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arielana · 3 years

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Yeah, I don’t know what this is. It came from the tiny RNM teaser in TV insider - I was grumpy that basically all the info we got was about Liz’s lab partners abs (not that grumpy, but you know).

Anyway, I wrote this, about Liz and Michael bonding. Just really silly.

A warning that there is drinking.

____

“Michael!”

“Ortecho, seriously why are you calling me at this hour?”

“I need you to take some time off. Come to California.”

“Sure thing, I’ll pack my little overnight bag and swing right by. I’ve been dying to do some sightseeing.”

“Yeah yeah, funny. I don’t have time for all that. Look I’ve discovered something, here in the lab, that might be relevant to your interests. I can’t get a sample out, but if an old friend from Roswell comes to visit I could give them a tour of the lab. So, just get your ass over here.”

***

That had been two days ago. Michael had some work he’d promised Sanders to finish first and he refused to fly (the thought of airport security freaked him out) so he’d set off in his truck after finishing up at Sanders the next day. He’d driven through the night, arrived very early in the morning and checked into a motel Liz had recommended that was close to her work.

After getting some sleep and showering he was now standing in the fancy lobby of the Genoryx building, feeling slightly overwhelmed but doing his best not to show it. His cowboy swagger usually worked in most places so he figured it would do ok here as well.

Just to test it, he leaned slightly against the counter and threw the receptionist who had told him Liz would be right down a little smile. Judging by the way she blushed, he wouldn’t do too bad here either if he felt like it. Not that he did feel like it. There was really only one person’s company he wanted and since that wasn’t available to him currently, he focused on other things.

“Mikey!”

Liz came bouncing down the stairs, running straight up and jumping into his arms to hug him.

She had a certain energy that always put Michael in a better mood, even the times when she annoyed him. There was never any bullshit with her.

“Hey Ortecho,” he grinned. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Would have been even better if you got here sooner,” she bumped her shoulder lightly into his when he put her down, “but it’s great that you’re here.”

Before Michael could ask what all the fuss was about, he noticed a guy had followed Liz and was now hanging back, waiting to be introduced.

Noticing Michael’s look, Liz spun around, waving the guy forward.

“Heath, come meet Michael. Michael, meet Heath. He’s my colleague from the lab. We do all our work together.”

Michael thought he picked up a little something in the way Heath looked when Liz said “colleague”, but he wasn’t sure. He was a good looking guy, tall, athletic, not the stereotypical scientist. Not that Michael cared much for stereotypes, so he shouldn’t apply them to others either, he reminded himself.

“So, we’re just about to go out for lunch,” Liz said. “Do you mind if Heath joins us?”

“Of course not.”

Michael was pleasantly surprised by how fun and relaxed lunch was. Small talk had never really been his thing, but science small talk was a whole other thing he realised. That’s why he had enjoyed hanging out with Liz back in Roswell, and Heath, despite looking more like an actor or model, turned out to absolutely be able to hold his own in the discussion.

After lunch things didn’t go quite as Liz had planned though. Her boss was apparently giving some other people a tour that afternoon and even if he kindly offered Michael to join them as well, Liz quickly switched gears.

“Actually Michael was yawning his way through lunch,” she ignored Michael’s little huff. “He pretends he’s fine but he’s had a long drive. He’s staying for a couple of days anyway, there’s no rush.”

She grabbed Michael’s arm firmly and dragged him towards the exit.

“Really Liz, I was planning on going back home tomorrow,” Michael complained, without putting any real force behind it. “This isn't really my scene.”

“Oh knock it off, Michael. You were practically beaming at lunch, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. And look, it’s just one more day. Tomorrow’s Friday so there’ll be less people around. We’ll do a tour in the afternoon. I’ll make up something to keep Heath busy, won’t be a problem.”

“So for today,” she continued, “how about you get some more sleep, and then we can go out tonight, eat something, have a few drinks. Maybe some dancing,” she winked at him.

“Drinks yes, dancing no, but sure, I don¨t mind checking out the bars here.” Michael gave Liz a considering look. “So tell me, is Heath coming?”

“What, no, why would he?”

Aha, judging by the brief flush of red on her cheeks, there was definitely something going on there, Michael noticed. Maybe something to explore later. He could be a good brother and try to get some more information. Max was certainly asking enough questions about him and Alex, looking at Michael with those big puppy eyes, acting hurt when Michael snapped at him. This could be payback (helping Max out, Michael corrected himself).

Dinner continued in the same way as lunch, with them geeking out about new research and theories (careful to steer clear of any alien references while in public) covering everything from global warming to medical advances.

Afterwards they continued on to a bar and after a couple of drinks Michael figured Liz had let down her guard enough for him to do some digging.

“So, Ortecho… tell me about Heath?”

“What?” Liz said with feigned innocence.

“Just wondering, I mean he’s really fit, dark hair, smart, funny, exactly what I look for, in both men and women,” he winked at her.

“Michael!” Liz sounded scandalized

“Unless he’s taken, of course”

Liz twisted uncomfortably in her seat. “It feels weird talking to you about this.”

“Why?” Michael smirked at her, raising his eyebrows. He enjoyed this. He never really got to have a bro moment with anyone growing up. Too busy not letting anyone come too close. But Liz, she got it, she was the same as him in so many ways.

“Hey. no judgement here. Tell me, is he really as jacked as he looks?”

Liz sighed deeply, before giving up and leaning back with a dreamy expression on her face.

“He really is. Seriously, his abs are amazing. Not that that kind of thing is really important to me of course,” she hurried to add, “but it’s just- nice.”

“So, Valenti,” Michael pulled a face,” Diego, this Heath guy. I see you also prefer dark hair but other than that I really don’t see that many similarities to Max?”

“You know,” Liz took a sip from her drink, clearly deflecting, “from the stories I heard about you before, you know, everything,” she waved her hands vaguely, “I was under the impression it was mainly blondes that you were dragging home from the Pony?”

Michael shrugged. “That was just sex. But then again,” he added consideringly, “I’ve only ever been in two relationships. So they were both dark haired, but that’s not enough to draw a conclusion based on statistics, maybe it’s just coincidence.”

Liz's gaze sharpened. “Relationships, huh?”

It was Michael's turn to try to deflect. ’Hey, see if you can flag down the waitress, I need another beer.”

“In a minute.” Liz tilted her head questioningly, “I wasn’t aware you considered what you had with Alex an actual relationship?”

Michael hesitated. He knew Liz could probably read him like an open book right now, but he also knew that if he said he didn't want to get into it she’d respect that and let it go. For now at least.

But he’d said more than once that he was tired of keeping secrets. Liz was a friend and it would actually be nice to talk to someone.

“If we’re really going to talk about this I’m going to need another drink.”

“Me too,” Liz thought about it for a second. “Tequila?”

“Tequila.”

An hour later they were both just giggly messes.

Michael had shared his and Alex's story over the years, Liz had opened up about the shock of seeing Max again and they had bonded over how no amount of distance or years really made the feelings go away. It had been very emotional once the tequila kicked in. They had both shed some tears and comforted each other.

At this point in the evening however, they had gone full circle and were back to discussing abs again and both blushing.

“Maybe we should just tell them,” Liz said.

“Yeah, they’d hate that. You’re safe here, but I have to go back. If Alex doesn’t get to me first and give me the ‘Guerin, you’re such a disappointment’ look, Max will give me a lecture about ‘upholding personal boundaries, Michael’. Both a total pain in the ass.”

“Ok, let’s take a selfie and send as well then. If they see our sweet faces they can’t be mad.”

“Ortecho, I think you dropped your logic somewhere on the way here.”

“Come on, you said the two of you are at a stalemate right? Since Alex broke up with Forrest?”

Michael made a face.

“This will give things a nudge,” Liz said. “Plus it’s sent from my phone so you can deny all knowledge of it.”

“Have you met Alex?”

Liz just waved her phone at him. Michael swallowed.

He wasn’t drunk enough not to know that this maybe wasn't the smartest idea, but it was kind of tempting anyway. Just to see how Alex would react.

“Yay,” Liz pulled him in for a selfie, instructing him to make his best puppy eyes before adding the text to the picture and pressing send.

Just so you know, you both have really good abs as well. We love your abs very much. Xoxo, Liz and Mikey

It took no time at all before both their phones started buzzing with an incoming call.

#roswell new mexico #michael guerin #liz ortecho #malex #echo #just some silliness about liz and michael bonding #rnm spoilers #maybe i mean it’s really the most insignificant of spoilers so i didn’t think about it first

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miraculouscontent · 3 years

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Asks I got about the “Marinette makes mistakes” tweet:

i-would-rather-be-a-fairy said:

I’m starting to think that the writers don’t particularly like Marinette.

Did Marinette spill coffee on the laps of the writers and they’ve been salty ever since? Because that’s all I can imagine.

Anonymous said:

Is there ANY episode where Marinette doesn't make a mistake and has to learn a lesson? There has to be right?

I feel like there must be? Like, “Silencer” at minimum, but I guess maybe they thought that her trying to combat Roth was her mistake and it got Luka akumatized? It wasn’t portrayed as a mistake though exactly?? (If anything, it just looked like her being awesome, and Luka being akumatized ultimately led to Roth being outed on some level, so it all worked out.)

Even episodes like “Stormy Weather” that really don’t need to be about her mistakes shoehorn in a line about “I should never have left Manon” (if she had, she would’ve been in the ice dome instead of Alya, but okay I guess; dialog choices in this show are so weird).

It really puts episodes into perspective knowing that they have to force Marinette screwing up/learning/apologizing in every episode.

Anonymous said:

Just curious about that Shanghai tweet: were you the one who sent it? I know there are other people who notice Marinette's unfair treatment, but I just wanted to know if you've ever reached out to Thomas Astruc personally.

Nah, that wasn’t me, I don’t use Twitter.

Plus, if that had been me calling Astruc out, I wouldn’t have blurred the name. I’d want full credit.

Anonymous said:

I am so irritated by Thomas Astruc's tweet. Do they even realize they're sacrificing Marinette's character and positive Chinese representation to make her chase after a boy and THEN get blamed for it? Yes, you read that right, a bunch of white men in a room decided that a Chinese heroine doesn't deserve to celebrate or learn more about her culture because she's in love with a white boy(who knows more about her own culture than her) and they need to use her as a punching bag. Ugh. At this point?

I am just completely done with the show. Yes, you heard me. DONE! Because the writers have admitted that their entire show is based around their main protagonist suffering, when it SHOULD be about "girl power". I'm not saying Marinette is NEVER allowed to make mistakes, be clumsy, or learn a lesson, but when the writers will literally REFUSE to let her develop and force her to always be in the wrong against ALL LOGIC, that's where I draw the line. As it stands, I can't recommend this show to any one.

I'm pretty much only watching because I don't like to leave shows unfinished(although there are shows I've simply stopped watching, this is the only one I've seriously been following to this extent since it started), and for the few Lukanette moments/other rare moments of Marinette being happy. Because the writers have NO RESPECT for their main character, have ADMITTED as much, and don't see a problem with it, or why everyone is upset. Oh, and they'll block you if you disagree with them.

I really wish I could’ve been in the writing room the day they said, “Hey, let’s make it so our biracial representation is always the one that screws up and has to learn a lesson/apologize for it!

Anonymous said:

I know comparison is not the best way to say why something is good or bad, but I think "Miraculous Ladybug" is as controversial as it is because "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" (a show I watched almost religiously for the first 4 Seasons) did the Lesson Of The Week so much better and came first.

I watched that show for a little over four seasons and I can confirm that the lessons were way more spaced out and balanced (though personally I feel like Dashie got the shaft on most of hers).

Keeping its rules like Miraculous would be like if Twilight was the only one allowed to screw up.

Anonymous said:

Disney's baby tv show "Sofia the First" genuinely deals with the "mc makes mistakes" so well. Initially, the main character is more prone to making mistakes (even if she’s generally well-meaning and kind), but she actually consistently applies her lessons and grows with them. At some point clearly the writers saw that this character’s development is complete; there is nothing more they can do with her because, due to applying her lessons, she is emotionally mature enough to handle anything they throw her way. Then they made a genuinely smart choice to commit latter seasons to having the mc become a literal guardian of the realm who travels to help other people solve their issues by applying the lessons she has already learned.

The show has a big cast of characters and distributes the lessons equally amongst all of them, as well as having many episodes, even in earlier seasons, where the main character actually /is/ in the right, and the lesson acknowledges that. TBH the show’s ability to consistently develop characters in an episodic format, as well as not disrespecting any of them and being written w/ heart, is impressive. Freaking Thomas Astruc wishes.

THAT WAS BASICALLY EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED; MARINETTE LEARNING LESSONS AND THEN BEING A “GUARDIAN” TO HER FRIENDS AND HELPING THEM LEARN TOO.

ugh, and instead it’s just--nope, she always screws up because it’s the rule

Anonymous said:

WAIT WHAT WAS MARINETTE'S MISTAKE IN NEW YORK?? WANTING ADRIEN TO GO??

APPARENTLY???

Or arguing with him mid-battle but can you honestly blame her after he betrayed her trust like that??

Anonymous said:

“It’s the rules of the show she makes a mistake and learns” SIR it’s season FOUR

I think we were meant to read it as, “a season 4 making Marinette screw up again even if she didn’t actually screw up.”

elflynns-horde-of-stuff said:

So the rule of 'Marinette must always make a mistake and learn something' inspired a little rant. I hope you're okay with this! Because it's usually a good thing for tv shows to have a rulebook for their stories, but they have to be GOOD rules. And this (awful) rule is easily fixed! Which makes it even more frustrating to me!

First. Replace 'Marinette' with 'A character' that way multiple characters get focus and development throughout the series. (At least the would if status quo wasn't God.)

Second. Why does all if Marinette's mistakes have to be huge? Why can't she use the wrong fabric for a design, research, and correct it? Or pronounce a Chinese word wrong and learn more about the language? Or use the wrong ingredient for Guardian related magic? If she has to be learning something every episode, why not allow her to develop skills and hobbies? Why make her miserable, anxious and guilty all the time? What purpose does it serve?

It is moments like this, where I am reminded how much potential this show has in better hands. Marinette deserves so much better it breaks my heart!

It breaks my heart too and I agree!

I dunno, the rule is so restrictive. It’s not that all restrictions are bad but this one specifically is crippling.

#category: salt #character: Marinette Dupain Cheng #other: ask and answer

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ask-the-cosmic-duo · 3 years

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//Vent warning.

//I’ll be honest, I’m not sure if I can gain much of a following without being an artist. I’ve never seen a pony ask blog, or any ask blog at all for that matter, that did things entirely in text. And the thing is, I’ve wanted to try drawing before. But… I just don’t see myself as an artist. I’m not always a patient person. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like waiting. And that directly conflicts with how it’ll take time for me to be able to create good art, or even find a style I like. Plus, I’m worried that it might also be kind of expensive… I’m just not sure what to do.

//I like to make people happy. Sometimes, that’s by just talking to them. Sometimes, it’s by playing games or roleplaying. Sometimes, it’s by entertaining them, as bad as I am at that. I just want to make people smile. But that can be hard. Really hard. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. But when it came to entertaining people, I never knew, and still don’t know, how to do it well. I don’t think I’m particularly good at anything aside from remembering things about fictional worlds that I like. Things like how Cyber Formula’s AKF-0/G2 only appeared in the games and never on TV, at least as far as I know. Things like how the Cyclone’s first and only appearance to my knowledge was Sonic Adventure 2, as the mech that Tails uses, which doubles as a plane and (somehow) triples as a car. Random facts that most people don’t care about, especially if they have no interest in the source material said facts are referring to.

//I guess what I’m trying to say is… I feel lost. I want to continue this blog, but I’m not sure how. I don’t want to make someone else draw for me, especially seeing as how I have no way of paying them. And in the same vein, I don’t think I can afford the supplies needed to create digital art. I’m not even sure I have the self-discipline needed to commit to drawing. So… I feel lost.

#vent #feeling lost #shower thoughts

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glitteronadumpsterfire · 4 years

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I'm a fucking wreck rn I haven't been sleeping for a week and I'm getting some rest from the bullshit factory that is my brain only now, but I just wanted to say that last year for me has been saved by tumblr and all the friends I made along the way.

Before you go below the cut, a special thanks goes to the Bee Movie Anon, who, rightfully, I can't tag so I have to say it here in the hope that they'll see it. Your hunger for chaos made me feel a lot of emotions, and I'd have never in any time or space thought that the Bee Movie would be such a prominent part of my life as it is now thanks (read it with a note of sarcasm) to you. Thank you for providing us an infinite amount of both entertainment and suffering, hell, some of the friends I made were because of YOU. I'm still not sure what was your drive to go and start this absurd crusade for the bee movie in the 80s metal fandom, but I don't know, I don't think bee so, I'm not gonna question your ways.

@arnold-layne being the first in line, you kept me sane somehow in the first phases of quarantine and dedicated a lot your time to talk with me and helped me enormously with creativity. If it wasn't for you, that Cyberpunk Comic That Is Kinda Inspired By The Crüe and Shout At The Devil would've been already down the drain. I would've given up probably, because I didn't know how to exted the concept and have an actual plot. A dream that I've been having for literal years wouldn't even have such cool characters with a rich storyline if it wasn't for you. I know I kinda left it after a month or so of intense brainstorming with you, I was literally drained at that point both physically and mentally, but oh boy I haven't forgot about the characters that WE created. How could I after all? Russ being the wreck of a tormented junkie protagonist that he is, Dylan the happy-go-lucky fuck up that seems to do nothing right but with the best intentions, Frankie the runaway sassy and wary androgynous teenager whose gender is a mystery even to themselves, and the epitome of the found family trope, ex gov agent part Japanese, part Russian, part cyborg Vik, whose story isn't still clear yet but we'll give him a very good one, eventually.

You gave me the curiosity to read fanfiction again after literally NINE YEARS of being distant from that part of the fandom and honestly I don't regret it one bit. In fact, I discovered literally my favorite writer in fanfiction. That is you, Arnold. I don't care how frequently you write, I don't care if sometimes you can't do your best. I'll always be there waiting for the next chapter and I'll always think that your art is sublime. I'll have to admit, I don't read your works as often as I should. But it's because I love them so much that I want to always save for later. It's like a drug, or a delicious cake that you want it to last as long as possible so you can enjoy it for much longer (I should be reading your fic more often either way tho like, at least so I can make more art for it. I'll make sure to change that this year and give you the recognition you deserve 🖤).

Everytime I make art, everytime I make a post, I always wait for your name to pop in my notifs. And fuck if I'm happy when I see it, and I rush to read your tags and it always makes my day. Like seriously, you mean so much to me and I admire how you can still be any amount of sane with all you're going through. You're strong as hell, keep going. 🖤

@i-dont-like-rice dude, how can I explain it. You're my best bud here. You're my chaotic sibling from another mother. The other braindead I share the single braincell I have with. The Nikki to my Tommy. Or the Tommy to my Nikki, I'm still not sure which of us is which (I guess I'm Nikki and you're Tommy? lmao it's ironic how even them are an italian and a balkanian) but you get the point. Every interaction we have, I laugh my ass off till my whole body hurts every time. I think I worried my mother and annoyed my sister at least a couple times for bursting out laughing for five minutes straight out of the blue, especially if it was late at night, and all the times, I swear it was because of you. You are as chaotic as you are kind, and it's always so disarming to see you worry or take care of others when you are definitely in a worse situation. Please, be more selfish, goddammit. For your own sake. And be more confident of your art. Draw shit and post it. Who cares if it's not perfect and you hate it and you don't want anybody to see it, it's tumblr, nobody will ever reblog it or give you the well deserved recognition anyway! So it's worth a try isn't it?

@no-stone-no-bone seriously, I'm so glad I met you. You're like the third element of chaos that holds me and Andi together. All three of us are literally unstoppable. You're extremely sweet too and I wish you the best, and DON'T HIDE SHIT IN THE TAGS GODDAMMIT 😂

@white-lightning-625 @viiinceneil I know we really haven't talked much, and we met through unfortunate times, but I'm so glad that something good came out of the chaos and drama, which is being able to talk to you and getting to know you both better. And the fics. My god, the fics. Frankie, I already told you this but MY GOD. I still find it incredible that I've read a fic about a band I didn't even know what they looked or sounded like and I was HOOKED from start to finish. And Katie, I should definitely read more of your works because I love what you've got going on. You're both very sweet and talented with a very distinct, beautiful way of writing and I can't wait to sink my teeth into the pulp of your work, because I know that by now I only scratched the surface.

@awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands Bruh, conoscere una fan su tumblr the parla la MIA STESSA LINGUA (e che ha pure il mio stesso vero nome lmao cosa sta succedendo)??? Che concetto innovativo!!! Le nostre conversazioni sono sempre disgiunte, ma non importa, adoro ogni nostra interazione. Sei seriamente una delle persone più dolci e gentili che abbia mai conosciuto. La tua creatività stimola sempre la mia. Le tue moodboard sono sempre 👌👌👌 e ogni volta trovo sempre qualcosa che sì, ci avevo pensato, ma mai nel modo in cui lo poni tu, e di solito sono una persona che resta vicina alle proprie idee, ma tu riesci a farmi alterare prospettiva, e trovo questo meccanismo mentale molto affascinante. Ti ricordi lo swapped instruments AU, con Tommy come cantante, no? Giuro che è un concetto a cui penso ancora dopo mesi. Spero di avere la capacità mentale per tradurre quell'idea in arte il prima possibile, perché cazzo, lo adoro troppo

@tattooed-lies thank you for providing the fandom the best gifs in the fucking platform and thank you for giving us the vinikki content that everyone, even if they're not aware, deserves and needs. Thank you for being the only Vince stan that I know. Thank you for being the sweetest person alive 💖

@nbtommylee honestly, I wish I was cool like you. Your sense of humor is impeccable, much like your critical thinking. I have never read something from you that wasn't a valid point. You don't talk shit and that's extremely sexy of you, y'know? And having a "gender dysphoria buddy" to be jealous of our Rockstar Gender Of Choice with is always fun to have, so that's definitely a plus. Can't wait to see (and read!) more of your art, I just love your style so much and you deserve to be Known

@metalmelkor @emometalhead @polka-dot-duff I'm always so happy to see you in my notifs and y'all are oh so very sweet and cool, we haven't talked much but I love every interaction we have, sorry for having the social skills of a stale piece of white bread 🖤

A special thanks goes to @awesomgrlgr8job bc you're literally one of my very first mutuals since I made the decision to make this dumpster fire of a blog and holy shit it's crazy to think about that. I don't even know if we ever interacted that much but it's always such a joy to see you around, ily and I hope you're doing well and thanks for putting up with my clownery for so long 💖

Like seriously, thank you all. I don't even know where I would be without you. Here's to another year of chaos, but only of the good kind 💖

#witchy.txt #I didn't think I would've rambled so much ahshdhjfjf I'm so sorry you have to go through all that #there are a lot of people I could've mentioned but we never really talked so I wouldn't have much to say #but believe me when I tell you that I love seeing you on my dash and in my notifs #I really mean that #and I hope y'all are doing well bc ily 💖

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pagingevilspawn · 4 years

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Loving You Is A Losing Game- chapter seven

i actually hate this, so ew. but i’ve forgotten that i write, so i’ll try to type some stuff up tomorrow! regardless, i hope everyone enjoys! click here to read on ao3.

TW// domestic abuse

~*~

"small town boy in a big arcade. i got addicted to a losing game."

~*~

alexandra: you do realize how crazy that sounds right?

joseph: it's not crazy at all if you ask me.

alexandra: jo, asking for lollipops for your christmas present sounds very crazy to me.

and christmas isn't for like, a while.

joseph: dude, christmas is in two weeks and one day

and plus, i'm settling on lollipops. what i really want is a pony, a shiny, pretty one with rainbow hair, you know those? that's my dream right there

alexandra: oh crap really?

yeah yeah, ha ha. laughing so much right now.

joseph: hate to break it to you, but it's the 10th alex.

and i know, what a shame i wont be able to have my pony. it was at the top of my list this year

next to an ice cream sundae the size of manhattan, obviously.

alexandra: very funny. can't you tell how much i'm laughing.

crap, got to go, robbins is letting me in on an esophageal atresia on a newborn. i'm her favorite you know.

joseph: ugh, lucky.

make sure to kick ass and not kill anyone. that would suck.

actually... your big head could use some ego deflating. make sure robbins has to save you halfway through. maybe then you'll earn some humility.

alexandra: wow, you're such great help. so nice too.

joseph: you know it ;)

she turns off her phone, a small smile on her face as she looks out the window, passing by houses that all looked exactly alike; white exteriors with a bright green lawn. the only thing that could help someone tell them apart was the door colors. her and paul had just come back from a dinner with some of his coworkers, but he wasn't talking to her so she decided to text alex. the silence in the car was tense, though she was unable to grasp the reason why.

they'd been texting non-stop since the conference three weeks ago, talking about each other's days, complaining about annoying coworkers and classmates. they really enjoyed having a friend they could just talk to because they felt like it. it was refreshing. they'd never had anyone like that before. in the past they had friends that they felt comfortable around, but it was different when you had someone who understood you so well. not to mention, being able to make self deprecating jokes about their crappy childhoods and receive a laugh in response was so much nicer than the pity stares they were both so used to getting,

she snaps back to reality at the sound of the engine turning off, cutting the music as the expensive car door opens. she sees paul angrily walk out of the car, slamming the door behind him, not stopping by her side of the car to open the door for her like he normally did. (she was actually thankful for that. she was a grown women, she could open a damn door herself)

weird, she thinks, but decides not to question it. her husband had been a bit more moody and temperamental lately, so she supposed it was just that. but the dinner seemed to go really good in her opinion. she got along with his colleagues and paul certainly enjoyed himself, getting to be around all his coworkers and interact freely. she liked to think that his colleagues liked her as well. they complimented her all evening and included her in all of their conversations. though, she did wish that they would've referred to her by her name more, rather than 'mrs. stalder' or 'paul's wife.'

she gets out of the passenger side and shuts the door behind her, walking up to the steps after she hears that paul had locked the car. she places the small clutch she had on the entry table and walks to the kitchen, seeing paul sitting at the kitchen island, nothing in front of him except tea that he had heated up in the minute or so he'e been in there. she kisses his cheek and starts talking, knowing that it would probably help calm whatever he was feeling.

she gives him a smile, rubbing his shoulder affectionately. "it seemed like the dinner went really well, all of your coworkers are super nice and-"

"you talked to steven too much." he cuts her off, sending an icy glare her way, and look she had never seen on him before shining darkly in his eyes.

she cocks her head to the side, "huh?"

he stands up from his place abruptly, making her jump back slightly. "i said," he spits out, eyes narrowing as he stares her down "you talked to steven too much."

she lets out a loud laugh, thinking that he was just joking around and messing with her. at any second he was going to join her giggling, ignoring the way his eyes had only seemed to darken the second the sounds had escaped her mouth."oh, that's funny." she says in between laughs, eyes shining with childish glee. "jesus you really scared m-"

pain.

her words get cut off by a fist coming directly into contact with her face. she feels the stinging sensation burn from her eye to her cheek, her brown eyes watering with tears as she realizes what had just happened. she lifts a palm up to touch it protectively, almost making it seem like it was more real if she touched it.

oh god, it hurt. it hurt like hell. his gold wedding band adding to the impact was sure to leave a scar by the corner of her eye. she'd been punched before, multiple times actually by foster parents and girls while she was in high school, but this hurt so much more. it was so much harder than she'd ever been hit before.

her husband just hit her.

"oh brooke, baby." paul says, taking her into his arms and brushing her hair back immediately, trying to get her to relax into his embrace. "i just got so mad. you just made me so mad brooke. you can't make me mad like that" he tells her, eyes dripping with some kind of emotion she can't place as he places light kisses on top of her sea of brown curls, ignoring the way the way she stood stiffly in his arms, a few lone tears making it's way down her cheeks.

"i love you. you know that brooke" he whispers, wiping the tears from her face, his hands feeling usually rough against her skin, his touch not easing over the bruise that hard already begun to form.

she nods. it was okay. he loved her. he didn't mean it. he just got angry. it was okay. it was fine. he loved her, it was okay.

she thought she probably deserved it. after all she'd cheated on her husband just three weeks before, and had continued to keep in contact with the man she had cheated with. it was only karma.

"i'm sorry paul." she apologizes sincerely as he cups her face in his hands, giving her a sweet smile. it wasn't his fault. it was hers.

"it just better not happen again." he states, eyes burning into hers intently, his grip on her face tightening without her even realizing it. all she really felt was numb, as if all of her senses had seemingly shut down to avoid dealing with the pain that was spreading throughout the side of her face.

she nods her head up and down as she pulls her back into him. "i'm sorry" she whispers into his chest.

he smiled.

and that's when he knew he had her.

____

alex finished scrubbing out of a surgery, shaking off the excess water on his hands, grinning internally. it was always so much better when he was able to help save a kid. the success was just that much more fulfilling. he's about to push the door open when it swings in itself, making him come face to face with cristina, the expression she was wearing was more worried looking than he'd seen in a long time. he'd known yang for a while know, and he knew whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be bad. cristina yang was never worried.

"what do you want yang?" he asks, noting how she had her hands crossed over her chest and was avoiding his gaze.

"there's a merger happening." she says, looking up to meet his eyes to let him know that she was serious.

his narrows his eyes, scrunching up his nose. "what?" he questions. a merger? as in, combing two hospitals into one?

"you just missed the announcement. apparently we're merging with mercy west." the raven head repeats, a slight trace of fear in her voice, a very unusual thing for cristina yang.

he lets out a deep breath, tugging his scrub cap off and running a hand through his hair as he leans over the scrub sink, gripping it so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white. "i can't loose this job yang." he says to her softly, making her nod in agreement.

"you and me both." with that she walks out of the room, alex not far behind her, both of the surgeons heading up to the resident's lounge to change, which was filled to the brim with chatter, all of the doctors talking about the newest topic, the merger.

meredith sits down next to him, slipping a long sleeved purple shirt over her head when she casts a glance to alex, who was sitting still looking down at his phone's empty screen, seemingly deep in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something to magically appear on it.

the blonde nudges him, snapping him out of his trance. alex sighs, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his head in his hands. "what am i gonna do about iz?" he asks her, judging by her face that she was drawing a blank, much like him.

jesus, this was great. these past few weeks he had hardy been able to look his wife in the eye, because every time he saw her he was reminded that he slept with someone else. not to mention, he was just texting that certain someone just a few hours ago. he was really screwed. izzie had currently been home on bedrest, not being allowed to return to work until two weeks from now, which apparently would also be when the mercy westers would turn up. fucking great. he felt as if the universe was rallying against him at this point, no matter how much he knew that wasn't possible. he dug his own grave, it was just a matter of time before he would need to lay in it.

"she'll be okay." meredith reassures him, but he can tell by the look on her face that she was unsure as well. who knew would end up getting cut? they would need to pull their heads out of their asses and prove that they deserved to stay. none of them could lose their spot. not only because of their job, but also because of the people there. they were a family. they couldn't lose any more of their family. they'd just lost george, and they couldn't lose another.

"evil spawn, put on a shirt!" cristina yells, balling up a shirt from his locker and throwing it at him, hitting him square in the chest as he glares at her. he pulls on the shirt silently and heads out, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody as he leaves the lounge and heads straight to joe's across the street.

he slides onto a barstool, ordering a beer and thanking the bartender with a slight nod of his head. how was he supposed to tell izzie about the merger? he knew that if his wife knew, she would want to return to work immediately, but he knew she couldn't do that. she was still getting her strength back, and standing around on her feet all day surely would delay the healing process. he couldn't risk her getting hurt because he wasn't able to stop her.

he'd done enough recently, even if izzie didn't know about most of it. the last thing he needed was to cause his wife more harm than he already had.

he was going to tell her, he knew that, just not right now. right now he was going to sit on this uncomfortable wooden bar stool and drink his beer and forget he had any problems. he was going to forget about the merger, he was going to forget about him and izzie going at it twenty-four seven, and he was definitely going to forget about the brunette with a fake name who seemed to be on his mind all the time.

he was just going to forget everything, his only focus being his beer and the football game on the small television above the bar. yeah, that sounded like a good idea. a really good idea.

____

okay, so he forgot about two out of those three things.

he was actually doing pretty good for a while, almost a full hour with nearly a beer and a half finished. all he had been focused on was the seahawks playing against the steelers, with the steelers crushing the seattle team thirty-four to seven. not much of a surprise though, he couldn't remember the last time he'd witnessed the seahawks win. it wasn't that they were a completely crap team, it was simply the fact that one; the steelers were much better this year, and two; he hardly ever got enough time to sit down and watch a game. being a resident drained the life out of him, especially since he had finally knew that he wanted to specialize in peds. when he wasn't at the hospital he was reading up new medical procedures in magazines, or occasionally sneaking over to meredith's to watch old ellis grey tapes.

he was doing really... until he got a text message from jo.

joseph: how was your surgery?

alexandra: wow, you must be bored.

joseph: ...

what makes you say that?

alexandra: really?

joseph: i'm in med school, thank you very much. i have a severe interest in your surgeries.

alexandra: mhm, sure.

joseph: fine, i'm bored. entertain me. please.

alexandra: that sounds vaguely dirty.

joseph: oh great. how drunk are you?

alexandra: what makes you say that?

haha, two can play that game.

joseph: i'm guessing two beers in?

alexandra: shut up, only one and a half.

joseph: mhm, wasn't too far off

but seriously. i'm bored and am in need of anything remotely interesting. you just scrubbed in on a super cool surgery, i want details

alexandra: fine, baby maria duboir, two weeks old, robbins let me lead the procedure about half way through, coded once, we then shocked her at 150, and now she is stable and in the NICU.

happy?

joseph: yes. very much so

although i do think your OR stories need work

you sound like you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about

alexandra

wow. you're a real delight you know that?

joseph: oh, believe me, i know. don't even get me started on how many times people have complimented how freaking amazing i am

it's quite a common occurrence.

if i had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, i'd be living on my own private island

alexandra: i bet you would.

seriously though, tell me something. i've got nothing better to do than watch the seahawks get crushed.

joseph: i'm guessing that's sports talk, so i'm just gonna ignore that, since it hate any sport where men look like giant block of cheese, run around a court, or just run in general.

but today's been boring. went to a dinner tonight. fancy stuck-up rich people who laugh with posh accents and sip their champagne way too slowly

fucking turtles.

alexandra: sounds fun.

joseph: you suck. i can literally hear the sarcasm through the phone asshole

alexandra: that's the point. i'll take a sick kid over fancy dinner any day.

crap, that sounded really horrible didn't it?

joseph: it really did

"i'll take a sick kid over a fancy dinner any day" real charming if you ask me. night in shining amour.

alexandra

yeah yeah you know what i mean.

____

they're not sure how long they end up talking for, alex siting at joe's bar and jo lounging on the couch in her living room while her husband was in his study going over and grading tests for one of his classes. before either one of them even know it, it gets to be twelve thirty boston time and nine thirty in seattle. alex's texts had gotten much harder to read, which made sense, considering he was now on his third beer.

jo teased him about it though, finding it more enjoyable than she would've guessed to text a drunk alex than a sober one. he seemed to get increasingly flirtier the tipsier he got. not to mention, all the spelling mistakes he made was definitely one for the books. she had a feeling that it was getting a but harder for him to see which letters where which, considering a few b's were located where there should be d's, and 'm' where they should be an 'n'

alex knows for a fact he's earning many stares from fellow people at the bar because of how much he's laughing (loudly too), but he doesn't really care. if he's gonna laugh, he's gonna laugh. all he could really focus on was the fluorescent lights hanging from the bar's wood ceiling and the frankly hilarious texts coming through his phone. (okay, so they weren't that funny, but everything is always a lot more funny when you're drunk)

jo was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing more and more as she sank into the couch, completely forgetting about the bruise on her left cheek as she typed away, grinning from ear to ear when the man on the other side responded, words misspelt and random numbers and semicolons popping up from time to time.

they knew that what they had done was wrong. they knew that what they were doing was wrong. but they couldn't stop.

if only they had stopped sooner.

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER EIGHT, wc: 4.9k

previous chapter | let’s chat | C’est Toi Index

Tuesday - January 29, 2019 - 07:11

There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away––it hasn’t gone away since I left my sketchbook at the coffee shop. I have this feeling of anticipation looming about in my stomach. But I don’t even know what I’m anticipating. Am I preparing myself for disappointment in case he doesn’t text me? Am I preparing myself for a text?

I hate waiting. And I hate not knowing what’s to come.

___

I haven't been to Brightside in five days. I kept to my promise that I would see Shawn later.

After I rushed back to my flat after the disastrous end of our conversation, I hurriedly knocked on Ella’s door and didn’t stop until she let me in. I told her I left my sketchbook, she hugged me tight, and told me that I couldn’t go back until he texted me. But then I told her that he called me a customer.

Her smile faltered, but she was back to her enthusiastic self and promised me that he would text.

But five days later, as I laid on my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, I had yet to receive any text.

I heard a knock on my door and yelled out a non-excited come in, and Ella’s head popped around the door with a sympathetic smile.

“Still nothing?”

With a sigh, I closed my eyes, feeling even more embarrassed than the day I asked for his name, “Nothing.”

I heard a small squeak of the door being opened, and then a soft click of the door when it was shut. I didn’t need to have my eyes open to know that Ella walked further into my room. I heard the wheels of my rolling chair slid across the floor and then felt Ella’s hand on my arm.

“Give it a little more time, I’m sure he’s just––”

I snapped my eyes open and turned my head to look at her, “It’s been five days. If he hasn’t texted me now, he won’t ever text me.”

Ella offered me a sympathetic smile, “At least you can say you tried.”

But that’s the thing, I thought to myself, I didn’t try enough. How was he even supposed to know that I left my sketchbook there for him to find so that he could text me? It was ludicrous for me to even think that this plan would be somewhat successful.

“Maybe someone else picked it up?” Her voice was high as she offered a weak excuse for my silent phone.

I let out another deep sigh, “That would be even worse,” I sat up in bed and rubbed the heel of my palm over my right eye, “That would mean all of my drawings are lost and my brother gave me that sketchbook––”

“I’m sure it’s still at Brightside,” Ella tried to sound confident, but we both knew it was a lost cause, “Give it a few more days, if he doesn’t text you, then you can just live your life…You are in London after all.” She winked.

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a whimper.

“Let’s get your mind off it,” She used her feet to push the chair away from the side of my bed and stood up, “A few of us are going to the park to play football.”

I quirked an eyebrow, “You play football?”

Ella nodded slowly, her face looked just as confused as mine, “When I was younger. I’m not fantastic but I can still try and have fun.”

“I––I’ll come watch,” I swung my feet over the bed as I started walking toward my closet to change out of my jeans, “The rules have always confused me, but I’ve heard enough of my dad and brother yelling at the T.V. that I have some knowledge of it.” I pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, “I didn’t think football was big here in England.”

Ella furrowed her eyebrows together, “Are you daft? Football is life or death here and––Oh,” She let out a small laugh before smirking, “Excuse me let me translate for you,” she cleared her throat and spoke with an American accent, “A few of us are going to the park to play soccer.”

Oh.

My arms went limp at my sides as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment, “That’s––Of course, soccer––Football––Makes sense, I used to play a bit––”

“Mick,” Ella cut off my rambling with a laugh and a shake of her head, “I’m gonna get changed, knock on my door when you’re done.”

I nodded as I watched her leave my room with an amused smile on her face. I smacked my hand on my forehead, still reeling in my embarrassment, because of course football is soccer. I wasn’t home anymore.

Quickly, I swapped the sweater I wore to class earlier for a long sleeved red t-shirt and jumped around as I wiggled out of my skinny jeans. Once my athletic shorts were up, and had my sneakers double knotted, I grabbed a little canvas bag to place my phone and keys in. Once I locked my door, I turned left and knocked on the door to the left of my room.

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” Ella shouted from the other side. True to her word, Ella walked out of the door in under a minute, dressed in a sweatshirt and leggings. She looked at me up and down before laughing, “Sure you won’t freeze?”

I nodded as I flipped my head forward, gathering my hair up to wrap an elastic band around it, “If we’re running around, I’ll be fine. Plus, my legs get too hot if I’m running and I have leggings on.”

Ella rolled her eyes, “You’re weird.” And then we were off to the elevator.

As we rode down, Ella informed me that football was being played at Hyde Park. We made light chatter as we made our way to the tube station, and by we, I mean Ella did most of the talking. I appreciated her effort in trying to get my mind off my lost sketchbook, but it was still the only thing I concentrated on as we went from Waterloo station, to Green Park, and then got off at our final destination of Hyde Park Corner.

Once we quickly made our way out of the tube station, we waited with a crowd of other people for the lights to change. And when the walk sign flashed for us, everyone hurriedly made their way across the street, because once the lights changed…London drivers were not shy in accelerating on the gas pedal.

We entered by the Queen Mother’s Gate and started walking along the pathway.

“This park is too big,” Ella grumbled as she typed furiously away on her phone, “Jack said that they found an open space but the whole stupid park is an open space.”

I kept up with her fast pace and turned my head to look at her, “Jack’s here?”

Ella nodded her head, “Said a few friends from his law course wanted to unwind after an impossible paper they had to write,” She looked at me with a smirk, “He specifically asked me to make sure you came along.”

I brought the sleeves of my shirt to cover my hands as I crossed my arms over my chest, “They probably needed another player.”

“Sure,” she bumped her shoulder against mine, “How is it that you’ve been in London for a month and have two boys after you? Meanwhile, I’ve been here for three years and haven’t had any luck.”

“You had the TA.”

“Don’t push it, America,” Ela glared at me.

I let out a sigh, facing forward, as my voice softened in agony, “And I don’t have two boys after me,” I sniffled from the cold air, “Shawn only sees me as a customer.”

Ella’s glare softened as he weakly smiled, “You’re more to him than that.”

I shook my head, “If you were there––”

“I have been there,” Ella interrupted me, “I’ve seen how he sneaks glances at you, how he spends more time talking to you than anyone else…Mick, he likes you too.”

I brushed off her comment, the familiar feeling of disappointment seeping into my heart, “Where’d they say they were?”

Ella glared at me, knowing exactly that I was purposefully changing the topic as she held up a finger, signaling me to wait. She unlocked her phone, gliding her finger on the screen a few times, before she brought the phone up to her ear, snapping at whoever was on the other end, “Where are you?”

She hummed a few times, before stopping in her tracks, “Well why didn’t you say you were closer to Marble Arch,” Ella huffed as she made a sharp right and started quickly walking across the grass, “We got off at Hyde Park Corner, you twat.” She sneered into her phone, “We’ll be there soon, start without us, it doesn’t matter.”

Not waiting to hear the other person on the end, Ella clicked her phone shut and let out an aggravated breath, “Jack is an idiot.”

“We’ll be there soon,” I tried to reassure her, but I was quieted from the glare she sent my way, “I’ll race you there.”

“We don’t even know where there is!” Ella yelled at me after I had already taken off in a sprint, “Mick!”

I held the canvas bag close to my side, while it was practically empty, I could still feel my keys and phone bounce against my hip. I slowed down a bit and turned my head over my shoulder, “Think of it as a warm up!”

I was a bit further away from Ella, but I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me as she started to pick up her pace in a slow jog. While she was right that we didn’t know exactly where they were, we would get there faster by running instead of briskly walking.

Ella caught up to me, and when we finally laid eyes upon a group of boys and girls kicking around a soccer ball, we both glanced at each other before taking off in a sprint. I said that we ended in a tie, but Ella never liked to lose, so she declared herself the champion.

As if he knew we made it, Jack looked over at us with a wide smile, he excused himself from his friends and jogged over to us.

“Glad you two could make––Ow.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Ella as he rubbed the spot on his arm where she punched him, “I would like to go one day without you hitting or kicking me.”

Ella mirrored his glare, “Why didn’t you tell us to take the tube to Marble Arch!”

“Slipped my mind.”

“Idiot,” Ella mumbled under her breath as she walked past him and to the group of people kicking around the ball. It looked like she recognized a few people as she struck up a conversation with them.

“Mick,” Jack’s smile faltered a little as he looked down at my legs, “Will you be cold?”

I shook my head and tightened my pony tail, “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced as we walked side-by-side back to the group, “I have sweatpants in my bag if you get cold.”

I smiled up at him, trying to ease the concern in his eyes, “Thanks.”

When we got to the circle, Jack introduced me and then we were split up into teams. As one of the team captains, Jack picked me first to be on his team. He subsequently left Ella off his team which caused her to sneer a ‘watch your back,’ at him as everyone got into their positions on the little makeshift field.

After an hour had passed of kicking the ball around, Ella trying to slide tackle Jack, and a few goals scored by each team, everyone decided to call it quits. Everyone talked and laughed as we made our way back over to our bags and Jack, always being prepared, offered water to both Ella and I.

“Are you girls headed back to Stamford?” Jack said as he screwed the lid back on his water bottle.

Ella finished swallowing before nodding, “Yeah we’re–––”

“I think I’m going to call my brother,” I interrupted her. They both looked at me with tilted heads. “It’s a nice day out,” I looked up at the sky, and while it was still overcast and cold out, the sun was trying to break through, “Figured I’d take a walk in the park and talk to him.”

“In shorts?” Jack asked. I nodded my head and was about to respond with how I wasn’t feeling that cold from the soccer game, but before I could say anything, he zipped open his backpack and threw a sweatshirt at me, “You’ll freeze if you don’t have another layer on.”

I smiled in appreciation, looking at the well worn King’s College sweatshirt with the University seal on it, “I’ll wash it before giving it back to you.” Jack waved me off as I slipped the oversized sweatshirt on my body, automatically feeling ten degrees warmer.

“Put the hood up to,” Jack laughed, “Your ears are looking red.”

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the hood up and overdramatically tightened the strings around my neck, which caused me to only see out of a teeny tiny hole, “Better?”

“See you later, Mick.” Both Jack and Ella laughed as they walked toward the exit of the park.

Once I was sure they were a good distance away, I pulled out my phone, opened WhatsApp and checked my messages.

Still no text.

With a sigh, I started walking back toward the Hyde Park Corner tube station, as I clicked my brother’s contact. Because while I did plan on talking to my brother, I also planned on making a little stop at a coffee shop before I headed back to the residence hall.

“Pip pip cheerio,” I rolled my eyes at the greeting I always got from William.

“People don’t talk like that here.”

William let out a boisterous laugh, “Oh, I know.” It was silent for a few minutes as I walked through the park, passing a few dogs who weren’t on leashes, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I said with a flat tone, “Just wanted to call.”

“How’re things going with that barista?”

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, “Not great.”

“Golden girl having a bit of trouble?”

I glared at a tree in front of me, pretending that it was my brother, “What would you do if you liked a girl?”

William let out a sigh, and I heard him say distant hi on the other end of the phone, presumably walking past a few people he knew before continuing on, “Everything you’ve already told me pretty much points to him liking you.”

I was approaching the end of the park and walked out to stop right at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, as I switched my phone to the other hand, “So why hasn’t he done anything?”

“You could always ask him out,” William said as if it was the easiest thing, “I know you said things didn’t go over too smoothly when you asked for his name, but maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

The light changed as I walked with the crowd to cross the street, “Then he’ll be waiting for forever.”

“Mick,” he dragged out the lone vowel in my name, “You had a boyfriend last year, it’s not like you’re inept to talking to boys.”

I stopped at the entrance of the tube station and leaned against the railing, “I know but he’s––Everything is just––I don’t know how to act around him.”

William laughed loudly, “Oh, you got it bad.”

“Shut up,” I let out a single laugh as I scuffed my sneakers on the sidewalk, “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon.”

“I want more updates on this Canadian barista that just so happens to live in London!” William said in a singsong voice that made me laugh, “I still find that weird.”

“I love you, William,” I said with an eye roll.

“Love you too, Golden girl.”

And with that, I ended the call. I quickly pulled up my tube map direction app and typed in Hyde Park Corner and Temple. Twenty-one minutes, I sighed, better than nothing. Making sure I knew what platform I needed to get on, I walked down the stairs, tapped my oyster card and started my journey to Brightside.

I’ve been on the tube for longer than twenty-one minutes, but the anxiety I felt about still not having my sketchbook, and not knowing who I was going to run into at the counter…It felt like the longest ride ever.

When the train car approached Temple, I almost considered staying on until the next stop and not getting off. I almost didn’t want to go back to Brightside and face even more embarrassment. I think I’ve had enough embarrassment there to last five lifetimes.

But I wanted my sketchbook back.

I cared about my sketchbook more than I cared about Shawn thinking of me as a customer.

Walking down the sidewalk, I almost didn’t feel the cold air on my legs because I was too consumed with my anxiety as the familiar door came into view. Breathe, I said to myself, in through your nose and out through your mouth…

I didn’t think twice before I curled my hand around the handle and yanked the door open.

Shawn was the only person behind the counter, and while I didn’t hear the chime of the bell, I knew he did because his head snapped up. His eyebrows were furrowed together for a few minutes before a full blown smile took over his features. I slipped the hood off my head and walked straight up to the counter.

“McLane!” Shawn said with just as much chipper in his voice as the last time I heard him call my name, “It’s been a while. Was starting to think you found another coffee shop.” He laughed as his hand went to pull a yellow cup from the stack.

I let out a weak laugh, “I––No. No other coffee shop,” Shawn smiled as I continued talking, “And actually…I’m not here for a coffee.”

His eyebrows raised in interest as I started my rambling, “I––I think I lost my sketchbook? I take it with me everywhere and I’ve retraced my steps but I can’t seem to find it anywhere––And I––This is the only place I haven’t checked. It’s black, on the small side, it has some drawings in it–––”

“Slow down,” Shawn laughed a little as he brought both hands in front of him, gesturing for me to slow my words, “What’d you say you lost?”

“My sketchbook,” I said matter of factly, “It’s small––pocket sized almost––and black. It has my name in it––”

I was too preoccupied with naming all the details of my sketchbook that I missed the shimmer of recollection in his eyes. I also missed how his smile slowly grew wider with every word I rambled. And even as I continued on rambling, he ducked below the counter, momentarily out of my sight, before he popped right back up with a black book.

My heart stopped.

“Is this it?”

He had my sketchbook.

“I––Yeah––Oh my god,” I released a breath of relief, “That’s it––I can’t––Oh my god.”

But he didn’t text me.

Shawn handed the sketchbook over to me and I snatched it from his hand, cradling it close to my chest, before I quickly opened it to make sure no damage was done to any of the sketches. I let out another sigh of relief when I saw everything intact.

“The drawings in there are good,” Shawn’s eyes were wide in astonishment, “You have insane talent.”

I picked my head up and squeaked out a pathetic, “What?”

My heart stopped again because he looked through my sketches. He opened up my sketchbook, and either he didn’t see the if lost note or he saw it and completely ignored it. But that thought only crossed my mind for a few seconds because the only thought ringing in my head as that he looked at my drawings.

If there’s one rule to live by, it’s to never look at someone’s sketchbook without their permission.

And sure, the whole point of Operation Sketchbook was for Shawn to look in my sketchbook, but he was only supposed to look at the if lost note. He wasn’t supposed to actually look at the drawings. Because––oh my god––I had a sketch of the bird tattoo on his hand in there.

“Niall and I got curious––It was around for a bit and so we just peeked in. And when we saw how amazing they were…” Shawn’s voice grew distant before looking back at me with amazement in his eyes, “McLane, your drawings are so good.”

Oh my god…Niall saw my sketch of Shawn’s hand.

“I well––They’re nothing special––” lie, “––I just––It’s fun and it’s relaxing––”

As if Shawn sensed my nervousness, he smiled and politely cut off my rambling, “If I had half the talent as you,” he rested his elbows down on the counter, and looked up at me with a small smile, “I would not be working in a coffee shop.”

I looked down for a moment and blushed. But when I looked back up into Shawn’s eyes, they were twinkling with pride as he was able to get a reaction out of me, “What would you do if you weren’t working here?”

Shawn let out a hum as he scrunched his eyebrows together, looking off into the distance, as he seriously considered his options.

“I think music production is cool,” he hesitantly answered, “I like all the audio engineering stuff, it’s probably what I would’ve studied in uni.”

I nodded my head, not having much of a clue about what he was talking about, but I noticed his eyes shined a little brighter when he brought up the topic.

“Have you thought about learning some stuff on the side?”

Shawn nodded his head, “I have some music software on my laptop and play around with it a bit, but it’s nothing serious,” Shawn shook his head and stood up tall, “I like working here anyway.”

I nodded my head and looked around the shop, it was a bit empty for it being a Tuesday.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you without books,” Shawn’s voice brought me back to him after staring off into space.

I blinked a few times before tilting my head back slightly in laughter, “I just came from playing soccer with some friends.”

“Football,” Shawn corrected me just like Ella had, “And in shorts?”

His tone sounded just as concerned as Jack’s did when he first noticed my bare legs. Although, Shawn’s eyes seemed to linger on my legs longer than Jack’s did, before he looked up at me and chuckled, “It’s like five degrees outside.”

“It’s cold out, but I wouldn’t say it’s that cold out,” I rested my elbows on the counter as I continued to talk, “It felt more like the low forty’s.”

“Celsius,” Shawn corrected me with a laugh, “Five degrees celsius.”

Oh.

Shawn laughed again as I leaned on the counter in silence, even more embarrassed than before. He tried to act sly, but I noticed his hand reach out for a yellow cup.

“I don’t need a coffee,” I told him.

He shook his head, ignoring my words, “What tea do you like?”

“You really don’t––”

“You look like someone who likes English Breakfast,” Shawn ignored my words again as he walked down toward the espresso machine and opened up a box of tea. He took out a bag, plopped it in the cup, and pressed a button on the espresso machine that let out hot water.

Shawn peaked over into the cup, and once he was satisfied with how much water was in there, he pressed the button again and the water stopped. He set the cup down on the counter, as he shook his hand mumbling a hot hot, as he walked back over toward the register to grab another yellow cup, along with a coffee sleeve.

He placed the empty cup under the cup of boiling water, “It just needs to brew for five minutes,” I heard him say as I looked at the steam floating out from the cup, “And then you’ll have something to keep you warm.” He gave me a pointed look.

“Thank you,” I smiled in appreciation as I pulled out some money, “How much is the tea?”

Shawn let out a single laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest, “You’re not paying.”

I rolled my eyes and waved the money in front of his face, “Oh, come on––”

“It’s tea.” Shawn shook his head, “It barely cost anything.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds longer, neither of us wanting to back down. But I knew that even if I put the money in the cash register myself, Shawn would take it out and slip it in my bag. With a sigh, I stuffed the five note back in my wallet and dropped it in my bag.

“Thank you.”

Shawn nodded his head, “So…What kind of art do you like?”

My smile brightened at the mention of art and I saw Shawn’s eyes widen in admiration, “All of it. It’s so fun and always so creative––But I do find myself leaning more toward post-impressionism.”

Shawn slowly nodded his head, he looked about just as lost as I probably looked when he was talking about audio engineering.

“Van Gogh,” I gave him one of the most famous artists to come out of that art movement, “That kind of stuff––Landscapes, lots of color, bold brush strokes.”

“Ah,” he said in understanding, “Starry Night? That’s one of his right?”

I chuckled, “That’s him.”

And then an idea struck my mind.

I had seen advertisements in newspapers and down in the underground about a Van Gogh exhibit opening at the Tate Britain at the end of March. It was a while away, but if I brought it up to him…Maybe he’d want to go.

I felt like Ella with the amount of scheming going on in my mind.

I coughed into the crook of my elbow, “Yeah––Starry Night is cool––The Tate Britain is actually having an exhibit with his art,” I let out a fake sigh, “I’ve been trying to find someone to go with me but I––No one seems interested.”

Shawn’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth straight away, only for it to shut tight, as his head snapped toward the chime of the bell on top of the door. Three girls around our age walked forward, talking among themselves about what they were thinking about ordering.

I shouldn’t have found his facial expression funny, considering I really did think this time around he was going to ask to tag along, but the frustration on his face caused my chest to slightly shake with amusement. He closed his eyes tight, jaw locked, as he rubbed his fingers around his temples.

He let out the most aggravated sigh I’d ever heard, and I think he wanted me to hear how annoyed he was at the customers who just walked in through the door.

“I’ll be with you ladies in one second,” Shawn briefly turned his head to look at them, acknowledging their presence.

I offered him a close lipped smile, and he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Before you go,” he quickly said, taking the tea bag out of the cup, disposing it in the bin, before he disappeared under the counter. But he wasn’t gone for long. He popped right back up with oat milk, shaking the container, before opening it up to splash a little milk in it.

He securely placed a black lid on it and pushed it toward me, “I’m glad you didn’t find another coffee shop.”

His words were simple, and to any outsider, him being worried about me finding a different coffee shop to go to would sound pathetic. But I knew what he meant. I knew he wasn’t just referring to a coffee shop.

The tea was still very hot, even with two cups and a coffee sleeve, but I still picked it up and smiled at him, “See you tomorrow, Shawn?”

Shawn’s smile was wider than I’d ever seen it before and he nodded his head, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I opened the door, I was met with a gust of cold air that had me ducking my head to shield myself from it stinging my cheeks. But the tea in my hand from Shawn was doing a much better job at providing me warmth than Jack’s sweatshirt.

I walked quickly back toward the Temple Underground station because I was also just starting to realize that maybe my legs weren’t cold because I couldn’t really feel my legs.

I hopped on the tube, switched stations at Embankment, and braced the cold air again as I walked out of Waterloo Station. I was almost back to my flat.

As I waited at the stoplight for the colors to change, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag. I switched the tea to my other hand so I could dig the hand closer to the bag around for it. I pulled it out, and saw that it was a text on WhatsApp from an unrecognizable number.

I scrunched my eyebrows together, and unlocked my phone, curious as to who messaged me.

But when my thumb clicked on the app and I went into the message, I felt my heart skyrocket up to my throat as I let out an audible gasp. Luckily, my grasp around the tea didn’t falter, but I still felt as if I could drop it at any moment.

Hi, McLane! It’s Shawn from Brightside ☕️ I got your number from your sketchbook…I hope that’s alright with you.

And then the light turned green.

A/N: So……How are we feeling about Jack? Operation sketchbook? It was ~semi-successful!! But successful, nonetheless! Things start to pick up from here soooo……Get ready for some fun!

Thank you! Thank you for all of your kind words!! They mean the absolute WORLD to me!🥺 I love you all so very much! As always, sending good vibes 💥

See ya next week with Chapter NINE!!! We’re almost getting to my favorite chapter 🤩

C’est Toi Tag List: @mendesficsxbombay, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks, @musicalkeys, @madatmendes, @im-salt-but-not-salty, @shawnmendez, @crossedties @lenamds

#Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Menes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes Writings #Shawn Mendes coffee shop au #Shawn Mendes AU #Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes x oc #wonder #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn mendes fics #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes blurbs #Shawn mendes story #ugh don't you just HATE tags #anyhoot #I hope you all enjoyed!!!

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 3 years

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Ive never really understood the hype surrounding Taylor Swift - I mean, I like some of her songs, but im not big on modern pop music so generally she just doesn’t really click for me. But I find it interesting that theres quite a few of Beatles/Swift blogs - like, they should have very little in common given that they’re from completely different eras and all, but somehow people seem to find a lot of semblance between the two. << and thats not me shitting on any of these blogs btw! Hope I don’t come off as rude or condescending there <3

Anyway, I was just wondering what got you into Taylor Swift? (I think ive read your post on how you got into the Beatles)

Hi, anon! Don't worry, I don't think you're rude or condescending! I agree they don't have too much in common and I don't really like their music for the same reasons.* I do have a playlist of Paul songs that have similar vibes to Taylor songs but it's mostly lyric-based. (Also the Beatles For Sale songs actually have quite the Taylor-tinge because Paul and John were not immune to Country Music)

I saw @stewy say once that a possible reason there are a good handful of us Swiftie-Beatle People on here is the appeal of a vast discography, which I agree with. If you have an artist/group with 200ish songs, it's just really fun to really dive into their work and explore all the facets. I also think: we're talking about the most popular band of all time and one of the highest-selling artists of the 21st century. They have a lot of fans so there's bound to be overlap, regardless of musical differences.

Moving on to your question: Getting into Taylor was an extremely personal experience for me and so my explanation is probably going to be kind of long so I'll put it under a read more.

It was spring-summer 2014, I was 15. I had heard the more popular songs of hers starting with Love Story and enjoyed pretty much all of them (I always found her hopelessly romantic point of view fascinating) but before I got a Spotify account in 2013 it was difficult in general for me to really get into an artists' entire discography so most of her songs had flown under my radar.

At the time, I was in this very weird sort of codependent online friendship with this girl who was basically my first real best friend and my first more or less crush. She was very depressed and I was very much in an I Could Fix Her™ mood, except that I obviously couldn't fix her and it made me feel like I wasn't enough and she had begun pulling more and more away from me and not replying to my messages and it was simply driving me insane. I consider it the saddest period in my life.

at some point during this period, I started trying to connect with other people (all online, I didn't know how to talk seriously to anyone IRL) and explaining the issues I'd been having, and one of the people who brought me joy and whom I actually felt not drained talking to was a huge swiftie. And IDK the fact that she loved Taylor and the fact that talking to her made my life better (and also the fact that I liked all the Taylor songs I knew at that point) just made me decide to give her a listen. And I think that whole "large discography discovery" phenomenon really helped me at the time (funny, because her discography has doubled since then). It gave me something new to focus on; there were just so many songs to discover, all telling such rich stories. I also have always loved bridges, they are almost always my favourite part of a song. And Taylor, god-bless her, loves them too and always puts her ALL in them. Like pretty much every bridge of hers brings the song to the next level, and even a lot of her songs I don't adore tend to have great bridges (Stay Stay Stay and Paper Rings come to mind). I think one of her most underrated qualities is how good she is at song structure and really building up an entire musical journey with a song. She also almost always adds cool ad-libs in her second and third choruses to keep the songs interesting and dynamic (or at least since she's gone pop). Anyways, back to the story: Then Taylor announced 1989 as her next album and released Shake It Off, and it was just like this great happy thing for me to look forward to, when I had very little keeping me going. The era was promoting a lot of happiness which in hindsight was slightly fabricated and it was just a really great thing for me to latch onto.

At the same time I was coming to realize that I was gonna have to pull away completely from my friend and all those break-up songs just… Hit, y'know? Like, some people seem to think Taylor's a one-trick pony because she likes to write break-up songs but to me, break-ups are just like this moment where you as a human can potentially feel every single emotion, and Taylor's songs have covered every facet of the concept. Here are some songs I remember from that period, that all meant a lot to me at the time because they explained my own pain to me so well:

Haunted, for the absolute terror you feel in the first moments you realize someone is probably gonna leave you. Come on, come on / Don't leave me like this / I thought I had you figured out / Something's gone terribly wrong / You're all I wanted.

I Almost Do, for the inner turmoil you feel when you know you have to stay away from someone for your own good but you really, really have to resist just running back to that person. We've made quite a mess, Babe / It's probably better off this way / And I confess, Babe / In my dreams you're touching my face / And asking me if I wanna try again / With you / And I almost do.

Last Kiss, for that absolute sadness that comes simply with remembering everything that was good and not comprehending how it could've possibly ended. I still remember / The look on your face / Lit through the darkness / At 1:58 / Words that you whispered / For just us to know / You told me you loved me / So why did you go / Away?

Forever and Always, for that feeling of desperately wanting to hold on to what you still have but at the same time realizing it probably isn't going to last and having no idea how to fix it, plus feeling like the other person doesn't even care. So here's to everything / Coming down to nothing / Here's to silence / That cuts me to the core / Where is this going? / Thought I knew for a minute / But I don't anymore.

Dear John, my all-time favourite song, for that moment you find clarity and realize that you deserved better and that you were headed in an extremely dark direction because of this other person. [DISCLAIMER: my friend did NOT abuse me nor did we have some inappropriate age difference. But the way she would ignore me and her general moodiness really affected my own mental health and self-worth problems] You paint me a blue sky / And go back and turn it to rain / And I lived in your chess games / But you changed the rules every day / Wondering which version of you I might get on the phone / Tonight / Well I stopped picking up / And this song is to let you know why.

(She's covered more aspects of break-ups in other songs [cheating, divorce, feeling awkward around your ex amongst others], these are just the ones I remember being really important to me when I was first getting into her)

She really helped me feel a lot less alone during one of my loneliest periods and I really can't thank her enough for that. Soon after this, I started crushing on a girl in my class and Taylor's love songs started to take on a new meaning for me as well.

What's crazy to me is, when she went on hiatus for a few years, a part of me thought maybe I'd grown out of her and no longer had much in common with her, but when reputation came out I was pulled right back into my love for her as a person and musician and then when Lover came out I found that she was still explaining feelings to me better than I ever could (specifically with the songs The Archer and Cornelia Street). And now with folklore and evermore she's simply absolutely perfected her story-telling and I find myself deeply moved even by the songs I don't directly relate to. I feel like she has this amazing ability to find the absolute truth in the specific. I've never had a summer romance with someone who already had a girlfriend and mostly wanted to go back to her, and yet the bridge of august feels so real to me, y'know?

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose

It's hard to explain but looking at this, like it's so much more than the story it's telling. It's talking about how when you're young you really need so little to feel satisfied; how sometimes the idea of someone maybe spending time with you is better than actually doing things with other people; and how if someone using you without much thought can make you feel like you're not even entitled to grieve what you lost. Sorry. I'll stop. Don't want to go insane.

So, all of this is very personal and unique to me, but I think really the main thing that draws me to her is how vulnerable and honest she is about emotions, how eloquently she can explain the pain of being alive to me. Some people think she isn't the strongest singer, but I think, much like John actually, one of her greatest assets is how good she is at projecting emotion. The song happiness is a song I think has some lyrically weak moments but her vocal performance on it is so raw and devastating that every single line works even when, looking at it on paper, it feels like it shouldn't.

Hope this rambling made sense to you, lmao?? I love talking about Taylor though so thanks for the ask! Also very open to giving song recs if you do want to check her out more but I won't unless solicited to lmao *Sort of off-topic but I do think there's a relation between my fascination with the Beatles' history and my love for a great break-up song. I like pain I guess :)

#ask #anon #taylor #mine

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

Text

Peaches and a tyrannical sea

(I decided to play around with this prompt, trying to make the story not overly contrived. I’m not sure I succeeded at that 😂, but it was SO fun to write what I imagine of young Hayffie 💕. I became a bit addicted to this fic, and I didn’t know when, where, or how to stop. Plus, I discovered a path to joy through writing dialogue for Caesar Flickerman, and who can resist a path to joy? So this story got long, probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, and if you read all the way through to the end, then I’m in awe of your stamina and devotion to THG/Hayffie crack.)

Category 5 “Hurricane Cronus” hit the coast of District 11 less than a month after the 60th Hunger Games, right in the middle of the summer harvest.

Being inland, the Victors’ Village was barely touched, but Chaff’s hometown was destroyed. Every shack collapsed, and every citizen who couldn’t get to higher ground perished.

The Capitol projected the fallen into the night sky with lights and music. 24 decimated crops: apples, beans, blueberries, cabbage, cantaloupes, eggplant, figs, gooseberries, grapes, herbs, kale, muscadines, nectarines, okra, peaches, pears, peppers, potatoes, raspberries, summer squash, corn, tomatoes, and watermelon.

Montages on screens throughout Panem showed flooded fields, flattened plants, and broken orchards. The images were accompanied by the voice of Caesar Flickerman, thick with serious tones. “Cronus, Titan of the Harvest, has unleashed His wrath upon Panem. But through the strength of the Capitol, we will replant. We will rebuild.”

Haymitch hurled a half-empty liquor bottle at the screen in the Hob, nicking the corner and leaving a crack. If he’d been more sober, he would’ve nailed Caesar in the face.

“You’d better be careful, honey,” Greasy Sae warned him. “They can still find ways to hurt you.”

“I doubt that.”

The older woman knew Haymitch well enough to not touch him when he was angry, but she soothed with her voice.

“Is that friend of yours okay? ...The one in 11.”

Over the past decade, Chaff had become a lifeline for Haymitch. His companionship through each Games was effectively an antidote to alcohol poisoning. If Chaff didn’t drink more than his share, then Haymitch probably would have had cirrhosis of the liver before age 26. His buddy always managed to bring some laughter into the atrocities of mentorship.

Sae was right. Haymitch still had people to lose. The Capitol could still hurt him. They would keep on hurting him if he didn’t feign indifference. And throwing a bottle at the screen showed the opposite of indifference.

“He’s okay.”

Sae offered a smile. “Good. That’s good, boy. From the way the Peacekepers are talking, it sounds like there’s been a lot of death. At least a thousand with the count rising. Some people got no fresh water to drink.”

“And the Capitol eulogizes crops.”

“It ain’t right. That’s for sure.”

Haymitch wasn’t drunk enough to face this conversation. And he was pissed about having thrown away the rest of his liquor.

“Can I offer you a bowl of beef stew? ...It’s on the house,” Sae added.

Normally Haymitch wouldn’t turn down a free supper, but the mystery meats that Greasy Sae served up under the name of “beef” sometimes turned his stomach.

“Not hungry,” he lied, “But thanks for the offer.”

“You take care, honey.” Her face fell as she watched Haymitch walk away to buy more booze.

***

The Capitol was abuzz with excitement about the fundraising event planned for hurricane relief. Replanting and rebuilding would come at a cost, and an auction was an opportunity for the wealthy to show off the depths of their family pockets.

“‘Picnic with a Victor’ is the promotional title,” Claudius Templesmith announced on screens throughout Panem.

“Sunshine... a day in Capitol Park... by the water...” Caesar responded with a neon white smile and a slap to his knee. “I LOVE it!”

Seated side-by-side in red velvet chairs, the two bantered back and forth about event details.

“The baskets will be stocked with delicacies prepared by the Capitol’s finest chefs, and made from crops harvested before Cronus hit our very own District 11.”

“Claudius, I’ve heard whispers that the picnics will include artesian wines made, not from grapes, but from muscadines.”

“Ah, muscadines! Amazing and desired for their incredible super-fruit properties.”

“Sweet, aromatic, and native to District 11. A truly unique Panem experience and proudly exported across the globe.”

“Caesar, do we know yet which victors have volunteered to picnic with the highest bidders?”

“Well, we’ve been trying to keep that, shall we say, under wraps, but if you twist my arm, I might be able to let out some hints.”

“Well then consider yourself twisted!”

“Ha HA, you know me so well!! And ouch, not so hard!” The two of them filled the airwaves with hysterial laughter.

“Seriously now. Let’s tell them.”

A drumroll began off camera as Caesar and Claudius took turns dramatically listing off numbers of the Games of the participating victors.

Effie was listening with mild disinterest until Caesar said “50.” When he said “50,” she knew her life was about to change. She was bound and determined to MAKE it change.

***

“Mother, Daddy, this is an excellent opportunity to be noticed, not just by society but by the professors who will be influencing my education and future career opportunities,” Effie lobbied hard to bid in the auction. At 18 years old, her parents’ permission was not as deep of a concern for her as their financial backing.

An afternoon with Haymitch Abernathy would draw a price. He was reclusive and young, but not young enough to deter the interests of wealthy older women, and men for that matter.

Effie would have competition in the bidding. She was certain about that in the same way that she knew wigs would be all the rage in a few years. Some things an observant and savvy woman simply KNOWS, and Effie considered herself to be both observant and savvy.

She’d inherited money from her great-grandmother, but she could keep that in savings accruing interest if her parents would back her now.

“Which victor will you bid to picnic with?” her mother asked.

“I’ll decide based on the way they present themselves on stage,” Effie answered evasively. “I want an investment which reflects positively on our family.”

“You need to be careful,” her father insisted, “Alto made such a showing in the Games last year that he’ll surely draw a high price, probably more than we can afford. Whoever you bid on, you need to win.”

“I’ll judge by applause and whispers in the crowd. I’ll be discerning; I won’t bid if I can’t win. ...Daddy, do I EVER lose?” Effie glanced between her parents without a single blink of her false purple eyelashes.

When her father blinked, she knew she had their support. “Your budget is $5000. Invest wisely.”

Effie would not be deterred by the limits of her parents’ generosity. Haymitch would be hers for the afternoon, no matter the cost. She’d imagined a connection with him for too long to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Her classmate, Fulvia Cardew, would help. She was sympathetic to Effie’s interests, and with extended family in banking, Fluvia had deeper pockets than the president.

***

Haymitch would’ve almost preferred death over participation in the *dog and pony show* that this fundraiser was sure to be. Except Chaff had confided in him details of how badly the coast of District 11 had been wiped out. Since the Capitol depended on 11 to literally feed the lavish lifestyle of its citizens, then money raised would be of some help to the people of district. The Capitol needed workers alive, and for people to be stay alive to work they required basic shelter, drinkable water, and rations of food. Since Cronus, many towns in 11 lacked most essential survival needs.

Haymitch took pleasure in imagining Snow in fear about where his next meal would be coming from. Though he knew the tyrant would be the LAST person in Panem to go hungry. It would never come to that. Surely a traitor in his inner circle would slaughter that pig and eat him before either of them starved. The traitor would probably die afterward from the poison in Snow’s veins. Haymitch would have taken pleasure in all of that imagery too if it didn’t make him want to vomit.

August was warm in the Capitol. Late afternoon temperatures usually reached high into the 80s. So the auction was set for morning with the victory picnics beneath shade trees by the lake. An elaborate system of misters had been rigged up throughout the covered amphitheater and the Capitol Park.

Oh, the *horror* if one of these hoity-toity Capitol people should melt in the sunshine before the bidding even started. Haymitch had the thought, but the misters actually felt great by mid-morning when the participating victors were called on stage one-by-one for their interviews with Caesar, who was functioning as Master of Ceremonies.

Caesar introduced each of them to the audience by name, number of their district, and number of their Games. Each victor had been directed the night before to memorize a brief script about what moved them to volunteer for the fundraiser. The script Haymitch had been given included a ridiculous ode to peach trees.

He had let himself be dressed up for the event. He’d even let them trim his hair and shave his face. He’d get up on that stage mostly sober. He would smile and let himself be auctioned off to the highest bidder. But there was no way in hell he was going to eulogize peaches when nearly every person in his best friend’s hometown was a corpse.

He had a flash of the Seam and the dead bodies of his loved ones, poisoned. That was 10 years ago, and the flashbacks still came to haunt him with pale faces. In earlier more innocent times, he and his brother had found a peach tree while exploring north in the district. That was in the days of fewer Peacekepers and fewer questions about destinations. His brother picked two peaches, one for each of them. The flavor, texture, and color were unlike anything Haymitch had experienced before. That peach was full of dualities: sweet and tart, uncomfortable skin yet soothing flesh, solid and juicy. Yellow and red swirled on his tongue.

He thought of that peach years later when he had sex with his girlfriend the night before the Reaping. HIS Reaping. She felt like that peach when he came inside her. So tender. It was his first time. A few weeks later she was a ghost.

Haymitch shivered under the misters, waiting like livestock in line for slaughter. He needed a drink, badly, but if not for sobriety, then in lieu of delivering an ode to the fruit, he might inadvertently describe making love with the girlfriend murdered by Snow.

That conversation would not only get him killed, but would get him the wrong type of bidders. He was a volunteer today, not a prostitute. This commitment did not carry over from afternoon into evening. He would not be fucking the fool willing to pay hundreds of dollars for his company, some food, and a hill-billy-red-neck bottle of wine.

...Except for maybe HER, he thought as he scanned the paddle holders in the crowd. That girl with blonde hair. He’d fuck somebody like her, all soft and shit, dressed up in clothes and makeup that made her look older than she probably was.

***

“He’s looking at you,” Fulvia whispered to Effie, “He’s been staring at you for at least a minute.”

Of course he’s looking at me. Have you seen me today? Effie thought. Manners prevented her from praising herself out loud.

She met Haymitch’s gaze and offered him a controlled smile, warm but not flashy. I see you, was what she wanted to communicate for now. The rest could wait until after she won the bid.

Their eye contact broke when someone poked Haymitch in the back. Caesar had called him onstage, “Winner of the 50th Hunger Games, from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy!” While eye-fucking with her, he’d missed his cue.

Effie watched him saunter over to Caesar, as if things like cues and pace were irrelevant. He relaxed into the chair with his knees slightly splayed, like he and Caesar were old friends meeting at a bar. Effie half-expected Haymitch to call out for a server to bring them drinks. Maybe he and Caesar actually WERE friends. She knew nearly nothing of the life of a victor.

“Haymitch...” Caesar began, “It’s a rare treat to have you here, the victor of a Quarter Quell.” Then to the audience he added, “Isn’t this exciting!!”

The audience cheered wildly. They’d been served pink champagne all morning in an effort to up the bidding. A few people were already raising their paddles. Effie held hers firmly by her side. Patience. Control, she told herself. She would not appear too eager. With this event televised throughout Panem, her every move was a reflection on herself and her family.

“Now, hold on, ladies and gentlemen,” Caesar continued, “Let’s allow this young man to introduce himself.”

Effie liked the way Caesar called him young. Over the past several years, Haymitch’s shoulders had broadened and his body had filled into its frame. His eyes sunk deeper with each Games, but his face was still boyish. She still saw in him the kid who held Maysilee’s hand as she died.

“What inspired you to volunteer to be here today?” Caesar asked gravely.

Haymitch pushed his hair back from his eyes, and spoke not to Caesar, but to the cameras, to all of Panem.

“I have friends in 11.” He thought of Chaff and Seeder. “They grew up there climbing trees in the orchards. Kids are light enough to reach the fruit at the top, so they climb a lot and grow strong — but not as strong as a tyrannical sea...

“...I ate a peach once. The kid who picked it is gone now. I couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t save those kids in 11 either who were flattened under the walls of their own houses. When you’re a scared kid, you run home.” He looked straight at Effie, and in that moment she felt the weight of so much she didn’t understand.

“...But sometimes home is the least safe place to be. I’m here today to help raise money so the families that survived Cronus can have shelter, fresh water, and food again.”

Caesar was as stunned into silence as the crowd.

Haymitch quickly added from the script that he’d ripped up the night before, “...So they can replant and rebuild through the generosity of the Capitol.” He skipped the ‘Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever’ victory tour-style bullshit.

“And replant and rebuild they shall.” Caesar’s gloom rapidly up-shifted to elation. “...Am I right, folks?!”

The crowd broke into thunderous applause, and the bidding for a picnic with Haymitch began.

“Shit...” Fulvia muttered, “After that speech, he’s going to cost a fortune.”

“Language!” Effie chastised her lightly, “We’re all on the monitors.”

“Well, he will. How much do you have?”

“$5000 plus the money my Nana left me, but I’m hoping to save as much as I can of that for after University.”

“Let’s see if that’s enough.”

Effie pressed her paddle to the side of her skirt. Her hands were shaking. She watched the bidding go back and forth between several individuals, with Caesar raising the amount in $100 increments, as he had with the other victors.

Most of the bidders eventually fell away, and a battle commenced between two women Effie didn’t recognize. Fluvia knew them through her family’s social circle.

“The short one’s divorced. The other is widowed. Her husband died last year of a heart attack while screwing his secretary. Both of their investments are shit right now.”

“Once again, language! ...And thank you for the information.”

“Let them tire each other out, and then jump in.”

When Caesar said, “$4500. Do I hear $4600? No? $4500 going once...” Effie raised her paddle as high as she could reach. Since she was wearing 5 inch heels, her bid couldn’t be missed.

“$4600 it is! Do I hear $4700?...”

The bidding continued between Effie and the widow. Effie selfishly hoped the dead deadbeat husband hadn’t left her with millions in insurance money that Fluvia knew nothing about.

$4800... $4900... $5000... “I am absolutely thrilled! Are you thrilled!?” Caeser chimed in, and the audience cheered again.

Effie refused to be distracted. She didn’t look at the audience or the widow or Fluvia or even Caesar. Just Haymitch. Just those sunken eyes that had seen things she wanted to understand. She didn’t dare glance at his mouth. Patience. Control. She needed to stay on task.

She kept her paddle up now, trying to intimidate the widow, wanting her to think that Effie was bidding with all the money in the world, rather than an allowance from her parents and her personal savings.

The widow took the bid to $5100, but Effie refused to let go. She kept her paddle up, dipping now into the money from her great-grandmother. Nana would approve of this investment, Effie justified. Because this is an investment in ME.

Effie kept her paddle raised as the widow volleyed with her until Effie had the bid at $7000. The widow glared at Effie whose eyes stayed fixed on Haymitch. Fluvia, however, flashed the widow a wry smile and waggled her fingers in a clear message... This girl is with me, Fluvia Cardew, of the multi-millionaire Cardews. We own the banks, honey, and we’re not backing down. You’re wasting your time.

“Do I hear $7100? No? $7000 going once... going twice... and the picnic is sold! Congratulations to the winner! Ms...” Caesar glanced at the monitor which matched her paddle number to her name, “...Effie Trinket!”

Everyone cheered except for the widow, the divorcee, and a handful of earlier competitors. Fluvia embraced Effie, pressing a plump silver-flower-tattooed cheek to Effie’s flushed one. “Holy shit! You did it.”

Effie didn’t bother to chastise this time about language. Her hands were steady now, but the rest of her body was shaking.

***

Haymitch knew he wouldn’t forget the intensity in those blue eyes for as long as he lived. A tyrannical sea was nothing compared to this girl. He shook Caesar’s extended hand and then left the stage to gather with the other chosen victors as the bidding continued for the rest.

“$7000 for lunch with me?” He uttered with incredulity. “Capitol people! That girl isn’t a fool though. She was stoic as fuck. What’s her motivation?”

“She wants more than lunch.” Chaff clapped him on the shoulder and left the pressure of his hand there to emphasize a point. “I saw you two eying each other before you even went on stage. I know she’s hot, man, but she’s jailbait. Maybe she’s technically legal, since she was bidding and all. But if you touch that girl, I guarantee her father will hunt you down for his own picnic, and he’ll hand you your ass on a platter.”

“I wasn’t thinking about touching her. I was thinking about 11 and the goddamn script and peaches...”

Chaff lifted his eyebrows, and Haymitch lowered his voice to confess.

“...And now I’m thinking about eating peaches off her body. Jesus Christ. Did you see her out there?! Who is Effie Trinket?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll find out soon.”

***

Effie had spent her entire life rehearsing the practice of patience and control. She wore those manners as masks while the auction continued and the sun climbed the sky. She didn’t let her guard down, even as the cameras moved on to other bidders and winners. She could credit the heat with flushing her cheeks. No one would notice her shaking, except maybe Fluvia, but her friend wouldn’t make a big deal of it. Effie applauded when the audience applauded. She declared, “Wonderful!” with each sum of money raised.

Inside herself she was a cyclone of insanity with a pounding heart, feeling everything but patience and control.

When the auction was finished, she made her donation through a system of direct withdrawal from her bank account. Sometime between her winning the bid and making payment, her parents had transferred an additional $2000; therefore, she wouldn’t need to dip into her savings today. OF COURSE they did. There would have been nothing more embarrassing for the Trinkets than their daughter coming up short financially in such a public way. Then again, her inheritance from Nana wasn’t a secret, so maybe they simply saw wisdom in Effie’s investment.

When the donation was complete, an official escorted her across the Capitol Park lawn to her picnic. Haymitch was sitting on a shaded blanket with his back against a tree and his legs out straight, crossed at the knees. His pants were rolled half-way up his shins, and his shirt sleeves to his elbows. His tie draped over the back of his neck, the buttons of his vest were unhooked, and his shoes and socks were off.

He watched her approach and didn’t stand up to greet her. This would have miffed Effie if he didn’t look so good sitting there, casual, like with Caesar on stage, as if she was a friend he was waiting for before ordering drinks rather than a stranger who just paid thousands of dollars to have lunch with him.

“You’ve come undone,” she said, as she kneeled across from him on the blanket, just close enough to reach out and touch.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Me undone is not such a pretty sight.”

She mulled over his words, and chose hers carefully, “We’ll see about that.”

She held out her hand, covered from wrist to knuckles in lace gloves woven with golden thread. “I’m Effie.”

Haymitch consided his options. He could shake her hand. He could hold her fingers and kiss her knuckles. Or maybe...

He leaned forward and slipped his fingertips beneath the lace at her wrist and peeled off her glove slowly enough for her to object, but she didn’t.

She liked the way he did it, gently and without asking. His hands were uncaloused. The touch was soft along her skin.

He laid her glove on the blanket between them and captured her hand between both of his. “Haymitch,” he said.

“I...” She could feel her cheeks blazing and made a mental note to wear more layers of makeup in the future to prevent her feelings from being so readily exposed. “...I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “These picnics are being televised. Is your father watching?”

“Possibly. ...Act chivalrous.” She presented her other hand, which he divested of its glove in the same manner as the first.

“I don’t ACT, sweetheart.” He whispered, “Chivalry isn’t what I have in mind when I take off a woman’s clothes.” Shit. He was flirting with this girl, and he MEANT it. She was lighting him up like crazy.

Effie thrilled at the thought of him regarding her as a woman. She had wondered if her youth might prevent him from perceiving her as she was.

“And chivalry isn’t what I’m thinking about when a man takes off my clothes,” she whispered back.

He recognized that despite the differences in their ages, she possibly had more experience with nakedness than he did. He found himself picturing her that way. wondering what shape her breasts would take when not fashioned by the stays of a corset. Would they be soft, like her hands?

“My eyes are up here, Haymitch.”

This girl was bossy beyond her years. Either she was precocious or a bitch or both. He didn’t know yet. Whatever it was, he was amused and turned on, especially after imagining her breasts in his hands. How did this turn personal so quickly? This Effie was a Siren. He would need to be cautious.

“I was just wondering where’s your school uniform?” He teased her, subtly inquiring about her age.

“Burned! I’m attending University.” She was vague about her age with intention.

Too bad, Haymitch thought. He wouldn’t mind seeing her in one of those pleated Academy skirts.

“Thirsty?” The wine was uncorked and chilling in a bucket of melting ice.

Effie nodded, eager to be just a bit drunk with him. Not too much, but enough to let go of a modicum of tight control.

Haymitch had been sober all morning. This girl had been a welcome distraction from craving, but he was salivating now in anticipation of a drink, even if it was just muscadine wine. Stemmed glassware for a picnic was Capitol nonsense. He was tempted to drink straight from the bottle and pass it to her to do the same, but he resisted. He set the goblets on the breadboard and filled them. The wine was the color of crushed plums.

Effie curled her legs to the side and relaxed onto the blanket. She unzipped her boots and slipped them off along with knee-high stockings. “When in Rome...“ she said as Haymitch stared at her bare calves and feet.

“Let’s drink to that.”

She swirled the wine in her glass before clinking his. “And what else did the Romans do — besides picnic in bare feet?” she asked after a sip.

He drank the contents of the goblet in one swallow. He wouldn’t hide who he was, not from this girl or anyone else. “The Romans were into self-indulgence.”

She followed his lead and swallowed half the wine in her glass. “Satisfying one’s desires, pleasures, lusts, and whims without restraint?”

Capitol parties, he thought, wondering if she was old enough yet to take part in that life.

“A lot of that happens here...”

He admired her for being aware of at least that much.

She lowered her voice. “Except in the House of Trinket, where the only *indulgence* encouraged is in perfecting oneself.”

He took another look at her in light of that personal information. Her long blonde hair swooped over her forehead and trailed down her back in immaculate soft curls. Not one hair was out of place, even with misters and fans blowing at a summer picnic.

“Is there much self-indulgence in District 12?” she asked.

Clearly an Academy education didn’t teach much about the real world. “Only in the *House of Abernathy.*” He refilled their goblets and drank more slowly this time.

“Are you mocking me?” she asked straight-up.

His tone had indeed been mocking, and he hadn’t really meant for it to be. He liked this girl, and he wouldn’t judge her for things she’d never seen or heard before.

“I’m mocking my own reality, sweetheart. ...You know how many victors live in 12.”

“Only you...” She didn’t know what that meant for him other than the words sounded lonely. Victors were celebrities here in the Capitol. Maybe it wasn’t like that in the districts. Maybe... “Are you alone?” she asked, “In the *House of Abernathy*...”

What to say to her? She surely didn’t pay all that money to spend an afternoon listening to his sad stories. Though something about her made him want to speak openly in the way he told the cameras about 11. Something about her made him want her to know the truths of the world, while her mind was still supple like her skin.

“I’m not alone today, not here,” was his answer. Evasive, yet true.

She watched his mouth say the words. His lips were lightly stained by the wine. Effie had never wanted to kiss a person so badly in her life. “Haymitch...” She touched him instead, caressing tanned skin and fine hair just beneath the rolled up hem of his pant leg.

She felt so good; he closed his eyes for a moment. Then they shot open. Chaff was right. If he wasn’t careful, this girl would be his downfall. “Effie... the cameras...”

It was the first time she heard him say her name. She smiled and reluctantly withdrew her hand. “Are you hungry?”

That question was safer to answer, but barely. “What’s in the basket?”

Effie took out one item at a time: Steak sandwiches with melted cheese on dark crescent-shaped rolls dotted with seeds, the signature bread from district 11... A warm succotash of corn, shelled green beans, diced potatoes and summer squash, tomatoes, multi-colored sweet peppers and okra... And for dessert an apple pie, plus sliced peaches in a jar full of honey. The latter inspired Haymitch to revisit his daydream from earlier. The honey only added to the fantasy.

This one basket contained more food than an entire family from District 11 or 12 would eat in a week or more. Should he mention that in response to her earlier question about self-indulgence? Maybe later. For now he’d rather be with her in the fantasy.

“A $7000 picnic. Is it what you were hoping for?”

“Let’s taste everything and find out.”

As they ate and drank, their questions for one another grew more intimate.

“I always watch for you among the victors at these events, but I’ve never seen you do this kind of thing before.”

“You watch for me?” He grinned. “HOW LONG have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to know you’ve never done this kind of thing before.”

“I don’t do these kinds of things because I don’t like feeling like livestock... or a hooker.”

Effie gasped. “Haymitch, I wouldn’t! I’ve thought about you a long time. This isn’t a passing fancy. My interest is too marked to pretend I’m not pursuing you. But I’d never expect you to...” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “I didn’t invest that money so you would... fuck me.”

...I want more than that, she didn’t say.

...I’d fuck you in a heartbeat if these cameras and people would disappear, he didn’t say, but he’d decided it this morning the first moment he saw her.

He grazed her pinky with his, liking the idea of her *pursuing* him, whether or not her efforts were misguided. “HOW LONG?” he pressed,

“This feels like confession.”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t a priest. I just want to know you.”

Effie released a long sigh of feelings she’d been holding in forever. “10 years.”

“Shit. Since the Games?! You were just a kid.” You’re still just a kid. ...Only she wasn’t.

“I sat for an hour every day for years as my mother wove pink ribbons into my hair. In the stillness I thought a lot about the boy who separated from his friend in the Games so they wouldn’t have to kill each other — the boy who held her hand so she wouldn’t have to die alone. I watched you grow up in my mind more than anyplace else.”

Her honesty deserved his in response. “That boy is gone. It’s just me now... a man who drinks in order to try to sleep through nightmares — a man who goes to bed alone so I don’t accidentally slit anybody’s throat. ...It may not be what you paid all that money to get to know about me, but it’s the truth.”

Effie was stunned into silence and sympathy. She felt pity for him now, and she didn’t want to. There were some realities she wasn’t quite ready to face. His description wasn’t what she imagined the life of a victor should be.

She wore masks well, but he could see the change in her expression, and he didn’t like it. Pity, especially from a Capitol girl, was the last thing he wanted. But better that than her wasting her life dreaming about somebody who isn’t even real.

“Why DID you come here today? Beyond what you told Caesar.”

“One of those friends I mentioned in 11 — well, the hurricane flattened his hometown. Hundreds of people died, and the survivors have nothing, honey.”

“HUNDREDS of people died?”

“Over a thousand.”

“Why did the news show only crops?”

“That’s for you to figure out. I don’t expect they’re gonna teach you that at University.”

More sympathy crept over Effie. She was overwhelmed and started shivering like during the bidding.

Haymitch wasn’t sure what to offer her. She was so close to still being a kid herself. But with the face and body and guts of a goddess.

“Do you want to get out from under these misters and walk down to the water? We could pack the food away and eat more later. If we just have this one day...” He didn’t finish the thought. This day was hers. He’d let her fill it in anyway she wanted.

“We’ll have more than this one day. Every fiber in my being tells me we will.”

There was no point in arguing with so much gumption. He stood up and held out his hand. She grasped it, and he pulled her up. They walked barefoot through the grass, then ran across the beach to the water’s edge where the damp sand cooled the soles of their feet.

The lake lapped at Effie’s toes and she scribbled in the sand with one. How many times in adolescence had she come to this spot and written “Effie Abernathy” over and over again, dotting each “i” with a heart? Had she been a fool?

“There’s a lake near 12. It’s a secret spot. My brother and I used to sneak there as kids and swim naked so we wouldn’t have to hike back home in wet clothes.”

Now she was picturing Haymitch naked. And wanting him naked, regardless of his drinking and nightmares and sleeping with knives — and regardless of what she said she didn’t expect from him. She’d been with boys, plenty of boys, but he was a man, and she was so curious about the way he would fill her.

Effie cleared her throat of unspoken longing and pedaled backward in the conversation. “You have a brother...”

“I had a brother then. ...He died a couple of weeks after the Quarter Quell.”

She brushed her fingers against his, wishing she could offer more, but the cameras were on them. “I’m sorry,” she said in reference to everything.

“It was a long time ago.”

“You must miss him.”

Haymitch nodded. “He’s more free dead than alive. It’s a small comfort.”

Effie wanted to understand. She just didn’t.

“My great-grandmother died too shortly after your Games...”

District 12 is in your future, dear, Nana had said. And that boy is an important part of it. Effie dwelled a moment in silent memory before confessing more.

“...She told me you’d be in my future.”

Haymitch had no faith in fortune telling wishes and dreams. He usually flipped people off who tried to tell him how the future would be. The shit he’d been through was unfathomable. How could anyone predict anything but more horror.

“That said, Nana was a bit eccentric in the end.” Effie smiled wistfully.

“You still miss her...”

“Every day. Unconditional love is a rare gift.”

“Do you think her *prediction* was just eccentricity?”

“It was a long time ago, but I remember how certain she was.”

“How can anyone be certain about anything in this world?”

Effie considered his question. “Did you know I would win the bid today?”

Haymitch thought of that drawn out moment with her eyes on him and her paddle in the air. “Yes.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw it in your eyes... Determination, and this... wild control.”

“Maybe that’s how my Nana knew.”

“She saw our future in your eyes?”

He said ‘our future’ like it was almost fated. Maybe it was a slip, but Effie wouldn’t ignore it.

“I didn’t ask her. And then it was too late to ask her.”

She gazed down at the sand, and the tips of her long purple eyelashes touched her cheeks. They were the same color as her skirt which loosely hugged her curves then flared at mid-thigh. The hem brushed her knees as she moved. She reminded him of the violets that bloom in 12 after the snow melts. Birdfoot Violets his mother used to call them. He smiled at the name, watching Effie’s toes curl in the sand.

When she looked up at him, her eyes reflected the water, the sky, and intensities of her own. Haymitch had never wanted to kiss a person so badly in his life.

“Later, when these cameras are gone, do you want to go somewhere together?” she asked.

“Cameras are never gone. They’re always watching, even when you least expect them to be. He recalled Greasy Sae’s warning, “You’d better be careful. They can still find ways to hurt you.”

He’d been so preoccupied with thinking that Effie might be his downfall that he hadn’t considered the possibility that he could be HER downfall. Intensity crashed over him in waves. He hadn’t expected to feel any of this. Yet here it was.

Effie picked up a stick and started writing in the damp sand. To anyone at a distance it would look like play. ‘Cameras aren’t watching quite everywhere.’

He erased her note with his foot then took the stick and wrote, ‘Where would we go?’

Her turn to erase and write. ‘I know a bar. It’s just dark enough...’

‘When?’ He wrote.

‘Tonight?” ...She hesitated, then dotted the ‘i’ with a heart.

“You’re so young,” he said aloud, “You have your whole future ahead of you. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“I hold my own. No one’s going to hurt me. ...Not even you, honey.”

He wanted to believe her. He erased the letters, leaving the heart for an instant, then brushed that away too. The word stuck in his throat. He could either swallow it or say it out loud.

“Tonight,” he whispered, “...And bring the jar of peaches — in case this afternoon isn’t enough.”

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