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clementinesjourney · 3 years

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It's a men's world - Pt 1. The Urban Legend

A.N.: Hey guys! Sorry for making all my series so short. I promise i'll try to make this one a little longer. Asks, submissions and inbox are always open, i'd be happy to chat with y'all. Feedback is much appreciated wether it be good or bad. <3

Pairing: mob!Bucky x mob!reader

Words: 2,8k

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, human-trafficking, drugs, weapons, cigarettes and alcohol. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: You were the most famous Donna of the US, also more of a legend between families. Nobody really ever saw you, but you controlled most of the arms-dealing, and drug circles, cars. You were also working with the goverment which meant basically freedom for you and your family, helping shutting down human-trafficking circles. That is how you first found yourself in the secret den of the Barnes family, and it's new don the White wolf.

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It was just about 6 months since Bucky took over the family as the new Don after his father's passing. Somewhere deep inside he loved his father, but also despised him as their family's main source of income was human-trafficking. Mostly girls took from the streets and parks, brought to the US in ships. Whoever made it through the sea alive was eaten up by the members of other families. As much as he hated this kind of line of work, he had no other chance then to take over after his father died. He made plans to stop the human-trafficking, however the other families made that very clear that he had no other source of income as they made sure his family couldnt sell weapons or cars, and only a tiny amount of drugs, which of course wouldn't be enough for a living. So with a bitterness in his heart, he continued the work his father started. His right hand was Steve a veteran, also his best friend, and Sam. Seeing the countless women's faces in his dreams he hardly ever dated, not speaking of the dangers it would've meant to be a Donna of the Barnes family. He was currently in the only base the police or the other families had never been able to find. In the middle of the forest, near the ocean from the west.

-Did you heard Buck? The Blood Countess is after human-trafficking now. What should we do about it?

-The Blood Countess is merely the maffia's very own urban legend Sam.. - laughed Bucky, sipping his whiskey. -She's very much welcome in my bed though if any of the legend is true.

-Maybe she's like 60, didn't know you're into grannies now Buck - chuckled Steve from the couch opposite to the armchair Bucky was sitting in.

Only they didn't now that the so called Blood Countess was very much real, and very much hearing every single word they had said, thanks to the mic one of your men were able to plant on the phone of Steve while you flirted with him, him being oblivious to the fact that you were that exact urban legend in the flesh.

It was almost too easy to find them, as you started to think all the other families and the whole government was incapable of doing any work.

They called you the Blood Countess since you took over. You were kidnapped, shipped to the US and sold to a man, who you were oh so lucky with. He bought girls, just so he could save them from the fate that way too many was lost for. He was more like a generous, loving grandfather, who never laid hands on the women he bought. He thought them self-defence, martial arts, etiquette.. all that jazz. He saw the potential, and he never had an heir as per se, so on his deathbed, he changed his will, making you the heiress of his empire, the Donna of the most influental family in the US and probably the world, the Carter family. You managed to get the title the Blood Countess after an old legend of a Countess in middle Europe, who took in all the noble daugthers in the name of teaching them proper court etiquette, then allegedly killing them and bathing in their blood, effectively keeping herself young for hundreds of years. The only real difference was that you didn't kill women. You killed those who sold them, who kidnapped them, who used them as they pleased. You were rather a guardian angel of the women, then a merciless countess... You were deadly, but noone ever saw you, who did, mostly ended up dead, so he wasnt able to tell anyone about you. Most they managed to say with their dying breath was The Blood Countess. Your next target was the Barnes family. It made you laugh how easy it was to get intel on them. It was even more easy to plant microphones on their members. A drink, your dress sliding up your thighs, not showing the countless knifes that you had clasped around them. A few sweet words, and they were ready to give you whatever information they wanted. The perks of being an urban legend you thought. Noone could ever imagine a sweet, slender, pretty little thing like you being the most feared Donna in the world. And that is exactly what made your job this easy. Of course you had a swarm of armed men around you most of the times, but you enjoyed being in the middle of it all, you always took your fair share of the figths. You were just as deadly as your legend stated.

You spent the next few months listening into every little conversation Steve had, you heard all the details of shipments, succesfully busting them, rescuing the women, who you still could, and killing the men who assaulted them, used them, or even just raise a hand on any part of them. You only left the innocent alive. After the 5th shipment busted Bucky was fuming in his office. Throwing his crystal whiskey glass to the door, shattering loudly, shouting at Sam and Steve in anger.

-STEVE YOU'RE GONNA GO AN MAKE SURE THURSDAYS SHIPMENT COME THROUGH. AND IT BETTER DO OR SO HELP ME GOD....

You couldn't help but smirk. He was furious, which meant more and more mistakes, more and more holes in the system, making it easier for you by the minute to get to him. An hour later, you were still in your office in the fmaily villa, when you got a notification of a phonecall Steve had made.

-Sorry to shout at you man. I just can't help it. It is slipping out of my fingers. I have to do the line of business which i never wanted, which took my sister from me, yet i need to get a certain source of income to keep my men alive. I wish i could just... i don't know do business with drugs, or weapons, hell even cars or estates... just not this. You know how their faces are haunting me every fucking night... I really just wish the Countess would come for us and just end it.

-Don't even say that man. She's jsut an urban legend anyway, Sam is currently having a business meeting with the Stark family, it is a high possibility they will let us deal with weapons soon..

You just sat there. If this was true, you didn't have to hurt his handsome face at all. All you had to do is give him opportunity to finish the trafficking, and still be able to give fair wages to his men. It was just almost too easy. With your power, you would be able to make the White wolf, the biggest arms-dealer of the US with a snap of your fingers.

-RUMLOW - you shouted for the head of your security to come in.

-Yes Donna?

-Prepare my car, and arm up 12 men just for the ..... safety. - you smirked at him, rolling your eyes. You knew you could take out his whole family, if you wanted, but you also knew he would never let you out to enemy territory without basically an army.

In 20 minutes you were walking in your black heels and black skinthight dress to your car. You had black stockings with lace pieces hugging your thighs high up. You had knives attached to your thighs, ankles, even had a pistol in your handbag for good measure, however you knew you wouldn't need to use it.

You arrived to the secret Barnes mansion in about two hours, you left your men in reasonable distance not to stir the enemy up. Since you were the prettiest woman they ever saw, somehow noone questioned who were you and why were you in the middle of nowhere, thinking their boss finally taken a woman. You drove up to the etrance, and left your car, banging it's door loudly, as you lit a cigarette and headed towards the etrance, armed men whistling at you from every side as you seductively swayed your hips till you reached the door. A man opened the front door for you, and you lifted a finger to to trace his jawline, making him shift anxiously. - Thank you darling. - as you walked further to the mansion.

You visited a lot of mansions while doing your work, so it was fairly easy to find the office of the Don.

You didn't knock. You have found Steve, Sam, and the White wolf talking over their whiskeys.

-Hello boys.. - you said seductively, earning smirks from them, except for Bucky, who had a frown on his handsome face. Steve didn't recognize you as you were wearing a black wig at the time you planted the bug on his phone.

-Who on earth let you in? I gave strict orders not to let any whores in... - he said, frown deepening, eyes not leaving you.

-Oh why why, i'm not a whore darling.. My little birds chirped you know.... - you said, as you slowly walked around him, putting your hands on his chest, as you leaned in to whisper in his ear.. - didn't you want the Blood Countess to pay you a visit?

His eyes widened, Sam and Steve stood up, pointing their guns at you, while you just chuckled, removing your hands with a caress, taking the whiskey from his hand, sipping it as you walked through the office.

-There's no need for those boys. I'm not here to kill your handsome little Don, in fact i came to do business..

-I don't want to do business with you. - he said cockily, while two guns were still pointed at you.

-Oh that is really sad, i have men waiting for my little signal, eharing every word we say. I would very much consider hearing me out.. - you said, as you throw back the remaining whiskey in the glass, putting it on his desk, lightly running your hand up the slit of your dress while they watch you echanted. They in a blink of an eye you throw a knife just beside Steve's face, succesfully hitting the middle of the painting behind him.

-I also said there's no need for those, if i'd come to kill any of you, you would be long dead.

-Lower the guns boys, we'll talk. - he said nodding at them, with the smallest smirk. - privately..

They knew this was their cue to leave. After they closed the door dumbfounded by your skills, you slowly walked over, pouring yourself and Bucky another whiskey, handing it to him, before sitting down in the armchair opposite to Bucky, putting your leg over the other effectively your leg as the slit in your dress drove higher, revealing the lace and at least three knives.

- So Mr. Barnes... you see, i'm not too keen on killing men who might be more innocent than they seem, even so if they are this handsome. Little birds chirp much.. I'm willing to give you the possibility to became a dealer of estates and weaponry, if you put a stop to human trafficking, and hand over thursdays little shipment to Fury. I guarantee none of your coping men will suffer any grivences if you hand the girls over..

-You don't really beat around the bush do you? - he asked as he sipped the whiskey.

-I know what i want, and i don't have time for playing.

-I can see that.. what's in it for you?

-Saving the poor women, giving them a chance to live, to go back to their families. A chance i didn't have back then. That is more than enough, and i certainly have enough businesses that i won't miss a slice of it if it means your family won't be in the human trafficking business anymore. I also happen to know that you wish to quit it anyways. So here is your chance to do so, the most powerful Donna giving you her blessings eith this one tiny condition.. The coice is yours Mr. Barnes.. - you said as you got up, and took your knife out of the painting on the wall, heading for the door.

-How will i find you if i have my answer?

-I will come when needed. - you shoot a wink, then put your empty glass in Sam's hand, leaving the mansion ever so confidently.

After driving out of the mansion you informed Rumlow that you are leaving, and they are to keep a close eye on anyone leaving this mansion.

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Bucky saw your retreating form from the balcony of his office, slowly puffing on his cigarette.

-She's something else boss..

-That she is.. - he said, slowly sipping of the whiskey you poured for him.

-Steve, you'll be leading the handover of thursday's shipment.

-What? You're giving away our only source of income just like that?

-All my men will get to come back safely, and we'll get to do business with the Countess's blessing. We are not gonna do this anymore. I can finally step out of my father's haunting shadow.

-Is this what it is about? A fcking legacy you are talking about, YOUR father's legacy. And you are throwing it away cause a pretty dame walked into your offica and asked nicely?

Bucky turned to Steve, one hand catching his collar thightly, bringing him down until their nose touched, jaw's clenching in ager.

-Don't you fucking dare to defy my orders Steve. Remember your place. You may be my best friend since i was a kid, but even you can't stand in the way of leaving the human trafficking business behind..

Steve scoffed and left, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang, as Bucky continued to stare into the night.

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Thursday came fast enough, and just as you hoped, the shipment is given to Fury's men, down to the very last woman there was.

-How did you managed to pull this off? - he asked you over the phone.

-I know what i want and i have my ways of getting it. - was the only thing you said before ending the call. You gathered papers of estated you wanted to sell, along with the few others for the Barnes family to sell, as well as a big truck of weaponry. You arrived at the estate with Bucky's men fully on edge, since there was a huge truck driving behind you. Their touched their intercoms, signalling you that you are expected. You drove up to the etrance, the truck parking behind you, driver remaining in his seat as you headed straight towards the office.

-Do you never knock Miss Carter?

-It is a habit of the weak Mr. Barnes. - you said with a smile, putting the papers in front of him, on his desk.

-These are 100 estates for you family to deal with, as per our agreement, and the truck down there contains weaponry worth over 5 million.

-Happy to do business with you, Countess.

-Oh please, call me (y/n). - you say as you pour a glass of whiskey, then go out to the balcony, lighting a cigarette.

Bucky stoods beside you in silence. You sense his eyes on you, yet he didn't asks what he wants to.

-You can ask your question.

-What happened?

-The same as always. Black van with armed men, chloroform, waking up in a ship with thousands of others, tied up. If you as much as whispered you were beaten up, or worse. After days, and seeing many torture, we were blindfolded, and taken somewhere. It was this mansion, we were roughly bathed, given new underwear and nothing else, then sold to whoever bid the highest. I saw the looks of them, they haunt me to this day, most of the girls didn't survive a week. I was lucky enough to be bought by Lawrence Carter, who gave me another chance at life. I became one of his most trusted assasins in no time, dealing with the businesses he had. He named me his heiress, and new Donna of the Carter family.

You shot down the rest of your whiskey, putting out the cigarette as you finished.

- Our deal only lives while you do not do human trafficking. - You said, as you gave a small kiss on his right cheek, lingering a second longer, drinking in his scent, putting a little note in his pocket, which he didn't even detect, taken aback by your closeness. Then you left without a word.

That night he found himself silently promising to the stars that he will keep his promise to the strongest woman ever to live.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #mob!bucky

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

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paradiso - part one

Pairing: young!Javier x fem!reader

Part ONE (of 5)

Rating: Teen

Summary: This will be a 5+1, short but sweet fic about you and Javi. He's an American student and you're an Italian heiress - your love is young, fun, and bittersweet. Lots of romance and fluff ahead.

Warnings: Smoking, tooth-rotting fluff, mention of alcohol

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: I needed something to distract me from finals week, so you all get this. :) I saw a tiktok about Pedro in like an old-money Italian aesthetic and the idea of it just would not leave me alone! Very much my ideal romance situation tbh. Anyways enjoy, the next part is partly written but no promises on when it'll be up. As always, no use of Y/N and please do lmk what you think! :)

The first time you kissed him, you could taste the champagne he’d had earlier that night. Not enough to get drunk, or even really buzzed, but enough to leave his lips and tongue flavorful under your own.

His strong hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, fingers steady over the thin fabric of your dress. Javi held you like this often - from lunches on your parents’ boat to strolling casually through the piazza, he had definitely adopted the Italian tendency to show public affection through touch. All your male friends here do it, but with him it’s different.

Javi is so very different.

Tonight he looks even more like a dashing prince than usual. His dark hair is perfectly messy and his white shirt is unbuttoned just enough, his leather shoes shiny and understated. You’d smiled when you noticed his shoes - they’re the first nice pair he’d been able to afford while living here.

You met him four months ago, when spring was ending and summer soon approaching. He arrived early for his studies abroad, an American political sciences major in the heart of Florence.

Hardly a penny to his name, on a meal plan and receiving a generous scholarship or two, Javi had no business flirting with you. He did it anyway, and you found yourself charmed by his roguish smile and kind eyes. He paid for your gelato, like a typical American gentleman would, and bought some of his own. He ordered the same flavors as you. He hasn’t tried anything different since.

As you kiss him, the sea wind sweeps over the two of you on the secluded terrace where you stand, causing goosebumps to flutter over your skin. You shiver, pressing closer to Javi’s warmth.

He breaks the kiss, looking down at you with a concerned crease between his brows.

“You cold?” he asks, voice rough and deep in a way you don't recognize.

You can’t help but smile at him. He’s so handsome, looking at you like this. Holding you close. “Only a little. You’re warm enough for both of us.”

“This dress,” he murmurs, eyes flitting down to look at your lips. His fingers toy with your dress’s low backline where his hand rests beneath your shoulder blades. “No wonder you’re chilly.”

When your parents first met Javi, they were skeptical. They thought he was taking advantage of you, that he’d insert himself into your life for your wealth and your name.

He’d spent the past four months convincing them otherwise. Now your mother loves him and your father smiles at his jokes, which is something that can’t be said for many people. You can count on one hand the number of people who have made your father laugh, and Javi’s one of them.

He wants to join the FBI, or the CIA. One of the two, you could never get the acronyms straight. He told you about how there’s rigorous training, both physical and professional, to even be considered. Javi keeps himself in good shape for this reason, though your cook’s fine meals have added a bit of softness to his midsection. He complains about it, but you secretly love it. He’s so strong and disciplined that it’s lovely to see just a hint of vice in his features.

You run a hand up his bicep, feeling the muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his shirt.

“Do you like it?” you ask demurely. You bought the dress last week with the express purpose of looking good for him.

Javi takes his hand from your hip and places it on your cheek, his touch tender and gentle.

“You always look beautiful. Especially tonight.”

The party’s for one of your friends from school. She’s moving to the UK to continue her studies and this is her last big hurrah. You’d been invited, with the option for a plus-one, and Javi was the obvious choice.

You’d felt the gazes of the girls in attendance on you and Javi when you both arrived. He’s a few years older than you are, but you know they’re looking because they’ve never seen him before. He’s not part of the rotation of wealthy Florentine boys they all seem to cycle through like clockwork. He’s a stranger, and most importantly, he’s got you on his arm.

The music plays in the distance. Voices float up through the evening air, laughing and exuberant.

You lean into his touch, eyes closing against the comfort you feel with your cheek in his palm.

This must be what heaven feels like.

Javi had taken it slow with you. He earned your friendship before anything else, chatting with you about life and TV and his favorite sports teams back home. He told you about Texas, though when you expressed a desire to visit his hometown, he’d scoffed, calling the place a ‘shithole’.

You still want to visit, someday. Shithole or not.

Perhaps your friendship was the reason things did not progress very quickly between you. You knew he found you attractive and you most definitely felt the same, but for the longest time it just didn’t feel right to try and move things along.

There’d be moments, however, when you wished so desperately that he was yours it almost physically hurt.

One such moment was late one afternoon, on the deck of your family boat. You’d gotten out of the water first and you stood there, watching, as he emerged from the waves in his short swim trunks, the synthetic material clinging to his body ever so perfectly.

You’d seen the outline of… well. You’d seen the outline of something big, something that made you blush and look away, distracting yourself with drying your hair.

Another of these moments was an unremarkable Friday morning spent in one of your favorite bookshops, not too far from Javi's student apartment. You'd been browsing the shelves as he stood outside to smoke. Before long, you found a few paperbacks that looked interesting, and you paid for them with a kind smile to the elderly gentleman working at the register.

You'd exited with a "grazie!" and that's when you'd noticed Javi was speaking to someone, eyes bright and posture relaxed as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

He smiled at you the moment you exited the shop, and as you walked over, you listened to their conversation.

Javi was speaking to the stranger in Spanish. You recognized the sound of it, but could not understand it, having learned English and French and Arabic in your youth.

The other man, older with a salt-and-pepper beard, glanced over to you and then back at Javi. You stood beside your friend, books tucked safely under your arm.

"¿Esta es tu novia, Javier?"

The words caused Javi to blush, but he covered it by taking a drag from his cigarette.

"No, aún no. Algún día pronto."

It was the first time you'd heard him speak Spanish. The words rolled off his tongue with such ease that you couldn't help but glance up at him, intrigued by this new lilt to his voice. You wanted to hear more of it.

Javi snaked his hand around your back to your hip, fingers tucking into the belt loops on your jeans, and he pulled you into his side. You went easily, the motion a familiar one.

But something about hearing him converse in his first language, combined with the feeling of his firm hand on your hip, made something inside your heart shift. It was a small moment, miniscule in the grand order of things. It meant so very much to you.

Javi’s compliment makes you smile softly, his gaze full of such tenderness that it makes your heart ache. You put a hand on his chest, your cool palm a stark contrast to his furnace of a pectoral.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Peña.”

He chuckles, smiling, his breath a short burst across your face that makes your hair flutter.

Javi's always been good at avoiding praise. "I look the same as always, hermosa."

You run a hand up his shoulder and neck to tangle in his dark curls, warm at the base of his skull. He smells like the cologne you'd helped him pick out - something from a small shop he'd never have found on his own, something woody and deep and fragrant. It was mostly selfish, that shopping trip, because all it makes you want to do is bury your nose in the collar of his shirt where the aroma is strongest. You think you could breathe in that scent for the rest of your life and never get tired of it.

"Exactly," you murmur, glancing over his shoulder at the glittering coastline and then back up to him. "You always look handsome."

It's impossible for him to hide his blush this close. "Yeah?" he asks, like he doesn't believe you. Like he wants to hear you say it again.

"Yes. Even when you wear those ugly sports shirts.”

He makes a face like he’s offended, and you laugh. “Hey, you can never go wrong with a Cowboys jersey.”

You smile and lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It seems as though now that you’ve started, you’re trying to make up for all the times you haven’t kissed him.

Javi goes quiet, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You decide to open your heart just a bit more to him - it must be in the air, because something about the night is making your want of him that much stronger.

“I thought you were handsome the moment I saw you in the gelato shop," you tell him, thinking back on that day.

Usually Americans tended to annoy you, never conscious of local etiquette and manners, always too loud and disruptive - but Javi was so sweet. His brown eyes had glimmered at you like jewels, his lips quirked in a smile that gave life to a thousand butterflies in your stomach.

He'd sat with you for over an hour, listening to you like he'd known you your whole life. The warm sun gave his skin a glow that you remember clearly to this day. Long after you both had finished your food, he was there, as if he had all the time in the world for you.

Javi presses another soft kiss to your lips, slow and mesmerizing, before drawing back again.

"You looked so beautiful," he murmurs, nose brushing against yours. "I never thought you'd give me the time of day."

You can't help but smile. "I knew I'd regret it if I didn't."

It feels like the two of you are on that balcony for the whole of the evening, the blissful joy of finally admitting your feelings - and having them reflected like a mirror in him - taking precedence over all the celebrating going on below you.

Eventually, however, you must return. You walk back to the crowd and one of your good friends gives you a look like she knows exactly where you just were. A blush rises to your cheeks, but when Javi loops a casual, more-than-friendly arm around your waist, you find you don't care all that much about what your friends think.

#javier pena x reader #female reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfic #kingofkingdom

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johannas-motivational-insults · 4 years

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Class Dynamics in MFS 1x05

One thing I have found fascinating in Motherland: Fort Salem so far is the way classism is woven into the world, the High Atlantics vs. the shit birds and the various attitudes they carry. It’s very evident in the first episode and continues to be a theme throughout the season, but it’s most pronounced in 1x05 “Bellweather Season.” That episode takes place in a different environment than the rest, on Abigail’s home turf as she tries to wrangle her unit into being impressive to the dean of war college.

It’s honestly kind of hilarious that Abigail didn’t realize before this episode that she was going to get into war college on name alone. It was pretty obvious to Raelle, who is Abigail’s foil in terms of being poor, rural, and from an undistinguished matriline. Watching Raelle this episode was really interesting. Before they even leave the fort Abigail manages to piss her off by saying this is their chance to impress the community that matters. Which, like, yikes. I know what she meant, obviously she was referring to the people who can help them get ahead, but with all the very obvious classism she has already displayed it’s no wonder this only served to piss Raelle off. I don’t blame her for pointing out that none of those high-class people are going to be interested in conversing with her and then threatening to go off on Petra (Abigail’s mom) about how the “peasants” are getting primed to be war meat (something she actually gets close to doing).

Watching Abigail’s reactions to everything going “wrong” once they get to the event is both funny and painful. Because while her obsession with everything being perfect is annoying, it’s also stressful to watch because she has reason to be upset. It’s super important to remember is how crucial appearances are in upper class culture, including the High Atlantics. Every time the others act in a way that is unexpected we see her getting more and more frustrated and humiliated because her squad is not acting the way she wants them to. She sees this as them being uncooperative when really they are just totally unfamilar with High Atlantic customs.

That’s something we see in this episode again and again, Abigail and Petra struggling to keep up appearances while getting annoyed at the antics of the lower class shit birds. Really, it’s not like Tally and Raelle and Scylla are doing anything wrong, aside from Scylla’s whole party crashing thing. They’re just chatting and enjoying the alcohol and fancy food they’ve probably never had a chance to eat before, but they’re shirking the etiquette that Abigail is so familiar with and making her look bad. And they don’t even realize it, because how are they supposed to know how to act? Aren’t parties supposed to be fun? (Clearly not; in upper class society parties are just one more social maneuver where your behavior has to be perfect and fun is strictly out of the question.)

One great moment that contrasts the two viewpoints is when Tally sees Gerit and asks her squadmates whether or not she should go say hi. We get Raelle’s casual yet emphatic “Yeah!” and Abigail’s stressed out “No!” And Raelle at first thinks Abigail is just being hoity-toity and controlling again, but this time it’s not just about appearances. Knowing High Atlantic customs, Abigail realizes that Gerit’s sash means he’s off-limits, but Tally has no idea and runs over and starts blatantly flirting with him in public, which is humiliating for all of them (especially Tally) in retrospect.

Another scene that I really like and is a great microcosm of the class dynamics in this universe is the scene where Raelle confronts Petra. It’s really layered and both characters’ motivations come through, even if Petra has in general been presented as less sympathetic to the audience.

So, look. Raelle barging in in the middle of a conversation between Petra and some of her other older family members is a huge social faux pas, especially in a culture so set on keeping up appearances and not allowing for any sort of mess. I also don’t blame her one bit. Petra’s talking about the importance of family and that sounds super hypocritical to a young woman who has lost her mother to combat and father to conscription.

If you look at this interaction in terms of scene study, they both kind of “lose” the scene. Raelle loses more if you are evaluating in terms of power shifts, but it doesn’t turn out great for Petra either in that she ends up feeling guilty and barely manages to save face in a potentially disasterous situation. The way Petra reacts, though, is very interesting when you dissect it from both points of view. She barely even lets Raelle get started before cutting her off and talking over her. She responds with platitudes, things that are kind to say but also sound very scripted, regardless of how true they are. She tries to relate to and soothe Raelle’s grief by saying she wishes her mother could be there and giving her a hug.

From Raelle’s point of view, this was just her getting shut down again by the elitists. It confirmed her expectation that no one from that culture would listen to anything she has to say. Also, her motivation in confronting Petra was to express her grief and get some answers about how this tragedy in her life came to happen, why her mother was ripped away from her. Raelle needed answers and genuine acknowledgement of her pain, not platitudes, even if they were heartfelt. And Petra just saying what she did and hugging her did nothing but make her feel talked over and unacknowledged, again.

From Petra’s point of view, however, she was playing damage control for both her and Raelle. In her mind she was doing Raelle a favor by cutting her off before she could say anything too inflammatory and get herself into trouble. This kid was clearly not sober and behaving disgracefully for that environment (and according to military protocol) and Petra combatted this by responding gracefully. She could have shut Raelle down in much worse ways, pulling rank and punishing her for her outburst, but instead she responded with compassion. Obviously she was also saving face for herself by shutting Raelle down before she could put her on blast in front of her whole family, but it’s more complicated than that. And when Petra was hugging Raelle and again after Raelle ran off, she looked pretty troubled and guilty for a moment before pulling that mask back on.

I am always more inclined to side with the poor characters in these situations, seeing as that’s my background, and I really like how Motherland balances illuminating the privilege of the High Atlantics with illuminating their motivations. Even if Abigail’s classism and blind privilege is annoying, we see her frustrations coming from a genuine place of trying to help her unit but simply not understanding their experiences and perspectives. The Bellweathers are more than just cardboard cutouts of rich people, and I appreciate that. This show actually makes me empathize with and care about all the characters, and that’s a pretty impressive feat.

#motherland fort salem #1x05 bellweather season #classism #class dynamics #meta #raelle collar #abigail bellweather #tally craven #scylla ramshorn #petra bellweather #screenshots #oh boy i'm writing meta i'm deep in this show now #motherland: fort salem

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 122: The Centaur and the Sneak

At first they all thought they landed outside again, which would have been a welcome relief considering the last time they'd been in open air it had not been a good night. This little clearing was dappled with light, the tree canopy just enough shade for them all to breath in the fresh air dancing about, the floor was soft spring grass that was at least a more tolerable landing than most places.

Peter knew better first though, as he seemed to have knocked over a wastepaper bin. Sirius had landed upside down against a stump, so he spotted a door for what it was instead of an oddly shaped bit of wood through a gap in the trees, and went over to pull it curiously, though it refused to open.

"Guess we're in Firenze's classroom," James said excitedly, twisting this way and that in the light, it really had been too long since they'd just lounged out by the lake. Even the last bit of fresh air they'd really had without having to worry about Moony had been a miserable time up in the owlery.

He waited only a moment more to appraise Evans one last time, but she was brushing furiously at her face and trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, and he could respect that. He summoned the book to him, and declared the chapter title.

Remus gave a slow, sarcastic clap at how proud he seemed of himself. "Congratulations Prongs, even Sirius could have made that leap in logic."

"I think calling it a leap is too kind," Peter grinned, "more like a hop."

Regulus busted out laughing in surprise, and he wasn't the only one. James and Sirius exchanged a fond smile as even Alice and Longbottom got a snicker at their expense, only Evans seemed to be trying to repress her smile, and she really wasn't trying that hard.

"I do wonder who the sneak will be though," Sirius said loudly with an exaggerated eyeroll for his 'hurt' feelings. "Maybe Harry? He can be pretty sneaky when he likes."

"You've won the last two bets, I'm certainly not going against you," Peter raised his hands up in surrender.

"A miracle in itself really, your luck must be changing for the better Padfoot," Remus grinned.

"I've got all the luck I need Moony," Sirius proudly declared.

James didn't even want to start reading as he watched, the book held loosely in one hand as he lazed back against a tree. He could have thrown himself to the ground and closed his eyes, and it really would be like none of this had even happened, they were all just laughing and ribbing at each other like old times.

Then Regulus came over and asked Peter for one of those sandwiches, and Sirius got that shifty look back in place and retreated slightly. It was better than him going and picking a fight like James would have thought he'd do by now, so even he couldn't deny things really were changing.

Someone finally cleared their throat impatiently, and he sighed deeply and sheepishly went back to the book, mostly aware there wasn't a real bathroom in here so he couldn't pretend this would go on forever.

It only took a quick conversation from Parvati and Lavender before Harry was being brought in here, and the place was pointlessly described again, but he read about Firenze with honest curiosity. Of the few centaurs they'd bothered to talk to in the forest, it was never very long, let alone getting on a first name basis with them.

"I was shocked there even were centaurs in the Forbidden Forest," Longbottom said casually enough. Not so loud as if he expected everyone to listen, but not quietly either, just chatting with Alice. "This really does sound unprecedented. I've read about them, and it's so rare for them to talk to humans really, let alone what's now going on at Hogwarts."

"I think we've all had more than enough of what he's read," Sirius huffed behind him, grabbing Remus' wrist and pulling him to the back of the classroom nearly out of sight. He knew he shouldn't now, but this wasn't an impulse he'd try to stop even when James did know, and it's not like he was going to have that conversation here. It could only be a good thing to keep Moony out of a fight as well, and otherwise distracted, he assured himself.*

James sighed in exhaustion but let the two leave, it probably was best to put some distance there, even if Longbottom actually looked apologetic for a moment. That was new at least, but clearly their plan to seem more approachable to the others was at least going to be put on hold, if not trashed all together, considering recent events.

The lesson itself wasn't really that interesting, the same nonsense Trelawney had been going on about, but now even Firenze was instructing that this was all theoretical and unpredictable. At least he was honest about his hogwash.

Sirius seemed to at least like the idea though and had to jump nearly twice his height, but finally caught a low hanging branch, and when he came down with it, they were now all glinting in starlight instead.

James made a chuffed noise at the idiot and repositioned to get the book in some better light so he could keep going.

The end of the class came with some sort of new details on Hagrid's issue this year, and he'd saved this centaur from his own heard in the meantime. He sighed and glanced back, but Sirius and Remus were now completely hidden in shadows, and Peter and Regulus were having their own whispered conversation about Hagrid's newest 'attempt.'

He could have joined them, it's not like there was anything really stopping him, just the odd idea in general of talking to Sirius' little brother. He hadn't even known the kid existed until his sorting, and Sirius had not spoken a word about him sense. James had some questions about him, but none he could bring himself asking of either, especially not now. He chanced a glance at Evans again, but she was clearly still in no mood to talk to anyone. She'd sat herself in a patch of sun, but even now that it was stars shining down she just kept fidgeting with her hair, her knees still to her chest. At least it hid her red rimmed eyes better.

When he tried to keep going and talk just turned to OWL's, he pushed away his misgivings. This was just getting ridiculous, and James Potter did not mope. He strode over and plopped himself down beside the two as Peter was saying, "and it was this gray centaur with a beard as long as Dumbledore's, and we'd caught him at a bad time cleaning his hooves so he was really short with us and-"

"That's the centaur story you went with?" James scoffed at him. "How about the time we saw this pinto one that must have been out hunting, and when he spotted Moony, he shot an arrow at him; and I do mean Moony. So he growls a warning and rears up right, all eight feet of him, and-"

"Excuse you," Regulus scowled. "It's sort of rude to be interrupting one story with another, isn't it?"

James scowled right back. "You'd know all about etiquette."

Peter cleared his throat softly and gave James a beseeching look, and he huffed. He didn't understand why Peter was clearly trying to hide a smile, maybe Sirius' little brothers idiocies was rubbing off on him. "It was a boring story," he added petulantly. He'd never gotten to tell any werewolf stories before, and this one involved both, why should Peter get all the fun?

He didn't want to pick another fight with Wormtail though, especially not over something so stupid, so took his obvious hint of eyeing the book and kept going.

At least their coming OWL's weren't forced into his consciousness long, as instead talk turned to Dumbledore's Army, and Harry teaching them all the Patronus charm!

"I've meant to yell at you about this for ages," Evans' voice sounded a little shotty, but it got better as she easily directed at him with that old irritated tone again. "You lot lied! All four of you can produce a patronus, can't you!" Nobody really wanted to be reminded of their time in Azkaban enough to bring it up before now.

"Yep," James' tone reached an impressive level of smug as he looked at her. "There's been studies done on the correlation of animagus' and patronus' and we all did them before hand to see. Would have been pointless doing all that work just to not get any good animals from the bunch."

"I've never heard that," Regulus sounded genuinely curious as he looked from him to Peter.

"McGonagall got us onto the idea," Peter nodded, "we were asking her some questions about the whole thing and if there was any way to tell-"

"As subtly as possible of course," he interrupted with a smirk.

Peter rolled his eyes but kept going, "and she mentioned it, seemed happy to actually have a reason for us hanging back in class for once without issuing a detention."

"That's really cool," Regulus actually grinned, and he didn't look half as pompous as usual while doing so. He got to his feet, took the precious time to brush the grass from his pants, but drew his wand and tried again.

Like before though, it came out very bright and solid, but still vanished before it could solidify. Regulus huffed in frustration and glared at his wand like it had done him a great personal harm.

"It really does take a lot of practice and concentration, not just one burst of energy," Peter happily coached. "You have to really feel the happy emotion you're going for, and keep it in mind for a long stretch of time-"

"We only did it around dementors that one time," James uneasily agreed, "and that was the hardest it's ever been. It still took us months of effort."

Regulus still looked annoyed every time James spoke even when he was agreeing with Peter now, but the other three all gave it goes again, with the same results as last time to all of their agitation.

Remus and Sirius finally came back over to grace them with their presence much to his relief. They looked like they'd been chasing each other around back there, a twig was even stuck in Sirius' hair and they looked a little flushed even in the dim lighting, but when they saw what was going on they looked almost pleased enough not to go running off again.

Sirius made his dog appear with pride, and it went bounding around everyone just as smug as its castor, even darting right through Longbottom before stopping at his feet once more before vanishing.

Remus just rolled his eyes at the display and quickly asked him to keep going, though James understood why, Moony hated showing off his wolf patronus and he didn't want anyone to ask for it.

As several students guardian animal was described, Regulus leaned very close to Peter so Potter couldn't hear and whispered, "if you don't tell him to stop that, he never will."

"He doesn't mean anything by it," Peter sighed. His heart stumbled unevenly though as he thought about it again, it had only started annoying him recently, he was used to not getting a word in edge wise with those two loud mouthed idiots, but if he did just keep letting them do it would the resentment return?

They all stopped their own little tasks as if a dementor had showed up anyways though, when Dobby came in and delivered the news they'd all feared since the beginning. She knew.

Alice and Frank sat up abruptly, their wands in hand and an almost terrifying look in place. Harry had gone so long without a detention, and the mark had still been mentioned to be on his hand. Would they now forever have to picture Neville the same? He'd been doing so well, they didn't even get to hear what his animal would be!

Lily scowled and wished for the millionth time she could blow that woman up as Harry had once done to Marge and send her into the stratosphere, they were learning for crying out loud! And now these kids were running for the lives!

James looked as if he were reading the death of a dear friend as his son was forced to abandon his group and make a run for it, but not fast enough. He couldn't sit still as Umbridge began hauling him off, though at least it was to the headmasters office rather than her own for another round of torture.

He was pacing in frustration and kept kicking a nearby bush on his path as he went through the rest of the other unexpected guests to this, the Minister and Percy were back! Along with two aurors?! Just what was going to happen to his son, were they really going to haul him off to Azkaban for this!

At least one of them was Kingsley, and Mcgonagall was there too, it couldn't be that bad, right?

It got almost that bad. They couldn't even laugh at the expense of the girl.

"I found our sneak," Sirius said viciously as Marietta was dragged in, James was almost in a flying temper for Harry having no way to talk himself out of this because someone in his group ratted him out.

Then he winced at his own choice of phrase and glanced at Peter, who was ducking low and trying to pretend he wasn't even there even as his fists kept tensing up in frustration for this situation same as them.

The Marauders were all trying to move past that instance now, but it was of some comfort to Sirius if Peter did still blame himself. He just wasn't sure how to tell him it was okay to forgive, but not forget, he was still working on that himself.

Remus was distracted enough though when Dumbledore got a new animal association, a scapegoat! What was he doing, pinning the whole thing on himself? He half wished James was just making all this up as Marietta began actually confirming the story, and Fudge sent Percy off to get orders ready to send Albus Dumbledore to Azkaban!

Dumbledore at least kept his head better than James was, who kept cursing fluently at this in between reading to nobodies protest, as he dispatched anyone who dared raise a wand against him, made one last cryptic remark to Harry about those merlin-awful occlumency lessons, and left in style.

HPHPHPHPHP

The others aren't ever going to be able to do patronus' in fic, I'm really not trying to make these guys all elite students who can do anything and the DA was apparently practicing since January to get this far, it's mid-March in the books when this happens, so here's what I imagine their patronus' would have been-

Lily- Adder Snake/ Until she fell in love with James, then the Doe

Alice- Elephant/ Thesteral

Frank- Kangaroo Mouse/ Thesteral

Regulus- Lion (think Scar)

Personal headcanon on top of these headcanon picks, none of their patronuses' would have taken shape even if they had been practicing long enough to do them, because they're all in the most in between moments of their life. Their animal can't form, because they're not even sure of who they are right now.

Last thing of note, I imagine Neville's is a honey badger. Let me know your thoughts on all of these, especially if you disagree and imagined different animals for any of them!

* The excluded scene will appear in a separate post

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #patronus #HP #OotP #Wolfstar #Jilly #Lily Evans #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #James Potter #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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launchpadthai · 3 years

Text

Heliotropism 2/?

Summary: Fethry finds Steelbeak in a bad state and gladly nurses him back to health. Genre: Fluff, bonding, platonic intimacy. Confident!Fethry and Humbled!Steelbeak Rating: G Word count: 1750ish Part one

Notes: Again no beta, so feel free to message me if you see any funny sentences or grammar! --

One night (or morning? Did time matter under water?) he woke up sprawled on the library floor rug and looked over to see Fethry laying a few feet from him. He was reading a massive book, his face in his palms and was lightly kicking his legs in the air behind him. Did Fethry sleep AT ALL?

When Steelbeak explored parts of the sea lab while trying to “break out,” he wasn’t able to get through certain doors without a passcode, so he just full fist punched at some panels, smashing the buttons in frustration. Now, as they walked by one of the panels with crooked buttons and a toolbox sitting near it, he felt a bad feeling start to bubble inside of him. It was fleeting though, as he rubbed the back of his neck to chase it away. Fethry just kept humming as he walked by.

They stopped at a different door with an untouched panel and Fethry slowly pressed the buttons, like he meant for him to see the code. Steelbeak did see, and as Fethry turned back to grin at him, he turned his head a little too late, but still pretended he didn’t see. The doors slid open and he was met with a large dome made entirely of transparent material, save for a few metal beams lined with dim lights holding it all together, and a view of the bottom of the ocean. Aside from the colorful krill, schools of fish swam by, illuminated only by the lights given off by the rest of the sub lab. ‘Interesting…” He moseyed to the middle of the dome, tilting his head up and around. There was a little living room style set in the middle, complete with couches, chairs, lamps and a rug pulling it all together. It was by far the tallest room in the lab, but it also felt like the smallest. Steelbeak was not used to being trapped by a void, but rather a room like brick or cement. His hands in the pockets of borrowed pants were not enough to chase his shivers away, but when he looked back to Fethry, who was pressed against the dome wall- red outfit vividly standing against the deep blue- he felt the warmth of a campfire. Fethry moved his head around, like he was searching for something in the darkness before turning to Steel, his finger pressed against the clear wall above his own head. “Look! Barracudas!” Fethry bounced a little on his feet, his hat dancing like him. “Did you know they have ring structures in their ears like trees? The number of rings they have is also their age!” Steelbeak walked over, looking up at the pod of large fish floating in what little sun had made its way down to the depths. It was…kind of nice. “They have razor sharp teeth, like you.” Fethry said matter-of-factly and Steelbeak chuckled. After a few minutes of silence, Fethry jumped into a fighting pose, his stance like a boxer, making Steelbeak flinch and reflexively put an arm up for defense. “Who wins in a fight! You? Or a Great White Shark?” Fethry asked while bouncing side to side on the balls of his feet. Steelbeak stared but moved his defense arm down and put a flat hand out, allowing the smaller bird to give it a playful punch. “Actually, I already know you’d beat a shark, but how ‘bout me?” Steel couldn’t prevent the rumble of laugher forming in him, all he could do was collapse to his knees and try to breath as much as possible through his nostrils to try and prevent the giggles bubbling inside. He had really thought this guy was a threat, huh? “Yeah that’s what I thought!” Fethry crouched next to him, giving him another small playful punch to the larger bird’s arm and THAT, that felt good.

Hanging out with Fethry was both a good time and something to overcome for Steelbeak. Having a “friend” without ulterior motives was new for him, but was it luck that Fethry was patient with him? Or was he just...like this with everyone? Steelbeak calmly observed the puzzle that was Fethry. Soon, Steelbeak put together that Fethry did everything when he found him at a desk littered with microscopes and tubes sewing the ripped sleeve back onto his white blazer he thought was lost at sea. “You know that ‘white day’ is a scam, right?” Fethry asked unprompted and all he could do was sit on the floor and listen while Fethry went on a rant. The duck would chat about the sea life, then smoothly transition into clouds or politics while they lounged in sporadic areas of the sea lab Even though he talked a lot and referenced things Steelbeak didn’t know about, it didn’t make him feel stupid and he especially liked when Fethry would act things out, like moments in history or describe something with his hands.

Fethry not only did all the maintenance for the sub lab, but he also cooked, cleaned, recited poetry, organized, created sculptures, and tinkered with different inventions all while reading large books on all kinds of animals, volcanoes, space things, world politics and whatever else he felt like. Steelbeak almost forgot it was just the two of them submerged at the ocean floor because Fethry brought enough light and energy to fill the whole lab. “If your ribs still hurt, sleeping while sitting up should help ease the pain.” Fethry mentioned one night when the larger bird stretched a certain stretch that should have been accompanied by a yawn. “There are a lot of futons, you know.” His ribs didn’t really hurt anymore, unless Fethry made him laugh too hard, but sleeping on the futon while the duck worked on his projects sounded nicer than going to his claimed bed alone. So he started falling asleep in the various places they’d hang out, lulled by the sound of Fethry talking about the zodiac or different types of plastic. One night (or morning? Did time matter under water?) he woke up sprawled on the library floor rug and looked over to see Fethry laying a few feet from him. He was reading a massive book, his face in his palms and was lightly kicking his legs in the air behind him. Did Fethry sleep AT ALL? “Buongiorno!” He beamed when he saw Steelbeak stretch awake. “Help me make the next batch of stew?” -- Steelbeak walked a bit more confidently as he helped bring the little box of vegetables to the kitchen. It felt good to be able to lift something again without pain, even if it was small. The kitchen was a descent size, made for a crew (like most of the lab) and was clean save for a pantry that was clearly rummaged through and unorganized. “Stew is pretty much the only thing I know how to make.” Fethry admitted. Steekbeak would drop his jaw if he could, but of course couldn’t so he settled with wide eyes but furrowed eyebrows towards the duck who studied almost everything. Fethry waved it off. “I do more reading than cooking, and stew is good! But, if I wanna spice things up, I just read a recipe.” Steel set the box down and tapped on his own chest. ”You.” Fethry said matter-of-factly. He motioned around the kitchen and pointed to himself again. “You want to clean everything?” Fethry cocked his head to the side while pulling out cutting boards. Steelbeak could finally pick up on his jests but could only retort with an eyeroll or crossed arms. He chose both this time. “You know how to cook?” He corrected with a grin and Steelbeak nodded proudly. “Well, let’s do one of your recipes when our delivery comes in, we’ll have more ingredients and you’ll be able to chew again.” They dumped the veggies on the countertop and Fethry placed them haphazardly on top each other next to a block holding various knives. Steelbeak grabbed a paring knife and reflexively started peeling a potato in a spiral, pulling the skin off in one piece. “Whoa! Where’d you learn that?” Fethry asked wide eyed. He put a hand on his chin thoughtfully before tracing a square in the air with a finger on one hand and knife in the other, then put two fists in the air in front of him, like holding bars. The universal sign for “prison cell” or so he thought. “Ah, you aggressively read about it in a classroom! I see!” Fethry chirped brightly and Steelbeak shook his head quickly, cutting the air with a straight hand like “no, no” then dead panned at him while he giggled. “You know I’m kidding. Was it jail?” He froze, realizing what he had just gotten himself into. Getting booked to stay in cement rooms, prison wall etiquette, and breaking out was probably the main thing Steelbeak knew the most about (aside from fighting in general) and normally he’d pride himself but now, under Fethry’s curious gaze he didn’t feel so proud. He rubbed the back of his head nervously and avoided eye contact. “Prison?” He nodded lightly, turning back to peel another potato but didn’t move his hands, just hovered the knife above it. Fethry didn’t know anything about him and Steelbeak wished he could unlock his beak now more than ever so he could explain and defend himself. Fethry brought a pot out, placed it on the stove and dropped the spiral into it. “The skin has a lot of nutrients in it, so I’m still going to add it to the stew if you don’t mind. I mean, I have to run it through a blender anyways.” Steelbeak felt like shrinking again as his mind started running because of course his action was worthless! He rubbed his forehead, exasperated, thinking of course we’d just keep the skin, of course we must blend it because of his stupid beak! Heron was right, how useless could he be! Fethry stayed quiet while a small rain cloud seemed to form over the larger bird. He gathered his own thoughts before picking up a potato and another paring knife, then repeatedly looked at Steelbeak’s hands back to his own and shifted his fingers to mirror the larger bird’s grip of the knife. He moved his pointer finger to the back of the blade and wiggled his thumb next to it, slowly rocking the knife into the skin but could only pull some small patches off. Steelbeak stared for a moment, only blinking a few times at Fethry struggling to peel the root before he understood what was happening. He looked back to his own hands and slowly started to peel the other potato, careful to have his fingers in the right position. He couldn’t really teach someone how to do this, even if he could speak, but he tapped his thumb at the front of the knife’s blade to show how it guides under the skin. He did it slow enough so Fethry could see and Fethry did, silently following his guidance. As they moved onto more veggies, Steelbeak had more tricks to show with the knives and all Fethry had was a smile and time to encourage those tricks. The rain cloud above Steelbeak’s head disappeared and Fethry pretended not to see it in the first place.

#fethsteel #fanfic #AU #writing

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ibijau · 4 years

Note

mdzs worst engagement au!xisang! Would lxc save nhs from jalouse lxc admire ?

Worst Engagement

Warning for bullying and threats of physical violent

Stay toward the middle or end of Nie Huaisang’s first year in the Cloud Recesses, when he’s still trying to be a Good Boy TM

Another class finishes, and Nie Huaisang has no idea what it even was about. Talisman, he guesses, but it might very well be manners. Quite possibly, it's the etiquette for using talismans. He's been trying to concentrate harder on lessons lately, terrified of failing and getting scolded again by just about everyone he knows, but it's just impossible to focus on something so boring. His mind keeps wandering to painting, to birds, to that minuscule crack in the ceiling of the classroom.

He's not even sure what will happen if he fails the exam. He just knows that it'll be awful.

That's the only reason why when a group of boys encircles him as he exits the classroom and asks if he wants to study with them, Nie Huaisang actually considers it.

The group, sadly, is led by Jin Zixun. There's little love between him and Nie Huaisang, though in fairness there's little love between either of them and anyone else. Only the Jin disciples seem to like Jin Zixun, and they don't have much of a choice when his mother is the sect leader's sister. Jin Zixun is a bully and, quite frankly, an idiot, but he's still doing better in class than Nie Huaisang. That makes studying with him and his friends… tempting.

"What do you want in exchange for letting me work with you?" Nie Huaisang asks with justified suspicions. Just a few days ago, someone threw a wet inkstone at him, ruining of set of white guest robes, and Jin Zixun looked too amused to be fully innocent.

"It's just sad to always see you alone," Jin Zixun replies. "The heir apparent to Qinghe Nie should try to make friends."

That's rich coming from the one person who made sure to ruin all of Nie Huaisang’s efforts. But it's true also that Nie Huaisang can be shy. Some of the other boys did try chatting with him, early on, but they only wanted to hear about Nie Mingjue at best, about Lan Xichen at worst, and that quickly got old.

"Come with us, Nie gongzi," another Jin boy insists, his smile less sharp than Jin Zixun. "You seemed a little lost earlier when master Lan explained things, but together we can all figure it out."

Nie Huaisang shoots the boy a surprised look. Nobody usually pays attention to him, so this is pleasantly unexpected. Much as it pains him to admit, Jin Zixun isn't wrong: it'd be nice to make some friends.

"I am very grateful for your generous offer," Nie Huaisang says with a bow. "I hope we can all work hard together."

Happy with that answer, the other boys lead him away from the classroom, chatting about dinner and what they'll do for their next free day. Nie Huaisang doesn't say much, happy to listen and let himself be led along the way.

It's not until they pass the last cabin and step on a path to the mountain that Nie Huaisang realises something isn't right. Before he can ask about that, Jin Zixun gives a signal. Instantly, two boys grab Nie Huaisang’s arms and push his back against a tree, hard enough his breath is knocked out of him.

"I thought we were going to study," he stutters, immediately earning a few laughs.

"Who'd study with you?" someone says. "Has there been a single class you haven't failed?"

"Yeah, you're annoying," Jin Zixun adds. "You're a shame to the entire cultivation world already, but you had to make it worse by laying a claim on Lan Xichen?"

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times.

"It's not like I chose that!"

"I could have been the one engaged to Lan Xichen," Jin Zixun argues. "It was considered for a time! I would have been far more worthy of him than some stupid little cowardly mouse like you.”

“Go to your uncle and ask to have him then,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “Good luck. I don’t think Lan gongzi will want you.”

The slap is no surprise, but Nie Huaisang still cries out when the blow is sharper than expected.

“He doesn’t want you either,” Jin Zixun spits. “Everyone knows he’s ashamed of being engaged to you. Qinghe Nie is barely respectable to begin with, and then they had to give birth to someone like you? Everyone knows you don’t even have a golden core!”

“I do have one!”

It’s only half a lie. His core has almost finished forming. For better or worse, the discipline of Gusu Lan has actually helped quite a bit, which annoys Nie Huaisang to no end. He doesn’t want to owe that to the sect that will someday already own him.

“I don’t think that’s true,” another Jin boy says, the one who was so nice earlier and said he’d noticed Nie Huaisang struggling to follow the lesson. “Nobody with a core would squeal like a pig over just being slapped.”

“He did sound like a pig,” Jin Zixun agrees. “Maybe we should open him up like one and check? Maybe those Nie butchers messed up and raised a pig instead of a cultivator. Or maybe his mom’s a sow instead of a dancer. I mean, it’s the same in the end, isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang shouts in rage at the insult, and manages to free himself from the other boys’ hold just enough to kick first Jin Zixun’s knee, and then his chest when he doubles down in pain.

"Talk about my mom again and you'll see what a butcher can do!"! Nie Huaisang roars, trying to launch himself at Jin Zixun only to be tackled on the ground by the other boys. "Fight me alone if you dare!"

A boot on his face silences him (still that nice boy, Nie Huaisang is never trusting anyone’s kindness ever again), pressing his cheek into mud and grass. Nie Huaisang still manages to look up when Jin Zixun stomps in front of his nose. He has one hand on the handle of his sword, and yet all Nie Huaisang can think of is how unflattering that angle is on the other boy. It’s a stupid thought to have, and it’s stupider still that it makes him snort, because of course Jin Zixun only gets angrier.

“Maybe I can’t cut open you like a pig,” he says, “but I can cut your face. If you really have a golden core, healing it won’t be a problem. If you don’t… it’ll just leave a scar and everyone will know you’re a fraud.”

Nie Huaisang cries out and struggles as hard as he can, but without the power of surprise he can’t free himself again. To his horror, Jin Zixun actually unsheathes his sword. When he puts it against his cheek, Nie Huaisang goes deathly still and closes his eyes, feeling tears of terror and frustration pool behind his eyelids. The blade is cold against his skin, the tip of it digging slightly, not yet hard enough to actually cut, but Jin Zixun starts to press down and…

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone jolts, but thankfully Jin Zixun is just smart enough to lift his sword and not leave any mark on Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang who opens his eyes and sees Lan Xichen coming their way, radiating the sort of calm anger one might expect of a martial god. For the first time in their engagement, Nie Huaisang is sincerely happy to see his fiancé, so much so that the tears he barely managed to restrain before start spilling.

“Lan gongzi!” Jin Zixuan exclaims, putting away his sword. “How are you doing today? Isn’t the weather nice?”

Lan Xichen gives him such a cold look that Jin Zixun cannot help stepping backward. He then turns his gaze to Nie Huaisang, and frowns.

“Let him go,” he orders the boys still holding him, and is obeyed without hesitation. “Fighting is not allowed in the Cloud Recesses. Surely you know this by now?”

"Lan gongzi, we were just playing!"

"Where you?" Lan Xichen asks, his eyes still on Nie Huaisang who looks away.

"Yeah, we were playing," he mutters, carefully getting back on his feet and wiping the dirt from his face. "Sorry if we were too rough, Lan gongzi. It won't happen again."

It's a huge lie, and one Nie Huaisang isn't selling well with his red eyes and snotty nose. Lan Xichen rightfully pinches his lips, but can't say anything without calling both Jin Zixun and Nie Huaisang liars, which would be a serious accusation. Nie Huaisang knows he's making yet another bad impression on his future husband, but between that and alienating someone who's currently so high in the inheritance line for Lanling Jin… Lan Xichen's anger can be dealt with, but Jin Zixun's hatred would probably never be pacified.

"I see. Then please, play more peacefully next time, and in a more appropriate place," Lan Xichen notes with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "If you seek such an isolated place, people might think you are trying to hide mischief. Now go back to your cabins. I'm sure you have a lot to review after today's lesson."

They don't need to be told twice. Some of the boys are probably older than Lan Xichen, but he radiates such authority that nobody would dare to contradict him, especially not when they all know they're lucky not to be punished. Even Nie Huaisang could have gotten in trouble. He's not sure if the rules against fighting apply to self-defence as well.

"Nie gongzi, stay with me a moment," Lan Xichen orders. "I wish to speak to you."

Nie Huaisang freezes on the spot. In all the time he's spent in the Cloud Recesses, this is the first time Lan Xichen had asked for a chat. In fact, isn't it the first time for the all of their acquaintance? And by the look of it, it's not going to be a pleasant one.

But then again, when has anything about this engagement ever been pleasant?

"Do not pick fights you cannot win," Lan Xichen advises when everyone else is gone.

"I didn't start this," Nie Huaisang grumbles, feeling like a child being scolded. "They're the ones who attacked me!"

"Then be more careful not to give others the occasion and incentive to attack you," Lan Xichen said, never once dropping that kind, condescending smile. "Just because we are set to marry doesn't mean I will always be there to save you. If you can't defend yourself, if you can't make friends, at least have the good sense to stay away from bullies."

That hits a little too close to home. Of course Nie Huaisang should have known something was wrong, he should have guessed Jin Zixun couldn't have turned nice all of a sudden, but…

He just wanted someone to want to be around him. The other Nie disciples don't count, they have to be nice to him. But apparently, friends are too much to ask.

"I'm sorry, Lan gongzi. May I go now?"

"You may."

Nie Huaisang strides away, as fast as he can without running. When he reaches the cabin he shares with the other Nie disciples, he doesn't even get changed and just starts studying right away.

He has to pass his exams when the time comes, at any cost, so he can go home and be away from this fiancé who hates him.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin zixun #mo dao zu shi #worst engagement au #jau writes #lxc is bitchy but plz consider that nhs just fucking lied to his face #and to defend jin zixun of all people #this prompt was sent at least a week ago lol #I'm not ignoring prompt but I got a lot and I gotta pick which to do first #as much as possible I want to fill a lot of them just plz be patient #this is a one birb operation after all #Anonymous

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ashalle-art · 3 years

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I have a few questions if I may :D 22,26,28,33 for Ashalle, 35, 36,37 for Aisling and 44, 45, 47 for Yara

Ashalle 22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? She prefers to insult in a more subtle way, letting a person look stupid with their own words fired back, or turning the words in their mouth. if she is angry enough she would slip into her native tongue and not holding back with more obscene words that gladly only Dorian would understand. Why she would insult them depends on the situation, most probably because someone stepped in a topic she doesn’t like. Insulting the way she tries to get the elves in a more favorable situation, her political decisions or by insulting her friends would be a way to rile her up for sure. 26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? Ashalle is a more body language person with showing her emotions. She has problems showing them properly, but if one knows her close enough one can tell the difference in the way she smiles, and she is more expressive with her eyes than with her words. 28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

Her biggest fear are demons and being possessed after going through some rituals that were very traumatizing for her and it makes the start in Haven pretty bad, because she is not able to fight and suffers extreme panic attacks while trying and close the rifts. later on Solas warding stone helps with this. In general, she fears men with a certain behavior, be it a movement, a speaking pattern or smell that remind her of her old master, but she can hide that pretty well and learns to not fall back into old patterns throughout her whole journey. (I read 29 instead of 28 so here is an extra question because I already wrote it and I don’t want to delete it XD) 29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? Depends on the person and on the fear. If it would be something funny and a friend she would tease them, maybe even provoke the fear if its nothing too damaging. She wouldn’t be good at comforting them in a situation they feel bad in, so she would try and keep friends away from things they fear if it was something bad. With enemies, she would use it without a second thought against them, exploiting the weakness and not feeling bad about it. 33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties? This one I keep short xD Ashalle doesn't like underwear, and she doesn’t wear them, not matter how often Josie says she has to 🤷‍♀️ Aisling 35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure? She shares a guilty pleasure with Cassandra and that would be reading “more inappropriate books” as she would call it :’D An unguilty pleasure would be chocolate, she loves sweets of all kind and if she can get her hands on them, they do not live long. 36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing? Aisling is very proficient at sword fighting, thanks to her brother and good with words/ at socializing. Her family does breed horses, so she is good at riding as well, and she loves doing this in her free time. Besides that she likes the stuff her mother taught her early on, doing “more feminine” tasks instead of hanging with her brother, and she sometimes still likes to do embroidery. She can sing, but she only does it when she is alone. 37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction? She likes to read, not only the smut fiction I mentioned above, as long as it is not an old history book she probably will enjoy it, especially poetry. She is a slow reader and likes to take her time with it, making herself comfortable with a book and getting completely caught in it. Yara

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most? Spring and Fall, both because it’s beautiful and because of the weather. She doesn’t mind heat or cold, but she likes mild weather the most. 45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves? She often doesn’t get taken seriously because she is very young and often doesn’t act mature enough to be seen as a threat or as the inquisitor. Not that she does mind that, she knows she is inexperienced, and she also doesn’t do a lot to change that. So she knows that people are right with how they see her, even though it might not be positive. 47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event? If placed in a formal setting she probably wouldn’t behave very different from she usually would, speaking informal to persons she should be formal with and not holding to the etiquette. She would try to behave like Josie taught her, but she would quickly forget as soon as she has fun and screw up. But she would be good at chatting with other people, getting information easily because people wouldn’t see her as a threat. Yara would enjoy the party no matter if formal or not, because she simply wouldn’t care about the setting, she would just complain over the stiff clothes of a more fancy party.

#oc ask meme #ashalle lavellan #yara lavellan #aisling trevelyan

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sugar-petals · 5 years

Text

:: BTS As Your Vampire Boyfriends

warnings ⚠️ smut, blood mentions, fangs kink

♡ Includes places they gravitate towards and countries they lived in, with their current residence in italics. Imagined in a world where a vampire bite will not convert a human, but rather, where species coexist without interference.

↳ NOTE › fuck yeah, bangtan vamps! some bits are juicier, some fluffier, some funny, some heart-wrenching or romantic. you’re in for a surprise 🤓 enjoy!

⌈ Jimin ⌋ ➝ Urban Vampire. 20 years old. USA, Italy, Sweden. Dresses like your typical haute couture vanguard, complete with bow ties and fishnets. Always has the latest pop culture news from SNS to chat about. Majors in? You guessed it, fashion design. Frequents high-rise apartments of his talkative New Yorker friends, wears huge square shades to fend off sunlight whenever he can. But also just because. The new boutique around the corner? Jimin was the first one to buy that 307$ gleaming Versace choker when it opened. In gold. He might have gotten the $520 guilty pleasure loafers as well. Yes, he does own more shoes than you do. 90 pairs to be exact, it needs a separate closet. He will try on several a night even when you don’t go out and just kiss watching a movie. What on earth is the reason behind all that? It’s to look good for your human eyes only. After all, he can’t see himself in the mirror. If he’s bound to outlive you by fate, he says, at least you’ll get to see him at his very best for the time being. He condenses several of his future lives into the limited one with you. A dazzling outfit can be that diversion and solace. Changing it often makes him feel like living faster, even if he’s headed for immortality. You decided to get a couple wrist tattoo on that last September. Carpe Diem, seize the day.

So there’s a lot to do together. Bucket list after bucket list. But there’s still a routine. Jimin loves destroying his friends at Friday night bowling yet can’t help but let you win every time. No matter how much you provoke him, the guy will aim at the gutters. You actually met at bowling back then. Eleven months ago, at your bff’s b-day party where he was introduced to you as Park, inofficial Prince of Manhattan with a love for sweet blood, orgies, and fiery ladies. The orgies part turned out to be a rumor, but he does say you have sweet blood. Even if it’s bad etiquette among vampires and he knows how much of a vice it is, Jimin loves to subtly show off in front of werewolves and witchers with popular ig accounts about how affluent his vampire family is at underground runway shows. Or sometimes, even fancy dinners where he orders dish after dish for the two of you. His friends suspect it’s all to compensate for how small his canines are since Jimin dearly wishes they were pointier. You’ve assured him that it’s not just better for your neck but also oral sex in general. He’s devilishly good at that. A born lover. Small canines are cute and fashionable anyways, all other talk is bogus. Having a vampire boyfriend remains a special feat and wild ride. But it’s definitely worth it.

⌈ Yoongi ⌋ ➝ Metro Vampire. 27 years old. Japan, Nigeria, South Korea. Dressed in all black, hoodies and stretchy jeans galore. Studied dental sciences in Lagos and has quite some polished teeth himself, but hardly puts them to use nowadays because he’s been getting more Zen about it. Instead, he can’t live without the internet. It distracts him from any urges and thinking about the future, and teaches his inquisitive mind about everything he needs to know about navigating the wide human world beyond the subway. He travels from station to station in Sapporo with a ticket for eternity and the security of less sunlight, always in search for the best Wi-Fi to text you. Even after two years of dating, Yoongi is still fangs over heels in love. And, needless to say, fascinated by the antics of humankind. When you are preoccupied with work at a restaurant in the afternoon, he jobs as a casual broker with contacts to the griffin elites that run the financial market of mystical creatures.

He frequently jokes that metro vampires are in fact metrosexual. Sometimes visits casinos to kill some time and watch people out of curiosity. His magical ability has caused several power downs in nearby flat complexes — strangely, never the one he is in — but its purpose and origin remain unknown. He’s consulted a supposedly wise street demon about it once but only got a long burp as an answer. Rude. So he travels on and on with the tube. He’s not as much on the go as it always seems, however. Yoongi spends a lot of his time gaming and lounging in your basement. Pretty much naked even if you don’t have sweaty sex at 3 AM. Although, when is it not 3 AM. You’ve developed a little late-night routine there. You bring him coffee, chat, make out, he buzzes you off with your favorite vibrator, you give him slow blowjobs that he records on his phone with shaky hands. Sometimes, with rimming involved, and more action later that night. Yoongi needs to eat pussy to stay on track, otherwise, he falls apart. He’s longing to kiss your breasts all the time and you hold hands when it gets steamy. No biting, he controls himself since he took too much one time. Because he hates planes, Yoongi once crossed the Atlantic in a cargo ship’s high cube not having blood for weeks. After compelling him to suck your whole body off cause dammit I’ve missed your lips, too, vamp guy, you were iron deficient for a month. Yoongi, forever apologetic, has made it a habit to buy you vitamin juice ever since, and orders his blood online.

⌈ Jungkook ⌋ ➝ Forest Vampire. 261 years old. Canada, Bolivia, Ukraine. Dressed in a large flaxen coat and heavy boots. Owns a distant log cabin between scenic, dense firs in the Rocky Mountains. Where most of his day is all about chopping and stacking firewood to take his laser focus off blood cravings and not so random boners. He daydreams of you moaning in just about every hot position possible. Sometimes pleasuring yourself or grinding on his cock. And your fucking scent. It’s what really makes him hard. And tremendously flustered. He could be 261 million years old, it would still catch him off guard to suddenly remember the smell of your sweat and hair. The first time experiencing it, Jungkook shortly blacked out and salivated on the ground for 15 minutes. Human pheromones are just about every forest vampire’s favorite addiction. Out of all BTS members, he is the most sensitive to light or artificial noise and instinct-reliant, so he tries to be cautious. Regardless, always hoping that you fill his mind with your red-hot image. This guy is so whipped — at this point, he can sell a portion of the wood he chops daily and still heat the oven for weeks with the rest.

Nature has everything he desires. Silence, vastness. It’s peaceful. A lot of animals roam the area. It calms his fantasies to some degree. He’s spent many decades in the Amazon rainforest, it’s no surprise. He likes to watch deer and talks to the occasional satyr past midnight. Doesn’t own a lot of money, but knows how to prepare a hearty meal for you when you visit him. That’s what makes JK feel like a million dollars. And once the plate is empty: Time for carnal sex. He can fuck for two hours, one even on a bad day. When he drinks from you, the sheer neck stimulation through sucks alone can make you approach orgasm. With a little help from his fingers on your clit, boy is he gonna blow your mind. This shit will teleport you into alien dimensions. He won’t aim for anything less. Whatever his saliva does, it infuses you with serotonin for two, three days after, and your friends back home know with one glance: Cabin guy did it again. You’ll both be lightheaded and covered in hickeys by the end of your encounters if the weather is particularly indoorsy and you don’t go fishing. He wishes he’d never have to come to a city because of the bustling streets and lack of forest fairies that soothe his mind. But sometimes, buying new clothes is due. You go to a comparatively manageable shopping mall after rush hour where you can’t keep your hands off each other in the dressing rooms. Life with JK won’t ever bore you, that’s guaranteed. The cherry on top: He wields an unregistered type of magic that can manipulate all kinds of water streams — he’s created a little creak beside his cabin and named it after you.

⌈ Seokjin ⌋ ➝ Cottage Vampire. 311 years old. Switzerland, Morocco, and Mongolia. Dresses all cozy with big sweaters and trench coats. Jin sells self-grown fruit and vegetables at the market downtown on Saturdays and Sundays. With vivid gestures and plenty of small talk topics up his sleeve, he befriends just about any stranger with two minutes spare time to talk about cheese, chocolate, and the notoriously high prices. Jin is among the most popular stall owners because of the many discounts he grants literally anybody. The Swiss way of very neat, organized, and especially neutral living appeals to Jin who has seen far too many messy wars go down since he was turned into a vampire. You didn’t believe it at first: By a British royal named Hamish back in 1708, inheriting him a magical ability to learn languages particularly fast so his Swiss German is perfected to a T. Jin is an utmost textbook rural sweetheart of the village. He takes care of the cottage with you like clockwork. Watering the herbs, painting walls here and there, cleaning the kitchen, always saying hi to the neighbors. Drinking tea on the terrace, with some cheesecake and cream on the fork, watching the cornfields sway in the wind is the good life. Simple, but meaningful.

There are a lot of lively and busy little blackbirds around the house joining you to pick up some crumbs, and Jin turns on the radio to play old-fashioned folk music of whatever Alp orchestra was recorded thirty years ago. The cake is gone all too soon, and the sun sets. You’re happy. Jin is a loyal and moral vampire who has adopted a vegetarian diet ten years ago and didn’t look back once. No cheating! Even if the market sells a lot of tasty ham and sausages. He’s sworn off that. After 311 years, even vampires start to think about their diet. A lot of fellow vamps in the area think he’s one strange guy, but Jin won’t bother. He gets all of his blood from a nearby hospital for a hefty price because he doesn’t want to drink from you all the time no matter how much you ask him. Sex is a better pastime. Chocolate lover Kim got a big dick and decades worth of time developing how to use it. Jin, when he does nibble at you, also has a very pleasant bite that doesn’t leave marks or just about any kind of bruise. He doesn’t want to tell you his secret because apparently, an old and rather nit-picky basilisk told him. Somewhere in a dusty attic of a Marrakesh craft store selling lamps and the most splendid of perfumes, 170 years ago. If he spills the beans, the special trick is dissolved. So... hush. Some things are better left top secret when it comes to basilisk magic.

⌈ Taehyung ⌋ ➝ Museum Vampire. 750 years old. Paris, London, and Sydney. Always dons crisp vintage tuxedos in the muted, heavily tailored style of the 1920s. He’s gotten attached to that era. Unsurprisingly, museum vampires are truly nostalgic creatures. Perhaps, also a bit melancholic at one point. Immortality is a two-edged sword. So, Taehyung clings to everything that endures the times. Statues, rustic vases, coin collections, preserved tunics, temple relics, especially fossils of all kind. His favorite place to roam at night is the museum shop or department for Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities. And indeed, it is the Louvre, what other museum could it be. Taehyung has mastered a convenient invisibility spell at the whooping age of 142 by chance after sneaking around the graveyard of Montmartre, trying to blend in with some friendly ghosts who taught him a trick or two. So the CCTV and guards don’t pick up on him unless he manipulates objects displayed in the exhibitions.

Which he feels tempted to. But Taehyung prefers to meet you in a snug alley café at dawn. The one where they don’t serve garlic-heavy dishes. You’ve already seen so much of the museum together in the course of a 4-year relationship. And he can’t possibly dick you down in the gallery of Dutch and Italian masters no matter how horny either of you is, mind you. You’d get anemic fast if you’d be sucking and fucking all the time anyways, and Taehyung really isn’t down to take a lot of blood from you. A little, as you always call it, prick’n’lick is what he usually goes for when you have time to meet in your flat. And maybe a deep, warm creampie to top it off because he knows that his semen does some stuff to you that only vampire magic can cause. You’ll be giddy and talk complete nonsense about Dadaism, Kahlo, and Kandinsky for three hours. Pregnant you can’t get since human with human, vampire with vampire is how the math goes. But extremely high, apparently. So, prick’n’lick. Your favorite activity. Talk about oral fixation: Vampire Tae has a strong obsession with strawberry ice cream. And... caressing your body, seriously. He is into some major VDA (Vampiric Displays of Affection). Believes that in your past life, you were the grand dame Mona Lisa herself. And a flapper. He writes poems about that and keeps them in a huge diary in the cellar of the Louvre. Some bittersweet, some sensual, some full of adoration. You treasure your time with him, always.

⌈ Hoseok ⌋ ➝ Castle Vampire. 1827 years old. UK (Scotland), Greece, China. Dresses exactly the way you think a dapper castle vamp is suited up. Ruffles, tight pants, gloves, large hats with feathers, tons of Italian lace, even slightly heeled shoes with pointed toes. Has been alive when Sparta was still a thing, saw what went down in the uproar of the actual French Revolution in passing, met Marilyn Monroe, almost got on the Titanic as a passenger, but has enjoyed the Rennaissance the most so far so there’s that. He lived in forts, churches, and even a small barn for some parts of his life until deciding to buy himself a fucking hilltop palace where you can live together. Because lavish castles are, ultimately, what appeals to Hoseok the most, and there is definitely enough space for all of your interests ... and sex toys. Anyway. How did all of that begin. So: The two of you met at a medieval exhibit in Perth where they displayed armors and pieces of weaving. Fell for each other, bonded over a kaleidoscope of shared interests, history knowledge in particular. Hoseok enjoys conversations about mythology, he loves that. And binging a lot of shows on Netflix. Gotta bridge the old and the new. Not that he doesn’t own a giant home theatre with perfect sound system. Maybe he just wants to cuddle up with you in bed and sob when another character dies together so the entire castle staff will hear. No worries though, they’re used to it.

Netflix aside: Aristocracy makes him feel at home. The sunshine regularly hosts interspecies balls with flamboyant masquerade themes so everyone can show up how they’re comfortable. That concerns particularly the slightly introverted elves and shapeshifters from downtown. The last huge ball went under the motto ‘The Glamor of Old Hollywood’ and you dressed up as Rita Hayworth and Fred Astaire, dancing all night and plundering the buffet. Hell of a good time. National holidays are holy to vampire Hoseok and basically equal date night. Given his high sex drive, there can’t be enough special occasions either way. To ride his thighs, his face, mark each other down forever until the pants are a little too tight at the damn front. The guy gets shaky knees at the smallest sight of a delicious pulsing vein no matter his century-long chance to accustom himself with human necks, so you agreed to go by a schedule — #SuckingSaturdays only — and you wear thick scarves. Which fits the moody UK weather anyways. The Scots really dig Hoseok in case you’ve been wondering. You can bet Hoseok is the star of Scottish twitter.

⌈ Namjoon ⌋ ➝ Mountain Vampire. 3008 years old. Nepal, Kenya, Peru. You tease him about wearing a long, strangely-always-white cloak and staff because it gives him the semblance of a beardless twen Gandalf. He smokes a pipe, too, but not in your presence anyways. Whatever is in there... seems to elevate him. Literally. Namjoon can levitate. There’s no other way he could use in order to visit you in the first place. A beautiful, abandoned pagoda seated on top of a snowy crest is his makeshift home, inaccessible to everyone but him. Only a secluded place like this is suitable for his ancient kind. To meet you in a warmer and more human-friendly environment, he will elegantly descend from his premises to get together with you in the town located at the base of the mountain. As many nights as possible. Always with a self-made present. Like freshly assembled tea leaves or a little talisman he carved from a piece of wood. Found on one of his long evening walks. He knows what eternity feels like best, that your life is but a glimpse compared to his, so every moment will count. He’ll make it right, no worries. It’s Kim Namjoon, taking care of things. You can always rely on him.

On all levels, he never ceases to surprise. Vampire Joon has surpassed the principles of ingestion, sleep, and a sense of temperature. Hell, even finances. He simply breathes and exists — and most importantly: reads for hours — without any external efforts. Even the Middle Ages didn’t leave a single wrinkle on his face. And he is still the best experienced person to share a bed with. No sexual technique is foreign to him, and post-sex spooning conversations are immensely entertaining. Namjoon has a lot of philosophical thoughts on human-vampire relations and met countless historical figures. He’s also befriended the Yeti at one point, resulting in quite a few hilarious narrations that he will retell on request every time you meet. And he makes them funnier every night. Because Namjoon thinks your laugh is prettier than every sunrise and sunset he’s seen around the world combined, on his every voyage. The most interesting part is: He doesn’t drink any blood even if he has fairly sharp fangs that you often catch yourself staring at for minutes. He still seems more invested in making you cum. With sweet words, brainteasers, and wisdoms spoken into your ears quietly. He’s a walking riddle himself. As expected, who are we kidding. Namjoon, no matter the fleeting centuries he has seen, is a gem and all yours for a lot of nights to come.

◇ castle: Château de la Mothe-Chandeniers (South-East France, 13th century)

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

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Anonymous asked: Like many from across the pond in the USA I have been astonished at the amazing story of Captain Tom Moore who at the age of 99 years old walked back and forth across his garden to raise a fantastic amount of money for your national health service (NHS) and into the hearts of your nation. It’s the kind of eccentricity we love about the British. The British media referred to him as Captain Tom Moore so as a former army veteran yourself I wanted to know do you get to use your officer rank after you retire from the British Army? Did you keep your rank after you did your time?

For those who don’t know who Captain Tom Moore is let me briefly recap. On 6 April 2020, at the age of 99, Captain Tom Moore - an army veteran of the Second World War - began to walk around his garden in aid of NHS Charities Together during the COVID-19 pandemic, with the goal of raising £1,000 by his 100th birthday. By 26 April he had raised over £29 million. He quickly became a popular household name in the United Kingdom generating much interest in his life story, and earned a number of accolades. After the his amazing feat, he featured in a cover version of the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” with proceeds going to the same charity. The song topped the UK music charts and made him the oldest person to ever achieve a UK number one. At present there are plans to celebrate his 100th birthday with the honour of a RAF flypast and a postmark. There is also public pressure for the Queen to knight him - a worthy honour indeed.

I would use many superlatives to describe what Captain Tom Moore’s did - heroic, marvellous, and bloody brilliant comes to mind - but one thing I would never call what he did is eccentric. There is nothing eccentric in his outstanding example. Rather I think it typifies the British character to a tee. I think the way the British people have responded to Captain Tom Moore’s heroic example is partly indicative of how the British still like to see themselves in a time of acute crisis. His example rightly inspires many and reminds us of who we are too. Forgive me but my intent is not to sound too jingoistic because I’m also broadly impressed with how the French have responded to this crisis (since I live in Paris) with being good and helpful neighbours and showing grace and easy humour; indeed every night at 8pm sharp we residents all over France faithfully clap from our open windows and balconies in support of front line workers. The French, like the wonderful singing Italians and the other Europeans, have their own strength of character to get through this awful pandemic.

Perhaps it may sound corny to some but to me it gives me faith that even as Britain has gone through a bitter fight over Brexit and our uncertain place in the world I know that when disaster strikes us all with our backs are against the wall we come together. We don’t panic. We just get on with it with little fuss. Keep calm and carry on is more than a meme. If you don’t believe me Captain Tom Moore’s example is one of many people from all walks of life doing what they can to raise money for charity. There are so many people who have taken the creative initiative to do what they can to raise money for the work of our amazing front line workers (doctors and nurses and support staff). Some are doing online challenges - push ups or squats for charity. I know of many veterans who have responded to the call to come back and support the NHS. My eldest brother, a veteran, has been a volunteering with Team Rubicon UK, a military veteran charity, who are now helping to co-ordinate other veteran volunteers to use their skills to support hospitals in the logistics of delivery of medical and food supplies. There are so many mini-Captain Tom Moore’s out there. It’s heart warming.

And so to your question.

Do British military veterans keep their rank after they leave or retire? It’s complicated. There’s no legal reason why they can’t, but the more junior the officer rank, the more gauche and pretentious doing so it is perceived as.

In the old days - according to my grandfather who was a very senior officer in the army - customs were dictated by social class. A commissioned officer such as Lieutenant was considered to be a Gentleman and therefore allowed to use two titles: either ‘Mister’ or ‘Lieutenant’. The rank of Gentleman is considered to be socially superior and so Subalterns (2nd and 1st Lieutenants) were generally referred to as Mr Smith, rather than Lt Smith, even when they are still serving. Once they left the Army these junior officers would drop their socially inferior rank and go with being addressed as ‘Mister’. If an officer became a Captain then he was considered equal in rank to an Esquire and so a Captain was never addressed as ‘Mister’. But using the title Captain after leaving the army was also seen as gauche and so many didn’t - unless others showed them that due deference rather than they insisting upon it.

When we get to the more senior ranks the customs change. Senior field officers like a Major or Colonel were allowed to use their rank after they retired. You quite often found a Maj (Ret’d) Smith, for example, working for a military charity or writing angry letters to the Daily Telegraph or the Times or even more popularly turning up in a Agatha Christie drawing room murder mystery.

When an officer becomes a General officer - from Brigadier (one star general) onwards to Field Marshal - they retain their rank in retirement from the army because they really have earned it.

So all this old school but I think the the rule of thumb used today is that anyone using their rank below the rank of Major is considered bad form.

These days almost no ex-officer retires from the world of work. No one really gives up work and becomes a pensioner, pottering about in the garden or playing golf. Many of course move into a second career, where it simply is not the custom to be addressed by your rank in your new civilian place of work. I suppose an exception might be the private security and defence industry where rank is a signifier of experience and professional competence.

I know I have never used my officer rank in my civilian life as I don’t think it’s socially appropriate nor advantageous to do so in my line of work (no one would frankly care). Of course it comes up in social settings or when I’m entertaining corporate clients but I swat it aside as quickly as it’s raised by downplaying it. I feel genuine embarrassment because even if they are ignorant of this military etiquette faux pas, I am not - and that bothers my conscience.

In the village my parents live there is a retired brigadier and retired general and everyone, including myself, have gone out of our way to address them as such out of respect.

In the building I live here in Paris one of my French neighbours who lives below me is a retired highly decorated army general. I always address him as ‘mon Général’ out of deference.

He has crusty aristocratic manners and can come across as a fussy old fart. He’s a widower and a proud old soldier seasoned in the bloodiest of wars. He’s not easy to warm to but the effort is worthwhile.

I volunteered to get him his food shopping during this pandemic and at first he was too proud to ask but I persisted. And he’s very particular about his food and so I have to trek to particular boutique shops to satisfy his gourmand palate.

He scowled in polite disapproval when I told him I was in the army and saw action as he’s old school and doesn’t believe women should serve on the front line. But gradually I have been winning him over. I sometimes cook for him or he cooks for me and we chat about military history and politics and we play chess regularly (whilst respecting social distance). We have big disagreements about certain battles or military campaigns for instance but he respects that I can hold my ground….until he pulls rank on me when he’s clearly backed into a corner (!) but again out of deference I let him have the last say as I bow down to ‘mon Général’.

It’s interesting to note that Princess Anne’s former husband Captain Mark Phillips was often derided for choosing to use his military rank in civilian life. But I’ve been told by Donkey Walloper** officer friends that cavalry etiquette is unique to their horsemen heritage and so it was common for Cavalry officers to keep their rank into retirement.

Now to get back to Captain Tom Moore. He has never served in the Cavalry regiments because as I understand it he served with the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment and later with the Royal Armoured Corps. So I suspect the newspaper media were ignorant of the existing etiquette and basically mainstreamed his veteran status and labelled him as Captain Tom Moore. No harm no foul as they say. Because in my book after his walking heroics he can call himself whatever he likes. Truth be told I hope he does get knighted because he is deserving of it.

Thanks for your question.

**Donkey Wallopers is the nickname of cavalry regiments.

#ask #question #army rank #title #rank #british army #army #cavalry #personal

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

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Undercover Lover prt 7

Three days off suddenly were rare. A storm had rolled through Shinganshima leaving most of the city without power. Even with the back up generator at work, it was too dark to work safely, Rod forced to send them home until power was restored. Sitting in a daze on his sofa, Eren damn near jumped out of his when there was a knock on his door. Having spent the majority of the day sleeping, he’d been intending on enjoying the last of the sun light before turning back in when it got dark again... not that there was any on account of the rain.

Dragging himself off the sofa, Eren sighed as headed to the door. Unlocking the chain and turning the deadbolt, he expected it to be one of his neighbours needing help. He’d already had to help the lady down the hall when her kid accidentally locked her out her apartment. The kid too upset and too young to calm down, so he’d climbed up the fire escape and coaxed the kid through the window until finally he was let in and able to unlock the door for her. Instead, Levi stood there. The man wet from the downpour outside. Shopping bags hung from both arms

“You going to make me fucking stand here dripping filth, or are you going to let me in”

Moving aside, Levi grumbled about the “shitty fucking rain” as he slipped past, Eren closing and the locking door behind the alpha, confused as to what was happening

“Sure, come in, make yourself at home. What are you doing here?”

“Tch. You can blame Hanji. Fucked up and told her we’ve got work off on account of the weather”

“And that led to you...”

“Escaping. Besides, this place is a fucking dump”

That explained sweet fuck all. Sure, they’d talked the day after Levi’s fight. The alpha hiding bruised knuckles under his gloves, Eren scolding him that he should have iced his hands when he got home. It seemed he’d never escape being a doctor’s son

“I was planning on sleeping through the storm”

Levi had already dumped the bags of shopping on the bench, sorting through them as Eren watched on

“Tch. Tough shit. I can’t go home with Hanji on the loose. She brought way too much shit over yesterday, consider it payment for hiding me from her”

“She’s not that”

“Tell me that again in a few years time”

Eren’s heart gave a weird beat at the thought of knowing Levi years from now. It simply wasn’t going to happen. People moved on... he’d be moving on. Still, Levi was there now

“Sure. Remind me and I’ll remind you. She does know the power’s out?”

“Yep. It’s all canned shit and long life shit. Who knows what they put in that crap”

Canned food made up much of his diet. Cooking for one was never as much fun as cooking for friends and family

“Probably a lot less shit than you find in cigarettes. I still don’t know why you came here”

Levi paused, before turning to Eren, frowning heavily. Eren had never seen anyone frown as much as Levi did... it was kind refreshing to see someone so honest and not forcing a fake smile to his face because that’s what he thought was expected. Levi’s scent was also kind of refreshing... Except something was bleeding through and Eren couldn’t pinpoint what that meant

“Because I had all this and nothing to do with it. And she doesn’t have your address. If I went to Erwin’s she’d be there in a heartbeat. There’s only so many of her theories you can listen to before the urge to strangle sets in”

“Right, well, I’ve got to warn you, there’s nothing good on TV”

Levi needed a moment for that one, before a can of something was thrown at him. Eren finding himself laughing as Levi huffed

“You nearly had me for a second”

“Would I be making it worse if I said I’d been watching the same show all day”

Lobbing another can at him, Eren felt his mood lightening. Despite how grumpy on the outside Levi was, he still held a somewhat childish streak from the look of it

“You’re a brat”

“I’ve been told. Still, with the power out, there isn’t a lot to do”

“You got cards?”

“Somewhere...”

From Mikasa... for when he’d babysit his niece and nephew... They would have grown so much since he last saw them. Only God knew what Mikasa had told them about why Uncle Eren wasn’t around any more

“Good. There’s some shitty candles in here somewhere. That should be enough light to kick your arse”

“How bold of you to presume you’re going to win”

Resuming pulling items out the bags, Levi joked back

“Even bolder of you to presume I won’t. Go sit down or something, you’re too damn tall”

Dropping the two cans on the bench, Eren headed to his bedroom. All his personal shit still remained pretty much boxed up. In the kitchen Levi was bagging cupboard doors, Eren could only shake his head. He didn’t know how to handle having Levi over again, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be an unhappy about having a visitor...

Levi didn’t know what he was doing. He’d lied to Eren. He’d shown up, then lied. He couldn’t exactly tell Eren he’d shown up worried about his health given the storming weather outside. It wasn’t a complete lie. Hanji had asked him how Eren was. Levi didn’t have his number, so couldn’t just call the brat to make sure he hadn’t gone and expired from whatever stomach bug he’d seemed to be suffering from for the last two weeks. Heck. He didn’t even know what Eren actually had wrong with him, no, he just knew that the brat had been looking worse and worse since their chat and it didn’t sit right with him.

Having cleaned his apartment through, the memory of Eren’s sadly dreary apartment decided to haunt his arse. The kid was probably huddled up all sniffly, sick as a dog, with no one there to drag him to hospital if he collapsed. Technically Hanji was a trained medic, but he could hardly turn up with her on Eren’s doorstep. Gathering up a bunch of random shit out of his cupboards, the fact that Eren had met Hanji actually worked in his favour. Blame it on her and Eren would never question it.

“I’ve got Uno... and it’s pink”

Walking out his bedroom, Eren seemed to be reading the back of the box. Fucking uno not his first choice if he’d had one

“Uno comes in pink?”

“My sister bought it for when I’d baby sit my niece and neph-... never mind. It’s that or nothing”

Right. Levi vaguely remembered hearing about this “mythical sister”. Whenever Eren seemed to think he was getting too close to opening up, he’d shut right down. Levi not knowing how to deal with that given all of his friends had big fucking mouths

“So you’ve got a sister? And she’s got kids? Look at Uncle Eren now”

Eren snorted with a shake of his head

“Oh, she would not approve of this at all. But yeah... She got married at 22, then popped out Mina and Thomas while still managing a full time job”

Levi let out a whistle. Kids were a damn handful at the worst of times. His “niece” took after her mother in every way possible

“Reminds me of Izzy and Farlan. They’ve got a daughter. Farlan was paranoid he’d be the worst dad ever...”

“What about you? Any cranky Levi juniors running around?”

God. Hell no. Kids with their sticky fingers, snotty faces and no etiquette as they chewed like cows, were not his idea of fun. He knew he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and had yet to meet anyone he actually wanted in his life that long

“Tch. No. There’s a reason they invented condoms”

“That there is. I still feel kind of bad you came all this way. You’re still wet from the rain”

Did Eren really have to remind him? God only knew what germs clung to his damn clothes

“It’s fucking filthy. I’m stealing a shower once I’ve got this shit away”

“You can chuck your clothes through the dryer... I know I’ve got germs and all, but I’ve got clean clothes if you want to borrow something”

Levi sighed heavily at thought of the ridiculousness of him in Eren’s clothes

“One of your goddamn shirts would be a dress on me”

“So you’re used to wearing dress- stop throwing shit at me!”

Lobbing a can, Levi smacked him the shoulder. Too bad the brat couldn’t catch. Not sure if he’d actually be let in, Levi hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes. Fuck. He’d fucked this up. His anxiety over showing up shattering his normally impassive look at the world. Eren was the first friend he’d made in a while, and the first that didn’t look down on his bare knuckle way of getting shit done. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d fucked the lanky shit, or that he’d actually enjoyed doing so. This was why tea would forever reign as the best drink in all situations

“Stop being a shit and I won’t keep throwing things at you”

Throwing a hand up, Eren getting cranky brought a certain delight with it

“This is my apartment!”

“I’ve seen turds with more street appeal than this place. No wonder you’ve looked so sick lately”

He’d crossed a line. Eren visibly tensing. Shit. Fuck. Even his alpha was shaking its head at him, telling him gone and shot himself in the foot. Eren’s voice several degrees colder as he asked

“Is that why you’re really here?”

“I already told you, Shitty Hanji forced this on me. Besides, if you up and die, who’s going to work all the over time at the garage?”

Eren seemed guarded, though his posture did relax marginally, voice still colder than before as he fidgeted with the Uno box

“You know... actually. No. I don’t particularly feel like going into this. I’m fine. Not going to drop dead anytime soon”

That was deserved. Levi didn’t have a right to be prying. He didn’t know why he was... or what was it about the brat that drew him in. He’d been through so much shit and knew from personal experience that getting close to people would only end badly. How he managed to still have friends was beyond him

“That’s good to know. Light some candles already, it’s dark as fuck in here”

Eren sighed heavily, shaking his head at whatever thought had popped into his brain

“Yes, sir”

That was another goddamn thing about Eren. Every time he called him “Sir”, Levi’s alpha felt a sense of pride. Having had his alpha so long, and having been called “Sir” many a time, the pride aspect should have worn off. Eren never failed to rile it back when being a cheeky shit. Rod’s warning hadn’t left his head, but Levi seemed to be pulled towards the brat in a way that made him doubt there was any kernel of truth in the other alpha’s words. He hardly would have turned up there if he really believed Eren capable of murder. His own self preservation instincts would have kicked in had his alpha felt the fellow alpha a threat. And, honestly, what kind of dark killer had pink Uno cards?!

#undercoverlover #undercover lover

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rosalindsutton · 4 years

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secret sharing and comforting | simosie

simone comes clean to rosie. they have a good, solid chat.

Simone could feel herself shaking. She was so nervous to tell Rosalind the truth about her past. It wasn't that she thought she'd be judged for it. Rosalind would never do that. It was more the opening up and sharing this shameful secret of hers. She wasn't proud of the things she'd done. She was trying her best to be okay with it but it would take a lot of work. And maybe she was a little bit worried Rosalind might see her differently. She stood outside her flat, clutching a bottle of wine and a box of chocolates in one hand as she tried to work up the courage to knock. When she finally did, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders to steady herself.

Rosie had just showered and gotten dressed after ending her shift. When she heard the knock on her door she frowned a bit, not having expected any visitors. She went to the door, pulling it open when she realized it was Simone on the other side. “Hey! What brings you here?” she asked with a smile, stepping aside to let her in. She was more than happy to see her, but she wasn’t sure what had made her show up out of the blue.

Simone was starting to feel a little odd about her habit of always showing up with a gift. It was simply proper etiquette but maybe she was overdoing it. She wasn't sure. "Hello," she greeted with a smile. She stepped inside the flat and handed over the box of chocolates. "I brought wine and sweets for you. I was hoping maybe we could chat for a bit but if you're too busy, I understand," she told her.

Rosie took the chocolates, charming the wine glasses over to the coffee table. “I’m not busy at all. Sit,” she said kindly, sitting down on the couch and opening the box of chocolates. “Do you want one?” she asked, offering her the box as she picked one and took a bite of it. She thought it was really quite lovely. “Did you have something you wanted to chat about, or was it just that you wanted to chat in general?” she asked curiously.

Simone smiled at Rosalind and went to take a seat. She tried to relax but she knew her posture was still a little bit rigid. "Oh, yes, I'll have one. Thank you," she smiled gratefully. She took a piece of chocolate and took a small bite to delay having to speak. She needed another moment. "I have something I have to tell you," she told her. "It's about my life before I came to London. My life in Paris," she explained.

Rosie could very obviously tell something was on her mind. She seemed a bit distracted. She waited as she seemed to think it over, nodding a little when she said she did have something to talk about. “I’m all ears,” she said. She offered her a small, encouraging smile. “Yeah? I don’t know much about that part of your life,” she admitted. She knew bits about it, mostly because she knew bits about Fitz’, and it wasn’t hard to piece some things together.

Simone ate the other half of her chocolate nervously. She felt like it shouldn't be this hard. She could do this. She licked her lips and then looked away for a moment. "I don't talk about it. I've never felt like it was something I should talk about. Or something that I could. Fitz knows, of course. Wren knows. It's just, it's hard for me to talk about." She paused again and then took a deep breath. "I was engaged when I left."

Rosalind frowned a bit in concern, watching her as she nervously worked through whatever was on her mind. “I think you should be able to talk about whatever you’re comfortable to talk about. I’d be happy to hear about anything you wanted to share with me,” she said with a reassuring smile. She raised an eyebrow for a moment. “Oh, really? That’s a very different life. Were you happy with him?” she asked curiously. She had to imagine she wasn’t, or she wouldn’t have left.

Simone still had trouble believing how kind her new friends are. Dominic had taken the news so well and now Rosalind was trying her best to be encouraging. She didn’t have to hear the whole story, she was happy to only hear bits. “No. I wasn’t. We were together for many, many years. He was the perfect pureblood son of a prestigious family and my parents couldn’t have been more thrilled. I never loved him. I’m not sure he loved me. I felt bits and pieces of myself be chipped away. One day I realized my hair had stayed the same, long, natural brown style for years. I knew I couldn’t tell him I was leaving so I just packed up my things while he was gone and I left. My parents don’t know where I am, he doesn’t. I didn’t come straight to London because I knew they’d look for me here.” She paused. “I abandoned him with nothing but a note. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Rosalind frowned more, reaching out and taking her hand. “I’m so sorry. Being in an unhappy, loveless relationship is no way to live,” she said. “It sounds like it was a really unpleasant time, and I’m so sorry you had to lie so much to get away. That would be really rough. And I’m sorry your parents didn’t care about your own happiness,” she added. “For what it’s worth, if you felt that way, I’m sure he could feel it, too. Everyone wants to be happy, and you leaving probably set him free, too,” she said, trying to be reassuring.

Simone felt tears pricking at her eyes. How could she be so kind to her when she'd just found out the most horrible thing she'd ever done? "I just left him a note and the ring. It was horrible. I didn't even say goodbye. I left my family, my friends, my fiance, all without a word. I just abandoned them. It was cruel. I don't understand how forgiving you can be of the worst part of myself. I'm a terrible person, Rosalind."

Rosalind nodded a bit, understanding that. It was sad, and it was awful she had to do that, but she understood why. She gave her a small smile. “But, Simone, your fiancé, your family, they didn’t necessarily deserve your goodbye,” she said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “You aren’t a terrible person. You’re a person who was in a bad situation and had to make a hard decision to get out of it. I would’ve done the same thing in your situation. What you did was difficult and brave and strong.”

Simone still had some trouble believing it, even if Dominic had said the same thing. She still felt awful about it. She was on edge whenever she heard a French accent. "He wasn't a bad man. He deserved more than a note," she said, patting the tears under her eyes. "It wasn't brave. Brave would have been standing up to my parents when they told me I couldn't see my best friend anymore. Brave would have been breaking up with Étienne long before he proposed. Brave would have been leaving with Fitz."

Rosalind shook her head. “No, I wasn’t saying he was. He was just a man in a relationship with no love, just like you were a woman in a relationship with no love. Maybe he did, but you could always write him a letter. I would get it there for you without anyone being able to trace a thing,” she insisted. She shook her head again, pulling her into a hug tight against her chest. “It was brave. You are such a strong, brave woman, Simone. It isn’t easy going against all you’ve ever known. It isn’t easy displeasing people. Fitz has it easier than you in a way. He didn’t have as much to push back against and walk away from. Fitz is Fitz in a very unique way that I certainly don’t have, and no one can change that about him.”

Simone didn't know about that. She could hardly stand the guilt she felt every single day. Except when she was around Dominic and now with Rosalind, she hoped. She didn't feel guilty around Wren or Fitz either but that was different. She leaned into the hug, holding her best friend tightly. "Fitz never cared what our parents thought of him or what he wanted. He's always just been who he is. They couldn't break him. So they turned all of their focus on me. I had to be perfect and polite and quiet. I'm still trying to figure out who I am because for so long, I was nothing."

Rosalind held her close, rubbing her back and nodding as she spoke. “I know, love. That’s exactly what I mean. For him, leaving wasn’t difficult the way it was for you. Leaving you was the hard part for him in coming to London. He isn’t breakable. He has this confidence that comes so easy. It’s sort of annoying,” she said, pulling back to give her a small smile. “I wish you could see that the very fact that you had to be nothing to be what they wanted you to be, that you don’t know who you are, is the reason it’s okay that you left. You deserve feeling comfortable and happy with who you are.”

Simone hadn't even been able to resent Fitz for abandoning her. She'd felt nothing for so long. Everything had been so suppressed. "He's very one of a kind, that one," she sniffed. She loved that about her brother. She loved that he was so happy and free. She was envious of it. "I'm trying. It's just hard to get over the years of feeling like I didn't matter to anyone except when I was being the perfect hostess for parties, the doting fiancee, the perfect daughter. I'm still trying to figure out who I even am." She wiped her cheeks. "And I'm sort of dating your brother."

Rosalind nodded in agreement. He was very different from everyone else she’d ever met. “And that’s okay. It’s okay to not know who you are. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know who I am, and I haven’t had any obstacles like you have. It’s okay. It’s normal, even,” she promised. “You’ll figure it out. We’re all here for you while you do,” she said, smiling. She laughed a little. “I’m glad. You two are really right for each other. And, I’m dating your brother. So that’s kind of cute of us, right?”

Simone hoped she was right. She wanted to be her best. She wanted to be someone. "I guess it is normal. I just feel like it's harder for me. I repressed myself for years. Sometimes I still don't know what I feel. It's easy around you and our friends. It's easy with Fitz because he's so unapologetic about who he is." She smiled a little wider. "He's very kind. He's very patient. He makes me feel things," she admitted bashfully. "I sort of had a feeling. Fitz talks about you all the time," she told her. "It's cute."

Rosalind nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I understand. That makes sense. I just wanted you to know you aren’t alone. You’ll figure it out in time,” she promised, smiling at her. She smiled, a bit more excited now. “Does he now? I like the sound of that a lot,” she admitted. “I’m just so happy for you! Both of you, really, but you more than him, to be honest. Don’t tell him that,” she said with a laugh. She smiled fondly. “He does? That is cute. He’s very cute. He gets excited about everything. I like it a lot.”

Simone knew that. She was learning to accept it still. "I will. I think I''m becoming more of my own person now. I'm trying at least," she said simply. She smiled even wider and ducked her head a bit. "He does. He's wonderful. He showed me a film about a fish and he promised to take me to a cinema," she told her excitedly. "And we've kissed a few times," she added shyly. "He does. He gets very excited when he talks about you. He does it all the time. He simply adores you. He sings to himself in French. Love songs."

Rosalind thought she was doing a good job. It was hard to find yourself, and she had a lot more finding to do than the average person did, anyway. “You’re doing a great job, if you ask me. It won’t happen over night or be easy, but as long as you’re happier, that’s what counts,” she said with a smile. She made a face at that. “Did he show you Finding Nemo? I swear, he has the chance to introduce you to muggle entertainment and he showed you a film for children,” she said, shaking her head, but smiling all the same. “You’ll love the cinema. It’s a lot of fun. It’s like a play, but on a screen.” She grinned a bit, wiggling her eyebrows at her. “Oh? How cute. I’m so happy for you,” she said with a smile. She smiled fondly, beyond happy to hear that. He gave her butterflies. “He does? That’s adorable. He said something to me in French the other day, and when I asked him what it meant, he wouldn’t tell me! Can you believe that?”

Simone was glad to think that there was hope for her. She was going to do her best. That was all she could do, really. Hopefully, eventually, she'd learn to love herself again. Or for the first time, rather. She wasn't sure. "It is," she smiled. "Yes! That was it! He let me choose. It was so beautiful and so sad. How did the muggles make it look like that? They have their own magic," she smiled wistfully. "I love plays. I'm sure I'll love the cinema. He said we could get snacks, too," she smiled. She liked Dominic so much. He was the first man to treat her this well. "I really like him, Rosalind. So much." She was nearly in love with him. "Yes, he does. He hasn't done that since I've moved in with him. He used to do it in school when he truly fancied a girl but never this much." She laughed airily. "I can believe it. It's very Fitz."

Rosalind shook her head a bit. Dom sure did love that movie. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I think it’s all computers. But it’s really cool. And beautiful,” she agreed. She nodded along, smiling. “Yeah! They have the best snacks art the cinema. It’s like, part of the thing. Like it’s almost not optional, I feel like,” she said with a laugh. She smiled fondly, so happy to see Simone so happy, and happy, too, to know Dom was in such a great relationship. “I’m so happy for you. I really do think you two are just perfect for each other,” she promised. She smiled a bit, feeling butterflies in her stomach. “I’m pleased to hear that,” she said with a smile. She echoed her laugh. “He’s a pain.”

Simone didn't really understand that at all. "It's so beautiful. It's like, it's just wonderful. I don't even have the words for it," she admitted. She'd never figure out how it worked but she was transfixed. "Well, I can't wait to go. Maybe the four of us could even get together and go sometime?" she suggested hopefully. She flushed a little bit and smiled demurely. "I think so too," she agreed. She laughed a little bit and reached over to squeeze Rosalind's hand. "I know my brother. He's very taken with you. I'm very happy for the two of you," she said genuinely. She laughed again. "Yes, that is true. I'm sure he'll tell you what it means eventually."

Rosalind smiled fondly. Simone was so cute and happy and really learning new things and enjoying it. She was so happy that she was getting to explore herself and the world better. “It is really beautiful. You should see more like that, then,” she said with a smile. “There’s even a sequel!” She nodded. That would be fun, and she was sure Fitz would love it. “We should. It would be a good time,” she smiled. She squeezed Simone’s hand back. How nice that they were such good friends and they were dating each other’s brothers. “Thank you. I’m very happy with him, even if isn’t really anything yet.” She laughed a bit. “Maybe. It’s okay if he doesn’t, though. I’m sure it was complimentary.”

Simone would be happy to see all of the muggle movies. They didn't have to all be like the one she'd seen but she'd be thrilled to see more like it. She just wanted to absorb as much of the culture as she could. It was important to Dominic and she was rather enjoying everything she learned. "Oh, really? I'll have to ask him about it," she smiled. "I think it'd be a lot of fun! Plus, we're all already so close it won't be awkward or anything." She'd been on plenty of awkward group dates in the past. This would be different. "Well, I'm happy that you're happy. And I thank you for making my brother so happy," she added. "Of course it was. It was likely some flowery poetry about you," she teased.

Rosalind nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! It’s really fun, too,” she admitted. She had been much younger when the first one came out, but she still enjoyed the second one. She laughed a bit and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think it’ll really be weird. Other than maybe not wanting to be too coupley in front of our brothers,” she said with a laugh. She smiled, taking her hand and giving it a sweet. “Thank you. And thank you for making Dom happy. I’m glad his oblivion didn’t get in the way of having a chance with you,” she said with a playful smile. She laughed at that, though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Simone doubted she would ever understand muggles. There was so much to learn about them but she didn't think she'd ever be able to learn everything. She'd just have to ask Dom. "I'll have to ask him about it," she smiled. "I'd love to see it." She didn't thinking it'd be odd at all until Rosalind mentioned their brothers. "Ah," she laughed. "I doubt Fitz will mind much as he's always in his own world and I assume that world will be you, so he wouldn't notice if Dominic and I were being too coupley," she said playfully. She squeezed her hand back. "I'm glad it didn't either. I was worried I was destined to pine after him from the bar," she admitted with a laugh.

Rosalind hoped Dom could figure out a way for them to watch it. She laughed a bit and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a fair point. And Dom doesn’t tend to be the most observant, so I suppose we’ll be fine,” she said with a grin, leaning into her gently. She laughed and nodded. She’d felt similarly with Fitz. He really hadn’t noticed her until he did, all at once. “I’m glad he finally saw what was in front of him. You’re really just so good for each other,” she reiterated with a smile.

Simone thought it amusing how they'd fallen for each other's oblivious brothers. It was sort of ironic, wasn't it? She liked it a lot. "We'll definitely be fine. Our other friends, however," she laughed. "They're very observant. Dominic and I were talking about toning it down at Wren's party since he's been through a breakup recently," she added. "But we really should do a group date, the four of us." She smiled warmly at Rosalind. "I'm glad too. He's so kind to me. He makes me very happy. I hope Fitz is the same with you?"

Rosalind made a face at that and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably where we’ll have to be more careful,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, that’s a good idea. I’m not the biggest on PDA, so I think it’ll be okay,” she said honestly. She nodded eagerly, smiling at her. “Absolutely. I would love to go on a group date with you and Dom,” she said. She smiled fondly. She was so happy Simone was happy. And she was happy she trusted her enough to tell her the truth about her life in Paris. “Oh, of course. He’s a perfect gentleman.”

Simone wasn't the biggest on that either which meant this would all work smoothly. It was nice to belong to a group like this that looked out for each other. They were like a family and she was starting to feel like a part of it. "I think we will be okay. It'll still feel like any other group get together," she smiled. She brightened. "Yeah? Wonderful! I can't wait. I'll think of something for us to do," she offered with a smile. She wasn't sure how but she would. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'd have to give him a stern talking to otherwise," she teased.

Rosalind nodded in agreement. It wouldn’t feel weird, she was sure of it. They all hung out in different groups of people, anyway. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to being around each other unless they were on dates or something. “It’ll be totally normal,” she said honestly. “Okay! Let me know if you need any help or ideas,” she said with a smile. There was the Winter Wonderland coming up, and she would bet that both Simone and Fitz would like to go to that. She laughed a bit at that. “I’m glad you came and talked to me.”

Simone would be more than happy to plan it with Rosalind. She figured they had plenty of time, though. She'd hoped to do it after Wren's party anyway. "Let's get together early next week and talk about it?" she suggested with a smile. "Maybe you could teach me to cook a little better while we plan? I'll buy the ingredients I just want to learn," she admitted. She reached over to squeeze Rosalind's hand again. "I'm glad that I did too. Thank you for accepting me for who I am," she said sincerely.

Rosalind thought that sounded perfect. She smiled and nodded eagerly. “I can’t wait!” she exclaimed. She laughed a bit, but nodded. “Of course. I would be happy to help,” she said honestly. She remembered Fitz mentioning that neither of them really cooked. She smiled warmly and nodded, pulling her into a hug. “Of course. I will always accept you for who you are,” she promised. “Do you want to stay for dinner, or should you be getting home?”

Simone was so relieved. She knew Rosalind would always help her when she asked. It was one of the things she loved most about her. She was selfless. "Thank you so much. I can handle a few basics but I'm not the best. It seems like a skill I should learn more," she explained. She hugged her back tightly, feeling tears sting her eyes. "You don't know how much that means to me," she managed. "I should be getting home. Thank you for the offer, though," she smiled as she pulled back.

Rosalind shrugged a shoulder, but nodded. “I don’t know if you need to, but I do enjoy cooking, and I like being able to make good food for myself, so I think it’s a nice skill to have,” she said with a smile. She gave her a soft, sympathetic smile. She didn’t know, but she could imagine. She nodded a bit. “I understand. It was nice chatting. I do hope you come over again soon,” she said honestly. She stood up, reaching a hand down to pull her to her feet.

Simone smiled softly. "I want to be able to cook. I regret that I never truly learned. My mother never thought it was necessary and I always had a house elf. Étienne's elf taught me a little but..." she trailed off. "Anyway, thank you. Maybe I'll be able to make you dinner sometime," she suggested with a smile. She was so glad she'd told Rosalind. It was a huge weight off of her shoulders. She took Rosalind's hand and pulled herself up. "I will," she promised. "Goodbye, Rosalind. It was lovely to see you," she smiled, kissing the girl on each cheek before apparating home.

Rosalind thought that made sense. She loved cooking, why wouldn’t Simone? Plus, now it was just her and Fitz, and neither of them could cook, so she could imagine their meals got a bit boring. “Well, I’d be happy to teach you, and also thrilled to eat whatever you make me,” she promised. She smiled, kissing her cheeks back. “It was lovely seeing you, too,” she promised, smiling as she apparated home.

#11

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anthropologicalhands · 4 years

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ceg fic: miss do it right

title: miss do it right gift for: @clemdhoffryn for @crazyexvalentine word count: 4,885 summary: Valencia is ready to propose to Beth. The question, however, of when and where requires expert advice. Valencia & Heather, Beth/Valencia. notes: Happy Valentine’s Day!

“I need your help,” Valencia announces, breezing into Heather and Hector’s foyer, straight into the living room and perching on the arm of the couch adjacent to Heather’s current seat. “Also you really need to get a gardener—that trellis is leaning over.”

“Hector’s getting around to it,” says Heather, looking up from her magazine. “Hi, welcome back to West Coast, Best Coast or whatever. Didn’t I tell you to start texting if you were gonna come over?”

“I told you I was planning a wedding this weekend,” Valencia says archly, as if the mere statement of fact automatically absolves her of visitor’s etiquette. “Remember? In the group chat?”

“Oh, I remember. I just kind of generally assumed it was in New York. Since you do, you know, live there.”

Valencia pouts. “Come on, aren’t we hashtag gurlgroup4evah? Physical walls are meaningless. And I totally gave you a key to my place. You could do the same exact same thing to me and I wouldn’t mind.”

“That argument worked when you were in East Cameron, not East Coast. When am I ever gonna go to New York?”

“For me, obviously,” says Valencia. “Or for a Home Base conference, I guess.”

“They’re a West Coast chain.”

“So? Weren’t you planning on revolutionizing their corporate headquarters, or something?”

“I was, but that’s like, halfway through my five-year plan that I’m going to start next year.”

“Oh. Are you really not happy to see me?” asks Valencia, and she sounds just a tiny bit deflated, like she’s actually worried that that’s the case. Heather drops her magazine on the side table (occasionally, she marvels at how adulthood came upon her so fast—these have mermaid feet, irony unintended, that make her ridiculously happy).

“I’m happy to see you, Vee, can’t you tell?”

Valencia narrows her eyes. “Usually you’re happier.”

“You literally just walked in when I wasn’t expecting you for three weeks. Let me have a reaction time. And given your stance on Hector is lukewarm at best I’m still surprised to see you here.”

“I follow Hector on Instagram, and I happen to know that he has a surfing competition in Monterey this weekend,” says Valencia knowingly. “And I definitely know that you are always down for adventures, especially if there is just the right amount of drama.” Valencia wiggles her shoulders for emphasis.

Heather leans forward, studying her friend. There’s something surprisingly spiky and Rebecca-like about her energy –not out of whack, not in a bad way, but it’s there.

“Everything all right, Vee?” Heather asks. “You’re weirdly hyped up. Are you on a Guatemalan coffee kick again?”

“Please, you know I’m on a kombucha cleanse right now.”

“Kombucha can do all this?” Heather gestures up and down Valencia, like her “this” is the new “it” and she’s Clara Bow.

(Heather took a film class for like, three weeks in freshman year before she dropped it for being insanely pretentious.)

Annoyed, Valencia swats Heather’s hand away—all right, she’s not too far gone.

Valencia gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “No, it’s not the kombucha. It’s something way more important.”

There is a very meaningful pause; Heather waits, unsure whether it is done out of Valencia’s natural sense of making an entrance or for Heather’s benefit is a sincere question.

“I’m going to ask Beth to marry me.”

“Oh,” Heather blinks. “Wow.”

It’s not an unexpected announcement and given with Valencia’s usual careless confidence. But there is trepidation there, if one knows how to look for it.

“Does it seem weird? Tell me if it’s weird.”

“Uh, not weird, no,” says Heather carefully. “But given what happened a few months ago, I have to ask…”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking about it,” says Valencia irritably, waving a hand. “We’re on the same page. But I want it to be right, and I need help to make that happen.”

“Okay. And you’re asking me because…”

“Because Rebecca has a lot going on, and while I love the girl, I need someone who won’t let me get carried away with something way out of my budget.”

“That makes sense,” Heather agrees. “What about Paula?”

“She has that big case she’s presenting on Monday, and she doesn’t know Beth as well as you do.”

“True. That afternoon at the Korean spa means we’re bonded for life now, united by a great and terrible event.”

“You loved it. Didn’t you feel all nice and fresh?”

“Only because I had to grow a whole new layer of skin. I’m amazed Beth liked it; she was completely pink.”

“I mean, that happens if she steps out in the sun for five minutes without a hat,” says Valencia fondly. “But I’m not asking you to climb into a sauna, I’m asking you to help me propose to my girlfriend. Will you do it?”

“I mean, obviously. I’m a total romantic, so of course I’ll help.”

Valencia’s forehead wrinkles in a very pointed way. “You got married because of health insurance. I just need someone to tell me if I’m getting out of bounds with like, budget and expectations.”

“Wanting your partner to be healthy for the long run is very romantic.”

“Not enough to try to skip the actual wedding part,” grumbles Valencia.

“Who is asking who for help getting married, again?”

“Fair,” concedes Valencia grudgingly, though her smile undercuts some of her pretense. She kicks herself up and off the couch and gestures imperiously at Heather. “Now come on, we need to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

“Uh, we? Where?”

I have a vineyard in Temecula to make sure it is an ideal venue for my client, remember? We can multitask on the drive up.”

“Uh, now?”

“Why not?” With a flourish, Valencia pulls out a notebook that is already crammed full of post-its and other notes. “You can look at this on the way up. Plus, I can guarantee that we can ask to sample some of their viticultural offerings.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Heather stands and stretches. “I did have a busy afternoon planned for contemplating my existence, but I’ll move for free wine.”

Valencia’s planner, much like her initial dream wedding plans, is elaborately and meticulously tabbed. Leafing through the pages, Heather briefly recognizes one of the strange commonalities between Valencia and Rebecca that reminds her that, as strange as the beginning of that friendship was, there’s a reason that their bond is as strong as it is. Valencia drives. It gives her a weird burst of fondness for them.

“You really thought these out,” says Heather, reading through a meticulous list of what it would take to plan a flash mob in Times Square with a reasonable budget.

“Right? I mean, I have ideas for days. It’s what I do—dolling up other people’s bad ideas and persuading them that mine are better. I can do this forever.”

“Great. So, why do you need me?”

Valencia’s fingers drum against the wheel of her rental car, clearly annoyed. “Because I’ve been striking out. Like, these are objectively great proposal ideas, right? But I can’t decide which one is actually, like, the best one.”

“I can see that,” says Heather, eyebrows shooting up when she turns a page and sees an elaborate plan for a hot air balloon proposal scribbled out with angry red marker. “What are you looking for, then?”

“Something that speaks to both of us. Like, as awesome as my spacing is for the choreo, I know that Beth wouldn’t want a flash mob in Times Square.”

“Yeah, that seems like a you thing. A pretty specific you thing.” Heather shoots her an inquiring look. “Did you?”

Valencia shifts uncomfortably. “There was a time where I might have mentioned it to Josh.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, Josh is terrible, but if he choreographed a dance proposal, it would have been amazing.”

“Can’t argue with that.” One of the pages just seems to be a froth of white lace paper surrounding a list of names at its center. Heather squints at the neat penmanship, idly wondering if she needs glasses or if Valencia’s handwriting is just really that small. “Is this a guest list?”

“No. I also really always wanted to do it at someone else’s wedding. Preferably Denise Martinez’s—”

“Valencia…”

“But that’s also not Beth’s style,” finishes Valencia slightly irritated. “Like I said, the proposal has to match both of us. I did learn from my mistakes, you know.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” says Heather mildly.

“And that list is out of date anyways. Denise got married last month and I hear that her and her new husband are already fighting.”

“Don’t sound so gleeful.”

“Sorry,” says Valencia almost contritely, merging off the highway. “We have a long history.”

“So I heard. We definitely need to unpack that some time.”

“Oh, this is perfect,” Valencia breathes, overlooking the gently rolling hills and the rows of twining grapevines.

“It’s pretty great,” Heather agrees, coming up besides her, hands tucked in her pockets. “It’s practically worth the sticker price.”

“Nothing’s worth the sticker price. I’ll get a better deal.”

“That winery owner guy seemed pretty stodgy.”

“I have my ways,” says Valencia enigmatically, which both impresses and concerns Heather in equal measures.

“I don’t doubt it.” There’s a pause as they survey the scenery together.

“Why wouldn’t you propose to Beth here?”

“Hm?” Valencia turns to look at Heather, the arch of her eyebrows more inquiring than sharp.

“You and Beth. I mean, this place makes a wicked rosé—”

“Since when do you use wicked? That’s an East Coast word.”

“’Cause it’s a great word? And I’m from Michigan, which is kind of East Coast.”

Valencia pulls a face.

Heather rolls her eyes in response. “Whatever. But seriously, this seems ideal. It has a view, it’s romantic—it’s everything you wanted. And you and Beth have family here, so you can have a big party after she says yes.”

“It has a lot,” agrees Valencia wistfully. Then she sighs. “But it won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Josh and I used to come here. Too many memories.”

“Oh.”

“Right? Josh just ruins everything.”

“Okay, it’s been three years, I think you can lay off of Josh.”

“Nah. I’ve dedicated too much time into it. I’m going to be doing this until after we’re both married. Speaking of Josh, you’ve met Rosa, right?”

“Yeah. I like her. I didn’t know that you met her—”

“Oh, yeah. Nice girl,” says Valencia, sounding vaguely surprised. Given Josh’s previous type, Heather can’t entirely blame her. Valencia continues, “But for whatever reason, they work well together. We had a long talk - I warned her about all of his flaws, and she said that she knows and she was positive she could handle it. Then she complimented my earrings.”

Heather has to smile at that. She is the least well-acquainted with Josh of their friends (though she’s probably seen him in far more intimate situations than most people ever have to see their friends), so her personal frustrations with him tended to be from far briefer interactions, over much more quickly. She’s glad to see that Josh seems settled in a way that he hasn’t been since she’s known him.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” admits Valencia, softening a little. “I am actually happy for him. But I have to keep up appearances - we were together way too long.”

“That’s fair.”

Once the vineyard has been approved (and Valencia has worn down the owner to her terms), they head back to Heather’s place, open a couple extra bottles of rosé and buckle down.

“Too much hassle,” says Valencia, X-ing out what seems to be a plan for a private yacht.

“Too showy,” agrees Heather, marking off a flashing billboard. She turns the page and squints at a picture of a dark room lit by hundreds of tiny flames.

“Isn’t Beth allergic to those candles?” she asks.

“They would be soy,” Valencia protests, but rather hastily reaches across the page to mark it out. “Still, you have a point.”

“That’s also a fire hazard, right there.”

“I’m not Rebecca,” says Valencia irritably.

“That’s still a lot of open flames. I’m just saying. Why not just go Big Fish and propose with a bunch of flowers?”

“I can’t. Beth’s allergic to flowers.”

Heather blinks.

“Seriously?”

Valencia shrugs. “Look, there’s a reason she hired me to do certain events that she couldn’t. She’s all about the hands-on activities. Pollen and natural phenomena - not so much.”

“Got it. So Big Fish is totally out?”

“Totally.”

Despite what Heather expected and the width and breadth of the notebook, they are burning through the ideas in the planner at an alarming rate. Valencia is clearly panicking too, if the two glasses of rosé are any indication.

“You know what would be great? The Met! Yeah, you could hide behind one of the exhibits to record, we’re surrounded by all this history, I’m sure they have something by Sappho in there, Beth loves her stuff—”

“Okay, just so we’re setting reasonable expectations or whatever, I can tell you right now that I am not going to New York just to help you propose,” Heather warns. “I have like, a household budget, and there’s only so much that I can dip into Hector’s accident fund and still have enough.”

Valencia lets out a little huff that indicates that while she respects Heather’s commitment to her budget, she continues to be less-than-impressed. It reminds Heather to text Hector and tell him that he might need to spend the night out with the guys—just because him and Valencia are no longer on murder terms doesn’t mean she can feel like she can guarantee his personal safety.

“Okay, fine. Skip to page sixty-eight.” At Heather’s disbelieving look, Valencia shrugs defensively. “What? A girl can dream in destinations.”

Heather does as she’s asked without further commentary. It’s not that Heather expected that helping Valencia plan a proposal would be simple. But Valencia knows her tastes—Heather was reasonably certain that her role would be as a yes woman and occasional financial wisdom rather than active decision making.

They aren’t using the couch or even the coffee table anymore—they’ve pulled off all of the cushions and have created a sort of nest on the floor.

“I can propose at a concert!” says Valencia, entirely too brightly.

Heather raises her head off one of the cushions. “You guys like going to concerts?”

“Not really? But everyone proposes at John Legend’s concerts, so it would work.”

“Beth likes John Legend?”

“Kind of? She doesn’t mind him but she loves Chrissy Teigen. And maybe we’d get some good karma from their marriage.”

“Not bad. You might also get drinks spilled on you,” Heather reminds her. “It could be sticky. Plus, other people might propose at same concert and steal your thunder.”

“Ugh, true. Plus, the scheduling doesn’t work out—he won’t be on tour for a good few months.”

Perhaps it is the tiredness, or remembering that she still needs to write up the shift schedules for next month, that prompts her to suggest, “Why not Home Base? I mean, you guys did agree to meet there. So, like, it’s sentimental.”

Valencia somehow looks affronted, disgusted and poorly hiding it, and despairing all at once. Heather would almost be impressed.

“I’ve been going to Home Base longer than you’ve been working there, Heather. I really don’t want to propose marriage at the bar where I used to pick up Elena from softball practice. It doesn’t feel right.”

Heather props herself up on her elbows so that she can look at Valencia properly. “Okay. What doesn’t feel right? It’s not going to be perfect.”

“I’m not going for perfect,” says Valencia irritably. “I gave Rebecca perfect, and look where that landed her. A perfect proposal would mean an island vacation, and dessert for Beth, and possibly sky writing. But it would also mean debt and she would so not be happy about that.”

“Great. Is that the only thing you’re worried about?”

Valencia’s hands twist against each other in her lap. Then they untangle and she dives into her purse and pulls out a small black box, which she sets on the table between them. Gone is her haughty event planner bravado, now Valencia just looks lost, more than Heather has ever seen her.

“This proposal has to feel right because I messed up the first time.”

“The first time?”

“The ultimatum,” says Valencia glumly. “I don’t want it to be too much—it needs to be something that Beth would love to accept. Something that proves that we know each other and can be a part of each other’s lives.”

“Can I see it?” At Valencia’s nod of permission, Heather reaches over and opens the box to look at the ring.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? Moshe has a good collection. I’ve known this is the one for her for ages now. And…I want that feeling about how I propose. Does that make any sense?”

It does. Heather nods, waiting for Valencia to continue.

“It’s just…I made such a big deal about wanting to get married, and I want this proposal to show her that I know her, and it’s not all about me me me.”

“Of course.”

“That’s why I asked you. You might not be the biggest romantic of all of us, but you follow your gut about what feels right. And I want that confidence when I ask her.”

It’s both touching and terrifying to have that much faith in a person. Awkwardly, Heather pats Valencia’s shoulder. Valencia leans into the touch anyways, seeking whatever awkward comfort that Heather tries to give.

“You know, she’s going to love you whatever you do,” says Heather slowly. “And obviously, you know her well enough to know that these insanely awesome proposals are still awesome, just not right. We’ll find something better. And, like, I’m not gonna give up. You’re not going to leave California without a game plan.

Valencia gives her a tiny smile.

“Thank you, Heather,” she says. She looks ready to say more, but then there’s the sound of a very small gong being struck.

Valencia frowns, pulling her phone out of her pocket, scans the screen, and sighs. “I have to go. The client with the vineyard wants to meet now, of all times. I’m gonna go to her place, but when I get back, maybe we can just have a girls’ night in? No more proposal talk?”

“Sure, whatever you want. I can just duck out and like, get some more rosé. Just wines. Ablutions to drown our frustrations.”

Valencia smiles wanly and sees herself out. Heather waits until she’s sure that Valencia’s car has pulled away before hitting her speed dial. Heather is the coolest of her friends, even now that they are all responsible adults, and sometimes that means admitting that you are out of your depth.

Still, Heather isn’t lying when she says she needs to go pick up wines. She does.

At Il Cabino. Where Rebecca is waiting at a table for two, astonishingly early.

“You need to help me,” says Heather, not bothering with niceties. As frustrating as Rebecca’s flakiness can be, it is refreshing that she never gets insulted by Heather’s brusqueness.

“Oh, absolutely,” says Rebecca, eyes wide. “I know I haven’t been very good at that in the past, but like, right now I’m all ears.”

“Valencia is going nuts about proposing to Beth—”

Rebecca nods sympathetically. “Oh yeah, I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah. She’s been texting me.”

Heather looks closely at Rebecca and only sees frank interest in the other woman’s gaze, no impression of jealousy or hurt. “Okay…so you know and you don’t feel left out?”

“She made it very clear that I’m not supposed to help, and given my past record for helping Valencia with anything, I figured the least I could do is let her do her thing,” says Rebecca with remarkable understatement. “Anyways, I’m actually crazy busy. My singing lessons are turning my brains to mush.”

“Hm, and I was hoping to hear that you were actually working your pretzel stand so we could swap tips as fellow businesswomen.”

“Nah, I just let AJ take care of it. His rent is less than a hundred bucks, he can manage.”

“Right. Enough about your life, back to my problems.”

“Shutting up now.” Rebecca mimes zipping her lips.

“Thank you. But Valencia is driving me insane with rejecting every single proposal idea I have. And, like, my ideas are good. I’m good at organizing events.”

“Right. You guys are crazy good at that.”

“I suggested Home Base, kind of as a joke, and she nearly bit my head off.”

“I mean, Home Base is not super romantic. I had enough sex in the back room there enough to know.”

“What a coincidence, so did I,” says Heather dryly. “Which means I probably should pay for an extremely thorough cleaning, but that’s besides the point. If Valencia isn’t feeling it, it’s not going work. So I figured, I’ve been striking out, I might as well ask our local romance expert for tips.”

“Aww,” coos Rebecca, placing her hand on her heart. Then her expression shifts from soppy to self-deprecatingly wry. “You guys must really be in a tight spot.”

“Yep. So…what do you have for me?”

Rebecca looks thoughtful, not unfocused like when she goes in her head or is too absorbed in her problems.

“I mean, Beth isn’t a total romantic, but she likes to make things meaningful,” says Rebecca after a pause. “She wouldn’t be in these kinds of events if she didn’t. Maybe for Valencia, she’s asking Beth to spend the rest of their lives together. Ask her about if there’s any specific moment when she knew that she wanted Beth to be in her life forever. Like, I know you are big on how there isn’t one moment of magical epiphany and I totally agree, for the record—but she made the decision that it was gonna be Beth at some point. Maybe asking when and where would give her a few new ideas.”

It's an almost stupefying simple idea. Heather nods slowly. “Right. Like, what do they do together that makes Valencia want to spend every day doing the same thing?”

“Exactly. Like, it’s just about finding resonance, right? Something that reaffirms how they feel, but not in an artificial or contrived way. Just love.”

“Right,” says Heather, starting to smile. “Thanks, Rebecca. That helps a lot.”

Rebecca beams. “Any time. And uh, not to be mercenary or anything, but since I gave good advice, does that mean you can pick up the tab? Music lessons have really tightened up my budget and you did offer to take me out to happy hour, so.”

“You’ve been gone a while.”

There’s a faintly accusatory tone to Valencia’s words when Heather gets back. She’s already sprawled over the couch, reading the magazine that Heather dropped earlier that morning.

“And yet, you still let yourself into my house. How was the meeting?”

“Okay. Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m in a personal crisis right now or I would have never agreed to do their wedding. Ugh, what annoying people. But, I promised, no more wedding talk. Tell me what’s been going on at Home Base. Don’t spare any details—I know you love that drama.”

“I do love drama. But before we get into that, I think I have one more suggestion that might help you with the whole proposal situation. Just one.”

“Okay?”

“I’m not a traditionally romantic person. You know this.”

“I do.”

“And I married Hector when I did because he really needed the health insurance. But I knew that I wanted to spend my life with him before that. He makes me laugh. He makes things light in my life. Even when he does something stupid like almost lose his toe.”

“That’s…surprisingly sweet, Heather.”

“Don’t say it’s wasted on Hector,” Heather warns.

“I’m not, but trust me, it’s hard.”

“Good. But that was a very roundabout, Rebecca-like way of asking: maybe think about when you decided you wanted to marry Beth?”

Valencia exhales noisily, slumping back against the sofa arm. “I’m almost never not thinking about it. When we’re at work together, when we’re talking, whenever I see her when I wake up in the morning with all of the light in her hair—” Valencia abruptly stops speaking, eyes wide.

Heather takes the opening.

“So there is a moment?”

“Yes.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes!”

“So you’re basically saying that she’s your sunshine?”

Valencia is too excited to be annoyed by Heather’s teasing. “Yes, exactly. She’s my sunshine! Which believe me, was sometimes the only thing that got me through this winter. It was cold.”

“I’ll bet,” agrees Heather. “New York isn’t exactly balmy.”

“Yeah, yeah. No, this is perfect.”

“So you know what you’re going to do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you going to tell me? Where will this event take place?”

“Our apartment. That’s our home now. It’s a shoebox and extremely uncomfortable, but it’s also ours. And mine. And that’s the first time I ever had something like that.”

Valencia actually sounds giddy.

“What do you think?” she appeals to Heather.

“That sounds just like both of you.”

“I think so.” Valencia looks conflicted. “But I want to share it with you guys too. Like, I want a little fun, otherwise I’ll just start crying and in the sloppy way, not the movie-style pretty way.”

“Again, I can’t go to New York. Paula’s too busy and Rebecca is equally broke.”

Valencia’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, but what is the best way to visit New York without visiting New York?”

Heather has an inkling of where this is going.

“You’re going to livestream your proposal?”

“Of course not. I’m going to livestream after she says yes.”

“Oooh boy.”

Valencia flutters a hand. “I think she’ll be fine as long as the actual moment itself is private. She’s not like me—she doesn’t want to get a proposal in front of people. So…you think it’s good?”

“It’s perfect. Out of curiosity, why did you want to be proposed to in front of people?”

“I mean, it used to be a social-capital type of thing, but honestly, I don’t want all of West Covina there. I would want you guys, and my family to share the moment. Cause you love us, you love Beth…and it’s still nice to be the center of attention once in a while. But that’s me, not Beth. Now, enough proposal talk. Let’s crack these wine babies open.”

Heather nods, a little distracted, a new idea forming in her head.

“The drone was a nice touch,” Paula observes as the three of them crowd around Heather’s laptop in her kitchen a few weeks later.

“Not mine. That was all Valencia.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe Valencia’s engaged!” Rebecca’s squeal is exactly what Valencia seems to want, she just beams all the brighter. From within the camera, Beth seems amusedly resigned, leaning her head on Valencia’s shoulder, admiring the ring.

“Well, since you have your girls on the line…” says Beth, and Heather smirks, the only woman of the lot of them who knows what’s coming, as Beth disappears out of their sight line, and emerges with a small velvet black box of her own.

“Oh my god!” Valencia’s squawk has all three of them jerking away from the laptop, but the general cacophony from Paula and Rebecca more than make up for it.

“A double proposal!” Rebecca’s grin is so wide that Heather’s own face aches in sympathy.

“Valencia, Valencia stop shaking me, I have a whole speech prepared, and I know it’s not a flash mob in Times Square—”

“I don’t care!” Valencia shrieks. “How did you—when—”

Beth laughs, giddy with adrenaline.

“Thank Heather,” she says, her voice clear even over the faint buzzing of the drone. “I called her for advice, and she didn’t give me any details, but she did say that if I wanted to propose, I might want to consider keeping the ring in the apartment. Preferably under the bed.”

“Heather!!” Valencia glares at her across the country, mascara running, but the smile on her face is impossible to repress.

“Told you I’m romantic,” says Heather mildly, but still smiling, pleased.

“I know,” says Valencia. “Thank you.”

She turns back to Beth. “But I thought you wanted a private proposal. Everyone’s watching us right now—”

“I did, and I’m glad I got one. But you’re not me. Valencia, you are a sun, and you draw all of us in your orbit—”

There is more, but Heather can barely hear any of it, between the screamlets coming out of the laptop and the shrieks echoing around Rebecca’s kitchen. Rebecca is punching Heather’s arm and saying something about she knew Heather was secretly a romantic at heart, she just knew it, and Paula is looking misty again, but Heather only has eyes for the two women on the other side of the screen, wearing rings and embracing so tightly it’s like the drone isn’t there at all.

What? She said she’s a romantic.

#crazy ex girlfriend #beth x valencia #heather davis #valencia perez #beth #crazyexvalentine #ellie writes fic #this was a lot of fun

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