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kjack89 · 3 years

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An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 13/14)

When this Author picked up the mantle left behind by the previous Lady Whistledown, it was with the intention of bringing a little levity to the otherwise long and sometimes dull proceedings that encompass the season, and to provide some color commentary that pokes fun at those otherwise generally unwilling to make light of themselves.

To that end, this Author has remarked upon and highlighted the general scandals that accompany this season as every season, the kind that serve to provide some drama to otherwise dull lives, but risk very little in terms of lasting damage.

This Author has never intended for this to cause actual harm, and as such, owes an apology to the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire. This Author does not dabble in morals, or legality; the sole concern of this column has been amusement, and the ruin of two gentlemen otherwise described by most who have met them as good men is something this Author cannot and will not be a part of any longer. While this Author cannot overstate that there was no prior knowledge of the truth behind the Marquess’s marriage, nonetheless the extra attention shone on it by and through this paper has brought harm, and for that, this Author is truly sorry.

While no promises can be made in regards to accidentally reporting similar in the future, this Author will certainly make every attempt to better vet sources before publishing rumor and innuendo. And the promise this Author does make is that the only additional mention of the Marquess of Enjolras or Mr. Grantaire in this paper will be for happy tidings, with best hopes for whatever they may face in the future. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 JUNE 1831

The summons did not arrive with the usual fanfare, so much so that Enjolras almost missed them entirely.

No gilded envelope hand stamped with the King’s own seal, no scarlet-clad guard from the palace delivering it. Just a small, plain parchment envelope instructing Enjolras to attend to His Majesty the King the following day.

In truth, he very nearly almost missed it entirely, since Porter, who normally would have brought him such things, was confined to bed for the immediate future as he recovered – and the surgeon had been quite strict in his instructions. But Grantaire, far less used to having the number of servants Enjolras did, had seen it sitting on the table in the foyer and brought it into the dining room with him when he came in for breakfast.

“This is good news,” he told Grantaire after scanning through the note, though Grantaire didn’t look convinced.

“To be summoned in front of those with the power to strip you of your titles and lands and throw you in the Tower for the rest of your days, unless they decide to chop off your head instead?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Better a meeting with the King and Queen than the constable,” he pointed out. “Besides, there’s a limit to what they can do, and if they’re intervening now, it will serve to prevent the worst from happening.” He stood to leave the breakfast table before pausing and bending to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “In any case, the usual death in this situation would be by hanging, not beheading.”

“Because that’s so comforting a thought,” Grantaire said sourly.

“It should be.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The thought of you being hanged instead of beheaded?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “No, that the King wants to meet with me. I’m not fool enough to think my death by anything other than old age would bring you any comfort.”

Grantaire pretended to consider it. “Going out in a blaze of glory as you attempt to bring the whole damned system to its knees might.”

“Only if you are by my side as proof that I have won you over in the end.”

Grantaire’s expression softened for a moment. “I would die by your side in an instant, but I don’t think that’s proof of anything.” He kissed Enjolras before returning to the subject at hand. “In any case, why should the King wanting to meet with you bring me any comfort whatsoever?”

“Because it means the Crown wants this handled quickly and quietly,” Enjolras said. “Meaning very likely no public trial, and almost certainly no public execution.”

“That would be more comforting without the qualifiers ‘very likely’ and ‘almost certainly’.”

Enjolras sighed. “There is very little in life that is absolutely certain besides death and taxes.”

Grantaire smirked. “And as I have heard you rail about numerous times, the certainty of taxes is not always applied evenly.”

“Do you know, that may be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Enjolras said, grinning at him.

“Oh, hush,” Grantaire said, but he was laughing, and seemed, for the moment at least, to forget his concerns about Enjolras’s impending appointment with the Crown.

They resurfaced in full force the following day as Enjolras adjusted his cravat while waiting for the carriage to pull around. “How do I look?” he asked, and Grantaire cast a baleful eye at him.

“Dressed well enough for a meeting with the King and Queen, and not at all like you’re headed to imprisonment or worse.”

Enjolras managed not to roll his eyes, mostly because he did not think it would help the situation. “Luckily for both us, I highly doubt the latter options will come to pass.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile, just reaching out to take Enjolras’s hand. “Just come back to me,” he whispered.

“I have every intention of doing so,” Enjolras told him, his voice low.

Grantaire sighed. “You know I’m going to be a nervous wreck until you do,” he said. “Just like I am every time you’re in danger, even if normally you’re the idiot who’s put yourself there.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Arguably I’ve put myself in this danger as well.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “We’ve had this argument before,” he said evenly.

“Yes, and I still refuse to cast any blame on you.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “An argument we’ll have to continue another time, it seems.”

Now Enjolras managed a real smile. “Yes, and all the more reason for me to return. You know I hate to leave a fight unfinished.”

“No, you hate to leave a fight unwon,” Grantaire said pointedly, but for the first time all morning, he looked a little less miserable, and Enjolras took that as a small win in and of itself.

“Are they not one and the same?” he asked innocently, leaning in to kiss Grantaire, who stopped him, his face falling again.

“Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras frowned.

“What?”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment before blurting, “I have never once wished you to be less than who you are, and I do not wish it now. The man I love does not back down from a challenge, and his tongue is sharper than any sword.” He paused as if choosing his next words carefully. “But I beg of you, tread lightly. I will not love you less for holding back if it means you survive to fight another day.”

Enjolras did kiss him then, a slow, heated kiss that said hopefully everything he couldn’t bring himself. “I cannot promise my mouth will not get me in trouble. But I do promise I will not deliberately seek it out.” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras gave him a pointed look. “It’s as good a promise as you will get from me.”

“I know.”

“And yet you don’t seem satisfied.”

Grantaire sighed. “I will be satisfied when you are home with me again.”

“And with luck, that will be before you know it,” Enjolras told him bracingly, so convincingly that he almost believed it himself, enough to get him out the door and into the carriage before finally allowing himself to feel the nerves he’d been trying to swallow all morning.

What he had told Grantaire was the truth: this meeting almost certainly meant no real punishment was in store for him.

But he had very little idea of what was in store for him. And that worried him most of all.

----------

Enjolras slowly closed the door behind him, unsurprised when Grantaire immediately appeared from the drawing room, a glass of whiskey in hand, which, judging by the glassiness of his eyes, wasn’t the first he’d had. “Are you ruined?” he asked.

“Define ruined,” Enjolras said, a little grimly.

Grantaire scowled. “Perhaps now is not the time to be glib.”

Enjolras just shook his head as he crossed to him, dropping a kiss on his lips and grabbing the glass of whiskey from his hand, downing it in one gulp. “I wasn’t,” he rasped, handing the glass back to Grantaire and making his way into the drawing room. “The fact is that there is a limit to the punishment I can receive, barring criminal conviction and without an Act of Parliament.” He collapsed onto the couch, reaching up automatically to loosen his cravat. “The Crown has taken what actions it can, which is to say, I am no longer the Viscount of Digne.”

He delivered the words solemnly, but Grantaire just blinked in response. “I did not realize that you were.”

“It is a customary title bestowed upon the current Marquess of Enjolras, with some associated lands,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “Both will be given to more deserving peers, I’m sure.” He hesitated before adding, “Also, none of our issue will be eligible to inherit my title or any lands, save for that which I own outright.”

Grantaire stared blankly at him. “Any of our issue?” he repeated. “As in children?”

Enjolras made a face. “Well, technically my issue. I don’t think the Crown cares so much about yours.” He cleared his throat. “But if I were to remarry and sire children, none of those children would inherit.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “And what are the chances of that?”

“Absolutely none,” Enjolras said, barking a dry laugh. “The King has also told me that my services to his Court will no longer be necessary, meaning my various ceremonial duties will doled out to others and my power at Court, so to speak, is diminished. Beyond that, I retain my title of Marquess and associated lands and riches, which means I will lead a very comfortable life.” He reached out for Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together before raising his hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “With you at my side, and without having to hide. So to answer your question, no, I don’t consider that ruin. I consider that a gift.”

Grantaire looked relieved, but he still hesitated. “Even though I will be almost certainly landless and penniless?” he asked, and when Enjolras just frowned at him, he sighed and elaborated, “I doubt highly my father will continue to grant me my allowance and use of the houses when he receives Le Cabuc’s letter.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand. “The Enjolras purse has sustained this family for generations. There’s more than enough left to take care of the man I love.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Yet you don’t seem completely satisfied. What else did the King say?”

“Well—”

Before Enjolras could elaborate further, someone cleared her throat from the doorway, and they both turned to look at Enjolras’s mother, who looked unusually somber. “Am I interrupting?”

On instinct alone, Enjolras started to pull his hand away from Grantaire’s, but Grantaire held tight, squaring his shoulders as he met Enjolras’s mother’s expression coolly. “As a matter of fact, you are. Your son and I are having a private conversation.”

He turned back to Enjolras, who tried not to laugh at the look on his mother’s face. But to his surprise, his mother did not immediately snap some dismissive rebuttal, instead inclining her head slightly. “And you have my apologies for intruding, especially at this trying time. But I need to speak to my son, alone, especially in light of his recent visit to the palace.”

Enjolras wasn’t surprised that she had somehow heard about his summons. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me,” Grantaire said firmly. “Your son and I are sharing our lives, and that includes dealing with whatever family affairs you’ve brought with you.” He again turned to look at her. “And need I remind you, your part in our deception has not yet been revealed, but I will be more than happy to tell anyone and everyone who will listen what drove your son to the desperation of a fake marriage in the first place. I doubt highly your friends among the nobility will be impressed by what they learn.”

Enjolras’s mother’s lips pursed, but again, Enjolras was completely thrown by her response. “Thank you,” she said simply, and Grantaire’s cold expression slipped as he glanced over at Enjolras, who just shrugged. “I can see that you are protective of my son, and while I may not appreciate your tone, I do appreciate knowing that my son has found someone who loves him as...vigorously as you clearly do.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, but Enjolras cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he told Grantaire, squeezing his hand once more. “I trust her enough to have a conversation with her, and I can fight my own battles as needed.”

“Are you certain?” Grantaire asked in an undertone, eyeing Enjolras’s mother warily. “I believe you can fight your own battles, but it’s her I don’t trust…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately. “I have managed this long,” he assured him.

“Fine.” Grantaire stood, but before leaving, he bent and kissed Enjolras, a long, slow kiss that Enjolras was fairly certain was for his mother’s benefit more than his own.

Not that he minded, since getting to kiss Grantaire and enrage his mother in the same blow was as close to perfection as Enjolras was likely to see in his lifetime.

Then Grantaire straightened again and winked at Enjolras before finally leaving, sidling past his mother with little more than a second glance. For her part, his mother looked mostly impassive at the display she had just witnessed, and she finally fully entered the room, perching imperiously on the armchair. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for tea,” she said with a sniff.

Enjolras barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “You might have heard that my butler was attacked,” he said sourly. “I’m sorry if him being laid up recovering from being shot is inconvenient to you.”

“I did hear about Porter, yes, but that’s not to what I was referring,” she said. “Have the servants started fleeing en masse?”

“None have yet offered their resignations, if that’s what you mean,” Enjolras said.

“Of course it’s what I mean,” she snapped. “This is a tainted household now – I doubt most will want to stay. Especially as they’ve no way to ingratiate themselves with whomever the next Marquess will be.” Her lips pursed again. “Do you even know which distant relative is your heir, now that you will almost certainly never sire children of your own?”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “A third cousin, isn’t it? Lives somewhere out in the west, if memory serves.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“You once told me all about him when I threatened to abdicate after Father died,” Enjolras said mildly. “You seemed to think it would convince me to think otherwise.”

“Clearly it did.”

Enjolras laughed dryly. “I hate to tell you, Mother, but that actually played a very small part in my decision.”

She scowled. “Perhaps you should have abdicated back then. It may have made for an easier transition for all involved.”

“Perhaps so,” Enjolras said honestly, as it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind. “But we are well past that point now.”

“In more ways than one.” She paused, giving him a searching look. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to convince you to reconsider.”

Enjolras shook his head. “None.”

His mother nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then that’s the end of it.”

Enjolras hesitated, before saying, as casually as he could manage, “You seem…decidedly less surprised by this whole situation than I would expect.”

“What precisely is there to be surprised about?” she asked.

There were any number of things that Enjolras had expected her to be either shocked or scandalized by, let alone surprised, but the look on her face stopped him. “You mean…you knew?”

“That you were…otherwise inclined?” she provided delicately. “Of course I knew. A mother always knows.” Her expression twisted. “Though I rather hoped you would grow out of it, or at least do the sensible thing and marry a woman while seeking your amusement elsewhere.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I’m not certain I see that as the sensible thing.”

She considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But more sensible than being stripped of your lands and titles.”

“Not all my lands, or all my titles,” Enjolras told her. “The Viscount of Digne is the only major one.”

She made a face. “No real loss there, the bishop in that area rules it with an iron fist and will probably be glad to see the backside of our family.”

Enjolras trusted her to know more about it than he did or frankly cared to. “And there’s a few minor lands that will be redistributed but for the most part, Grantaire and I have made it out unscathed.”

Again his mother made a face. “I don’t know that I would go that far—”

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Enjolras muttered.

“—But all things considered, it could have been much worse.”

On that, at least, she was correct. “And I’m certain you’ll be glad to know that your own holdings will not be affected, nor your allowance,” he told her. “And Grantaire is letting you keep the dowry.”

That seemed to surprise her. “That is...generous of him,” she allowed, before frowning at her son. “But you speak as if all you think I care about is money.”

Enjolras just arched an eyebrow. “You have given me little evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Caring about the well-being of my only son isn’t evidence enough?”

He managed not to roll his eyes, but just barely. “Faux sincerity isn’t your strong suit, Mother,” he informed her. “If you wish to convince me, you’ll have to try a different tack.”

To his surprise, she laughed lightly. “Maybe I will, when all the dust has settled,” she said, standing and brushing invisible dust from her skirt before telling him, “I will be leaving the city for the near future, and possibly even the country for a bit. I need my friends and allies at court to think that I was not party to this.”

“You weren’t,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowed. “And you are certainly at liberty to tell anyone you need to as such.”

“I have, and I will,” she said. “But I will also not outwardly condemn you the way they would wish, and that to some is enough to make them think otherwise.”

For the first time in what Enjolras was certain was his entire life, he was speechless. He had frankly expected her to do exactly that in order to maintain her social standing. “You could,” he blurted, ignoring the raised eyebrow she gave him. “Condemn us, I mean. I would not hold it against you if you did.”

“You and I both know that you absolutely would,” she said dryly. “But more than that, you are my son. For all your faults and all our disagreements, public and otherwise, that has never changed. And it will not change now.”

Enjolras was again taken aback by what she said. “Thank you,” he managed, before adding, a little wryly, “I think.”

A small smile crossed her face. “You’re welcome, I think. And now I should leave you to the start of your new life.”

She turned to head to the door, clearly deeming her role in this complete for the time being, but Enjolras stopped her, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you think of Grantaire?” he asked. “Now that you know what he is to me.”

She looked back at him, surprised. “You have never sought my approval before.”

“And I’m not seeking it now,” Enjolras said. “Just curious what you think.”

She nodded slowly. “He is not who I would have chosen for you,” she said after a long moment. “But then again, this life is not what I would have chosen for you.”

It was no more than what Enjolras had expected, but before he could say anything, she continued, “I know what you think of me, that you think me cold, and vain, and cruel. And there is certainly more than a little truth to that.” He looked up at her sharply, surprised by this most of all. “I know I shall always play the role of villain in your story. But despite what you may think, I have only ever wanted you to be happy.” She hesitated. “And it makes me terribly sad to know you have chosen a path where the world very well may never let you be happy.”

Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “The difference between you and I, Mother, is that I have never needed the approval of the world to be happy.” He gave her a sharp smile. “Hang what anyone else thinks. So long as I have Grantaire, we will make our own happiness.”

She returned his smile. “I do not doubt that you will. As I said before, you two make quite the pair, and whatever else you may think, I am glad that you two found each other.”

With that, she left, and Enjolras sat where he was for a long moment, digesting everything that had transpired. This had been a day of surprises, from his meeting with the King and Queen to now his conversation with his mother, and he shook his head slowly before standing to go find Grantaire.

He found him in the library, sitting sideways in an oversized armchair, his legs draped over the arm of the chair as he skimmed through a book with seemingly little interest. He brightened when he saw Enjolras come in, tipping his head up automatically for a kiss. “Is she gone?” he asked as Enjolras settled onto the sofa across from him.

“For now, yes.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “But not forever?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not even this scandal was enough to be rid of her forever. But I am...strangely not as bothered by that thought as I once would have been.”

Grantaire blinked. “Did she hit you on the head while she was in there with you?”

“Something like that, anyway,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But enough about my mother. Where were we?”

He eyed Grantaire appreciatively, mentally trying to determine the mechanics of what they could do with him in that position, and Grantaire scowled. “Certainly not doing that,” he informed him, sitting upright. “You were finishing telling me about your audience with the King and Queen.”

“Oh. Right.” Enjolras shrugged and looked away. “Well, the Archbishop is apparently pushing for us to be excommunicated.”

Grantaire snorted. “Does that mean I no longer have to go to church?” he asked idly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, among other things. But there’s an issue.”

“What’s that?”

“We could be imprisoned if we’re excommunicated, for a start.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow. “Just as we could be imprisoned for sodomy?”

Enjolras made a face. “The Crown has no intention of pursuing those charges,” he said. “But getting excommunicated could lend credence to future attempts at levying those charges, at likely the least opportune time.”

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “Well. We’ve faced worse prospects.”

Enjolras frowned. “You seem remarkably blasé about the prospect of excommunication, considering how concerned you’ve been about the possibility of imprisonment or worse for the other charges.”

“Mostly because you don’t seem particularly worried about it, and I imagine if this were an actual threat, you’d be somewhat less calm,” Grantaire said evenly. “Besides, I had several glasses of whiskey while you were out so it will take quite a bit for me to get riled at this point.”

“You didn’t seem to have any difficulty getting riled at my mother,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire smiled grimly. “That was a more immediate danger.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Well, you’re not wrong about this not being an actual threat, I suppose. The Monarchy has little desire to create a public spectacle via excommunication and as the Head of the Church, I imagine that’s the end of the matter.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Does that mean you’re actually going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Excommunication isn’t enough?” Enjolras asked, mostly rhetorically, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed. “Fine… I need to get word to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. We have much to discuss ahead of our next meeting.”

“Are you purposefully avoiding the question, or…?”

“I promise I am not,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “But they need to know, because this concerns all of us.” He paused, trying to figure out how to word what he needed to tell both Grantaire and his closest lieutenants. “I was...as surprised as any that the King did not wish to pursue any additional punitive matters. As a whole, the punishment dealt to me is mild, to say the least. And what troubles me is the reason he gave for why.”

Grantaire frowned. “He gave you a reason?”

Enjolras barked a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, he gave me many. Most were mere platitudes, that out of respect for the service of my father, he would take no additional measures, etcetera, but he also alluded to his hope that our...situation would not inconvenience my political work.” He cleared his throat before adding sardonically, “That he hoped our allies would not abandon us with my public declaration of depravity.”

“And you suspect he actually hopes the opposite,” Grantaire said slowly.

Enjolras nodded. “I’m not going to pretend that my political sympathies are or have ever been well-received at court, and I think most were content to look the other way and pretend that the protests and political actions were the fun side project of an otherwise bored noble. Something I would grow out of in time. But now…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire’s expression turned grim. “Now they might not be so content to look the other way.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed. “And if I or any of our number were to get arrested—”

“Arrested again, you mean,” Grantaire said with the hint of a smile that Enjolras did not return.

“—My position is no longer enough to stave off any significant consequences.”

Grantaire went very still. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning I may not be ruined. We may not be ruined. But Les Amis may be.”

----------

In lieu of coming over to Enjolras’s to discuss the situation, Combeferre suggested via return message that they call a special meeting of Les Amis. “That seems unusual,” Grantaire murmured, his brow furrowed as he read over the brief message. “Why would they not just come here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Perhaps they don’t want to be seen entering a den of sin,” he said, more blithely than he remotely felt.

“Jest all you wish, but you cannot pretend the thought hasn’t entered your mind,” Grantaire said. “Not that I believe any of our friends will turn on us entirely, but they are all trying to make marriages of their own, and to be tainted by association…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras just shook his head. “That is their prerogative, and I will not hold it against any man to abide by his conscience.”

“Or by the prospect of increasing his purse?” Grantaire asked sourly.

Enjolras shrugged again. “If that is truly their reasoning, I doubt highly we would be associates for much longer in any case.”

Still, it was with an unusual amount of trepidation that they approached the Musain, and Enjolras hesitated before instructing his driver to drop them off at the back of the building by the worker’s entrance. “I do not doubt they would still receive us at the front entrance,” he told Grantaire. “I am, after all, still a marquess and a certain amount of respect must be paid. But I would rather not put them in that position all the same.”

Grantaire managed a wan smile. “You need not explain yourself to me,” he said. “I understand as well as any that the situation is complicated.”

Enjolras glanced at him. “Speaking of,” he said carefully, “have you heard yet from your father?”

“No.” Grantaire’s tone was clipped as he avoided meeting Enjolras’s eyes, looking out the carriage window instead. “I have not heard from him one way or another, so I have no indication if he has yet received Le Cabuc’s letter.”

“Could Le Cabuc have been bluffing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it,” he said. “He always did prefer my father to me.” He hesitated before adding, “I thought I might make a preemptive trip back to the house and gather some belongings. Just some personal effects, and things from my mother and sister that I would rather not lose to my father’s whims.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That is probably not a terrible idea.” He hesitated before asking, “Do you wish for me to accompany you?”

“I suspect that would cause more problems than it’s worth,” Grantaire said. “If I go by myself, I can hopefully slip in and out mostly unnoticed.”

Enjolras had expected that answer, but he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting, just a little. “Of course.”

Something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face, but Grantaire’s expression softened as he added, “Which doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love for you to return with me, or that I won’t miss you dreadfully while I’m gone.”

“But this is the reality of the life we’ve chosen,” Enjolras said heavily. “Going in the servants’ entrance to avoid being seen. Travelling incognito to not cause a scene. Less visitors or invitations to visit because people won’t wish to be associated with us.”

Grantaire eyed him warily. “I feel as though you are trying to make a point.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Just that I do not care about any of those things. But I would understand if you did, and if the reality of our life together does not align with what you may otherwise have expected.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed. “How many times must you and I have this conversation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I wish that you had chosen a better life for yourself than one stuck with me, who was always titleless and is about to be in short order landless and penniless to boot, just as you wish I had chosen a better life for myself,” Grantaire said, a little impatiently. “But you and I both know that the best choice, the only choice, is each other and whatever accompanies that.”

Enjolras laughed as well, feeling a little relieved that they were on the same page in terms of what mattered. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Grantaire said smugly before reaching for Enjolras’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Une vie et un amour, remember?”

“Fidelitas usque ad mortem,” Enjolras said, his voice low, and Grantaire smiled.

“And I still aim to be.”

Together, they stepped down from the carriage and made their way into the Musain through the backdoor. The workers they passed barely gave them second glances, though Enjolras assumed that was likely because they recognized them as frequent patrons, and knew better than to stop or question them.

But despite arriving almost a half hour before the meeting Combeferre had called was set to begin, when they reached the backroom, they could hear the buzz of voices through the closed door. Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Has the meeting already begun?”

“It certainly appears that way,” Enjolras said, feeling inexplicably nervous as he stared at the closed door, straining to hear what was being said beyond it.

“Did Combeferre not say that it would start at 9?”

Enjolras nodded. “He did, but…” He trailed off, not willing to vocalize his doubts. Instead, he squared his shoulders and opened the door, walking in with Grantaire at his side. Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood at the front of the room, the rest of their number assembled, all looking unusually somber, and all conversation stalled as soon as they looked back at Enjolras. “Forgive the interruption,” Enjolras said coolly, closing the door behind him. “I did not realize the hour of our meeting had changed.”

“It didn’t,” Combeferre said, his expression impassive. “But there was certain business we felt we should attend to before your arrival.”

“What sort of business?” Grantaire asked with a frown.

Combeferre did not seem deterred by his tone. “The business of determining if your continued membership amongst our association is beneficial or a detriment, mostly.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking in his chest. “Well, don’t let us impede your discussion.”

“We have nothing left to discuss,” Courfeyrac interjected. “All that remains is to vote.”

Grantaire reached out and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together firmly. Combeferre cleared his throat. “All those in favor of expelling Enjolras and Grantaire from our number due to their sexual deviance and the threat that it poses to Les Amis and our efforts?”

Not a single hand rose in the air, and Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand.

“And all those opposed?”

As one, all of their friends raised their hands before standing and applauding. Joly and Bossuet were positively beaming, Courfeyrac wolf-whistled, and Combeferre stepped forward to embrace Enjolras. “There was never any doubt which way the vote would go,” he told Enjolras, “but I knew you would not be satisfied if there was no vote at all.”

“Besides, if we start exiling people for buggery, there are more than a few of us who would be in trouble,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully as he embraced Enjolras as well.

“Hear, hear,” Bahorel chortled.

Joly took Bossuet’s hand and squeezed it. “Grantaire helped us avoid a scandal of our own, and we owe him our loyalty,” he said. “Besides which, I swore to go through fire for you, and I would not forsake that oath lightly.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Enjolras said quietly, his chest tight with emotion.

Grantaire squeezed his hand once more before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “It appears I am not the only one who understands the meaning of loyalty until death.” Enjolras wordlessly squeezed his hand in return and Grantaire smiled at him before asking Courfeyrac, “But one of our number is missing, is he not? Where is your erstwhile roommate this evening?”

“Oh, he has found the girl he was looking for,” Courfeyrac said airily. “It turns out your little announcement was good for more than one thing – she was the one who swooned in his arms!”

Much laughter greeted that announcement and Enjolras shook his head. “Leave it to Marius…” he started before trailing off, glancing around the room at the smiling faces of each of his friends, all those whom he loved most in this world. “Thank you all,” he said softly. “I know this will not be easy, but I appreciate your continued faith and love.”

“Our goal has always been to fight against oppressive powers in whatever form,” Combeferre told him. “And condemning men based on consensual acts in their bed chamber would be playing into that oppression.”

“Just promise us one thing,” Bossuet interjected.

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “What’s what?”

“No funny business,” Bossuet said, mock-sternly. “No suddenly agreeing with everything the other says just because it’s your lover saying it.”

Again everyone laughed and Enjolras shook his head good-naturedly. “I don’t think we’re in much danger of that.”

“After all,” Grantaire added slyly, “what I love far more than him agreeing with me is that delightful shade of red he gets when he so vehemently disagrees with me. Who am I to give that up now?”

“In truth,” Enjolras said when the laughter again died down, “we aim to keep things as much the same as we can.”

“And we’ll be relying on you lot to keep it that way,” Grantaire said.

“There’s one other promise we would ask,” Feuilly said, glancing around. “Or at least, that I would ask.”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly, at Feuilly’s far more serious tone. “If it is in our power to grant it, we will.”

“No more lies.” There were a few murmurs of agreement that Feuilly waited to die down before continuing, “There is not a man among us who does not understand the reason for your deception, but we in this room are brothers, and we deserve the truth no matter what consequence it may bring.”

Grantaire took Enjolras’s hand once more and squeezed it before affirming, “No more lies. We owe not just you the truth from here on out, but each other as well. And it’s the very least that we can give in return for your generosity and personal sacrifices.”

“In that case, let us open the wine and get the celebration started,” Jehan called, standing up on his chair to be seen. “To Enjolras and Grantaire!”

“To Enjolras and Grantaire!” everyone repeated, whatever glasses they had in hand, and Enjolras rolled his eyes with obvious affection before leaning in and kissing Grantaire as everyone cheered.

Grantaire was grinning as he pulled away, and that sight alone was enough to make everything they had endured and everything that they had left to endure absolutely worth it in Enjolras’s opinion. But before he could say anything to that effect to Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet grabbed Grantaire by both arms, tugging him away. “You owe us more than mere truth,” Joly said, with an almost evil grin. “You owe us details.”

“Exactly,” Bossuet said, wearing a matching smile. “And we want to hear all about your first time bedding Enjolras.”

“We promised the truth, not all the gory details,” Grantaire protested, making a pleading face at Enjolras, who just laughed.

Before he could rescue him, Combeferre pulled him aside. “I wanted a moment, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

Enjolras clapped him on the shoulder. “For you, my friend, never. Especially as I believe I owe you especially an apology for our deceit.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I understand it more now,” he said. “And honestly, I’m surprised I did not put the pieces together earlier.”

“Grantaire said he was always a little obvious, even if I never noticed either,” Enjolras said good-naturedly.

But Combeferre just shook his head. “Grantaire may have been, but it’s you I should have noticed.”

“Me?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Looking back on it, all the clues were there, least of all how you allowed Grantaire to stay, not just for meetings, but well into the night when you were ostensibly working, a privilege bestowed on no one else. And I cannot help but think that if I had noticed sooner, we would have had more time to plan, to minimize the fallout.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “My friend, you could have told me until you were blue in the face that I was completely and obviously in love with Grantaire, and I would never have believed you,” he said. “It was something I needed to figure out with him.” He made a face. “Though you are right that I should have told you sooner, before we made our announcement, so that plans could have been made in advance, and for that, I do owe you an apology.”

“One that I readily accept,” Combeferre told him. “And the only recompense I ask from you is the answer to this: are you happy?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, without even needing to consider it. “More so than I thought was possible, or at least probable.”

Combeferre gave him a wide, genuine smile. “Then the rest we will deal with when or if the time comes.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt tight with emotion, with the weight of how much his friends cared for him and Grantaire. “I truly do not know how to thank you, how to thank everyone, for what you have given Grantaire and myself.”

“There is no need to thank us,” Combeferre said. “Especially since you have given us something equally precious.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are free,” Combeferre said simply. “And that gives the rest of us hope.”

----------

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief mingled with happiness as he sat down in the waiting carriage. Grantaire clambered in after him, and sat down on the bench next to him instead of sitting across from him. “That went well.”

“That went far better than well,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “Surely you did not expect Combeferre or Courfeyrac to abandon you, or honestly any of our friends.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “In truth, I did not know what to expect.” He nudged Grantaire gently. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Whatever for?”

“For making my life complete,” Enjolras said honestly. “And so completely happy.”

Grantaire smiled at him, his eyes shining even in the dim light of the carriage, but he promptly ruined the moment by asking, “How much wine did you drink?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I had half a glass at best,” he protested. “Not nearly enough to undermine my sincerity. Nor my conviction that somehow, against all odds and, frankly, against our own efforts to the contrary, everything for us is turning out better than I ever could have imagined, let alone hoped.”

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “We have been extraordinarily lucky,” he murmured.

“We have been,” Enjolras agreed, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “We have our friends, and we have each other. Whatever else comes our way, so long as we still have that, we will be fine.”

“More than fine,” Grantaire corrected, raising Enjolras’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Our future will be happy. Of that, I am as certain as anything.”

“Being in love really has changed you if you suddenly start espousing convictions,” Enjolras teased.

But Grantaire just smiled at him. “It’s changed us both.”

“For the better?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire kissed him, a gentle, sweet kiss that was a promise of more to come. “For the best.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #les amis #bridgerton au #canon era #regency au #chaptered #part 13 #fake marriage

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generalfoolish · 3 years

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Feel The Heat

Part Two: Something More

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ (b/c minors shouldn't lurk, it is illegal and not polite.) But this is big fluff, just more exposition and pining and world building. I do curse, so there's that.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: June and Frankie are big idiots, and they keep bumping into each other in the wildest of places. Again, and I can't overstate this: they’re both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! This is going a little slower bc I want to give more with each update, I normally keep around 1K and these are little beasts. But I'm excited with the story, some threads are exposing themselves, and there will be more Frankie X OC time in the next part. For now, enjoy this little taste of yearning and pining and overthinking and general angst over meeting a cute new somebody. 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

June checked her phone as she stirred the pot, and groaned at the email count. More than half were parents who “couldn’t” make the conference, and the rest were from her principal wanting to reiterate the importance of those meetings. She dropped the phone back to the counter, and focused on her pot. She had googled what to do with Brandywines, and had decided on a slowly simmered tomato sauce. It paired beautifully with the fresh garlic and basil she had picked up, and the whole house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

This was her favorite way to use up produce in the summer. She spent hours simmering and canning, and got to enjoy the fruits of her labor in the dead of winter. She knew she could easily gift the sauce made from those beautiful tomatoes, and she had every intention of doing so.

Sundays passed so quickly, she hardly had time to dwell on the farmer, but when she caught a whiff of her stove she had to find something to do. She worked through the emails, sending reminders that the conferences were mandatory, and that if the parents couldn’t make it during the week before or after school, she was available to meet online. She fought the temptation to open her weekends. She was working on work boundaries with her therapist.

June had an easier time fighting off thoughts of the farmer as the day waned on, and she thought, foolishly, that she could just forget the brown eyed grump she had met.

Frankie was having a hard time focusing on anything. Liv was a bundle of energy, and he tried not to snap at her. He had her come help him in the garden, but he ended up sending her to dig for worms after she trampled another vine.

“Ew! Worms are gross.” She argued.

“I know, but didn’t you want to go fishing? Fish eat worms, it’s how we can get them out of the water.” He explained, carefully. She considered him, then bounded off, calling out to the worms. He chuckled watching her, and went back to pulling weeds. With a moment of quiet, his mind flitted back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamt of her. She was lounging in the back of his mind, waiting for him to stumble into the memory. Liv was a good distraction, but she only held the woman at bay for so long. He grumbled and wiped his brow. He decided to give it up for now, the woman and the weeding.

“Princess, I think we have some hotdogs. Let’s try those.” He called over to Liv, who excitedly left behind her freshly dug hole.

“Daddy, Mrs. Becka wanted me to remind you about the school stuff.” Liv told him, grabbing his hand as they walked. He exhaled sharply. He had forgotten the meetings. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through Becka’s texts. She had sent him the teacher’s number at some point, he knew, the trouble was finding it. Finally, he clicked the blue hyper-linked number and called it. Liv ran inside ahead of him, looking for the hot dogs, and he waited at the door as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Ms. Collins answered breathlessly, and he cleared his throat.

“Ms. Collins? It’s Olivia Morales’ dad, calling about the meeting?” He heard something clatter on the other end. “Is now an okay time?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Morales, I was just...it doesn’t matter. My schedule is a little tight, when did you have in mind?”

“Something early, maybe before drop-off?”

“Sure, uhm, let me check my calendar,” She sounded distant, he thought, probably on speaker. “Yeah, Tuesday morning? I know that’s quick, it is all I have though.”

“Yeah, I can be there. Like 7am?”

“Yes, that’s great. See you then.” The line disconnected and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice before. He rolled his eyes at himself, of course he had. She was his daughter’s teacher. As if on cue, Liv ran out with a hot dog. He smiled brightly and ruffled her hair.

“‘Kay, kiddo, let’s go catch some fish.” She grinned at him brightly, showing off the hole her first lost tooth had made. His heart caught as he realized she was growing up so fast.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” June laughed. She had her mom on the phone, connected through Bluetooth. “I’m just leaving the school now!”

“I just don’t see why you’re having to set these meetings up now. The kids have hardly been in school for a couple of weeks.” June sighed as she merged on the highway to head home.

“I know, it's just something my district does. The hard part is wrangling parents.”

“Well, if you had any children, you’d know how much they require of you.” June rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Her mom was always quick to bring up her lack of a partner and children. Not that June didn’t want those things, they just haven't panned out for her yet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure you’re right.” She acquiesced, knowing the argument wasn’t worth the effort.

“Have you met anyone? You’re only getting older, you know.”

“Thanks Mom. Uh, I have a date tomorrow night, actually.”

“Well, what’s his name, do I know him? What does he do for work?” June rolled her eyes, and wondered why she had answered the call.

“I don’t know anything about him. It’s a blind date.”

“Not even a name?” June bit her lip, debating telling her Mom the nickname.

“He’s ex-Army, goes by Fish. That’s all I know. Oh, and he’s single. A new teacher sat it up for me.” June explained, hoping her Mom wouldn’t have much to say.

“Fish? Oh, wow. Terrence really messed you up, huh.”

“I’m getting a call from a parent, I’ll talk to you later.” June lied, ending the call. Terrence had really messed her up. Not that that was of any importance to her dating life, or this blind date’s name. She sighed hard as she pulled into her driveway.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” She told the empty space of her car. She grabbed her bag and hurried inside. It had been a long day, and she was ready to polish off her bottle of wine from the night before. She walked in and let her bag drop to the floor, and crossed to the staircase. She groaned as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted and still had a ton left to do.

June stripped quickly and threw on her yard work clothes. She stopped by the kitchen and poured some wine into a cup with a lid, before making her way outside. The day before she had started a small garden, and she was determined to make something grow out of it. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The wine wasn’t really helping either.

She had been short with a few parents while she was tending the fragile plants. It was a little late in the season to try and start anything, but she had picked up some discount plants that she wanted to help limp along for a little longer. She hoped she hadn’t put any of the parents off, and tried to remember who all had called.

June wiped her forehead with her gloved hand and tried to sort them out. Steven’s mom, Cynthia, was meeting her during lunch. That would be short, thankfully. Steven was a good kid, quiet. Graham and Ginger’s grandma was coming Wednesday afternoon, the parents were out of the country for something. Mia’s dad was going to call during the planning period. Ashley’s mom was coming Tuesday afternoon. And Olivia’s dad was coming Tuesday morning. June felt her shoulders sag, and she drained her wine. That wasn’t even half of the parents left.

She gave up on the garden and stalked inside. She wanted to scare up something for dinner, but didn’t really feel like making anything. She gave in and called the local Indian place. They knew her order, and said they’d be there soon. She grimaced, wondering how much money she had spent on Vindaloo over the years, and decided not to think about it. She had enough time to slip in the shower to wash the sweat off, before the delivery guy knocked on her door. She tipped him generously, and sat down on the couch.

June clicked the tv on and scrolled through her watch list. She settled on some mind-numbing detective show, and ate half of the curry. She put the rest away, and grabbed her bag by the door. The bag was a mess, but she managed to find her red pen and the papers that needed grading, and she settled back in.

Soon, the mindless task paired with a full stomach and the wine had her falling into a deep sleep.

Frankie was pissed. He was giving up the best time of the day for harvesting to meet with Liv’s teacher, and Ms. Collins couldn’t be bothered to show up. His thoughts went back to the phone call the day before, and he gritted his teeth as he realized she had put him off twice. Over something she had wanted to set up. He’d gotten the bundles of paper she had sent home on it. Yet, here he was, and she was nowhere to be found. He pulled his phone out, and considered punching in her number, but stopped himself.

Frankie had to exhale deeply four times before he could lay his phone down. He had gotten here a little early, and it was just now 7 am, and he didn’t have a set schedule. Liv was with Ashley, Becka had insisted on taking them to drop off so he could have plenty of time with Ms. Collins. Not that it mattered now, he thought, dryly. At ten past, he pulled his phone back out, and brought her name up. He was angry again, and had every intention of calling. But before he could press her name, the door swung open, and his heart dropped.

June woke with a start. The birds were singing outside, the light was all wrong, and she was on the couch. Shit, she thought, jumping up. Shit, shit, shit. She had overslept. She hurried up the stairs and threw on something presentable, and didn’t even check herself in the mirror. She could do her makeup in the class. She grabbed up the half graded papers and shoved them in her bag, and ran out the door. She dumped everything in the passenger seat and drove much faster than usual. She was about halfway to the school when she realized she was meeting a student’s parent this morning. She hadn’t had any coffee, and her brain was starting to slow down from the adrenaline of being late, and she could not remember who she was meeting. She parked, and popped her vanity mirror down and grimaced. She looked like she was having a bad morning. She decided to throw her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed the mess up from her passenger seat.

She basically ran into the building, her flats ricocheting sound off the concrete walls. She swung her door open, apologies already falling from her lips, when she looked at the parent. The apologies died on her lips, and her mouth fell open.

“You?” She asked, dumbly. “Frankie?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, a bitchy ghost, she grimaced.

“You?” He stood now, and started to move to her.

“Uhm, you can’t be here. I’m meeting a student’s parent, and how’d you even know where to find me?” She started rambling, but when the words were out she realized how stupid they were. “Oh my god, you’re the parent?” She barked out a laugh, and dumped her bag on her desk. He grinned, and wiped the back of his neck.

“Liv’s dad. I’m Frankie Morales.” He told her, faltering from shaking her hand.

“Perfect. I’m Juniper Collins, you can call me June, or Ms. Collins, whatever you prefer. I’m sorry I’m late, I...I started a garden yesterday and wore myself out. That’s what I was doing when we spoke on the phone,” She told him, laughing. June had only tried gardening because she wanted a common foot with him. She didn’t want to tell him that yet, though. “Anyway, let’s get to Liv. Liv is a great girl, Mr. Morales.”

“Frankie.” He interrupted, with a small smile.

“Okay, Frankie. Look, Liv is great, she really is. She struggles in class sometimes, though. She is smart as hell, but she seems to struggle. I wanted to give you some information about ADD or ADHD. It presents differently in girls, and is often overlooked. I haven’t known her long, obviously, but I actually was diagnosed much later in life, and I remember doing some of the things she’s doing. Would you be interested in some info on that?” June asked carefully, their relationship was rocky and weird, and she didn’t want to overstep. This was her job, though. It was a little bit not her job, actually. But she always wanted to look out for her girls, especially when they were as smart and incredible as Liv.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea she was struggling.” Frankie muttered, and removed his cap. June sucked in a sharp breath at his light brown, bouncy curls as they spilled out. He was beautiful. She distracted herself by moving behind her desk and grabbing a folder she had laid out for Liv, for this exact reason, and she thanked her past self for being put together. Then she went and sat beside him at the small activity table. She felt comical sitting next to him in the small chairs, he was spilling over his own. She laid down the folder and put a hand on his arm.

“Look, it isn’t a struggle that she notices yet. It’s her recall, her attention span, and her ability to focus. That sounds like a lot, I know, but there’s a simple test, and there are effective alternatives to stimulants. I’m on one, and it really helped me. Life is only going to get harder for her, if she has it and it remains untreated, but she has no idea. She isn’t “different” yet, and she’s doing so, so well in class. She is a model student. I just want to help, that’s all.” She watched his face as she spoke, and by the end, he seemed defeated.

“I should have noticed. I’m her dad. I...I’ve been worried I’m not around enough, and now you drop this on me.” He laughed dryly. She patted his arm.

“Liv talks about you all the time. She loves you, Frankie. She tells us all the time about her pilot dad.” June said it before she had time to think, before she connected “Liv’s Dad” with Frankie, the man before her. And then, her big mouth spit out something she wanted to take back immediately. “But you’re a farmer, right?” He looked up into her eyes, and his face was hard.

“Anything else you wanted to tell me about Liv?” His words were right, but the tone was too harsh. June flinched back from him, and dropped her gaze from his suddenly hard face.

“Liv is a great girl. She’s great to have in class. I have nothing else for you.” June told him monotonically, going on autopilot so as not to cry. She had spent the whole weekend thinking about him, then she had planted a stupid garden to have more in common with him, and then fate brought them back together, and she screwed it up again. She decided it was done, then. Frankie Morales was not in the cards for her. Sure, she might see him again because she taught his daughter, but she was through thinking of him like that.

“Good. I have to get going, next time try to be on time.” He scolded, as he stood abruptly and left without another word. Slowly, June followed and shut the door behind him. Alone, at last, she started crying.

~~~

“Idiot. You fucking idiot.” Frankie berated himself in his truck. He couldn’t believe it when she swept into the room. He had found her. Not her, he thought with a grimace, Juniper. The name felt so appropriate. It was an old name, but it suited her so perfectly. He exhaled roughly and tried to rewrite the scene. She was looking out for Liv. She wanted Liv to be happy and succeed. This woman cared more about his daughter than Liv’s own mother. And as soon as she tried to get to know him, he bit her head off and made her feel bad for being late. Jesus, what a dick. He had found her, and in a single moment, he had managed to ruin it again.

He put the truck in drive and headed home. Nothing left to do here, he thought bitterly. He was pulling up the driveway when he remembered that she had started a garden. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. She had started a garden because of him. He parked the truck and laid his head against the steering wheel. He had pushed her away at every turn. The market, the bar, and now at the school. He had seen her face before he left, and knew it was done. He had pushed too far, too fast. Of course, she would want nothing more to do with him. He had done nothing but treat her like shit.

He got out of the truck and threw his hat. It didn’t do much except get his cap dirty, but it was all he could do. He pulled his phone out, and pulled her name up. He typed a long message, and erased it. Then he tried again, and erased it again. His pride was getting in the way. He couldn’t tell her about his piloting years. The army, spec ops, Colombia, the coke, or any of it. She could just hate him, and then he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

~~~~

June paced up and down her classroom. Her face was puffy, still, and she had been struggling to focus all day. She couldn’t meet anyone new for dinner; she wasn’t in the right headspace for a date. Let alone one where she would have to leave a lasting impression. She chewed her thumb nail before heading down the hall.

Samantha's classroom was pretty close to her own, and June was glad for it. If she had had to walk further she would have lost her nerve. June knocked tentatively on the door, before pulling it open. Samantha looked up and grinned.

"Hey girl! Are you excited for your big date tonight?" June’s own smile fell from her face.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I want to cancel." Samantha's smile pulled down quickly.

"Why?"

"I'm having kind of a bad day for impressions," June told her flatly.

"Well, I couldn't if I wanted to. Santiago is out of town, no reception. I don't have the friend's number." June groaned.

"Okay, alright. Ugh, probably for the best. Do you know anything else about him? I’ve had kind of a rough day. You said, ex-military right?”

“Yeah, Santi doesn’t really talk about that time, and I haven’t pushed it. I met him a while back, Fish. He’s sweet. I think he’ll be your type. You like tan brunettes?” June nodded, laughing and thinking about Frankie Morales again.

“He’ll be perfect. Doesn’t say much and likes beer, that’s all I know.” Samantha gave a small shrug.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll let you finish eating.” June said, excusing herself.

She left feeling defeated. A parent was going to be late this afternoon, she had gotten the email after the Frankie disaster. Which meant that she was going to be late to dinner. She wasn't killing it in the men department so she hoped that despite a military background he wouldn't mind her tardiness. She couldn't handle another horrible scene like the one from this morning.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which she was glad for. Her nerves were on the edge. She tried to ignore how much Liv favored her dad, and how she loudly told the class about their upcoming camping trip. She found herself listening intently, despite herself. And even chuckled at the girl’s memories of the last trip. June’s mood improved with the day, too. She even played a little music in the background while the kids worked on their worksheets.

By the time she had hauled herself into her car, the last thing she wanted to do was go to dinner. But she swiped on her favorite lipstick and drove to the restaurant. If she broke the speed limit, she would only be about five minutes late, and she pushed it. She wanted to drink some wine, and forget about Frankie Morales. Another tan brunette in her life would do her good, she thought happily. She was tired, but she wanted to make the most of it.

---

Frankie was looking back and forth between the menu and his watch. He couldn't believe that another woman was about to be late on him. He was trying hard to get June out of his mind, and his blind date wasn't making it easy on him. He chuckled when he realized what he was doing. Just meeting a total stranger for dinner. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he thought, remembering how Pope had basically told him where and when, without asking if Frankie was even interested.

She had good taste, he conceded. This was his favorite spot. They made amazing, fresh pasta. He was eyeing the cocktail menu, when she rushed in. He couldn't believe he was running into her again.

It was June, because of course it was. She was flushed, probably late again, he huffed, but she had put on a bright red lipstick that made his heart stutter. He lowered his gaze back to the menu. He hoped she wouldn't see him out on a date, even if he saw her. The hope was short lived because she made her way to him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't place, and she exhaled deeply.

"Let me guess, your call sign is Fish, right?" His eyes snapped to hers and she laughed while nodding. It was her. He had found her again. The waiter walked over and she told him to bring a bottle of red, and a beer for him. He told the waiter his brand, and raked his eyes over her.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a crazy day." She mused once she had taken two deep sips of her wine.

"Yeah? What is it you do?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that this was their start over. Their fourth, or so, start over.

"Teacher. Yeah, I teach. Most days it's easy, but some days there are parents." She told him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hopefully, no jerks?" He asked, quickly taking a sip of his beer. She held her head to the side before she sighed.

"I don't know what's going on here, Frankie. It's kind of exhausting. I think you're pretty handsome, you grow amazing food, you have a beautiful daughter, but I think we just keep messing up. How about, just for now, we enjoy this meal and the company, and tomorrow we can talk about what it means that we can't keep away from each other?" He searched her eyes. She was tired, he could tell, but she was so sincere. He wanted desperately to know why she sat down instead of just leaving. He wanted to know why they were seemingly so connected. He wanted to know if he'd been on her mind too.

"I'm thinking the carbonara." He answered, and she smiled before looking the menu over herself. The rest could wait. He had found her again.”

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #Frankie Morales x oc #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #original character #feel the heat #juniper collins #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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Dany is (relatively) frugal and modest

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven). Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

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To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

Even when Daenerys was kidnapped by a then-hostile Dothraki in season 6, she didn’t look this disheveled. In fact, her hair and outfit were impeccable in the face of relentless desert grit and threatened imprisonment in the Dosh Khaleen. Dany, a woman who has believed she was fated for greatness since birth, has never let herself look anything but perfect. That is, until now. (x)

Dany has not believed she was fated for greatness neither since birth nor as of ADWD. This meta and these lists make it clear enough. But this list is about something else: has Dany "never let herself look anything but perfect"? I would argue that the books tell a very different story.

NOTE: There are few moments in AGOT because Dany is among the Dothraki, so several behaviors that could be considered "frugal" and "modest" are normalized. In other books, she's among other nobles, which highlights these particular traits of her.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

The sun was hot this morning, the sky blue and cloudless. That was good. Dany’s clothes were hardly more than rags, and offered little in the way of warmth. One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon’s cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. Her tokar and veils she had abandoned in the pit, and her linen undertunic had never been made to withstand the hot days and cold nights of the Dothraki sea. Sweat and grass and dirt had stained it, and Dany had torn a strip off the hem to make a bandage for her shin. I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

Hers had been a lonely sojourn, and for most of it she had been hurt and hungry ... yet despite it all she had been strangely happy here. A few aches, an empty belly, chills by night ... what does it matter when you can fly? I would do it all again.

The sun grew hotter as it rose, and before long her head was pounding. Dany’s hair was growing out again, but slowly. “I need a hat,” she said aloud. Up on Dragonstone she had tried to make one for herself, weaving stalks of grass together as she had seen Dothraki women do during her time with Drogo, but either she was using the wrong sort of grass or she simply lacked the necessary skill. Her hats all fell to pieces in her hands. Try again, she told herself. You will do better the next time. You are the blood of the dragon, you can make a hat. She tried and tried, but her last attempt had been no more successful than her first.

Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I’ve flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. “Men are mad and gods are madder,” she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Dany wedged herself into that corner, making a nest of sorts by tearing up handfuls of the grass that grew around the ruins. She was very tired, and fresh blisters had appeared on both her feet, including a matched set upon her pinky toes. It must be from the way I walk, she thought, giggling.

She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he’d built it himself.

Viserys told her tales of knights so poor that they had to sleep beneath the ancient hedges that grew along the byways of the Seven Kingdoms. Dany would have given much and more for a nice thick hedge. Preferably one without an anthill.

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario ...

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

ADWD Daenerys IX

Behind her, Reznak leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Magnificence, hear how they love you!”

No, she knew, they love their mortal art.

ADWD Daenerys VII

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. “Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!”

Dany sighed.

She sat upon her cushions, listening, one foot jiggling with impatience.

Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. “Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself.”

“The day is too hot to be shut up in a palanquin,” said Dany. “Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar.”

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face. “As you say. Not the palanquin, though. I would suffocate behind those drapes. Have them ready a sedan chair.” If she must wear her floppy ears, let all the rabbits see her.

ADWD Daenerys VI

The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls.”

The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. “All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk.”

“Daenerys, my queen, I will gladly wash you from head to heel if that is what I must do to be your king and consort.”

“To be my king and consort, you need only bring me peace.[”]

Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.

ADWD Daenerys IV

Oft have I heard that yours is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise, and Daeron the Dragon. The noble Hizdahr is of the blood of Mazdhan the Magnificent, Hazrak the Handsome, and Zharaq the Liberator.”

“His forebears are as dead as mine. Will Hizdahr raise their shades to defend Meereen against its enemies? I need a man with ships and swords. You offer me ancestors.”

“Bright queen,” he said, “you have grown more beautiful in my absence. How is this thing possible?”

The queen was accustomed to such praise, yet somehow the compliment meant more coming from Daario than from the likes of Reznak, Xaro, or Hizdahr.

ADWD Daenerys III

“Let us speak instead of love, of dreams and desire and Daenerys, the fairest woman in this world. I am drunk with the sight of you.”

She was no stranger to the overblown courtesies of Qarth. “If you are drunk, blame the wine.”

ADWD Daenerys II

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him.

ADWD Daenerys I

The tokar was a master’s garment, a sign of wealth and power.

Dany had wanted to ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. “The Mother of Dragons must don the tokar or be forever hated,” warned the Green Grace, Galazza Galare. “In the wools of Westeros or a gown of Myrish lace, Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror. Meereen’s queen must be a lady of Old Ghis.” Brown Ben Plumm, the captain of the Second Sons, had put it more succinctly. “Man wants to be the king o’ the rabbits, he best wear a pair o’ floppy ears.”

The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep.

In the afternoon a sculptor came, proposing to replace the head of the great bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification with one cast in Dany’s image. She denied him with as much courtesy as she could muster.

As Dany stood, her tokar began to slip. She caught it and tugged it back in place.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Her audience chamber was on the level below, an echoing high-ceilinged room with walls of purple marble. It was a chilly place for all its grandeur. There had been a throne there, a fantastic thing of carved and gilded wood in the shape of a savage harpy. She had taken one long look and commanded it be broken up for firewood. “I will not sit in the harpy’s lap,” she told them. Instead she sat upon a simple ebony bench. It served, though she had heard the Meereenese muttering that it did not befit a queen.

Her bloodriders were waiting for her. Silver bells tinkled in their oiled braids, and they wore the gold and jewels of dead men. Meereen had been rich beyond imagining. Even her sellswords seemed sated, at least for now.

ASOS Daenerys V

“I must have this city,” she told them, sitting crosslegged on a pile of cushions, her dragons all about her.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side.

“Do all the Yunkai’i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one ... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss.”

When the old man came, she was curled up inside her hrakkar pelt, whose musty smell still reminded her of Drogo.

ASOS Daenerys I

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives. She loved the sea. She liked the sharp salty smell of the air, and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. It made her feel small, but free as well. She liked the dolphins that sometimes swam along beside Balerion, slicing through the waves like silvery spears, and the flying fish they glimpsed now and again. She even liked the sailors, with all their songs and stories. Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor.

But later that night, as Balerion plunged onward through the dark and Dany sat crosslegged on her bunk in the captain’s cabin, feeding her dragons—“Even upon the sea,” Groleo had said, so graciously, “queens take precedence over captains”—a sharp knock came upon the door.

[...] Dany pulled up a coverlet and tucked it in under her arms. She was naked, and had not expected a caller at this hour.

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

She was breaking her fast on a bowl of cold shrimp-and-persimmon soup when Irri brought her a Qartheen gown, an airy confection of ivory samite patterned with seed pearls. “Take it away,” Dany said. “The docks are no place for lady’s finery.”

"I have won no victories," she tried telling her handmaid when the bell tinkled softly.

Jhiqui disagreed. "You burned the maegi in their house of dust and sent their souls to hell."

That was Drogon's victory, not mine, Dany wanted to say, but she held her tongue. The Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair.

“I regret if we caused you alarm. If truth be told, we were not certain, we expected someone more ... more ...”

“Regal?” Dany laughed. She had no dragon with her, and her raiment was hardly queenly.

ACOK Daenerys III

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin.

“Weep, weep, for the treachery of men.”

Dany would sooner have wept for her gold. The bribes she’d tendered to Mathos Mallarawan, Wendello Qar Deeth, and Egon Emeros the Exquisite might have bought her a ship, or hired a score of sellswords.

The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn.

“Did I not give you an army, sweetest of women? A thousand knights, each in shining armor.”

The armor had been made of silver and gold, the knights of jade and beryl and onyx and tourmaline, of amber and opal and amethyst, each as tall as her little finger. “A thousand lovely knights,” she said, “but not the sort my enemies need fear. And my bullocks cannot carry me across the water[”]

“The Milk Men shun him. Khaleesi, do you see the girl in the felt hat? There, behind the fat priest. She is a—”

“—cutpurse,” finished Dany. She was no pampered lady, blind to such things. She had seen cutpurses aplenty in the streets of the Free Cities, during the years she’d spent with her brother, running from the Usurper’s hired knives.

“No trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.”

[...] “And now?”

“And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?”

The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?”

ACOK Daenerys I

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys III

“You dare!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to me? To me?” He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet. He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here.

AGOT Daenerys II

Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.

AGOT Daenerys I

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse.

#daenerys targaryen #valyrianscrolls #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #a clash of kings #a game of thrones #dany passages

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thesickpanda · 4 years

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The Theme for this Season is Despair

It's hard to overstate just how much the fires have cost people this summer. Obviously, my losses cannot compare to those who have watched their homes burn to the ground or their businesses. Nor can I relate to those who have serious lung conditions who are struggling for every breath right now. They have it way worse than me. But on a personal level, this summer has had me absolutely wild with frustration, stress, anxiety and pent-up energy.

[Image description: map of the fires burning around Sydney. The monster fire above the Blue Mountains National Park is significantly larger than the entire metropolitan area of Sydney and the mega fire burning to the south of the mountains is a third of that size.]

In October, I hung up my activist hat after 8 years of service to the Sydney community, with the intention of formally moving into the Blue Mountains and focusing on my health, well-being, hobbies and happiness. I had clawed my way through a particularly nasty winter during which time I barely left the house as my Fibromyalgia was so severe. My light at the end of the tunnel was knowing that once we settled into our house in late spring, I would be able to enjoy my mountains home and take up all my neglected hobbies once more. Most of those involved going outdoors as I am a nature person.

Instead, I've been crying almost every day as I watch footage of all the trees and all the parks and all my favourite places burn to cinders. The Wollemi Park: burning. The southern slopes that I had always wanted to see: burnt. The Jamison and Megalong Valleys I took my sister to see this time last year: on fire And now the fire is threatening my favourite place in all of NSW: the Capertee Valley. It is incredibly distressing for a citizen scientist and nature lover, who has spent years documenting the local wildlife, to know that all those animals are being burned alive; to watch the big beautiful trees that you have enjoyed walking among come crashing down because, although they evolved to be fire resistant, they can't hold up to both the drought and ferocious flames. It is beyond upsetting. And there's no escaping it. I have an app on my phone that I need to have active that alerts me when fires are coming near. Everyone is glued to these apps so that they know if their lives are in danger. I can't put my head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening. Especially when the reality of it is literally choking me.

[Image Description: Sydney’s Centrepoint tower and two other skyscrapers barely visible through a thick grey smog]

The smoke is ranked as hazardous when it is above 200 on the PM 2.5 air quality index. In some parts it has reached 22 times that level and in Sydney 12 times that level. It is triple that level today in my area of the mountains. I can barely see the trees it's just so thick. It has been like this nearly every day for over two weeks. Sydney has had it more frequently and for much longer than we have, but the fires surrounding us are dumping on us now. Burnt leaves and ash are landing in our shopping carpark and on our balcony. The smoke gets inside the house; my eyes are red and my throat hurts all of the time. I'm constantly coughing. I feel ill, worse than usual. We're lucky enough to have two air purifiers for two of the rooms in the house. I have one in my office where I dictate this blog and one in the lounge room where I have kept my pet rat. And those are the two rooms I am mostly confined to, day in and day out, because to go outside is literally toxic. I do have a mask that filters out the worst of the bushfire smoke but it is heavy around my head and neck and gives me terrible pain and headaches after only 10 to 15 minutes. I put it on to water the plants with a bucket after 4 PM because of the water restrictions.

I wanted to go for bushwalks and look for spiders. I got up at 4 AM a few days ago to try to see the Geminid meteor shower, something I have been looking forward to. But I couldn’t make out anything in the sky through the thick haze. I wanted to go for an ice cream and a walk in my local park, but the smoke is too thick. I haven't been to the beach since winter and had to cancel the one beach that we had planned because, again: the smoke. My photography, my outdoor activities, my hobbies, they have all stopped. And when you’re chronically ill and unemployed, your hobbies mean the fucking world to you. They are what defines living as opposed to merely existing. I know I can do some indoors, but I absolutely detest been confined inside. There is no way I could exaggerate how badly I get cabin fever. I grew up in South Africa in a nature reserve. I'm not an indoors person. I don't relish sitting in front of Netflix for hours or binge watching YouTube. I like to go out. And walking is so much better for my Fibromyalgia than sitting. Sitting is the thing that I cannot do at the moment because my lower back is in spasm and will be for the foreseeable future. Walking is the only thing that gives any relief.

[Image description: Australian trees silhouetted against a backdrop of 70 metre flames, turning the sky a dirty orange. This was the fire at Mount Tomah].

Yesterday, I saw the sun for the first time in a long while due to a wind that blew the worst of the smoke away for a brief spell. As soon as my partner got home from work we went to the entrance of our local bush trail to take advantage of the ok air quality and be in nature...only to find that it had been sealed off due to bushfire risk (with a $1000 penalty for entering). My partner told me that it’s not because the fires are so close to our local bush that it's dangerous for us to walk; it’s to stop arsonists from going in there. Typical government: punish the many to hurt the few. Like a bit of red tape is going to stop them, for fuck’s sake…

I normally love the warmer seasons because it's easier on my body, but to have been cooped up like this has been just as bad as winter. I never thought I'd say it, but I just want summer to be over. I don’t look forward to winter because I know I'm in for a world of pain but, at least I can breathe.

[Image description: a Boeing airplane dumping pink foam over a bushfire. The headline of the screenshotted article reads: “NSW fires, Gospers Mountain Fire: Mount Piper power station, Springvale Coal mine near fire”. If the coal mine catches fire, not only will it burn for weeks, it’ll put out extremely toxic gasses that would poison the air for hundreds of kilometers. The fire is only 6km away.]

I have another rant about the healthcare system screwing me over for the millionth time, but I’ll save that for tomorrow. Only so much rage I want to spew out into the ether at any given time, I guess. Tl;dr version: my body’s fucked in two newly diagnosed ways, and next year is going to be disgustingly expensive.

#chronic illness #chronic pain #australia burning #Australian bushfires #spoonie #Fibromyalgia #climate anxiety #eco anxiety

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prinanalogicality · 6 years

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New Year’s Kiss

Hello all! I am indeed alive! I know I haven’t written much of anything as of late, that is because I am on break from university due to the holiday season. Like the cotton-headed ninnymuggins that I am, I forgot my laptop back in my apartment, in which I live on campus and that is over three hours away. May my laptop rip. But hey, while I am home I convinced my mother to let me use her laptop, so since I didn’t write wholesome holiday content, I am here to produce wholesome New Years content. Enjoy!

AO3 link here.

Summary: Virgil doesn’t understand what is so important about a New Year’s kiss. Logan shares his confusion, so he proposes an idea so they can both figure out what the fuss is all about. Or, the one where Logan uses science as an excuse to kiss Virgil, and maybe Virgil does too.

Pairing: Analogical. Logan Sanders / Virgil Sanders. Strap yourselves in laddies and prepare for some fluff.

"There is nothing quite as magical as a New Year’s kiss. Well, of course a New Year’s kiss with me is the pinnacle of magic, it is downright bewitching, but that is besides the point. For the commoners of the world, sharing a moment of love and passion with one another to welcome the new year with open arms and positive memories is simply fabulous. I could not imagine a better way to move forward in life than sharing a smooch with someone important enough in your life to be your chosen liplocking companion. Ah, just imagining dipping back a lovely dancing partner to sweep him off of his feet and kiss the breath from his lungs - it really butters my eggroll.”

Virgil raises an unimpressed eyebrow in Roman’s direction, feeling completely blase over the other side’s argument in favor of a New Year’s kiss. He should have known that coming to ask the romantic trait for reasoning behind the craze of a New Year’s kiss would just be the same explanation he gives for everything involving romance, which is that everything is magical and loving and like fireworks taking place in one’s circulatory system.

“Okay, how about you try explaining the concept to me without a bunch of overused and hyperbolic phrases.” He deadpans, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie further over his hands. His fingers take to fiddling with the frayed ends of said sleeves, tugging on the loosened threads subconsciously. Patton has noticed Virgil’s actions and has taken to fixing up the boy’s sleeves with a sewing kit, but with how often Virgil fidgets Patton’s efforts are for naught.

Roman returns Virgil’s blank stare with an indignant one, one hand coming up to rest upon his chest as he huffs. “What do you mean hyperbolic phrases? I am not overstating one single thing! You have come to me for an answer, an answer that I have already given to you, Han Woe-lo. What makes a New Year’s kiss so special compared to any other simple peck is that it is a sign that one wishes for their year to start with their partner. Through the marvelous act of affection with another, people are able to come together and welcome someone into a new chapter of their lives, and in light of the holiday, the new chapter is a new year. It is mighty romantic.”

With a roll of his eyes and his shoulders, Virgil rises from his spot on the stairs landing. “Look, yeah, you may be right. It may be a more fantastical experience than normal kisses, I guess. But still, I am not at all convinced. I would probably be more convinced if you didn’t describe every romantic encounter that way, but hey, sometimes the physical embodiment of creativity can even run short on descriptive vocabulary.” Turning away before Roman can see the slight smile playing on his lips, all due to Virgil’s teasing of the prince, he makes his way up the staircase at an unhurried pace.

“Excuse me, how dare you insult my creative ability. I know plenty of descriptive words, just you- ugh. If I cared enough about what you think then I would totally argue that I have loads of vocabulary words at the ready, but hah, joke’s on you, Tracy Turn-brat. I don’t care, and I especially don’t care that you do not understand the power behind a New Year’s kiss. Good day to you, sir. Good day!”

Virgil almost wishes that he had been facing Roman just to see how red-faced and heated the male had gotten, but he supposes listening to Roman’s voice rise several pitches throughout his little outburst is enough.

Within Thomas’s mindscape, there is a replica of Thomas’s apartment. Considering it is where the male sees as home, that is the home of the sides. Though each facet of his personality has their own corner of his mind, also referred to as their room, there is a place where each side can go without being affected by the functions of one another. Typically, they exist in the common area of the mind so that they can spend time with one another if they so choose. They are also able to influence Thomas from the common area, which makes existence easier so they do not have to actually interact with Thomas’s conscious mind to do their jobs.

Though Thomas lives in a one bedroom apartment, the sides exist in a mindscape, so things are able to appear differently than they really are. When opening the door to what would normally be Thomas’s bedroom, the room within the mindscape is actually Virgil’s. It does not affect the others in any way if they enter, and it looks like a normal bedroom, bed and dressers and all. A normal closet is Patton’s room, a study is Logan’s room, and a different closet is Roman’s room. That is the good thing about living in a mindscape, nothing about their home has to abide by true physics. They can change the structure of their home at any moment, if they so choose.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Virgil purses his lips in thought. Patton is likely to give a mushy answer much like Roman’s, if he gives an answer at all. Sometimes Virgil wonders if Patton simply acts naive or if he truly is that innocent, but he isn’t invested enough to figure the truth out. Patton is fine the way he is, whether he is more knowledgeable than he lets on or he is not. So, Patton is out of the question for Virgil to go to.

That leaves Logan.

Virgil supposes that Logan is a good choice. The male’s response will undoubtedly be entirely objective and will probably cover the psychological effects of human affection that he will manage to correlate to the excitement of new experiences, but it will be an answer. An answer that Virgil expects, but at least Virgil genuinely enjoys the company of the left brain-centric facet.

Logan’s droning can increase the heaviness of Virgil’s eyelids and lead him to hibernation, that is true, but that doesn’t stop Virgil from wanting to actively be around him. Sometimes, when he and Logan are on opposite sides regarding a topic, he even offers his own opinions, backed up by logical reasoning. The fire that blazes behind Logan’s eyes despite his cool and collected demeanor makes Virgil’s own fire flicker to life within his chest, a feeling that the male has come to associate exclusively with Logan. Roman frustrates the bejeebies out of Virgil, there is no denying that, but no one else can garner Virgil’s full, undivided attention quite like Logan can. Virgil oftentimes finds himself disinterested or distracted by his own mind in most situations, but conversations with Logan are always higher level and require thought and attention, something that Virgil finds himself giving to the logical trait easily these days.

Taking a few steps to the left so that he stands in front of Logan’s door, Virgil takes a brief moment to hesitate before knocking, the sound just barely muffled by his sleeves making contact with the door. Almost immediately, he second guesses his decision. What would Logan think of his question? There is a chance that he will find it unimportant and turn him to Roman’s direction, but Virgil has already been there. Should he change his question to something Logan would find more suitable, such as what stars are visible in the sky this time of year? That is sure to pique Logan’s interest, the male loves astronomy. Maybe that’s what Virgil should ask, but then again, he does sincerely want his own question to be answered. Virgil really hates how his mind is his own devil’s advocate.

It takes Logan only a few moments to answer the door. It is afternoon, so Virgil knows that there is no way the logical side was asleep. Most likely he was sat at his desk, reading up on some new theory or grading the tests that he gives to his classes. Virgil finds it quite endearing, really, how Logan has his very own world that he has crafted, one where he does things that he enjoys. If one is to open his closet, they would enter a school building, where Logan goes to tend to and teach students in a variety of grades, depending on his mood. It is amazing, really. Roman has done the same thing, building his kingdom, and even Patton has his own world, one where he is a father that lives in the suburbs. Virgil doesn’t have a false reality for himself, he has always been too nervous in order to do so. He does not want to create some Silent Hill or Resident Evil situation.

“Virgil.” Logan’s voice immediately garners Virgil’s attention, in which Logan raises an eyebrow at him. “Do what do I owe this visit? You do not come by my quarters often. In fact, it is a rare occurrence.”

Shrugging off Logan’s mild surprise, Virgil crosses his arms loosely over his chest, thumbs pressing against the fabric of his sleeves and pressing it against the side of his index fingers. “I just- uh. I had a question, so, yeah.”

The glasses clad male nods and steps back, gesturing his arm in a welcoming manner. “I see. Well, I suppose I could take time to answer whatever is on your mind.”

Virgil steps into the bedroom, breathing out a quiet sigh. He makes a beeline for the foot of the bed, where he plops down. Logan is right, Virgil does not come to visit him in his room often, but whenever he does Virgil sits in the same exact spot. Logan has long since stopped complaining about Virgil ruining his pristinely made bed. “Okay. So, uh. My question is- ugh. I just have to use the band-aid technique, let’s go.” Raising his arms to cover his eyes, the question is blurted from Virgil’s lips rapidly. “What is so special about a New Year’s kiss?”

Logan’s demeanor does not change in the slightest. Taking his place at his desk chair, he spins it around so that he is facing Virgil, pausing to take a moment for thought. “Hm. Though I am surprised that you would come to me with such a question, there is an answer. I would have expected you to go to someone like Roman, but I imagine you have already been there and you were exasperated by his skipping record player-esque reply.”

One side of Virgil’s lips creeps upward at that. “Pfft, yeah. I got the ‘it’s magical, love is so grand’ spiel and a couple new insults to add to the books. In fact,” Virgil waves his hands around for a brief moment, a notebook and pen appearing in his hands. He jots down Roman’s remarks and waves the items away with a snort. “There we go.”

Logan’s eyebrows drawl up in that way when he finds out he is right, the muscles in his jaw flexing just so as he tilts his chin up. His expressions are subtle, but Virgil can read him like a book. He is obviously pleased knowing both Virgil and Roman so well.

“Well. It is a phenomenon that I do not quite understand, but I can aim to remedy your thoughts. People crave acts such as kisses because they serve a purpose in connection. Oftentimes in the beginnings of relationships, lip to lip contact serves as a segway towards more intimate circumstances, whether those are sexual encounters or otherwise. Not only that, but due to the closeness involved, people oftentimes find themselves becoming more familiar with the mannerisms of their partner. Pheromones play a large role in attraction, and when in close quarters with another people are better able to sense and potentially crave subjection to such pheromones. Kisses serve as a form of reality because it builds trust and intimacy among participants. They become the metaphorical building blocks for relationships.”

Virgil nods. He knew all of this. Well, maybe not with all of the fancy jargon, but he knew the basic gist of what Logan is saying. That doesn’t keep him from listening in, though, particularly intrigued by Logan’s remark of the phenomena not making sense to him. So Logan and Virgil are both on the same page, wondering what is so special about a New Year’s kiss. Huh.

“So, the psychology behind a kiss coupled with the effect of excitement in a human must be what comes together to form the New Year’s kiss craze. When excited, the amygdala is triggered and chemicals such as dopamine are released, stimulating the frontal lobe of the brain. The prospect of a new year can bring about excitement, so people take it upon themselves to kiss another to increase their serotonin levels. I also do not quite grasp the great thing about a New Year’s kiss. Considering the fact that I have never experienced one myself, or a normal kiss for that matter, I cannot give a definitive answer for you. That would require experimentation and monitoring of the vitals.”

Blinking his eyes a few times, Virgil shifts in his seat. “Looks like we’ll both be living in the dark for the rest of our lives, huh?” He chuckles in a humorless manner, fingers again playing with his frayed sleeves. This time, a thread comes loose and he finds himself wrapping it around the tips of his fingers, watching as the skin changes colors.

“We do not have to.” Logan’s words come out a tad slower than before, and Virgil lifts his gaze to settle it upon the other. “As I said, it would require experimentation in order to discover the physiological result of what eludes us. In only a few hours the clock will be striking midnight, signifying the coming of the new year. I am willing, if you are, to participate in the experiment. In short, you and I will be kissing at midnight and gauge whether or not it appears to be out of the norm or not. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Virgil simply stares at him for several long moments, and for once, he is glad that he has pale foundation on. It serves to cover the immense heat surging to his cheeks, though he is almost positive that Logan can still see it, though his expression does not read anything different. His expression is completely collected, lips pursed as he awaits Virgil’s response.

“I suppose I could ask Patton for his assistance. I find it hard to believe that he would turn down a chance at intimacy among the members of our group-”

“No, no. Don’t ask dad. I’ll do it. I mean, you can go to dad if you would prefer him, but I’ll do it with you. The experiment, I’ll do the experiment. For science, right?” Virgil’s fingernails scratch lightly over the back of his neck, the area becoming suddenly itchy as his anxiety kicks in slightly.

Logan breaks the eye contact that they had been holding, and Virgil watches as his jaw flexes, corners of his lips twitching minutely. “Excellent. Patton will want all of us within the living room of the mindscape for when the time draws near. I will resume my grading so that I may be finished and my mind shall be clear as our experiment approaches.”

“Good idea, I guess.” Virgil shrugs, hoping to come off nonchalant, standing up. He pats the bed to iron out the creases he had made before backing up towards the door. “So, that’s it? Because if that’s it I’m going to get in some sleep before Patton tries to keep all of us up for the next decade.”

The look he receives is one that he is unfamiliar with, from Logan or otherwise. It looks like a normal blank stare from Logan, but Virgil is too good at reading him to be fooled. The look is tender, more than tender than normal, and Virgil shifts from foot to foot and looks away before he can allow any butterflies to find their way to his tummy.

“All right. I shall see you at, say, eleven pm? Is that acceptable? That is the time Patton asked us all to meet for his celebration, I believe.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. That sounds chill to me, so- I’ll see you at eleven.” With a small bow, Virgil turns and exits Logan’s bedroom, gently closing the bedroom door behind himself. As soon as the door is shut, he breathes out a heavy sigh, his eyebrows furrowing. Did he seriously just agree to kiss Logan? And he is completely okay with it? Honestly, Virgil finds the fact that he is okay with it more confusing than Logan bringing up the experiment to begin with.

For once in his life, Virgil doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t want to key into his thoughts that are running a mile a minute, asking why Logan wants to do this experiment and why Virgil is even excited to partake in it. He steps away from the door in favor of going towards his own, wanting to hole himself up and lie down to rest. Maybe, if he can do that, he will wake up and this will all have been some weird dream where Logan definitely did not suggest that they kiss.

Flopping onto his bed, Virgil glares at the ceiling.

He hates the disappointment that wells in his chest at the idea of this all being a dream.

“Virgil! Oh golly am I excited to see you. We are all going to have the best time ever, I just know it. 2018 is going to have so many fantastic things and the fact that I get to start it off with all of you is so- so-”

“Sublime? Remarkable? Superlative? Outstanding?” Logan supplies a few ideas, though his thoughts are drowned out by Patton’s outburst.

“Great! It is just diddly darn great, guys. Super nice.”

Logan sighs exasperatedly before turning his attention towards Virgil, who sits upon the left side of the sofa. Roman has settled against the right side, where he has his phone out and he is taking selfies of himself making a variety of facial expressions. With only a moment’s pause, Logan joins the two on the sofa, sitting closer to Virgil’s side so that they may engage in conversation.

Virgil notices that Logan does not mention the experiment once. Normally, when Logan sets his heart on a new experiment, he is a bit more energetic and he is always ready to discuss the specifics. This time, however, he engages in small talk with the other which makes Virgil feel suspicious, but he is not worried enough to actually ask about it. He also knows that Logan dislikes small talk. When engaging in small talk, Logan prefers to get straight to the point and highlight the specifics of what catches his interest. However, in this instance, they talk about mundane things such as the weather, the hot chocolate that Patton made everyone, and how grateful they are that Thomas is not drinking alcohol this year.

“The time is drawing near. Are you all excited?” Roman grins out at the group, his phone now face down on the table, per Patton’s request. He only knows the time because of the clock on the television, where they have a news station on that shows a countdown. It is currently 11:57, only a few minutes from when the ball is supposed to drop and signify the beginning of a new year.

“Heck yeah I am! Thomas is going to absolutely thrive this year, I just know it. He’s gonna win so many more awards and he is gonna make such good videos, ah. I’m just so excited!” Patton is the only one who answers verbally, and Roman does not seem bothered by the lack of response from the other two traits, instead turning his attention to the fatherly trait.

“Are you prepared to engage in the experiment?” Logan finally brings up the idea of what he and Virgil had discussed previously, and Virgil simply shrugs his shoulders, gaze looking anywhere but directly at Logan.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. I said that I would do it, right? I’m not going to back out.” He presses his lips in a thin line and peers at Logan through his bangs, watching as the male’s calculating gaze meets his own. Logan is definitely trying to read him, to gauge how he is feeling, and Virgil feels a small bit of his resolve crumble, his nerves showing in the way his teeth make an appearance just to nibble at his lower lip. He tears his gaze away quickly, fixating it on his sleeves that are worse than before. He might have to ask Patton to fix them this time around, because the threads are coming out in small chunks now.

A hand wraps around his wrist and Virgil’s shoulders jump at the small bit of contact, lips parting and eyebrows twitching. “You really should find an alternative for yourself. I know that you have stated that you do not understand fidget spinners and cubes due to their immense popularity and that you have an affinity for coming off as unique, if not obscure, but I do believe that having such items would be beneficial. If not for your sake, for the sake of your clothing items.”

Before Logan had grasped his wrist and spoke, Virgil did not notice how close he had gotten. Throughout the hour that they have been speaking to one another, Logan has gotten much closer, close enough that Virgil’s knee is pressing against Logan’s thigh. At some point, Virgil had turned to properly face the male, his back now against the armrest and legs criss-crossed. He should feel cornered like this, being backed up to the corner of the sofa. But strangely enough, he doesn’t, and he doesn’t even take his hand from Logan’s grip.

Looking up, Virgil’s eyes meet with Logan’s, and wow. Their bodies are close, but their faces are even closer. Virgil has awful posture, and with how he is slumping forward towards Logan he is much closer. Logan typically maintains excellent posture, but this time he is actually leaning in close to Virgil, eyes filled with raw intensity. The look makes Virgil’s heart race, but not in a way that makes him want to run. It is quite the opposite, really. He is not used to seeing such pure emotion on Logan’s face. It looks good, and yeah, they all technically have the same face, but Virgil knows that each side has their own mannerisms that distinguish them from one another. They all use their facial muscles differently, they all give people different looks. And though Logan has never looked like this before, the look is somehow so Logan to Virgil that it doesn’t bother him or scare him in the slightest. He knows Logan. He enjoys being around Logan more than anyone or anything else.

“One more minute!” Patton’s excited squeal is nothing to Virgil as he feels Logan’s hand shifting from his wrist to instead gently rest in his hand. Unfurling his fingers, Virgil swallows thickly and feels Logan’s fingertips drifting across his palm before his other hand joins in, grasping Virgil’s other hand. Bringing them in, both of Logan’s hands cup Virgil’s, thumbs rubbing small circles into Virgil’s skin, no doubt an attempt to calm his nerves. The action is small, but in this moment it means the world to Virgil, knowing that he must look like a deer in the headlights. It is embarrassing, really, knowing what an open book he must be right now compared to how collected Logan is.

“Are you positive that you wish to go through with the experiment?” Logan’s words are soft, and he is so close that Virgil smells the hot chocolate on the other’s breath.

“I don’t think I have ever been so sure of something in my life.” Virgil’s eyes flicker from Logan’s eyes to his lips and back, and Virgil swallows thickly, teeth digging into his lower lip. Almost immediately, he can see Logan’s eyes honing in on the action and one of Logan’s hands reach up to caress Virgil’s chin, thumb gently pressing beneath the male’s lip to free it from between his teeth.

“You shouldn’t bite your lips like that. It can result in oral fixation, bleeding, and chapping of the lips.”

Even in a moment like this Logan finds time to harp on Virgil. Instead of rolling his eyes and pulling away, though, Virgil snorts and uses his now free hand to tentatively rest upon Logan’s thigh. “Trust me, my lips are just fine. Whether or not they’re chapped should be the least of your worries.”

Roman’s and Patton’s voices blend together as they merrily begin the countdown, cheer obvious in their tones.

“Five!”

“The least of my worries? Then what should be at the top?” Logan asks, a hint of amusement creeping into his typically cool voice.

“Four!”

“I can’t help but to notice that you didn’t even bring anything to monitor our vitals with, making this a flawed experiment.” Virgil grins.

“Three!”

“Well, you see, the lack of equipment was purposeful on my part. Do you know why?”

“Two!”

“I’d say it’s because you just wanted an excuse to kiss me.”

“One!”

“I’d say you are right.”

“Happy new year!”

It takes only a few mere moments for the two to close the gap between them, eyes closing as lips press together. It was slightly clumsy, considering they bumped noses, but neither seem to care as their lips make contact. It isn’t exceptionally long or grand, but it is just enough for the two of them. Logan is the first to pull away, and he even smirks at the way Virgil subconsciously follows him to continue the kiss.

Realizing what he had done, he leans back, face and neck undoubtedly flushing. However, Virgil cannot find it in himself to be embarrassed when he opens his eyes and is met with the sight of Logan practically glowing. The male isn’t full blown grinning, he isn’t yelling out his happiness, but Virgil can see it in the crinkles beside his eyes, the tender look he is receiving, the way Logan’s lips are stretched in a small sign of happiness.

“You know, your experiment is super flawed.” Virgil speaks in a teasing manner, his expression mirroring Logan’s.

“How so?”

“I mean. Obviously you didn’t monitor our vitals and all that jargon, but you know.” He hums, reaching up to brush his fingertips along Logan’s jawline. “Even I know that for an experiment to be done right, several trials have to be done. Not only that, but it isn’t like either of us have any past experiences to compare this to.”

“What are you proposing?”

“Looks like we need to repeat the experiment again, particularly on days that aren’t New Year’s. That way we know the difference, to see what is so special about a New Year’s kiss.”

Logan’s smile widens minutely. “What an astute suggestion. I most definitely agree.”

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #logic and anxiety #anxiety and logic #thomas sanders #sanders sides #new years fluff #analogical fluff #mine #my fics

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so-caffeinated · 7 years

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You are the first and only writer I have read for this fandom. I love your work so much, I've re read all your Arrow stories twice (even the Firefly one even though I've never watched it). Do you have any favorite Olicity fics to recommend to keep me from going crazy my first hiatus? (I binged the first 4 seasons last year)

This is awesome!! Thank you! I’m super honored. And do I have recs? Oh yes, I have recs.

First rec isn’t actually a fic, it’s a resource… @theolicitylibrary. If you want recs, they’ve got ‘em. If you want a specific trope or rating or genre, they’ve got that, too. Have a hankering for a fic where Oliver and Felicity are business rivals? There’s a link for that. Where she’s the vigilante instead? There’s a link for that, too. Where one of them is a werewolf? Yup. They’re an amazing resource and you can lose days (and weeks and months) going through lists of alpha/omega tropes and rockstar AUs and friends-to-lovers fics.

But more specifically… how about I rec some authors, too? I haven’t been reading much lately - I spend all my time writing - so I’m more comfortable reccing authors I know are amazing and whose works I’m looking forward to catching up on. They’re all consistently excellent. This is by no means an all inclusive list.

@dust2dust34 - My co-writer for FiCoN and personal fav (though I admit to no small amount of bias). If you want smut and you want details and mining a scene for feelings, Bre is your girl. She has plenty of oneshots to choose from as well as some multichapter fics.

@machawicket - Look, I can’t overstate Danielle’s skills as a writer. My husband doesn’t even read my fic but he likes hers. Her writing is funny, sweet, sexy and heartbreaking in turn but it’ll never leave you unsatisfied. She’s a master.

@anthfan - Nikki is one of those writers that’s so good she makes you forget you’re reading a story, because it’s just something you’re living. It’s an experience. Her characterization is spot-on and her plots are super engaging. She writes both one-shots and longer stories. They’re all worth your time.

@hannasus - Susannah’s writing is the perfect balance of detailed exposition and tight narrative that lets you feel like you’ve experienced the whole setting in just a few lines. Add to that fully in-character characterization and interesting plots that keep you reading and you really can’t go wrong. I recommend reading her Something Like Fate series ASAP as she’s adapted it into the basis for an original novel (which she’s publishing later this year) and it may not be up on AO3 a whole lot longer.

@rosietwiggs - I can always tell Rosie’s work in just a few lines. Her narrative voice is so very distinctive and so gripping that it pulls me in effortlessly. I don’t believe she’s writing for Arrow anymore, but even her unfinished works are worth a read. I especially recommend The New Normal, Lengths and How The Mighty Fall In Love.

@supersillyanddorky06 - I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard around about Matty’s writing because she’s right at the core of the Olicity fandom’s best known fanfics. With good reason. She’s prolific, plotty, smutty and evocative. If you have a weakness for Bratva!Oliver, I’d start here.

@jsevick - I first met Jaimie after reading her Jurassic Park AU (really!) and being both delighted and amazed that she could make it work. I’m extremely lucky to have had her help as my beta pretty much ever since. If you like my writing, she’s a big part of it (along with @alizziebyanyothername). While she hasn’t posted in a while, her stories are just fun and if you like Gilmore Girls, her Arrow AU for Gilmore Girls is a treat!

@realityisoverrated-fic - I have no idea how you would feel about Smoaking Billionaires, Anon (I personally love it), but I’ve got to very highly recommend her Infinite Love series. At 110 parts and counting, it deals extensively with Oliver, Felicity and Tommy’s family longterm, including their kids. It’s alternately hot, sweet, and heartbreaking. But, most of all, it’s just well-written and interesting. If you’re willing to read them as a triad, I cannot recommend this strongly enough.

@geneeste - I would pay for more of Caught a Long Wind. Quite literally. But, that aside, Genie is a top notch writer. Whether her one-shots, WiPs or brilliant, ongoing epic co-written work with @machawicket, everything she writes should be devoured.

@juliesioux - Julie uses the setting in a story as another character. There’s so much life to the world she puts her characters in that it practically breathes. Above that, she doesn’t shy away from hard topics. She will rush in head-first and dig deep to explore what her characters are going through. When you read her work, take her warnings seriously, but if you’re looking for a rich story to read that challenges you, she’s the perfect option to turn to.

@thatmasquedgirl - One of the most prolific Olicity fic authors (with 110 fics, including the absolute opus Technical Assistance). She’s consistently excellent, creative and she gives us as a fandom a whole lot to read. You can probably spent a huge chunk of hiatus happily buried in her work.

@entersomethingcleverhere - As a rule, I do not read first person stories. Not even when they’re published books sitting on shelves at my bookstore. I will break that rule for her writing. I like it that much. It’s heartfelt, moving, well-paced, and the connections between her characters are both real and evolving as you go.

@arrow-through-my-writers-block - Shelby is… well, she’s just fun! She’s a solid writer who never disappoints. She’s got quite a few one-shots and a few ongoing multi-chapters. She’s probably best known for Starstruck, but all of her work is worth reading.

@wagamiller - I just really love wagamiller’s work. Like a lot. There are very few authors I have on alert, but wagamiller is. Stories that make me laugh out loud are few and far between, but the 35B series surely did (as did @machawicket‘s Unbearable Hotness of Being, btw). Strong, sharp, witty writing that will leave you with a grin on your face.

@callistawolf - When I think of Callie’s work, I think of the fanfic version of sitting down with some hot cocoa and curling up with a warm blanket to watch a Hallmark Christmas special. She’s consistently excellent about finishing her work, which is lovely, and you can pretty much always count on a feel-good romantic ending.

@hopedreamlovepray - Writing one-shots that stick with your reader is hard. Keeping a story to 1-2k and still being impactful is even harder. She absolutely manages it every time. Hope27 (as she’s known on AO3, so you can find her) has something like a hundred Olicity fics. These are, in my opinion, absolutely perfect if you want to lose yourself in a story on the train to work or during your lunch hour.

@dettiot - Mel has a lot of great stories (like really great). My favorite is probably the “ink in my pen ran dry” series, but that’s a really tough call. Core Curriculum is super hot. The Felicity Stark series (crossover with Avengers-verse) is brilliant and fun and made me giddy while reading it. Beauty in the Breakdown is excellent. Jerry the EA series features one of the best takes on a relative OC I’ve read in fics. Love is Red made me squeal like a teenager with excitement (I’m not ashamed; it was warranted). And Two Men, Same Name (written with @melsanfo) is one of those that I am absolutely dying for the time to catch up on. While I’m at it, let’s rec Mel Sanfo, too. Her Masquerade is another novel-length fic absolutely worth a read. You really can’t go wrong with either of these ladies.

@ash818 - Ash is freaking awesome. So, here’s the thing. Her Legacy series is mind-blowingly good. I have to admit, I’ve only read The Man Under The Hood in the series (this is intentional, for a reason you’ll see in a moment, but you need to read all of her work ASAP, okay? You do). This series… you’ve got future, married Olicity with teenage children as they continue their mission. There’s action, plot, heartbreak, angst, love, everything you could want. It’s in first person from their son’s perspective which is something I would probably never have clicked on in the first place had it not come highly recommended, but good lord is it amazing. All of her characters have life. All of them have depth. Her OCs are fully formed and vital to the story without overshadowing characters you already know. I haven’t read the later stories because after I decided to continue on with FiCoN verse, I didn’t want to inadvertently shade my views on Olicity’s growing family and continuing mission with anything she did in her series. If anything I do happens to run parallel to her work, I want to know beyond any doubt that it’s 100% coincidence. But her stories are something I’m absolutely itching to get to read… eventually. Her writing is excellent.

@tinaday3w - I’m tempted to say “JUST READ IT” but that’s probably not enough… But really, just read it. No one does slow burn like Tina. Victorian era AU with pirate!Oliver? Yes, please. Hello. I’ll take two.

@emmilynestill - She’s just so good. And sooooo hot. I don’t know if you know this, Anon, but writing a good sex scene is hard. You don’t want your reader pulled out of the scene by wondering if a position is actually possible or when underwear came off (or if it did) or how gravity isn’t making them collapse. Like… smut is difficult. But it reads so effortlessly with Emmilyne’s writing. And, beyond that, she weaves it in beautifully with plot that keeps you wondering what’s next and emotion that builds and grows in an organic way. Orgasms and organic feelings. Honestly, what else could anyone really want?

@ruwithmeguys - Jess will gut you and leave you asking her to do it again. Indecent Proposal… just… read the warnings and be ready and read it with a lot of time on your hands and probably in chunks because ouch. But still… read it.

@academyofshipping - Sarah has this dry sense of humor that comes out in her fics that’s as clever as it is fun. Fluffy, funny, smart, cute and rich with feeling, Sarah’s writing is consistently strong.

@someonesaidcake - Felice is fantastic for completed, multichapter AU fics. She has quite a few and I’m pretty sure every single one included smut at some point (if that’s your thing) as well as plot.

And… I’ve spent like an hour and a half on this which was a lovely diversion for my day. I know I’m forgetting amazing people but I have to stop here. When in doubt, take the title of a fic you like, google that name in quotes along with “rec list” and find someone’s list where that story was included, then explore the others. Or, check the bookmarks on AO3 of an author you like, that’s a great place to mine for fics, too. And, again, I can’t rec @theolicitylibrary enough. That said… happy reading, Anon! We’ll get through this hiatus together… through fic and sheer force of will. ;-)

#fic rec #fic recs #rec list #BLESS FANFIC #olicity fic #olicity fic recs

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elainescookingforthesoul · 4 years

Text

TRANSCRIPT for Episode 1.04 “Devin’s Three-Alarm Chili” (PART 1/2)

ACT I

ELAINE

Hello and welcome back to Elaine's Cooking Podcast for the Soul, where we continue to post new and clear recipes for a post-nuclear society. I am your host Elaine Martínez. Listeners, I am especially thankful for your devoted attention this week, because after the second nuclear event we witnessed in part last episode, there are certainly better things you could be focusing on. Yes, the toxic cloud mass has drifted inland, settling appropriately right over Death Valley National Park. We are told that out of the 1,262 rangers, visitors, migrants, and permanent residents, nobody was hurt--before the effects of toxic radiation from the missile killed them immediately. Indeed, our fleshy exteriors are mere sponges for airborne radioactive materials, while the squishy insides enfolded in that flesh are simply not made to withstand such substances. Perhaps one day we'll develop better external defenses for our soft-shelled bodies. Or maybe we'll become better at internalizing the phrase "mutually assured destruction." Who knows? What is most important is understanding the shivering fragility of your short human life, and how to make the most of what's left. Which bring us to the joys of cooking! Let's get to work!

[POTS CLANG]

ELAINE: Tonight, I'm joined by a fellow survivor Devin Miller.

DEVIN: Howdy howdy howdy.

ELAINE: We're sitting together here at the LA Dental Clinic, this time at the reception desk! Devin is one of the last remaining official mail carriers for the State.

DEVIN: Yeah, I was on my route to pick up your rations--

ELAINE: For new listeners: a portion of my rations are allocated to my senator as a way of paying my federal student loans.

DEVIN: Oh tight. I thought you were sending them to your family members across state or something.

ELAINE: Nope, all my family is dead.

DEVIN: Oh...less tight.

ELAINE: Please, continue.

DEVIN: Yeah, so then I hear the regular alarm start going off.

ELAINE: Honestly, I barely hear it anymore.

DEVIN: Same. Then it got to that real sinister register.

ELAINE: The ominous lower d-flat.

DEVIN: That's the one. That was when I started thinking, dang look at that sky! Maybe this is getting serious. Then came Phony Mitchell.

ELAINE: What's that now?

DEVIN: You know, it was like a bad Joni Mitchell that the State changed the words to a little so they could play it without paying for the rights. It's also a toilet paper ad? You know:

DEVIN: [SINGING] “Down it always seem to go but you don't know what you flushed til it's gone. We made paradise, by making it double ply....”

ELAINE: Phony Mitchell.

DEVIN: Right. But it was only after that babe stopped wailing, that I thought I better take cover. That's when I saw a couple kids running away from your office and thought the door might be unlocked. And you were right there waiting!

ELAINE: Yep, didn't even have time to lock the door. But it all brings us to our favorite dish this week--chili!

DEVIN: That's right, we've been chowing down on this simple recipe since the lockdown and subsequent 72-hour curfew that started right after the three alarms sounded.

ELAINE: And we don't have to remind you, folks, these curfews are enforced.

DEVIN: Yeah, and these robo-cops--

ELAINE: They're called Ad Ministers.

DEVIN: Right, these Ad Ministers patrolling all day and night freak me out, tbh. Here comes one now. See the silhouette against the boarded-up window?

ELAINE: It's only eight feet tall, I don't believe I could miss it if I tried.

An Ad Minister passes by the front of the LA Dental Clinic, loudly stomping and vocalizing as it approaches. Voice is muted slightly by the distance, but still clear.

AD MINISTER 2233: Don't let dirty laundry get ya down. Stay clean and fresh with Life's a Bleach!

ELAINE: It's been a week now, but I can't imagine a better partner to be locked down with.

DEVIN: Of course, the alternative is in the tight embrace of an Ad Minister, but...

AD MINISTER 4447: Soft, creamy, delicious. INFO REDACTED cheddar cheese is the best because it's made right here in INFO REDACTED. God bless INFO REDACTED.

DEVIN

Ugh, I hate that Ad Minister. Get a new ad, buddy!

ELAINE: Folks, like I mentioned earlier, we're situated right here at the reception desk at the LA Dental Care.

DEVIN: I feel like we're newscasters.

ELAINE: Yes, while I generally prefer the ambiance of the main operating area, I think I'd like to keep an eye on the boarded windows and door for now. But I would love to start in on this recipe.

DEVIN: Let's do it. I'll fire up the hot plate here, you open the cans?

ELAINE: Oh, but we should explain what ingredients we have for the listeners.

DEVIN: Oh, duh. I forgot we had an audio audience. Today we are opening up three cans. One is a can of chili-seasoned diced tomatoes.

ELAINE: The second can is that of simple red kidney beans.

DEVIN: The the third can is just regular black beans!

ELAINE: And, I know we normally get a little more creative with things, but let me tell you. This is a simple--what's that phrase you say?

DEVIN: Simple A-F. It means "As Fuck." But just in case there are any kids listening, this recipe is simple A-F.

ELAINE: Indeed. And because the tomatoes are already packed with the chili seasoning, all the work is done for you. You just have to open the cans...like so...

[CAN OPENER]

DEVIN: Ignite your heat source, in our case a very old propane-powered portable hot plate.

[GAS/WHOOSH OF HOT PLATE]

[ANOTHER LID POPS OFF]

ELAINE: And then you just dump all three ingredients into the pot!

[CAN OPENER]

[ANOTHER LID POPS OFF]

DEVIN: Now, because it's just the two of us--

ELAINE: And because we do have just a very small one-quart pot--

DEVIN: We are literally just halving the recipe by using half of each can.

[CAN CONTENTS POUR INTO POT]

ELAINE: Right. I really cannot overstate how delicious and filling this recipe is.

DEVIN: No joke. I'd even eat this if there weren't a nuclear apocalypse followed by a ruthlessly aggressive police state going on.

ELAINE: Well, there is hardly higher praise than that, though generally we steer away from explicitly recognizing the current regime lest they--

DEVIN: Shh. Turn the hot plate off.

[FLAME SPUTTERS OFF]

ELAINE: What is it? Why is that Ad Minister stopped in front of the window?

DEVIN

I don't think that's an Ad Minister, Elaine.

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: Ad Ministers 5277 through 5278 assemble. Boots stomp and congregate in from of the LA Dental Clinic, sounding off their ads, overlapping as they approach.

AD MINISTER 5277: Plastic wrap doesn't have to be plastic crap! Ditch the generic brand and--

AD MINISTER 5278: Coca Cola stopped using amphetamines ages ago, but not us! Reach for a--

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: On mute.

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: State current mission.

AD MINISTERS: RECONNAISSANCE, GENERAL ADVERTISING, FACIAL SCANNING, SEARCHING FOR WARRANTED FUGIT--

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: Edit mission.

AD MINISTERS: VOCAL RECOGNITION ENTRY REQUIRED.

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: Captain R.J. Krause.

[THREE BLOOPS]

AD MINISTERS: VOCAL RECOGNITION FAILED. TRY AGAIN?

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: CAPTAIN R. J. KRAUSE.

[TWO BLOOPS]

AD MINISTERS: CONFIRMED. WELCOME CAPTAIN KRAUSE. IT LOOKS LIKE YOU WANT TO EDIT A MISSION. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME HELP?

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: NO. Ugh, I cannot wait until you useless hunks of metal get upgraded. Let's say seek...hm. No. Undo...Capture and deliver...

CAPTAIN KRAUSE:...Eight large cheese pizzas, six large meat supreme pizzas, and one large Hawaiian pizza from the nearest Little Caesars. To headquarters.

[CONFIRMATION BLOOP]

AD MINISTERS: Confirmed. Will deliver in approximately...45 minutes.

[AD MINISTERS BOOTS MARCH AWAY]

CAPTAIN KRAUSE: Forty five minutes! Absolutely unbelievable. Hot and ready my foot...

[CAPT. KRAUSE WALKS AWAY]

ELAINE: Okay maybe we should take a little break.

DEVIN: No kidding, you don't have any cigarettes do you?

ELAINE: No.

DEVIN: Oh right. I mean, in case there are kids listening...you don't have any magical death sticks, do you?

ELAINE: Still no. Listeners, we'll be right back after this brief break. Be still, stay calm. We will return to your ears in just a few short moments.

END OF ACT I

INTERLUDE/AD BREAK

[MUSICAL RIFF]

ELAINE: Listeners, this episode is brought to you once again by the A-Path. The A-Path is the only totally neutral non-existent-organization that allows you to register as a person that simply does not care about the outcome of battling factions and brutal bids for power. Pledge Allegiance to The Flag, The News, or The Industry? Okay, but that excludes you from pledging allegiance to the ultimate indifference of the A-Path. Perks of signing up include indemnity from the triumphant party, should you not cause trouble and survive. Sign up for a 90 day free trial in which a grand jury will review the details of your personal and professional background and declare you to be either suitably indifferent or ultimately condemned to a life of servitude and/or gruesome dismemberment by the victorious party. Come by Ted's Bread store and get "apathy" with us! Now back to the show.

[MUSICAL RIFF]

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crystalracing · 5 years

Text

Vettel & Hamilton

Abdellah El Ouastani • 14 hours ago

My take on the situation. The decision was far from being fair. Anyone with a fair racing spirit bone in their body would call yesterday's incident "a racing incident." That is the end and short of it. But let's break it down a little, shall we. This harsh, unfair and totally un-called for penalty goes back to the narrative, which I have been supportive of, since day uno. That Sebastian Vettel his not a popular figure within the highly political world of F1.

A lot of people do not entertain the idea of Vettel being actually an unscripted, genuine and pure racer sort of guy. In fact, what you see is what you get. He is a terrible person at playing the political game. Kimi decides to shut up about these things, which in my view, is the most political statement one can make, believe it or not. Sebastian is different; he cares more about it all and the history of the sport. Therefore, he reacts, for better or for worse. Anyone who appreciates the emotions the sport transmits to people, would appreciate how incredibly happy Seb was for securing pole on Saturday. He was so happy about it as if it was his first. Seb is involved in the sport, and the highs are so high, because he eats, sleeps and repeats F1. In between that, it is about his family, and leading a normal life. All he wants is to race, the old school way. He is such a committed character that he would be hard on his team, on himself, and in going after the results he works for. That makes him lose the bigger picture foresight in the heat of the moment, especially in the heat of the battle, but he always comes round.

Yesterday was a good example of that, and of Sebastian true colours, let's say. He said some of the most important words you'll ever hear for the entire season. On the not-so-cool-down lap, he came up with some real beauties. See this: ""Where the hell am I supposed to go? This is a wrong world I tell you. This is not fair.” Then what about this: "...The people shouldn’t boo at Lewis. If anything, they should boo at these funny decisions." And finally this: "I sympathise in a way with the stewards..."

Yesterday's events perfectly encapsulates Sebastian Vettel, the man and a proper character. He would go aggressive after what he wants, in a fair way. But all he needs is common sense to come round. Before analysing the quotes above, he made a mistake by not going to Parc Ferme and all that, then Binotto and Gino convinced him to go back and respect the protocol, he did it out of respect for his team, the winning Mercedes team, Charles, and the fans. How great and revealing are those quotes though! In the crying for help enquiry of "where am I supposed to go" is the guy asking for common sense. Good luck with that. That is a lonely and dark place at the moment. "That's a wrong world I tell you", is the whole world in a nutshell - not just F1 BTW. Although it is a bit extreme in the massive business and political franchise that is F1. Finally, note how he is seeing the bigger picture again, by not taking it personal with the stewards, in the last quote.

Coming out in defense of Lewis after all what has happened shows that temperament is actually one of Seb's greatest assets, contrary to what people would have us believe. His fault is that he sees through all the provocations and games. It is a gift and a curse, in equal measure. Sebastian isn't angry at Lewis or Mercedes. In fact he is always one to give them credit, one to joke around, and one to see the positives. He is mad though at the "funny decisions" i.e. the SYSTEM. Sebastian does not have a problem with the journalists, but with the quality of the press. It is not the people he is against, it is the system. He isn't blaming the people, he is blaming the problem. And that is something that people could change if united, applied common sense. For Goodness sake, a bit less bias, and a little more fairness. It would do the sport and the world, a world of good.

Clearly, and visibly, Seb at the moment he made a mistake, all he cared about was avoiding the walls, and when he managed to correct it just, Hamilton was there. He blocked Lewis, but not intentionally, therefore, in the world of common sense, he shouldn't have been slapped with a 5 second penalty. Sebastian couldn't disappear into thin air, or just park the car on the left, to let Lewis past. And BTW, for anyone comparing the situation to Lewis' misfortune in 2008, it is not even a comparable situation. I know the journalists brought it up in the post race, but the two cases are not only a little over a decade a part, but a world apart. Some difference. Back to Seb's grass trip, it was simply instinct - a natural reflex. You are in trouble, you don't care about the others, you care about yourself first. A no-brainer. In this case, people think Vettel should be punished because they think somewhow there is an element of design about it, when clealry and visibly there wasn't. As if he rejoined the track purposefully for the sole reason of hampering Hamilton.

A lot of the bad publiciy Vettel gets in this case, has worked. That is the pressure Vettel is under. That is what in the radio, he says "I don't care what people think." And speaking of the mistake he made, is not pressure per se. It is pressure in a sense, but nothing like the big deal poeple try to make it out to be. Seb simply made a mistake, but only because he wanted to win and not interested in a second place finish. Hamilton, in the Mercedes was the driver in the faster car on the day. I saw it on Friday. And since we are at it, if Hamilton didn't compromise his build up to the qualifying, Saturday would have been a bit of different story. Perhaps, perhaps not. But yes, Ferrari has always liked softer, easier to warm up tyres, that's why they could keep up to an extent with Mercedes in the first stint, and couldn't in the second part spent on the harder compounds.

John Willcocks

Abdellah El Ouastani • 12 hours ago

Your words "people think Vettel should be punished because they think somehow there is an element of design about it, when clearly and visibly there wasn't."

Patently the Stewards, with the benefit of telemetry and video footage unavailable to us, completely disagree.

"The stewards examined slow motion footage of Vettel's actions from the moment that he had regained control and started steering his car – and it was felt that it showed that the German could have chosen a different path than the one he took. The footage clearly captures Vettel correcting an oversteer moment as he rejoins the track – which is shown by a sharp steering wheel movement to the right by the German. Shortly after that, however, Vettel has dispatched the oversteer and begins steering to the left to follow the direction of the circuit - suggesting he is now under control. But a split moment later, rather than keeping to the left, Vettel is shown to release the steering wheel which allows his car to drift to the right – cutting off the route that Hamilton would have taken had he had clear space. The movement to straighten the wheel, which put Vettel into the path of Hamilton, is believed to be key to the unanimous decision by the stewards to punish Vettel. A further reason the stewards established was through the use of an extra CCTV camera view of the incident, which was not broadcast on the international feed, showing Vettel's head looking in the mirrors at where Hamilton was during these moments when he was releasing the wheel to the right. Onboard footage of the Vettel incident also shows his head looking towards the mirrors in the moment when he is drifting out, suggesting he knew where Hamilton was. Had Vettel kept his car tight to the left once he had regained control, then there was likely enough room to have allowed Hamilton through on the right, in which case the matter would almost certainly not have been investigated. The fact that telemetry data showed Hamilton had to brake to avoid the collision with Vettel showed how the Mercedes driver was caught out by his rival's actions."

Abdellah El Ouastani

John Willcocks • 12 hours ago

Wasn't Seb penalised enough for running off track and losing momentum? See the onboards, Vettel didn't look in his mirrors until he corrected the slide, on three different occasions; he lost the car, on more than one occasion. Before that, Vettel was a passenger, and the first instinct is to correct the car. He couldn't care less about who was behind at that point. He cares about keeping the car out of the wall. Once he regained control, you can see him check his rear view mirrors. Lewis was there. That all happened in a matter of seconds. Racing incident. I don't care about the data, when I can see for myself. It's all clear, if there was something dirty about it, I would have said it, or not said anything at all. If you are driving on the highway at high speed, with some cars behind, then you lose control at some point at those speeds, what would be your reaction? To care about not hurting the others, or to not crash yourself. You cannot make a decision on the present if you are in the past. You cannot see what is in front of you, if you look behind. It is common sense.

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