, I don't think needs to be said, is terrible from a fanfiction writing standpoint.

Edelgard has been morphed and twisted so much as to not even really resemble her canon iteration much at all. Woobiegard isn't bold, she isn't arrogant, she isn't morally bankrupt - or at least, isn’t intentionally these flaws, or other flaws - she lacks so many of the deep, troubling flaws of Edelgard because, frankly, they make her too mean and Cap'n very clearly doesn't like that. But, in erasing those flaws in her, instead of writing a fic where Edelgard grows as a person due to the positive influence of Byleth (and, through Byleth, the Black Eagles), he’s writing a fic where Woobiegard feels oh so much guilt for things she just shouldn’t feel guilty for because the poor little darling didn’t have any way of stopping anything.

Edelgard is a conqueror, as said by her creators themselves. She mows down anyone who stands against her convictions and ideals, even if she knows them personally. This is true for all routes, even and especially CF (as it is known as the Military Rule route), and so this must be kept in mind when writing Edelgard whenever someone tries to write her base character as someone better than she is in canon. What Cap’n is doing is basically writing an OOC crack-fic, except he’s doing so unintentionally. He flat out removes every single flaw Edelgard canonically has, pretends as though he didn’t do that, and then flaunts how much Woobiegard has “grown” thanks to Byleth. But, again, since Cap’n doesn’t want to write Edelgard’s flaws he’s never really written Edelgard. It’s the same idea as keeping Claude never fully trusting his friends in mind when writing him - this is a large part of his character, and leaving that out means leaving out a significant portion of who he is as a character. That has to be acknowledged before having him grow out of it, or else you haven’t really written Claude, as that is a huge part of who he is.

So I guess a TL;DR version of this answer is that to properly write Edelgard, one has to keep in mind her flaws and have her actually act them out before having her grow out of them. It’s just that for Edelgard, because of who she is, it would take a lot of time and effort for the fic to realistically have her grow out of all of these flaws (or at minimum grow out of the more severe ones). That stays whether from a BL/GD perspective or from a BE one. Hope that answers the question!

#ask #anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard critical #just to be safe #some more that I couldn't fit in:#it also has to keep in mind that just because CF is Edelgard's route doesn't mean she's suddenly a better person #since she performs MANY of the exact same actions on her route as she performs off it - and that's even with Byleth's ''positive influence''#which is why it can't just start off in CF and be something akin to ''skipping to the nicer version she becomes in canon''#because to be frank there IS no nicer version she becomes in canon - she stays mostly the same no matter what #so it MUST be built upon in the fic itself #(unless of course the fic is upfront about being OOC for Edelgard - which is fine btw! I've done that plenty of times before!)#(it's just good to recognize that THAT'S what you're doing and not that you're ACTUALLY writing her in character or anything)

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gingersnapwolves · 3 years ago

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Kouri watches Nirvana in Fire, episodes 52-54

Let’s goooooooooooooooooooo

Consort Jing is just the baddest bitch and I love her so much

Mei Changsu you are talking about coming back in 4 or 5 years like you are not lucky Jingyan doesn’t plan to tie you up and keep you in his house

They’re out here ruining my fic thoughts like ‘Jingyan doesn’t even need to get married and have kids, he has Tingsheng!’ with Imperial rules and shit

Oh my GOD he is giving him the PEARL that is the most ROMANTIC thing asdgkahjsdlkfglajfga

NOW KISS!!!!

I am staring in rapt attention but also those beads on the Emperor’s hat are FUCKING DISTRACTING

Okay him falling down the stairs is objectively hilarious

It’s impossible to feel bad for the Emperor given that his problems are entirely self-inflicted. Like dude, get it together.

Consort Jing for Queen of Everything

Lin Shu: bold of you to think I want to stick around this hellhole

What’s the symbolism of the red cloth over the memorial tablet, would someone mind explaining? I mean, I get that it’s Lin Shu’s tablet and he’s not actually dead, but why wouldn’t they just take the tablet down?

Suddenly, everyone’s attacking at once? *side eye*

YUJINNNN!!! JINGRUIIIIIIII!!!!! BEST FRIENDS REUNITED!

Me? Sobbing like a little girl? It’s exactly as likely as you would think.

Did you REALLY just promise him you’d come back you compulsive fucking liar

So like . . . I was prepared for the ending. And I don’t think it’s bad ending, although I definitely think it’s a sad ending. I get Mei Changsu’s choice and it was his right to make it. I wish he’d been honest with the others but I also get that they probably would have hog-tied him and thrown him in a basement or something.

Although tbh I have to give the side eye to the fact that Jingyan, known for military skill and competent governance, employed only Old Generals Who Don’t Actually Do War

In any case, my main complaint about the ending was that there were so many people we didn’t see! They had a cute clip of Jingyan’s kid and Tingsheng, which was obviously incredibly adorable, and we see Meng Zhi along with the ministers. But what about Xia Dong and her furry husband? Did Mu Qing ride south with his sister? How are Jingrui and his mom doing? What about Yujin, who definitely married Gong Yu and you can’t convince me otherwise? How’s Fei Liu handling post Su-gege life???

And there are characters we don’t even know what happened to! Whatever happened to Qin Banruo after she was captured? What about Xia Qiu? Was Xia Dong ever able to explain to him what had happened?

On the upside, the Emperor seems to have died, so that’s a plus.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that this show was dense. I saw a description saying ‘every scene is load-bearing’. But I still feel like it would have been nice to cut down a bit on the musical numbers and making the audience cry to check in with a few other people.

Especially Yujin

I just *clenches fist* love him so much okay

ETA: given the lack of dialogue, it is 100% possible to assume that Lin Chen came up with a miraculous antidote to the Bingxu Pill and Mei Changsu is off living in Jianghu. Who knows what that letter to Nihuang actually said? Jingyan could just be holding a funeral for Lin Shu because it’s easier if everyone thinks he’s dead! Now he can just sneak back into the city as a commoner and he and Jingyan can have secret visits together and he and Jingrui and Yujin are all great friends.

Yeah, that totally works. I’mma go with that.

#liveblog #nirvana in fire #kouri watches nirvana in fire

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

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Golden, Like Daylight -- Part II

Word Count: 1,846 Warnings: References to drug use. PTSD. Ben Affleck. As always, if I forgot anything please message me and I'll amend this warning. A/N: Protect Francisco Morales at all goddamn costs, honestly.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fish?”

He cringes inward at his military nickname, it rips at his heart hearing it drip from his best friend’s mouth now. This man he would die for, almost has died for. None of the others had called him that in years, he insisted on Frankie with them. But he’d barely heard from Santiago, had no way of telling him.

He hears the words he’s saying, same shit he always says:

“I need a pilot. I can’t do this thing without you."

Years of that shit pulling him into another tour here. A deployment there. Again and again. Long after he served his sentence and was free to go.

“I don’t know, man. I got the new baby now,” he beams. Santi didn't know Luna and all Frankie wanted to do was tell him about her but he holds back, opting instead for, “And my lady isn’t into my doing this kinda shit anymore.”

He looks back at Will, a knowing look exchanged between the two. He is begging for his brother to step in, say something. Save him. He’s throwing Leah under the bus but, fuck it, it’s true. She isn’t into him doing this kinda shit anymore. And she wasn’t the biggest fan of Santi, always coming up with shit to get the rest of the boys into.

“Wha—what does that mean?”

Frankie lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding all day and stands, knowing he’ll start shaking if he doesn’t. The knee bouncing is getting out of hand but he was hesitant to seek out anti anxiety medication while detoxing. He’d just sweat it all out anyway. Santiago’s droning on behind him, hell bent on staving off rejection.

“Did you read the text? This can change you and that baby’s life forever.”

Leave it to Santi to exclude Leah, he wasn’t necessarily her biggest fan either. But to just gloss right over her? Didn’t even fucking ask Luna’s name.

He crosses his arms, “What happened to that bullshit about going back to your mother’s homeland and empowering the people to police themselves?”

Santiago stares him down, a power grab of a laugh escaping him.

“Anyway, I lost my license. I can’t even fly right now.” Please just drop it, please just drop it, please just drop it.

Benny’s wrapping his knuckles. William’s looking between the two. And Santiago? Santiago is closing the space between them.

“I don’t need a pilot with a license, I’m in with the army down there,” he says as if that makes things better. It doesn’t. He knows it, Frankie knows it, the Millers know it. But if there’s one thing Santiago Garcia gets, it’s his fucking way.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Frankie’s firm, he’s not fucking doing it this time. He’s worked too goddamn hard on everything. Built a life out of rubble and was this close to pissing it away, he’s not gonna seal the deal on Leah’s promise to go.

Santi paces, frustrated, “Lorea is destroying that country. So we get to take out a very bad man, and, oh, by the way, there’s a winning lottery ticket stuck to the bottom of your cowboy boot.” He says that last bit with a mock tone and he’s smiling, believing he’s got Frankie now. A bit of a tease to rile his best friend up, get him laughing, get him in it. “Every guy in that gym would jump at this.”

“Come on, focus, guys! It’s fight night.” —————

“Hey!” He catches up with Santi in the hall, “I didn’t mean to call your shit bullshit.”

He didn’t, really. He knows where Santiago’s coming from but he can’t be the one in the thick of it anymore.

Another of those cool, indignant laughs, “It's all right.”

“I got busted,” Frankie says coolly, like he’s letting you know he left the light on, “it’s not a big deal.”

Santi’s head snaps to the right.

“Actually,” the taller of the two continues, “It's a big deal.”

“Coke?” Santiago’s trying not to let Frank’s addiction shock him, scoffing, “Jesus, Frankie.”

“Technically, it’s a suspension, I’m still under review but… it fucked everything up with Leah. I’ve been detoxing in Will’s spare room for weeks.”

“You’re telling me she didn’t know before the suspension? I don’t buy that.” Frankie tried to ignore the venom in his words.

“No, she knew. We’ve been in couple’s counseling while I’ve been getting clean, she said she didn’t know it was as often as it was. Just thought it was a hit here and there.”

“So things are good still?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, “We seem to have gotten back to good but that’s not where I wanna be, Pope. I wanna be great.” He looks to Santi and then Will, “What about you? What are you gonna do?”

There was no doubt in the world where Benny stood. He’d follow Santiago into hell. He pretty much had on more than one occasion but Benny always was a wildcard. Will was too calculated for that bullshit, he needed a plan. He needed foundation under his feet, not just charisma and Frankie would follow him. Frankie owed him his life. Will was the one to convince Frankie to hang it up. The one putting a half dead Frankie in cold showers and pumping his fucking stomach on no sleep. Will was the one Leah called when Frankie got too close to the edge. His brother, Luna’s godfather.

“I said if Redfly’s in, I’m in.”

Fuck! Fucking Tom. Frankie takes his hat off, adjusts his hair. I fucking hate Tom. —————

“Tom is not in our wedding,” Leah glared down the kitchen island at Frankie, arguing again about the goddamn wedding party. She didn’t even want it anymore. Had thrown her hands up, on more than one occasion, and begged to just run down to the courthouse.

And it all circled back to Tom fucking Davis.

“We served together for ten years, Leah! It’s a bit fucked up to have the rest of the boys up there in tuxes, Tess as our flower girl and Tom is,” he flails his hands out, “Three rows back with that one coworker who brings you coffee every Friday.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let Tom sit that close to the altar, Francisco Morales. And next to Alexa? She is my angel and Tom Davis will be nowhere near her, do you understand me?”

“Then marry Alexa, babe!”

Leah put her hands on her hips, “Bitch, I might.”

He breaks and laughs, lifting his hat to rub at his forehead, “What do you want me to tell him then? You have plenty of friends who could be a fourth bridesmaid.”

“How about you drop Benny too?” She shrugs, “Just keep Will and Santi and I’ll keep my sisters. Two and two.”

He throws the hat on the counter, “YOU LOVE BENNY!”

“You're right, baby,” she laughs, eyes bright. A challenge on the tip of her tongue. "Drop Santi.”

He charges after her, ready for her words, and chases her through the house. Their house. Still nowhere near unpacked after a month and he’s cursing the unintended obstacle course he’s laid out for himself. She’s making quick work of it but, fuck, he’s out of shape.

He runs up the stairs, back screaming with every step as he gains on her. It helps his legs are much longer than hers.

She makes it to the bedroom, spinning to close the door but he grabs her before she can, pinning her down with all his weight. She insisted on the nicest sheets they could find and almost never made the bed, preferring to fall right into the softness without much work.

He ran his hand down her body, drumming his fingers in a soft rhythm until he reached her thigh, hitching it over his hip.

Her heart was still racing from the chase but Frankie felt it tick upwards as he placed his lips on her neck.

“Francisco,” she whined, “we can’t do this right now. We have to do grown up things.”

He smiles into the soft skin, “this is grown up things.”

“You know what I mean.”

He looks up at her, “hmm…” He’s got her right where he wants her, none the wiser as he reaches down to her knee and—

“Frankie, what are you doing?” Her voice comes out an octave higher, panic in her eyes pleading with him not to when the corner of his mouth crooks upwards and—

He digs his fingers into the soft flesh at the bend of her knee, smile blown wide as she screams out like a hyena.

“Stop! Stop!” She laughs through labored breaths, “baby, it was just a joke.”

“You're not funny,” he lulls with a kiss.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” her eyes filled with hurt and conviction, “I'm hilarious so… ya know, jot that down.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“But Tom fucking Davis is not in our wedding or I swear to god, Francisco Morales, I will call the whole goddamn thing off. It is my day and I’m not having his big Irish head in my wedding photos for the rest of my life.”

He laughs again, “Fine. But what should I tell him?”

“Tell him I fucking hate him.”

“You don’t hate anybody, baby, I don’t think you’ve got that in your heart. Be serious with me, please. What do I tell him?”

“Tell him,” she thinks for a second, because she absolutely does have the capacity for hate in her heart, “that I can’t choose amongst my friends for a fourth bridesmaid and so I just want to keep the party small with only my sisters.”

He seems satisfied by that, nodding his head. “But I am keeping Santi.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“But…”

Her stare is like daggers, “I’m not talking about Tom anymore.”

“No. No, it’s not that,” he’s laughing, his life is all laughter now. “I just still think we should set Pope up with Kristyn.”

She’s pushing out from under him, sitting up for the higher ground. Her finger is in his face, her words are measured, “If Santiago Garcia even so much as looks at my little sister, I will do what so many have tried and failed to do before.”

“And what's that, sweetheart?”

“I will kill him.”

The whole bed is shaking with his laughter now, “You're right, baby, you’re hilarious.” —————

Will’s in front of them now, hands on his knees, “What's the verdict?”

Tom looks at Frankie, then to Will, “I'm in for the recce if you guys are.”

The world goes quiet, replaced by a high pitched ringing in Frankie’s ear as he downs the world’s shittiest beer.

Fuck.

“Fish?” Santiago’s voice cuts clear through, always had.

Frankie lowers the plastic cup, “When is it?”

“We leave Thursday.”

Fuck.

Again, he lets go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, staring off into the ring. Staring off at nothing and everything.

“Okay.”

This could change his family’s life forever.

Fuck.

#i believe in francisco morales supremacy #francisco 'catfish' morales #okay but frankie was actually baby #frankie morales #triple frontier #god i'm really posting another fanfic before bed and dipping i love y'all #fanfiction #pedro pascal #santiago 'pope' garcia #william 'ironhead' miller #benny miller #tom 'redfly' davis #charlie hunnam #oscar isaac #oc #ofc #original character #original female character #fanfic

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thehypotensivegrad · 4 years ago

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A Story of Us (29/30)

Don’t Think Twice - chapter preview (see the rest at ao3 or ff.net)

Chloe shook her head at Beca's antics. She's tried, but she was going to complain either. She still has Beca all to herself, and with only Rob the closest person nearby, she was hoping they wouldn't have any other interruptions.

Rob kept up with Chloe's pace behind her after she decided to chase after Beca. She eventually slowed down and started walking once she spotted Beca standing in front of the Bethesda fountain.

Beca's eyes were closed when Chloe joined her, as if she was in a solemn prayer. "What's going on?"

"Shhh, I'm making a wish," Beca replied.

"Wish?" Chloe repeated with a chuckle.

Beca smirked once again, as she opened her eyes and set her gaze at the fountain. She started singing, as if it was Beca's response to Chloe's question.

If you want to take it to an even higher level All you gotta do is say the word, you know I'll follow If you wanna take it to an even higher level I don't, I don't bite

Chloe smiled and stared as she looked at Beca. She was still nervous, even when she knew just how much Chloe felt for her. Beca did tend to resort to music when she felt like her words would fail her.

If you want to make it happen, nothing's impossible All you gotta do is say the word, the walls will crumble If you want to make it happen, nothing's impossible

Was she afraid that Chloe would change her mind and not be with her? Chloe shook her head, probably. Even Chloe was afraid of the unforeseen challenges ahead of them. But Chloe's waited for so long that it didn't take much to make her mind.

Kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me three times Cross the line Kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me three times Be mine Don't think twice, don't

Chloe didn't let Beca finish. She turned her over, pulled her close, and kissed her. She could feel Beca smile through the kiss that Chloe couldn't help but giggle when she pulled away. "You're such a dork, you know? You're lucky I love you."

Beca's smirk turned into a goofy smile, one that made her all the more adorable. "You love me?" she asked, a trace of smugness in her tone.

Chloe once again shook her head and laughed. "Yes, you dummy. Now look who's completely missing the obvious."

"Okay, I was just worried there for a sec…" Beca replied, resting her hands on Chloe's waist. There was still a hint of mischief and conceitedness in her eyes, but Beca spoke in soft, gentle and playful tone as she spoke. "What with the all the hunky acapella singers strutting it out on the stage leaving you speechless, military men, and frat boys in your past, I'm afraid my literal small and frail stature won't be enough to compete."

"Oh, well, I'm no German valkyrie who can get you all tongue-tied," Chloe retorted.

"Thank God," Beca said with emphasis. "You're so much more than that."

Chloe let out a laugh, bringing her arms up, wrapping it around Beca's neck as she rested her forehead against her. "You're seriously such a dork, couldn't we have just talked?"

"Well, that was the plan, but I've been dying to kiss you again already so I settled on sweeping you of your feet since that worked so well the last time," Beca said, as she cupped Chloe's cheeks.

"Can't you just say it already so I don't have to endure more of these stunts?"

Beca chuckled. "Bold of you to assume this will ever end. If we decide to move forward that is. If you say no, I'll respect your decision but don't blame me if I still try with progressively ridiculous and grand stunts."

"Beca, I'll walk away right now if you don't stop being such a-"

"I love you, Chloe," Beca replied. Chloe feigned trying to pull away, but Beca quickly put an end to her weak efforts, pulling her closer, looking deep into her eyes, and cutting her off.

"I really do, I think I started to realize it here, in this fountain," Beca went on to say. "That first night in the city with you, when you made the promise you'll always be there by my side… I felt it right here, just how true the words were, how much you meant it. I think that's when I started to realize what was already there to begin with, my subconscious just kept ignoring it because I was so afraid of getting hurt. You're the only one who's ever made me feel this way, Chloe. So vulnerable and raw, and open. It scared me, but not anymore. So I know the road ahead is all kinds of scary too… but I want to be with you. That's what the wish was for. Because the question is, if you'd want to be with me too, the circus that's part of my life now included."

"Of course I do, Beca," Chloe replied almost breathlessly before she felt Beca pull her in for a kiss.

One that was interrupted by an eruption of cheers and claps. Chloe looked up to find the Bellas still freaking out and cheering on Bethesda Bridge.

"You guys really need to stop sneaking out," Amy told them.

#bechloe fanfic #bechloe #beca and chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect 4 #bechloe kiss #bellas #anna kendrick #brittany snow

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jadoue1999 · 4 years ago

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Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll made sure of it) Chapter 7

Summary: After unknowingly saving Wanda from Agnes’ clutches, the Maximoff twins take walk.

Previous parts: Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 7: The circus

They continued walking for awhile, talking about their childhood. Wanda was aware that many memories coming from her brother were wrong, but she ignored it. It was nice talking to him alone. They had settled on finding Vision, she was certain he was around Ellis Avenue, his last known location. Wanting to make the moment last longer, Wanda requested that they didn’t use magic, or superspeed. Pietro had originally agreed, but his fidgeting was steadily increasing with each step they took. She spotted a circus where the abandoned Avenue once was. Unsure about what they might encounter, she turned to her twin. “I can go get Vision on my own, go help Agnes. I’m sure she’ll have enough stuff to do that you won’t even see the time pass.”

“You sure, sis? I can wait.” Pietro might have believed his words, but Wanda could see how much he wanted to run and move. She assured him she’d be fine, and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

Wanda looked up at the circus banner, finding irony in the state of the soldiers. Them, who wanted to understand the situation so badly, were now in it. How’s that for firsthand experience? She walked through the various performers, they were filling typical roles any circus would have clowns, gymnast, they even had a strong man and a psychic.

“Hello!” Greeted a man dress in a blue leotard, he was holding his nose that was obviously broken. “Are you here for any specific performance?”

She ignored the man’s injury, knowing S.W.O.R.D, he probably deserved it anyway. She looked around at the various entertainment, they were all pretty straightforward. Her eyes landed on one specific tent, the psychic. She decided to amuse herself and walked over, the board next to the tent read: Charles the Xtraordinary.

Coming in, it wasn’t all that impressive, there was a crystal ball at the center of the table and various cushions were laid on the ground. A bald man, probably in his forties, was seated on one side of the table.

“Welcome,” he said, opening his eyes to greet his guest. “I am Charles, I suppose you’re here to know your fortune?”

“Shouldn’t you know that already?” Joked Wanda with a smirk.

The man returned her smile, “yes, I suppose so.” He motioned her to take a seat. ”Shall we begin?” As the man put his hands over the ball, it began to glow. Closing his eyes, the man hummed pensively, “I see pain, a lot of pain,” he sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry Wanda, so much loss.”

She froze in shock, she had met many psychics in her lifetime, but a circus charlatan certainly couldn’t be the real deal, right? But then again, how could he know her name, and what she lived through?

The man continued, “I see a great battle, one that was unfortunately lost. But then everything was made right,” he frowned, “but not for you. You were still alone.” Her senses were on high alert, her magic was pushing for a rewind, but she had to know more. She needed to know how he could achieve this. “I see... a breaking point, and great suffering. Oh Wanda... what have you done?”

Wanda couldn’t take it anymore, she had to know who he was. What kind of S.W.O.R.D. Agent was he? She tentatively lifted a hand to his temple and let her magic do the work. The man’s eyes opened, and he gasped as he was released from her spell. He looked around him, confused at his surroundings before gripping his head in pain. He looked at her, seemingly to thank her for releasing him before he froze. “Wanda Maximoff! What an honor to meet you!” Charles went to shake her hand, but she backed off before he could reach her. Although slightly taken aback from her movement, the psychic continued. “We have a slight misunderstanding here, your brother, Pietro as you call him, he’s not your brother, not really.” Charles paused as he tried to take in her reaction, but Wanda was unreadable. “You see, a team composed of myself and a couple of others, including his father, are here to bring him back. We crossed universes to get here, it took weeks to find the right calculations. Thanks to your broadcast, we had a good grounding point. The military base kept us updated about Peter. We were brought in as you expanded the Hex, even our member with teleportation powers couldn’t escape. I’m certain it wasn’t your intention to trap us, or Peter, but you have to let us go. We’re not from your universe, we don’t belong here, we- “

“No,” interrupted Wanda, startling the man. He certainly hadn’t expected that reaction. “This is my home, I have my husband, my children and my brother. I will not let you take them away.”

“Ms. Maximoff, you have to come to reason, you cannot keep up this lie forever. What you’re doing is wrong, putting an entire town under mind control- “

“Is better than putting the entire Earth under it,” completed Wanda. Her accent was out once again, rage oozing off her body as she stared at the man. She could feel his stare, and something else, it was nudging at her brain. A telepath, Wanda realized. She quickly shielded her mind and her magic acted without her realizing. In a move that could challenge her brother’s speed, she put the spell back on the man. Eager to finish this awful conversation and go home. She hadn’t found Vision, why had she even stayed? The consequences tied to the man’s words quickly clicked, Peter’s team was here, here for him. That could only mean that his father wasn’t far. If he was anything like her brother had described, she would be in trouble.

As she ran out of the tent, she looked around with more attention. In her frantic state, everything seemed so overwhelming, yet no one took notice of her panic. She couldn’t see much that was out of the ordinary, so she assumed that most clowns were probably soldiers.

‘That leave the specific role to...’ Wanda didn’t finish that thought as her eyes stopped on another attraction: Nightcrawler and his disappearing act. The psychic had mentioned a team, with one of their members not being able to teleport away in time. The irony of the name had to have meaning. Suddenly she stopped in her track. No, no, no, please. I’m not ready! She ran over to the banner, not wanting to believe the writing on it. There, written on bold red letters, was the confirmation that her little world couldn’t continue much longer.

Magneto, the man of steel.

Wanda supposed it was ironic that the man controlling metal was nicknamed like that, but then again, her magic had a twisted sense of humor. She quickly left the circus, appearance be damned; she used her magic to reach her house faster. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Vision was apparently still mad at her, she wished she could make it better. Wanda made a mental note to sit down with him and apologize, he deserved to know the truth. Though right now, she was feeling better. She closed her front door, heading for Agnes’ house; she had missed her children. She ringed the doorbell, she could see movement inside and seconds later, her neighbor opened the door.

“Hi Wanda! Feeling better?”

“Yes, can I come in?”

Agnes opened the door wider to let her in, Wanda felt something was amiss, but she tossed her worry aside as her neighbor started offering drink options. She settled for a tea and sat at the table.

After a few moments, she noticed the eerie silence of the house, save from the television. There were no arguments about who could do something better than the other or even a reaction to whatever show the boys would be watching. There was also no sign of Pietro, no sign of anything being repaired either.

“Where are the twins?” Wanda asked, “and Pietro?”

Agnes paused the making of her tea, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and turned to her. “Oh, your brother is fixing a leaky pipe in the basement, I tried to tell the kids to leave him be, but they wanted to be with their uncle, so I let them go with him.”

That makes sense. Wanda wasn’t sure if her mind was being sarcastic or not. She opened the basement door, calling her children. After no answer came, she walked down the stairs, ignoring how creepy the basement slowly became after each step. Her instincts were screaming at her to run away, but she had to get to her boys. After calling their names once again and getting no answers, true bone chilling fear settled in her body. As she turned a corner next to a glowing door, she had only one thought. Please be alright.

She arrived in a bigger room, a lair? She walked around trying to make sense of the place. Wanda passed a cabinet containing various bones when she felt drawn to her right. A black book radiating orange energy was on the table. The gears in her head finally clicked. This is a dungeon, probably the very same dungeon Peter talked about. Get out, get out, get out-

“Wanda, Wanda,” Agnes’ voice resonated through the room. “You didn’t think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?” With a flick of her fingers, a far away door closed by itself. She resumed petting her rabbit, “the name’s Agatha Harkness, lovely to finally meet you dear.”

_____________________________________________________

Notes: The circus is in town! And it brought in unexpected visitors...

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girlboss-molina · 4 years ago

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Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 4: The Feminist Manifesto

AO3 Link

Words: 9337

-----

Julie POV

...

Julie sat by her father’s side in the large, round table in the royal office. Her father’s personal desk was at the back of the room, but given that there were quite a few people, they’d opted to pull out the council’s table. Admittedly, it was quite crowded; The table was surrounded by herself, her father, Reggie, Luke, Alex, Erik, Flynn, Carrie, Mira, and the seven council members, one from each county in Dahlia. All sixteen people were placed in even intervals, but Julie’s leg still brushed her father’s given the close proximity.

Tension weighed heavily on their shoulders, the silence deafening. They’d been sitting, whispering in hushed tones for nearly an hour, and the sun was setting outside the long windows. Julie furrowed her brow, trying to think of possible solutions to their… situation, fiddling with the hem of her long, silky, midnight blue dress. Ray sighed.

“This is a horrible situation.” Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the table.

“Why did they even declare war in the first place?” asked Councilwoman Mei Lin, her dark hair shining in the warm light from the lanterns on the walls.

“Territorial disputes,” Ray replied. “As you know, Dahlia was originally a territory of Krypto, before their revolution in 1843. We declared independence, stating that the land and seas of Dahlia were henceforth free from Kryptonian rule. However, a subsection of the Kryptonian Constitution that wasn’t remembered until the declaration of independence from the Acacian Territory a few years ago, states that ‘any and all declarations of independence must be approved by his majesty the King of Krypto, so to provide peaceful decisions of boundaries and leaderships.’ That article was instituted in 1809, predating the Dahlian revolution.

“Because of this, and the realization that, since the Dahlian revolution was not led solely by the Kryptonian king at that time, their current king, Caleb Covington, has declared that Dahlia has been impeding on Kryptonian sovereignty for over two centuries, and has declared that, should the kingdom of Dahlia not peacefully resign themselves to Krypto, they shall declare war and ‘reclaim their rightful land by force.’”

Julie had never seen her dad so stressed. Heartbroken, yes, but never this stressed.

“That’s bullshit,” said Councilman Ryan. Julie recognized him as Nick’s father. “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. Dahlia fought for its independence, and we deserve to keep our own peace. That was hundreds of years in the past.”

“I agree,” Julie said. “Time moves on. We’ve been peaceful allies with Krypto for over a century, and they’ve never said anything about this until now. Why the sudden change?”

“King Covington ascended about five years ago,” Ray began. “We knew he’d made the decision to expand their military, but at the time they were in shallow conflict with the Republic of Isala, so that was a logical move. It appears, however, that Covington has had other plans.”

“Is there any way we can get them to stop?” asked Alex. “There’ll be civil unrest in Krypto, for sure, since we’ve always been allies. Could that be an advantage?”

“It could,” Ray agreed, “but Krypto has always had relatively unstable relations with its citizens. It was one of the reasons Dahlia declared independence in the first place.”

“Is it still that bad?” Luke piped up. “I mean, it was over two hundred years ago that we became our own nation. Surely things have changed.”

“In some ways, they have,” Councilman Trevor - Carrie’s father - interjected. “And that’s great. But it hasn’t all been good. Civil rights have hardly gotten better.”

“It sounds like Krypto is going to war with itself,” Erik noted. Julie was surprised he was there; but then again, Mira had been allowed to come. “If the people are that unhappy with how they’re being governed, a rebellion will strike.”

“I suspect that’s an underlying motive for declaring war on us in the first place,” said Councilwoman Noah - Flynn’s mother - tersely. “I mean, if there is a larger crisis in their country, civil unrest and disobedience could conceivably go down, since everyone would be focused on the war.”

“That… might be a reason, yeah,” Councilman Richard admitted.

“So why don’t we call for a diplomacy meeting?” Julie suggested, raising her voice over the hushed murmurs from everyone at the table. “We could meet with Covington and talk things out.”

“Good idea, Julie,” Ray agreed. “In the meantime, I’m going to have some coffee brought up. Oh, Councilwoman Mei Lin, you prefer tea, correct?”

Julie opened up her pad and scrolled through her sim files, searching through the foreign relations packet for territorial disputes. Her eyes glazed as ske skimmed the words, searching for mentions of constitutional technicalities or revolutions, barely noticing when everybody got up to get their coffee or tea.

A tap on her shoulder made her jump, but her heart both calmed and fluttered when she noticed that it was Luke.

“Julie? Are you okay?” he asked, a furrow of concern in his eyebrows. She sighed.

“I’m not not okay, I just… This is so horrible. It’s stressing me out, and I can only imagine how stressed my dad must be, and I’m going to have a huge responsibility in all of this since I’m going to be queen soon, and-”

“Whoa,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders as he sat, turning his chair to face her. Julie was acutely aware of how warm his hands were on her skin, how he gently brushed the straps of her dress with his thumbs. She closed her eyes, hating how weak she felt. “Julie, I know you can do this. Yeah, it really sucks. If I could get you out of it, I would.” She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and finding nothing but utter sincerity. It made her heart flutter, the silk of her dress tingling on her back.

“Thanks,” she said. “Want to get some coffee?” He nodded, a soft smile on his face that made Julie feel at ease, offering her his arm. She took it, leading him to where the coffee and tea had been set on a long table by the wall, giving a small smile to Alex as they passed him, who was quietly chatting with one of the bakers who’d brought up the coffee.

She poured herself a steaming mug, stirring in a splash of milk. She glanced at Luke, finding the way he put a ton of sugar in it endearing. She quickly looked away, very aware of the fact that they weren’t alone; their friends, her father and brother, and all seven council members were also in the room. Granted, nobody was paying attention to them. They were talking idly amongst themselves, but the tension was palpable.

As she and Luke walked wordlessly back to their seats - well, Julie’s seat, and Reggie’s seat that Luke was currently sitting in - they faced each other but didn’t speak.

“Hey, Jules,” Alex said, walking up to them. “You alright?” Julie knew he knew the answer, given the sympathetic tilt of his head.

“I’m okay,” she replied after a moment. “You?”

“Well, the anxiety isn’t a fan of it,” he quipped, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Same,” Reggie added, walking up behind Alex and putting an arm on his shoulder, his other hand holding a cup of coffee with so much milk it might not have even been coffee. “This is a major pain in the ass.” Julie nodded. That it was.

Taking another sip of her coffee, she noticed Carrie walking to her.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Neither of them said anything else, but Carrie wrapped her arm around Julie’s shoulder. Flynn joined with a hand on the same shoulder.

“So,” she said. “Any plans forming in that brain of yours?”

“Well, we need to start with a diplomacy meeting. Meet with Covington and try to work things out peacefully.”

“I agree,” Mira added from behind Carrie. Alex nodded.

“A peaceful route would be best.”

“You know,” Julie said, “When I become queen, I’m keeping all of you around. I want to have my friends with me.” She took a sip of her coffee, smiling into her mug when they all nodded.

“Bold of you to assume we would leave,” Flynn told her. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like the crazy glue of best friends.”

“That you are,” Julie agreed. “Which also means you are required to tell me if I got any coffee on my dress.” She twirled. Flynn gave her a once-over, flicking away a piece of dust on the strap, before shaking her head.

“You’re good.”

“Okay,” Ray announced, some of the tension out of his voice. “Everyone back to your seats.” Everyone quickly took their places, the smell of coffee drifting around the table as everybody set down their mugs in front of them.

“Julie,” he continued, “what are your ideas?” She took a steadying breath.

“Forget that,” Councilman Richard interrupted. “What we should be doing is rallying our forces.” People began speaking over each other, and soon it turned into a shouting match. Ray rubbed his temples, and soon, Julie had had enough.

“ENOUGH!” she shouted, hitting her fist on the table. “Like I mentioned earlier, we should start with a diplomacy meeting with Covington. Either we meet with him in Krypto or invite him here. Then, we try to work things out peacefully-”

Councilman Richard stifled a laugh, and Julie shot him a glare.

“Is something funny, Councilman?”

“Well, I just find it odd that we’re asking you for advice on political matters, when just a moment ago you were unable to control yourself, and before that, you were discussing fashion with your friends. I suppose it’s to be expected with a girl, though.” Julie raised an eyebrow, anger rising in her chest.

"You think I'm incompetent,” she observed. “Not because I'm young, but because I'm a woman. You see my dress and think that I'm weak. What would your mother think? Your wife? Your sister? I doubt they would appreciate that remark. So, Councilman, let me tell you something.

“We compare women to black widows and vipers, call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie said, “and you’ve been in politics for how long? Four years? I’ve been doing this for four and a half times as long as you, and I’m not even half your age. But you have the audacity to say that I’m not qualified, purely because I’m a woman. I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power.”

“Go off!” Flynn shouted, making another bubble of confidence swell in her chest.

“I have a feeling your sexism is deeply rooted in insecurity and fragile masculinity. But that’s no excuse. So, my advice if you can’t let go of that would be to stay out of my way. Otherwise, you can swallow your pride, stop whining, and woman up.”

Julie sat, taking a sip of her coffee and smoothing out her dress. Everyone was stunned silent, but a swell of confidence took place in her heart when she saw her father beaming with pride, along with all of her friends. Reggie nodded approvingly. Even Councilwoman Mei Lin, who was always a stickler for rules, was grinning.

Councilman Richard, however, was pale as a sheet, lines of anger creasing his face. Julie raised an eyebrow, not smiling.

“Well, I think that’s the end of that,” Councilwoman Noah said proudly. “Thank you, your highness.” Julie nodded to her, grinning when she saw Flynn giving her an excited thumbs up. And when she caught Luke’s eye, there was no way to miss the awe in his stare. His mouth was slightly open in shock, his cheeks red with a blush. Julie gave him a smile that he returned before looking away.

“That settles it, then,” Ray said. “We’ll call for a diplomacy meeting with Covington, try to come to an agreement. In the meantime, though, everyone get some sleep. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow evening.” Julie kissed her dad on the cheek.

“Love you, Papá.”

“Love you too, sweetie. Would you like to have dinner sent to your room?”

“Yes please,” she agreed, turning to her friends - including Luke, Alex, Erik, and Reggie. “Do you guys all want to have dinner in my room?” They all nodded.

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Alex said. Ray clapped.

“Okay! I’ll have them send it all up to your room, mija. I’m going to head to bed. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do. Sleep well.”

“You too. All of you. But feel free to hang out tonight,” he added. “I’m giving you the day off from lessons tomorrow. It’s a weekend, so there wouldn’t be many, but I think you all need a free day. Well, until tomorrow evening, when we have to go through this hell again.” Julie grinned, and felt Mira clap her shoulder.

“Thanks, Papá!” He nodded.

“Of course.”

-----

Alex POV

…

War.

The word echoed throughout his head as Ray made the announcement, and suddenly the cushy chair at his place at the table in the royal office was like ice behind his back. He stiffened, hating the way the sound of the word twisted in his mind. His stomach dropped, and if it weren’t for Erik grabbing his hand to anchor him, he might’ve vomited all over the table, which would not have been good, given that he was there with fifteen other people, including all seven council members, and the king of Dahlia.

He fought the rising panic attack, only because of the even higher anxiety of having a panic attack in front of so many important people. He choked down the rushing anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Inhale- 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Exhale- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

It helped more than he expected it to, and he was able to focus as Ray gave the rundown.

Apparently, the new king of Krypto was what was scientifically known as a giant prick, and had a certain affinity for claiming territorial disputes with his allies. He also held a grudge, and given that the grudge had been diminished over two hundred years ago, Alex wasn’t keen on meeting the guy, unless it included smacking him upside the head. Particularly with a very smelly, very slimy fish.

He’d asked if there was any way they could use the civil unrest in Krypto as an advantage to avoid the war, because it would just be more strife, but Councilwoman Noah had pointed out that that might’ve been one of the reasons Covington had declared war in the first place: to distract the citizens from their own issues.

Alex silently cursed Covington for being such an insufferable bitch.

When Ray called for a break, he let out a breath of relief to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, so he opted for a glass of water, but when he saw who was bringing it up, he froze.

There, in front of him, putting the coffee pots and tea bags along the table, was Willie, his hair tied up in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. Alex felt his cheeks heat up; Willie looked really good with his hair up. He quickly looked away, not even thinking as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, scalding his tongue with the bitter drink, putting a splash of milk and some sugar in it to make it more tolerable.

He couldn’t stand this, though, so he turned.

“Hey, Willie!” Willie’s head snapped up, searching the room until he found him. His face broke out into a grin.

“Hey, Alex!” Alex walked to the corner of the room where Willie was, blushing at how he casually leaned against the wall. “Is everything okay? They hardly ever have meetings like this.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry, man! You’re all good,” Willie assured him. “I know some things have to stay classified.” Alex nodded gratefully, trying to take another sip of his coffee and grimacing. Willie giggled.

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Not at all,” he confessed with an embarrassed laugh. Willie gave his perfect smile, brown eyes crinkling. “The only time I can tolerate it is iced, and even then I’m not a fan. I’m, like… shit, what’s the opposite of a fan?”

“A heat lamp?” Willie suggested.

“Yes. That.” Willie laughed again, and more butterflies rose in Alex’s stomach. He smiled, though.

“How has the rest of your day been?”

“Pretty good,” Willie replied. “I got to bake mini cupcakes, which was a lot of fun. Although, decorating them is much more difficult.” Alex could definitely see that; although, imagining Willie precisely decorating dozens of tiny pastries put a grin on his face.

“What flavor are they?” he asked, still grinning like an idiot for some reason.

“Chocolate! They’re really nice and velvety, and the frosting is vanilla and raspberry. And there are these little dustings of raspberry sugar on top, and a mini hazelnut stick in the frosting. I think they look pretty cool, if I do say so myself.” Willie pulled out his phone, swiping to a picture, and he was right. Each one was precisely made, right down to the swirl of frosting.

“Dude, those are awesome,” Alex told him. “I never would’ve been able to get the frosting that even.” Willie giggled, sending another wave of adoration over Alex.

“It takes a lot of practice,” Willie admitted. “But on the plus side, any ones that you mess up go on the reject shelf in the refrigerator, and at the end of the day, we get to eat them. I’ve been known to frequently mess up the key lime tarts. Completely on accident, of course,” he added with mock seriousness. Alex giggled, unsure why the fact that Willie liked key lime tarts was so adorable.

Alex felt Reggie’s eyes on him, but ignored him, as well as the blush on his cheeks.

Willie inhaled to say something, but then sighed. “I should probably go,” he whispered. “You’ll be getting back to work soon.” Alex looked away, hoping he didn’t look as crestfallen as he felt.

“Yeah, probably. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness.” Willie smiled with the nickname, but his signature smile didn’t reach his eyes. He hesitated, finally walking away.

Alex wanted desperately to call him back.

He didn’t.

…

There was a hollow ache in his chest for the rest of the night, until he got to witness his badass of a friend drag the shit out of a sexist councilman. Then, he was grinning from ear to ear, because he had more than an ounce of logic in his brain, and was capable of respecting women. How could he not?

He didn’t say anything, letting Julie stand in all her glory as that sniveling excuse for a councilman was shell-shocked and shut up.

They settled on a diplomacy meeting with Covington, and would reconvene tomorrow evening. Until then, Ray had given them the day off, as well as that night to hang out in Julie’s room.

Following Julie up the stairs, Alex trailed his hands against the polished wood railing. His emotions were a mess of stress, anger, love, confusion, and fear. His feelings for Willie fought with his nervousness of quite literally committing treason, and the sense of impending doom from Covington’s declaration of war was weighing him down like a dumbbell on his back.

Before he knew it, they were all in Julie’s room. All eight of them: Him, Julie, Luke, Reggie, Erik, Mira, Flynn, and Carrie.

“Should I turn on a movie?” Julie asked? “Or do you guys just want to hang out?”

“I doubt I’ll be able to pay attention to a movie,” Mira admitted.

“Same here,” added Erik. Luke and Carrie nodded.

“Neither would I. So, group therapy it is,” Flynn said, flipping her braids. “Shit’s crazy.” Alex snorted.

“Understatement of the century.” He took off his suit vest, draping it over a chair and plopping down on the end of Julie’s bed. Luke did the same, rolling his sleeves. Reggie and Erik had long abandoned theirs’, and were sitting on the floor, staring into space. Alex watched as Julie kicked off her shoes, curling up against her bed on the floor next to Luke’s legs. Flynn was sitting on the armchair where he’d put his vest, Carrie curled up in her lap. Mira sat with her head near Julie, who was weaving her long, red hair into braids.

A knock on the door snapped them all out of their daze.

“Come in,” Julie called. A butler walked in, pushing a cart with plates of Hawaiian chicken and rolls, as well as cutlery and glasses of water. Alex smiled. It smelled amazing.

“Here you go, your highness,” he said to Julie.

“Thank you so much,” she replied. Everyone got up, and Alex took a plate, giving a smile to the butler as he sat back down, on the floor this time, to be safe from possibly getting any on Julie’s bed. He set the plate on his lap, taking a bite of the sweet chicken, immediately tasting the pineapple. It was so warm and tasted like home, despite never living in the tropics. A smile spread on his face as he took a bite of the soft roll.

Luke sank down next to him, followed by Julie and Mira. Flynn, Carrie, Reggie, and Erik all sat around them. Idle chatter spread around the group, talking about random nothings; Alex felt a sense of peace wash over him, which was odd given the situation. But he relished it.

“What should we do tomorrow?” he asked. “Ray gave us the day off, so we should do something.”

“What if we went down to the city?” Julie suggested.

“I’m pretty sure we’d draw a lot of attention,” Erik pointed out, “since you’re, you know, royalty?”

“We could make a game out of it!” Carrie set down her fork. “We put on regular civilian clothes and act as inconspicuous as possible, go to the mall, then see who people recognize first.”

“That could be fun,” Luke agreed. “Alex? Reg?”

“I have been wanting to go down to the mall,” Reggie said.

“So long as Covington doesn’t randomly appear to attack us,” Alex said dryly. Flynn laughed.

“I think it sounds fun,” she said. “And we deserve a break to just be regular teenagers.

“Amen to that,” Julie sighed. “The mall it is.”

…

Soon, the only light in the room was from the moon, and at some point, they’d pulled a bunch of blankets and pillows to the floor. Alex was curled up next to Luke, his head on a squishy pillow. Luke’s arm was around Julie, which Alex was not going to interrupt. It was too cute. Reggie’s head was in Alex’s lap, and was curled around Erik, whose legs were tangled with Mira’s. Flynn and Carrie were cuddling, leaning against Julie’s side. There was warmth all around him, from the blankets, pillows, and people.

Occasional whispers echoed through the dark, followed by giggles, like they were little kids at a sleepover. A wave of peace washed over Alex, slow and calming. He only wished Willie were there. He knew he couldn’t be; Willie was a baker, and probably wouldn’t be allowed. He had to be up early to work. Alex wished he didn’t, wished Willie could be at peace with them in this cuddle pile.

“I like this,” whispered Erik.

“Me too,” he agreed.

And it wasn’t a lie.

Worries pounded in Alex’s head, but they were washed away by the rushing river of love he felt for his friends, even the ones he was still getting to know. He loved all of them. Julie, with her independent, kind personality, the way her eyes sparkled when she got excited. Luke, his dork of a best friend, who was absolutely gone for Julie, and was passionate about everything he loved. Reggie, who was a human cinnamon roll with an affinity for pizza, and one of the sweetest people to ever walk the Earth. Erik, who he’d known for a few months, who was quiet and loyal, but loving and bubbly. Mira, who was spunky and blunt, but kind and badass in every way. Flynn, who had a bold style and mannerism, right down to the flip of her braids, and Carrie, who was dramatic and excitable, musical and sweet like a strawberry in the Summer.

Willie, who wasn’t with them, who he dearly wished was. Willie, with every flip of his long hair, the crinkle of his brown eyes when he laughed, his carefree nature that always surprised Alex. Willie, who he was hopelessly in love with.

Alex knew that things were spiraling with the Krypto situation. But for once he didn’t care and, surrounded by the soft breathing of his friends, drifted into a dreamless sleep for the first time in years.

-----

Luke POV

...

Luke hated this.

He knew that moving to the Dahlian palace with Alex would involve more meetings, but he never thought there would be one this soon, or this nerve-racking.

It wasn’t every day that a country declared war on one of their allies.

He didn’t speak much during the meeting, but offered occasional ideas and questions. However, it seemed to be unanimously agreed upon that this Covington guy was a major dick. Luke had a very strong desire to find this guy and punch him for how much stress he was putting on Ray.

And Julie.

She had a small crease between her eyebrows, and Luke would’ve called it adorable if it weren’t for the worry it represented. Her fingers tapped nervously on the desk and fiddled with the hem of her long, blue dress as she thought. And Luke had to look away when she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She was so beautiful but so distressed, and she didn’t deserve it.

When everyone got up to get their coffee, Luke did as well, but before he even got halfway to the table with the many pots of coffee and tea, he noticed Julie, still sitting at her space, now scrolling worriedly through her sim files.

He gently tapped her shoulder.

“Julie? Are you okay?”

“I’m not not okay, I just…” she trailed off. “This is so horrible. It’s stressing me out, and I can only imagine how stressed my dad must be, and I’m going to have a huge responsibility in all of this since I’m going to be queen soon, and-”

“Whoa,” he said, cutting her off before she stressed herself out even more. He took a risk, placing his hands on her shoulders as he sat, turning his chair to face her. Her shoulders were cold, from the air or stress, he wasn’t sure. She closed her eyes tiredly. Luke swallowed, trying to find the right words to say.

“Julie, I know you can do this,” he said, surprised by how much he meant the words. “Yeah, it really sucks. If I could get you out of it, I would.” It wasn’t a lie, either.

“Thanks,” she said. “Want to get some coffee?” He nodded and smiled, offering her his arm. When she took it, he walked her over to the long table.

Luke always had a habit of putting a ton of sugar in his coffee. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but he hated how bitter it was black, and preferred the taste with sugar to milk. He noticed Julie watching him and blushed, hoping he wasn’t being judged. But she had a smile on her face, almost like she found it cute. Luke blushed even more, looking back to his coffee.

He took a sip, smiling at the sweet taste and walking wordlessly back to the table with Julie. He sat in the same chair as before, which he remembered was technically Reggie’s, but it was right next to Julie’s, and he wanted to be next to her. Luke turned the chair closer to her. Neither of them spoke, but Julie’s eyes seemed to say thousands of words. He only wished he could decipher them.

The rest of the meeting didn’t necessarily go smoothly, but Luke got to see a side to Julie he’d never seen before. He got a glimpse of the angry, passionate, fierce side, one that she channeled in self-defense but never fully showed.

Until now.

When Councilman Richard (who would henceforth be known as Councilman Dick) made a sexist remark about Julie being a woman, Luke’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to say something, but as he inhaled, Julie beat him to the punch.

"You think I'm incompetent,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but an observation. “Not because I'm young,” Julie continued, “but because I'm a woman. You see my dress and think that I'm weak. What would your mother think? Your wife? Your sister? I doubt they would appreciate that remark. So, Councilman, let me tell you something.

“We compare women to black widows and vipers, call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie pointed out, “and you’ve been in politics for how long? Four years? I’ve been doing this for four and a half times as long as you, and I’m not even half your age. But you have the audacity to say that I’m not qualified, purely because I’m a woman. I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power.”

Flynn shouted, “go off!” and Luke nodded, an amazed grin on his face. Julie’s lips curved into a confident smile, but there was anger behind it.

As Julie sat, taking a sip of her coffee and smoothing out her dress, Luke was sure his face was on fire.

Damn.

Every single word that Julie had said was improvised, and yet it held such a weight, every single sentence carefully crafted in that genius brain of hers. Luke had no doubt that her words could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas, or halt hurricanes in their path. Julie was powerful. Even without this speech he never doubted it, but it was just confirmed. She knew it, too; the line, “I can guarantee you that humanity wouldn’t have survived this far without women’s intelligence, bravery, and nerve, so don't try to downplay my power,” came to mind.

Everyone in the room was silent, save for Luke’s pounding heart. Councilman Dick looked like he was about to stroke out. But Ray had a huge smile on his face, one that Luke was sure he himself was mirroring. He noticed the other council members, especially Councilwoman Noah and Councilwoman Mei Lin, nodding approvingly.

…

They’d all decided to hang out with Julie in her room, and it really said something about the size of her bedroom that all eight of them - Julie, Luke, Alex, Reggie, Erik, Carrie, Flynn, and Mira - all fit easily. He wasn’t surprised; she was royalty, after all, but it felt like home. These seven people who he loved, all in the same room.

They ate their dinner together, made plans to go down to the mall the next day, and chatted idly, catching up like any other teenagers. Luke knew none of them were actually “normal” teenagers, given their royal or almost-royal statuses, but at the end of the day, they were still themselves. They were all weird, funny, social teenagers who watched Netflix and ate too much junk food and got crushes, people who wanted to have semi-normal lives despite everything. And even on the brink of a war, Luke felt like they were achieving it.

At some point during the evening, they’d pulled a ton of blankets and pillows from Julie’s bed and closet and all curled up in a giant cuddle pile. Luke’s back was pressed against Alex’s, his arm wrapped around Julie’s shoulders and hugging her close, her head resting on his chest. He dearly hoped she couldn’t hear his racing heart, but he also just didn’t care. He was with the people he loved (and cuddling with his crush) in comfortable, peaceful silence.

Luke tried to sleep, he really did. But he just couldn’t. Despite the exhaustion and his unwillingness to move (which might’ve been in part from the comfort of the soft, pillowed floor and Julie in his arms), he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. But as he was surrounded by the slow, even breaths of his friends, he knew they were all asleep.

All except for Julie, whose eyes reflected the moonlight.

“Jules?” he whispered. Her eyes flicked up to his. “Are you alright?”

“Can’t sleep,” she breathed. “You?”

“Me neither.”

“Are you uncomfortable? I can get more pillows, or-”

“No, no,” he assured her, a blush on his face that was thankfully masked by the darkness. “I’m okay, I promise. Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she admitted, leaning her head back on his chest. He felt his heart rate pick up and took a steadying breath, gently running his fingers through her curly hair, which she’d taken out of its braided ponytail. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled closer, and Luke felt every inch of her on his chest, warm like the sunlight of Summer, but in the middle of the night with the cold beauty of the stars.

“Are you scared?” she asked quietly. Yes, he wanted to say. I’m terrified of what might happen if the diplomacy meeting doesn’t go well. Scared that I’ll lose you, or someone else I love.

“Yes,” he finally breathed, his heart flipping with the confession. “I’m scared of what will happen if the diplomacy meeting doesn’t go well. And I’m terrified I’ll lose someone. What if I lose Alex or Reggie? They’re my friends, and… you.” He didn’t want to call Julie his friend, even though that’s what they were. But he was worried she’d misunderstand it and be offended, so he added, “I don’t want to lose you.” The words were barely audible, a wisp of a breath in the wind, and he didn’t even think Julie had heard him, until she nodded.

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Luke wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words, because soon, Julie was asleep. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and soon he couldn’t keep himself from drifting off, lulled to sleep by her slow, even breathing.

-----

Reggie POV

...

Reggie hated this feeling. He hated the way his anxiety built up in his chest, the way he couldn't fight it like he usually could, because he was quite literally surrounded by it.

These meetings were always his least favorite parts of the month. Every month on the tenth, he, Julie, Ray, and the council members would have a meeting in the royal office to discuss current Dahlian affairs; politics, economics, foreign relations, environmental issues, etc. He was always able to get through them, though.

But this? This was another matter entirely. Reggie had never been through a war. He was only nineteen. He’d hoped he’d never have to, either; but apparently, that was too much to ask for. Because now, now he was sitting in a room with fifteen others, all crowded around the same table. The presence of Julie by his side helped, though, as did Alex’s on his right, and Luke just past him. Even the occasional glances from Erik, Mira, Flynn, and Carrie helped.

But that didn’t change the growing weight on his shoulders.

Reggie clenched his hands into fists and let go, repeating the action. He tapped his fingers in patterns on his legs under the table, remembering the patterns Julie had shown him when he tried to learn the piano. It was just a few chords and melodies for Wake Up, but it soothed him.

He didn’t speak much during the meeting, but he nearly lost his temper when Councilman Richard started saying sexist things. Reggie was always a very peaceful person, but he wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands with anyone who insulted his sister. Not that she needed the help, he had no doubt he could kick the councilman’s ass with one hand tied behind her back.

And she did, but with words. After completely shutting him up, Reggie’s chest swelled with pride. That was his sister. He felt lucky to be part of the same family as her. Not only did she have the voice of an angel and the talent of a star, but she was a complete badass, with both words and self-defense.

Admittedly, he had flinched when Julie shouted. His parents always fought and shouted at him, too. Every time someone raised their voice, he still had flashbacks to those days when he was still little, before he’d ran away and been taken in by Ray and Rose.

It wasn’t as bad anymore, though, and he knew Julie would never do anything to hurt him. Plus, he got to hear her incredible speech against Councilman Richard (who he would only be referring to as ‘Councilman Dick’ from now on).

“We compare women to black widows and vipers,” she’d said, “call ships ‘she,’ and name war machines after women, but you're going to tell me it's not lady-like to yell, to take up space and fight, to demand respect, and be a leader? I’ve been raised for this my entire life,” Julie reminded him. Reggie’s face was nothing but a grin, because that was his sister, that woman who really had been raised to be royal, the woman before him who was dragging the shit out of a sexist councilman, that woman was his sister, and he loved her more than anything under the sun. He wished Carlos was in the room for it. Even though he was only twelve, he would be just as proud as Reggie.

Respecting women was a given in the Molina family. It should’ve just been common sense, and for most people in Dahlia, it was. But occasionally, some asswipe like Councilman Dick would appear. Of course, his sexist antics didn’t last long. He didn’t say a single word for the rest of the meeting after Julie’s outburst.

Soon, coffee had been brought up. Reggie liked coffee, contrary to popular belief. He had a habit, however, of adding a ton of milk to it. He still loved it, though.

As he stirred his drink, he noticed Alex talking to the baker who’d brought up the coffee, a baker who he immediately knew was Willie, also known as the guy Alex was completely gone for. He smirked as he caught Alex’s eye, giving a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

He leaned against the wall and sipped his coffee, hating how stressed Julie looked. He was going to comfort her, when he noticed Luke sitting in Reggie’s own chair, leaning forward and putting his hands on Julie’s shoulders. Reggie was more observant than people gave him credit for, so he noticed how Julie eased at his touch.

He smiled and leaned back, letting the treasonous magic happen.

Soon, Alex had wandered over to Julie and Luke, so Reggie followed.

“Hey, Jules,” Alex said, walking up to them. “You alright?”

“I’m okay,” she replied. “You?”

“Well, the anxiety isn’t a fan of it”.

“Same,” Reggie added, walking up behind Alex and putting an arm on his shoulder, his other hand holding his coffee. “This is a major pain in the ass.”

Well, given that it was a war, it was more than just that. But, ever the optimist, Reggie hoped for the best.

…

Hanging out with Julie and their friends just felt right.

He’d long abandoned his suit vest, sinking down against the wall and staring into space, Erik beside him. Alex and Luke sat on the edge of Julie’s bed, Julie and Mira on the floor near them, Carrie on Flynn’s lap on one of the cushy chairs.

Reggie didn’t have much of an appetite, so he only ate a few bites of his dinner when it was brought up. The food was good, of course. It always was. He just had too much on his mind.

If their country actually went to war, what would happen? How many people would lose their lives? How many children? Would they ever recover, or would it turn into a global event that altered the course of history forever? Would Reggie himself be able to keep the people he loved safe? What if he lost Ray, Julie, or Carlos? Luke or Alex?

He tore those thoughts from his head. He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight anyway, but that certainly didn’t need to be tied with thoughts and fears about a war that he couldn’t do anything about at present. So, he did what he did best: thought about pizza.

He was midway through his thoughts on what kind of pizza he wanted most at the moment when Alex brought up the fact that Ray had given them the next day off. Julie suggested going to the city.

“I’m pretty sure we’d draw a lot of attention,” Erik pointed out, “since you’re, you know, royalty?” Reggie grinned. He wasn’t wrong, but it could be fun.

“We could make a game out of it!” Carrie set down her fork. “We put on regular civilian clothes and act as inconspicuous as possible, go to the mall, then see who people recognize first.”

“That could be fun,” Luke agreed. “Alex? Reg?”

“I have been wanting to go down to the mall,” Reggie agreed. And he never got the chance to just be a normal teenager.

“So long as Covington doesn’t randomly appear to attack us,” Alex said. He snorted. It had been a few years since he’d met Covington, but Reggie wouldn’t put it past him. He just had those vibes.

…

At some point, their group had turned into a cuddle pile. Reggie couldn't sleep because of his thoughts rushing a million miles an hour, but he was comfortable. He felt safe and loved, his head in Alex’s lap, whose hand was in his hair. He was curled around Erik, who was small but radiated warmth, and his soft breathing was a gentle anchor that brought Reggie back to reality. It might’ve been tense at the moment, but it was also a reality where he was with his family.

Of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn't the only one awake. Julie was always a night owl.

He heard Luke’s voice whisper to her. He must've thought that he and Julie were the only ones awake. Reggie tried not to eavesdrop, he really did. But there was nothing else to listen to. To be fair, though, he only caught bits and pieces of their hushed conversation. Luke asking Julie if she was okay. Julie mumbling that she couldn’t sleep. Luke’s quiet confession that he didn’t want to lose her if the diplomacy meeting went south.

Reggie kept his eyes shut, letting the words replay in his brain. Luke had separated Julie from “friends,” he realized. And Julie hadn’t debated. Pair that with his whispered “I don’t want to lose you,” and they were heartbreakingly beautiful words, aching with longing and fear. He hated what they were going through, hiding their feelings, even from one another, and now having to fear for their country on the brink of a war. Reggie wished he could snap his fingers and fix everything.

-----

Willie POV

...

Willie practically danced back to the kitchens. After Alex had eventually left, leaving Willie with his own emotions, he’d had a huge grin on his face for an hour afterwards. He skated around the park a few more times, doing kickflips and jumping the benches, speeding around the roundabouts, never falling once.

He’d gone on a semi-date with Alex. It wasn’t technically a date, but it felt like one. Willie still felt the ghost of Alex’s hand in his, the pressure of him falling on his chest as Willie caught him, faces inches away, neither of them pulling apart. He remembered the patterns of the freckles on his nose, reminding him of the constellations he’d stared at so many times. He remembered the smell of roses, too. He wasn’t sure why, but he loved it.

As he walked through the door, the smell of pineapples enveloped him. The slow cookers were almost done, and he caught Lilian’s eye.

“Someone’s happy,” she observed with a sly smile. “Good break?”

“You could say that,” he agreed, humming to himself.

“Uh huh,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lilian quirked an eyebrow, her smirk still smug as ever on her thin lips, but Willie ignored her.

“We need a few dozen mini cupcakes for tonight’s dessert, lover boy,” she called as he walked away. “Work your magic.”

“Roger that.”

The shadow of a grin was on his face for the rest of the hour as he gathered the ingredients, whisking the flour, sugar, salt, cocoa powder, and baking soda. He also added a pinch of cinnamon, to add a little bit of depth. Whisking the eggs, his mind wandered to how it had felt to hold Alex. He could still feel his arms on his shoulders as he poured in the milk and melted butter, being careful not to scramble the eggs. As he mixed the wet ingredients with the dry ingredients, he wondered if Alex felt the same way about Willie as he did him. It wasn’t impossible, he supposed. Alex definitely had a queer vibe to him. But even on the off chance that he did, there was no way he would act on it. It would quite literally get both of them exiled.

It was a nice thought, though.

…

“Hey, Willie?” Lilian tapped his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, but could you be on coffee duty for the royal office? They’re having a meeting about something important and it might go late. You won’t have to be up there late, though,” she added, “you just need to bring up some coffee and tea.”

“Yeah, sure thing! Which tea should I grab?”

“I believe he said jasmine, but grab some oolong to be safe.”

…

Willie knocked on the door, smiling when King Ray let him in. He began arranging the coffee pots at even intervals along the long table on the wall, as well as small pots of sugar, a kettle with hot water, tea bags, milk, and spoons.

As he looked over his shoulder, his heart flipped when he saw Alex sitting at the round table. He quickly looked away despite his urge to say something; Lilian had said it was an important meeting, and she must’ve meant it, too. Alex, Princess Julie, King Ray, Prince Reggie, their acquaintances, and all seven council members were in attendance.

He finished setting up the coffee, giving a cordial bow to King Ray as he got his, then lingering by the wall, clinging to a bit of hope that he could say hello to Alex.

His hope must’ve worked, though, because as he was turning to rearrange the sugars, he heard Alex’s familiar voice, and it sent butterflies whirling through his stomach.

“Hey, Willie!” Willie grinned, searching for Alex until he saw a familiar sweep of blonde hair.

“Hey, Alex! Is everything okay? They hardly ever have meetings like this.” He leaned against the wall as he spoke.

“I… I don’t know if I’m allowed to say,” Alex told him. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t worry, man! You’re all good. I know some things have to stay classified.” He smiled when Alex nodded and took a sip of his coffee, and it morphed into a giggle when he grimaced.

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Not at all,” he confessed with an embarrassed laugh. Willie grinned. Alex was adorable. He must’ve gotten a cup of coffee to look more mature around the others. Understandable, too; the king and council members certainly made for a formidable group. “The only time I can tolerate it is iced, and even then I’m not a fan. I’m, like… shit, what’s the opposite of a fan?”

“A heat lamp?” Willie suggested.

“Yes. That.” Willie laughed, ignoring the blush that he knew was rising on his face.

“How has the rest of your day been?” Alex asked, and Willie grinned, irrationally happy that Alex wanted to know about his day.

“Pretty good! I got to bake mini cupcakes, which was a lot of fun. Although, decorating them is much more difficult.” He remembered just how many times he’d tried angling the hazelnut sticks so they were perfect.

“What flavor are they?”

“Chocolate!” Willie couldn’t help the grin on his face. “They’re really nice and velvety, and the frosting is vanilla and raspberry. And there are these little dustings of raspberry sugar on top, and a mini hazelnut stick in the frosting. I think they look pretty cool, if I do say so myself.” He was so excited and proud of himself that he didn’t think twice about pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping to a picture of the tiny treats.

“Dude, those are awesome,” Alex told him. “I never would’ve been able to get the frosting that even.” Willie giggled, hoping he wasn’t as red as he felt. It felt like a huge compliment.

“It takes a lot of practice,” he admitted. “But on the plus side, any ones that you mess up go on the reject shelf in the refrigerator, and at the end of the day, we get to eat them. I’ve been known to frequently mess up the key lime tarts. Completely on accident, of course,” he added with mock seriousness. Willie had always been a fan of key lime. He wasn’t sure why, either; it was never something he ate much growing up, and yet he couldn’t help but love it.

Willie inhaled to say something, but then sighed. The council members were rounding up again, and he had probably overstayed his welcome. “I should probably go,” he whispered. “You’ll be getting back to work soon.” Alex looked away.

“Yeah, probably. Sorry.” Willie’s gut wrenched. It felt selfish, but he’d hoped Alex would try a little harder.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around, your royal pancakeness.” He gave half a smile with the nickname, spinning on his heel as he walked out the door, not letting his facade break until he was all the way down the hall.

He had the rest of the night off. He probably should’ve gone to bed, because he had to be up early to work the breakfast shift tomorrow, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

He changed out of his uniform, pulling on a soft knit sweater that was too big, with sleeves that dangled around his hands. He didn’t bother brushing his hair after taking it out of its bun, running from his quarters out the back door, letting the cold embrace of the night envelop him. The air chilled his lungs as he slowed down, breathing heavily. Each breath hurt, like a needle stabbing into his chest, one that wouldn’t do any damage but still hurt like fire.

He walked the rest of the way to his secluded park, not bothering to grab his skateboard from its hiding place underneath one of the bushes, opting to walk out into the middle of the neatly mowed field, sitting with his arms on his elbows as he stared at the grass in front of him. Each blade was so still, so peaceful, and the sweet scent of the flowers behind him taunted him, a constant reminder of the one person he knew he needed to get over, him and his roselike blush, his eyes that shifted from icy blue to spring green to steely grey, but were always just as warm.

Willie knew he never had a chance. He wasn’t sure why he was so emotional all of a sudden; he’d always known it, but the reality of it was only just hitting, after seeing Alex as a prince, in a room with other royalty and nobility, he knew there was nothing to be done. He knew he’d have to force himself out of the valley he’d fallen into, climb out inch by inch, all the while being reminded of the one person he needed to forget.

Before he knew it, he was crying. It started as small, quiet, traitorous tears that he wished he could hold back, leaving frigid streaks across his face. But soon they’d evolved into silent sobs that were as strong and emotional as a raging river, but silent as the dead of the night. He’d always been a quiet crier, but right now, it made him feel useless. Forgettable. He felt insignificant. He supposed he should get used to it. He was just a baker, one of dozens in the palace, who had the unfortunate luck of falling for a prince he’d never had a chance with.

The sobs made his whole body shake with a passion that he couldn’t ignore. He trembled, clenching his hands into fists and biting his lip, hating how powerless he felt.

Every breath hurt, like someone had planted flowers in his lungs, flowers that should’ve been beautiful, but suffocated him instead. They were a cruel gift of painful love, these flowers; a symbol of hope that did nothing but kill. They encroached on every breath, growing and twisting and biting, stealing his air until there was no room in his lungs for anything but pain, nothing but pain and those wretched flowers.

But really, what difference was there?

As his sobs slowed back to faint tears that left his eyes irritated, salty, and red, Willie laid down on the cold grass. Even in the late Summer, Dahlia was cold at night. Soon, frost would bloom in the shadows, crystals of ice would fall from the sky, and the flowers would freeze over, only to be reborn in the Spring.

Willie stared at the sky, fading to midnight blue as the stars twinkled into sight, faint pinpricks of light. They might have been giant, flaming balls of hydrogen, but they were so distant, so cold. So cruel in their graceful, ruthless beauty. And as constellations formed in Willie’s mind, so did the memory of the freckles that dotted Alex’s face. So did the feeling of the connection he’d felt with the other man, beaming and bright, snuffed out by cruel chance. A chance he’d never even had.

Even if Alex wasn’t part of an arranged marriage, what were the odds of him even liking Willie? How could he feel the same? Everything about him screamed royal, and yet he was human. He was personable, funny, and so beautifully human that Willie couldn’t handle it. He was incredible. Regal, kind, awkward, and yet he pulled it together so flawlessly.

But as for Willie?

He was just a baker who’d never had a chance.

#be who you are (no compromise)#blue writes #bwya tag

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