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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

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This Christmas (pt1)

John Wick x Reader. A John Wick AU. (A/n- Just a tiny, five part Au where John is Y/n’s boss.)

Masterlist

Warnings- none

New York Y/n’s desk was probably the most obvious give away that Christmas was her favorite holiday of all time. She had everything; from tinsel running cheerfully around the edges and a tiny tree in one corner, to a little snowman figurine and a decorative jar of striped candy canes. That year, she’d even put out extra to buy a little Santa Claus figurine to greet everyone coming out of the elevator. The rest of the floor hadn’t really caught on though, her boss was never one to get into the holiday spirit anyways. But Y/n didn’t mind, she probably had enough for them both.

That morning, three weeks before the big day, she was sitting at her little station in the waiting room, tapping away on her computer, contentedly working her way through everything John had assigned her as she hummed in time with the Christmas carols wafting through her ear buds, loud enough for her to enjoy it though not so much so as to hamper her from hearing if the phone would ring. A classic had just started up, and like the others, Y/n had committed it to memory and was completely ready to get in tune with Mariah Carey when a knocking on the upper part of her receptionist’s desk roused her attention. It was Robert, the company’s head of marketing, flashing her a winning grin as he leaned forward on the matted grey surface. “I see our Christmas queen strikes again,” he gave her area a once over, his smile not wavering.

“That she has,” Y/n returned, beaming. Robert was a friend, a good one and he never let the vast differences in their positions at the company get in the way of inviting her to drinks with other board members or taking the extra elevator ride to bring her coffee whenever he could. “Do you like it?” Removing her ear buds, Y/n shifted her keyboard to give herself some room to fold her elbows on the desk.

“Like it?” Robert furrowed his brows, “I love it! You should come over and help me decorate,” when Y/n rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion, he clarified, “I’m being serious! You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting, I swear, I’d be grateful for just your direction.”

Giggling, Y/n leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, “Can’t you pay someone to do all that Rob? What do you need me for?”

“I guess I could,” he shrugged, depositing a colorful gift bag with crepe paper sticking out at the top in front of him, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets, “But it won’t be the same. I’m pretty clueless with…..making sure things flow so perfectly,” he gestured to the way she’d dressed up her station; just enough to show off the spirit, though not in a gaudy, over the top way, “But I like to get involved, you know? Please say you’ll come. I may not be able to decorate like a pro, but my hot cocoa is awesome.”

Leaning in conspiringly, Y/n held her chin in her palm, “Are you trying to bribe me with amazing cocoa that I’ve never tasted?”

“I am,” his voice dropped an octave, and when Robert leaned in towards the desk, he spoke in a whisper, “The secret’s whiskey.”

“Ohh,” Y/n mused, “Very tempting, can you do Saturday?”

“I most definitely can.” just as they continued to make plans, out from the hallway, came their boss, and CEO of the company, John Wick. It was hard to not notice him, considering he seemed to have this air about him that attracted all eyes the minute he walked into a room. He was just…..magnetic. “Y/n,” he teased, “You didn’t tell me the Grinch was in.”

From her usual perch, Y/n stuttered, unlike Robert, she was afraid of what would happen if John felt insulted by a harmless joke. He was an asset to the company, of a high caliber, but her? She was just an assistant. Thankfully though, John didn’t give her a moment to speak before speaking up, shaking his head, “Don’t you have work to do Rob? Things to finalize before the conference.”

“It’s three weeks away,” Robert defended, taking on a bothered expression. He turned to John, leaning against the lip of the desk and crossing one ankle in front of the other. Likewise, John neared the pair, lingering closer to the edge, laying a large palm on the cool top, not yet regarding Y/n.

“Only three weeks,” John emphasized with a heavy sigh, “Did you really just come up here to bother my secretary? Cause if you don’t, Y/n does have work to.”

“I can see that,” Robert nodded towards the thick planner laid out next to her computer, right next to several papers and little notes reminding her of all the things she had to get done. Buy gifts for everyone on John’s very long yet impersonal list, schedule flights to England for the conference, book him a hotel room, organize his calendar and set appointment dates. And that was barely a quarter of it. By the rate things were going, Y/n was beginning to wonder if John was even going to take Christmas day off. “You’ve got her burning the midnight oil.”

“It’s eleven am,” John noted gruffly. In her three years of working under him, Y/n had never once heard the man crack a joke, or laugh for that matter. He was so serious that often, Y/n would wonder if he even smiled. Maybe that's why he looked so good for a man nearing fifty. That, and the real possibility of him having a fancy home gym. “Maybe it’s time to get back to your office Robert.”

“Right,” Robert fought a frown, only to turn back to Y/n as he picked up the gift, “Just one more thing,” as he looked at her, he smiled again, holding the bag out to her, “I got you this Y/n.”

Scoffing a delighted laugh, Y/n retrieved the present, “No fair, you’re early. I haven’t even had time to get your gift yet.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present,” Robert gestured for her to unveil his gift, “Open it, come on.”

“Alright, fine. But if it's not- oh my god!” Gasping loudly, her jaw hung slack and Y/n held up the ceramic mug that had been secured inside. It was rounded and painted to look like a gingerbread man wearing a scarf, and it had even come equipped with a candy cane spoon. “Rob,” standing abruptly, disregarding her boss eyeing their exchange, “I love it,” Y/n walked around to meet him on the other side, immediately pulling him into a warm hug, “Thank you!”

“I knew you would,” he grinned as they pulled apart, “I should probably get back now though. But I’ll call you tonight so we can talk about Saturday.”

“Sounds great!” Waving as Robert retreated towards the elevator, she gave her new mug another look, “I can’t wait to use this,” Y/n noted, more to herself, only catching John staring at her when she looked up once more, “I’m sorry Mr. Wick, is there something you needed? If its about your flight plan, I’m calling the agency this afternoon so-”

“You know we have a no fraternization policy, right?” He cut her off, straightening his back and cutting her a stern look.

“I….uh….You mean…..” Looking between John and her opened present, Y/n furrowed her brows, confused. Of course, Robert was perhaps one of the most eligible bachelors, besides John himself, at the company; he was attractive, charming and quite the gentleman. But Y/n had never even thought of viewing him in a romantic light, they were friends and nothing more. “That was…..that was nothing,” she waved the thought off, “Robert is just a good friend. He probably just saw that while he was shopping or something. We do that kind of thing all the time.”

Humming his response, John kept his head held intimidatingly high. He always seemed so much bigger than her and Y/n could never decide whether or not it was thrilling or frightening. John himself was quite the looker, dark hair, dark eyes and enthrallingly mysterious. Even on a regular day he looked like he belonged on the posters for some high end brand or the other. “I need you in my office,” already, he was walking off and Y/n was left scurrying to match his long strides in her heels.

“What is this about?” Breathless as John shut the heavy door behind them, Y/n tried to right herself as she went before his desk. The large room, with dark porcelain floors and hardwood walls, accented by elegant furniture was familiar territory and Y/n knew it almost as well as she knew her own apartment. Papers on the right of his desk were dealt with, the ones on the left weren’t. There was an integrated mini refrigerator among the cabinets and he kept an extra suit, custom Tom Ford cause he never wore anything but, in the closet where he kept his coat. Come to think of it, Y/n probably knew more about John than anyone else in that entire building,

“Its about the conference,” coolly, he sank into his imposing leather chair, gracefully scooting towards his imported, mahogany desk. “It’s good that you haven’t called the agency yet, cause now you’ll be booking three tickets; you’re coming too.”

Stammering, Y/n’s eyes went wide with surprise. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all. She was supposed to have Christmas week off, so she could fly home to be with her family, but that wasn’t really possible if John would be taking her across the pond for a conference filled with stuffy, middle aged people with too much money and no one to spend it on. “Mr. Wick…..I…..I already applied for that week off.”

“No you didn’t, you never submitted an application,” he didn’t even look at her, firing up his laptop and probably ready to be done with the matter.

“Yes, I did,” frenzied, and panicked, Y/n looked to his desk, where, lo and behold, her application for time off sat on among the smaller pile of paperwork, the one on the left side. But that was impossible, she’d given it to him weeks ago! “It’s right there,” she pointed accusingly to where it had been sticking out from beneath some investment proposal or the other.

Snatching it up, John scanned the pages before swearing under his breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so bewildered. “Y/n,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’m sorry it must have gotten mixed up in the hustle.”

“I….” She wanted to argue, tell him that an apology wouldn’t make up for keeping her away from her family. Y/n wanted to yell that she’d be taking the week off anyway. But she couldn’t. Not just because he was her boss, but because he was John, who despite his very hardened exterior, had earned himself a soft spot in her heart. Y/n cared for him, in a way she probably shouldn’t have and the thought of bailing when he needed her wasn’t one she could entertain. “It’s okay,” forcing a smile and biting back tears, she blinked quickly, “I guess I should get to planning our flights.”

“Y/n-” he began, but it was too late, Y/n had already turned on her heel and was moving towards the door, swiping hastily at her eyes before she could listen to him say anything else.

Three Weeks Later Despite being separated merely by six inches in the car ride to the airport, Y/n swore that she could feel John's heat radiating, seeping through her thick layers. It was both an exciting and uncomfortable experience. On one hand, being that close to him almost had her giddy; feeding the school girl crush she'd developed on her boss. While on the other, things felt clumsy and tense; he didn't seem interested in talking, she didn't know what they could possibly talk about besides work and sharing an hour long car ride and six am was plain out awkward. Still, they’d made it through in almost complete silence.

Even at the airport, whilst walking to where they had agreed to meet Robert at the waiting area in anticipation of their flight, John had stayed silent and Y/n felt something of a dead limb walking beside him. He was always quiet and, like clockwork, as the year dwindled down, he seemed to grow even colder, as New York’s winter resided inside him. Usually, Y/n tried to not to let it get to her, but they were going to spend the week together; she’d given up family time for work and his silence was making her feel a bit lonely. Her only glimmer of hope for some good, warm company had been in Robert, even if Y/n got the feeling that John wouldn’t be giving them too much time together.

The chill between them lingered all the way through, though, when they all met up, things were uncharacteristically different. Immediately upon greeting each other, Y/n had instinctively pulled Robert into a hug, standing on the tip toes of her suede knee-highs so she could loop her arms around his neck, staying like that until John cleared his throat. When Y/n pulled away, she rubbed her gloved hands together, glancing at John, not really knowing what to feel when she looked at him and consequently looking away quickly. “ Uh…” checking her phone, Y/n exhaled shakily; there was still quite a bit of time left and the thought of having to spend it with both Robert and John was unnerving. She knew he wasn’t exactly a fan of their friendship, though, she could never tell why and without having to ponder on it, Y/n had already known that they were in for a long morning.

“Why don’t we head over to the lounge, get some drinks?” John filled the silence, causing Y/n to snap her head up and look directly at them. John wanted to grab drinks, with them? When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she found that John was looking directly at her, as if he were really only seeking her response.

Staring back at him, as she always did, Y/n found it hard to not lose herself in those dark pools, so endless that she might have drowned if she wasn’t too careful. The request was simple and impersonal, but still very unlike the John she’d grown to know. “Okay,” forcing herself to nod and simultaneously shifting her gaze back to Robert who now stood beside her, Y/n agreed, “We can do that. But it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“It’s the airport, Y/n,” Robert teased lightly as he nudged her shoulder, “Besides, it's already noon in London, so technically, you’re just…….pre-assimilating.”

Battling an amused grin, Y/n rolled her eyes, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she prepared to start moving towards the lounge, “That’s not a real thing.”

“Technically it is, I mean, Hardy made up words all the time and no one did anything about that. You,” he emphasized pointedly, “Love Hardy.”

“Hardy is a timeless, literary genius. You are a marketer from New York, it’s clearly not the same,” she laughed. She could tell that Robert was about to add something more, though, when John interrupted them, sternly urging them to move along, he dropped the matter, instead insisting that he take one of her bigger bags. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said, claiming one of her carry ons before she could protest any further. “We should get going, before Scrooge over here loses it.”

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Y/n admonished before they set off, “You’re gonna get fired or something.”

“I’m not gonna get fired, relax-”

“If you kids are finished,” they both looked to John immediately as he scolded them, and Y/n shuddered at the way his tell tale signs of irritation shone through; a quirked brow, an evident scowl and a hardness in his jaw that screamed that he was at his rope’s end with their banter.

“We are,” she spoke up without giving Robert the opportunity to come up with another questionable joke directed at their very unamused boss. Then, not offering anything further, she followed John’s lead as he walked off, not paying any mind to how far they were behind him.

Though, the peace was short lived when Y/n tripped as they reached the bottom of one of those short lived staircases that had been placed purely for aesthetic purposes, accidently dropping her rolling suitcase as she stumbled forward. With reflexes faster than she could have registered, John spun, barely sparing a moment to set aside his own suitcase before catching her at the shoulders. By the time he’d helped her right herself, Y/n’s chest was barely a hair away from his and with the way he was bent, his face wasn’t much further from hers. Swallowing thickly, for the first time Y/n didn’t feel small under his bottomless stare, instead, she felt like he was seeing into her; trying to speak into her. It was hard to decipher it, and it could have very well been her own unspoken affections blurring things, but Y/n could have sworn that he was seeing her in a different light.

Everything around them seemed to slow down, like the universe was letting her savor the proximity that she’d never experience again. “Are you okay?” John’s inquiry pierced their fragile moment, and all of a sudden, it was as if someone had hit play on a remote so reality would resume.

“I…..I’m fine, thanks,” she smiled weakly, her expression faltering when John pulled away. Then, simultaneously remembering her fallen suitcase, they both bent over to get it, leaving John’s hand to unconsciously fall over Y/n’s. For a split second, they stared at their hands, together, on the black plastic handle, looking very suggestive with the way they were positioned. “I uh, I got it,” flustered, Y/n gave the bag a gentle tug.

John didn’t let up immediately though, instead sparing her a peculiar stare, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled shakily. Y/n couldn't let him take it, else she’d read too much into it, and no good would come from reading too much into an innocent though rare act of inconsequential kindness from John Wick. He didn’t feel the same, they weren’t even friends, it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks though.”

They stood and John immediately put some distance between them. “Good,” he scoffed coldly, walking off before they could exchange anything else.

“Hey,” Robert touched her shoulder, causing Y/n to jump. She’d been looking on as John walked off, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or think. “You okay? That could have been a nasty fall, especially in those shoes.”

“Yeah,” finally tearing her gaze away from John’s slowly shrinking form so she could greet Robert’s concern with her own bewilderment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Vaguely, she heard his response, though it sounded far off as she inevitably succumbed to letting thoughts of the past five minds swim around in her head; caught between wishing it meant something and thinking that it more than likely didn’t.

****** Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x y/n #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #ff #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick au #christmas au #this christmas #this christmas part 1

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sitcomified · 3 years

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fighting dragons with you

summary: amy gets injured on a case and jake pays her a visit. (pre-canon) word count: 3.5k rating: teen?

read below or on AO3

content warning for minor depictions of violence and general discussions of assault

Amy Santiago wrote her life plan when she was sixteen years old, and revisits it each month like clockwork. She figured out from a young age that if she could clearly define a set of rules to follow to a tee, then she would never fall off course. Most nights, the three inch purple binder lives on her bedside table, where after long days of life-threatening work, she can put everything into perspective. Most days, the plan works out great for her. But she’s not invincible. She still scrapes gum off her brand new shoes and wrestles with her too warm pillow.

It’s not that she can’t deal with unpredictable situations. If anything, being almost comically prepared for every possible situation has made the challenge of taking on these changes that much more thrilling. She knows she excels at tasks that demand quick thinking and efficient problem solving. Hell, that’s why she became a cop.

Amy clocked into work two minutes late that morning. She stared at her watch, already mentally preparing how she would make it up to her squad (even though a quick glance around the bullpen would let her know that she was still the first officer there for her shift.)

By the time her partner showed up nearly thirty minutes late—an occurrence so routine she’d be surprised if anyone even noticed—Amy was already wrapping up her first report of the day. As she reached across her desk for the folder containing crime scene evidence, her partner finally acknowledged her.

“Nice spiderman band-aid,” Jake greeted her, gesturing to her right hand. She sighed deeply. The band-aid in question is nursing a particularly nasty paper cut from when she tried to intercept one of her partner's paper airplanes (probably made from some actually important file) the previous day. Amy rinsed the cut under the precinct kitchenette’s ice-cold water, swearing she’d be fine for the rest of the day, but her finger still stung when she got home and discovered that her only first aid supplies were from the last time her nephews visited.

“Hello Detective Peralta,” Amy replied, trying to salvage any semblance of workplace professionalism. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if her partner’s retort warranted a response.

“Aw, is that your pet name for me?” he joked, clearly not wanting to drop their banter, “I’m going to call you sugar...nose.” He extended a finger and lightly tapped her on the nose, to emphasize the point.

Amy flinched in response. “Sugarnose?” she repeated incredulously.

“Yeah I didn’t want it to be too sexual, and then I panicked,” Jake explained. Amy half expected him to follow it up with one of the “title of your sex tape” jokes that he was so prone to making, but thankfully, today she would be spared.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Peralta. At his best, he could be just as sharp a detective as she was. The problem was, that was rarely ever his goal. He showed open disrespect for any authority that would dare get in his way, almost as if it were a game to him. On the field, he spent more time trying to portray himself as an action movie star than trying to catch criminals, and she’d be surprised if he actually followed any of the NYPD’s safety guidelines.

Her day went on as it usually did. Finishing up reports, interviewing witnesses, investigating a crime scene—fortunately on her own. Amy had no idea why Captain McGintley was so adamant about partnering her and Peralta. Their approaches to every aspect of police work seemed fundamentally incompatible. Her captain probably just needed someone responsible to babysit New York’s Least Mature Detective (a title he had bestowed upon himself) in the field. It was a horribly sexist and insulting implication that gave Amy flashbacks to a whole childhood’s worth of classroom seating charts and group projects, where she was put in the exact same position.

That afternoon, just as she was getting into the rhythm of responding to the perpetual flood of emails in her inbox, Peralta tore her away from her work to go on a stakeout for a case they were working on, insisting that the new lead was “actually legit this time.”

When Amy left the precinct she was surprised to see that her partner decided not to “ball out” and instead opted for a sensible SUV for their stake out. “Nice ride, Peralta.”

“Thanks, I borrowed it from some guy Diaz is testifying against,” he said smugly. Amy raised her eyebrows in return. Of course there would be a catch. “Kidding,” he reassured her. “It’s the precinct’s, I’m surprised you don’t like have the license plates memorized by now.”

Amy wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or insulted by that. She had only been there a couple months, surely that wasn’t an expectation; if it was, it was never conveyed to her in the brief amount of training she received. Regardless, she responded, “very funny, but I’m still driving.”

Jake soured with mock offense, “Seriously, Santiago? You think that my driving is more dangerous than that drug ring you busted last month?”

“I’m a detective. I know that I might die on the force. What I’m absolutely not okay with is dying because some idiot would rather play air guitar than follow basic road safety concepts,” Amy said, crossing her arms. On their last stakeout, they almost lost their perp during his particularly enthusiastic rendition of Lose Yourself.

“Too-shee,” he responded, with a smirk on his lips. He was messing with her. Surely, he wasn’t actually that dumb.

Amy corrected him, “you know it’s pronounced touché.”

“Ok nerd,” he replied, and tossed her the car keys. “But I get to stay on AUX.”

She was a bit taken aback by how quickly he agreed to cooperate with her. “You’ve gotta stay focused,” she added, as she climbed into the car. There was a foul smell that she couldn’t quite place. All the more reason to rush this.

“Of course I am a professional, Santiago,” he said from the passenger seat. He reached into his bag and pulled out a giant pack of Cheetos. “Want one?” he offered. She shook her head in disgust.

“Alright, so the informant, Dragos, said the operation is based out of a pharmacy on Atlantic, I assume that’s where we’re going?” Amy asked, as she started the car.

“Toit, and also holy shit is that his real name?” Jake questioned, eyes wide. “That’s badass.”

Amy frowned. “Did you even read the case file?”

“I skimmed it. Your sentences are all so long!” he complained.

“I’m sorry that I’m thorough and I actually follow procedure. Maybe you should take a cue from me, I mean that’s gotta be why McGintley assigned us to this case,” she said.

Jake laughed at her. “I have the most arrests in the precinct,” he bragged. Amy wanted to bring up that arrests weren’t actually a good indication of community safety, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to articulate the problem to him once more.

“That’s just because you make Boyle do all your paperwork,” she retaliated. “If you did everything you were supposed to, you know that I’d be ahead of you.”

Jake stopped fiddling with the car’s radio, and turned to face Amy. “First of all, Boyle loves paperwork. And for the record, I actually asked the Captain to put us together on this case.”

“Exactly, because you knew I would do all the work,” Amy said, smugly.

“No! It’s ‘cause I knew it was a tough one, and you’re obviously super smart.” Amy blushed a little. She assumed that Jake thought as little of her as she did of him. “Plus, I heard you talking to Diaz about how you weren’t getting any good cases,” he continued. She’s surprised, not at what he noticed, but the fact that he actually cared enough to try and fix her problems. It was true that McGintley was underutilizing her—the other day he had her spend an hour finding an anniversary present for his wife.

“Well, thanks,” Amy responded with an awkward smile. “I didn’t think you cared.”

“‘Course, you’re part of the 99 now. Anything for the squad.” he said. Right, Jake was just doing what any good cop would do for their team. He didn’t actually care about her, at least not enough to not get cheeto crumbs on the seat that she’d have to clean up.

Jake points at the car’s speaker system at the next red light. “Hey, do you know how this works?”

“Do you seriously not know?” she teased. It was a strikingly simple set up.

“Obviously not, or else we’d be listening to my sick beats right now.” Jake said. “My car still uses cassettes exclusively and I fear my mixtapes would cause this lame car to spontaneously combust.”

Amy sighed. “Here, give me your phone,” she told him, and plugged in the audio cable. Immediately music started blaring out of the speakers. She recognizes the opening chords instantly and starts laughing. “Is this what you listen to?” she asked.

Jake started frantically pushing buttons on the dashboard, only making the music louder by accident. “No. I swear I don’t know how this got on here.” Amy grinned. It was so rare that she had the upper hand in embarrassing him and she was already thinking of how to capitalize on it.

“Keep it on,” she said, guiding his hands away from the speaker system before he had the chance to break something. “I like this song.” He leaned back in his seat and helped himself to another handful of Cheetos. Amy returned her focus to navigating the complex puzzle of Brooklyn traffic.

Over the revving motors and honking of angry drivers, she heard him begin to sing along. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud and it didn’t feature impromptu parody lyrics. His voice was surprisingly soft, and she wondered if he was even conscious of his singing. She was perplexed by how he managed to focus on nothing and everything at the same time. How he managed to let loose in the most tense situations. Amy couldn’t even bring herself to have that kind of fun when she specifically scheduled it in her planner.

What the hell, they were still a fifteen minute drive from the pharmacy. She joined in with the chorus. He looked at her with a confused, yet happy, expression, and ramped up his volume, and even incorporated his own dance moves. “Damn, Santiago, didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, after they finished the chorus on a tone-deaf harmony.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Peralta,” she replied, raising her eyebrows with feigned confidence.

Jake chuckled and opened his mouth; she assumed to argue, but instead he just continued the second verse. She didn’t know the rest of the lyrics, and she certainly couldn’t decipher them from the dramatic voices he was adding into it.

“Hey isn’t that our guy,” he interrupted, pointing to a man who was standing by the trash cans on the corner, despite his right of way. Amy paused and took a closer look. Surely enough, their perp, Andrei Volkov, was standing there, waiting for the deal they had been told would occur miles away.

“Oh my god,” Amy said, turning to park their car just out of eyesight.

“Luckily he didn’t seem interested enough in the two adult Taylor Swift fans, to notice we’re a police vehicle.” Jake replied. He leaned towards the trunk window to sneak a better view of their target.

“Do you want to call for backup?” Amy asked. “How many guys are there?”

“Looks like about three, and it seems pretty exposed for back up unless they have access to one of the houses,” Jake said, propping himself back in the seat. “I think we should be good.”

Amy paused for a second. Her instinct was always to air on the side of caution, but Jake had proven himself to be more reasonable than she assumed. “Okay, I trust you,” she said.

“Take my lead,” he instructed, before she could argue, and secured his vest as he left the car. Amy followed him out hesitantly, one hand hovering protectively over her radio. They crossed the street while Volkov’s back was turned. As soon as they made eye contact, Jake whipped out his gun, and cornered him against the lamp post. “NYPD, you’re under arrest.” Amy instinctually dove behind the trash can. Through the grated metal she could see both of Volkov’s men pull their guns at Jake from behind his back. She can’t quite recognize exactly which members of the operation they are. He held one hand on Volkov while he turned to face the others. They kept their guns raised in his direction.

“Here’s the deal, come back to my precinct, and I won’t shoot. I’m all alone out here.” Jake kicks the trashcan Amy is ducked behind. Then twice, to get her attention. And again. The Funky Cold Medina, she realized. Amy felt her heart pounding all the way in her fingers and toes.

“What’s the matter with your leg, pig,” one of the men scoffed. She recognized the voice. Apparently Dragos was more involved in the operation than he led on, and had intentionally given her the wrong address. Amy reached for her gun and jumped up, turning to cover Jake.

“Hey, you’re the lady with the thank you notes,” Dragos said, as he lowered his weapon, “almost made me feel bad for lying to you.”

Amy fixed her eyes in his direction, “yeah well, thanks for nothing.”

“That was a pretty weak comeback, Santiago,” Jake muttered from her side. She shot him a nasty look.

“Your partner’s right,” Volkov added, still struggling against the lamppost.

“Nice try but you’re still arrested,” Jake said, as he reached for his handcuffs and began reciting the Miranda Rights. Amy stared down the other two men in the meantime, instructing them to drop any weapons they’re carrying. They obeyed and placed their guns at her feet. Just as they began to stand up, Dragos punched Amy in the face, his ring leaving a deep gash on her cheek. The metallic taste of blood floods her mouth. Her vision was blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, causing searing pain in the open wound.

Dragos started to bolt but Jake managed to trip him and keep him pinned to the ground. He struggled to handle both perps, however, and Amy watched as the third man ran away. She tried to chase after him, but she was too shocked to make it any farther. “Dragos, you’re coming with me,” Jake said, locking the handcuffs in place. “Amy, I’m calling you an ambulance.”

She was too dishevelled to protest.

That night, Amy’s brother drove her home from the hospital where she received seven stitches. Half her face was still numb from the anesthesia. Still, the second she got her phone back, she sent a text to her partner: “LMK if you need help processing.”

Half an hour later she heard her apartment buzzer go off. She paused her episode of Jeopardy, kicked on her fluffy slippers, and answered it.

“Delivery for Lady Amy Santiago,” Jake said, in a terribly butchered British accent through the phone.

“Come up,” she replied, stifling a laugh. The meds had worn her down enough that she could fully embrace his immature humor.

Three minutes later Jake announced himself with a knock on her door. “Alright, so I got you this. Hope you like shitty diner food because that’s all that’s open right now,” he held up two take out bags. Through the semi-opaque plastic she noticed two liters of the horrible orange soda he spilled on her desk once and still couldn’t get the stain out from.

“Yeah that’s fine,” she said, gesturing for him to come take a seat. She braced herself to be tormented for her decor. Suddenly she realized Jake came all the way to her house for her. He didn’t have to be here. Why was he here? “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He took a seat on her couch and plopped the bags on her coffee table. She never ate there, it was reserved for drinks, at most, but she didn’t correct him. Especially when he was doing her a favor “I know. I wanted to though. I also finished processing Dragos and Volkov, all by myself,” he said.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Amy asked flatly. She peered into the bag and examined the feast he brought: two cheeseburgers, a plate of chicken tenders, one hamburger, a salad, about three orders of fries, and of course the two orange sodas. For someone who was proudly in debt, he sure spent a lot on this meal.

“Cause it’s my fault you’re like this,” he said. Amy wanted to protest, he made a bad call re-backup, but she could have gotten injured either way. “Also you’re so hopped up on painkillers there’s no way you’ll remember this,” he added, cracking a smile. He really wasn’t capable of a genuine moment.

Amy rolled her eyes at him. “It’s not that much stronger than Advill, and memory loss isn’t a side effect,”

“Hmm,” he frowned, “we’ll see about that tomorrow.”

Amy froze. “I hope you’re not here to try anything,” she said, half joking. Jake was a jerk, but she never thought he would stoop that low. Even still, she couldn’t let her guard down that much.

“Oh, God no, absolutely not. I would never take advantage of you—of anyone—like that. Is that what you thought?” Jake stammered, scooching himself away from her on the couch. He looked as if he had seen a ghost or something, and his messy hair only added to the effect.

“I dunno,” Amy said, “I guess I can’t be too trusting.” She took out a container full of fries and handed him one as a peace offering.

“Right, right, men are a nightmare,” Jake agreed through a mouthful of potato. He even didn’t try to distance himself from “other men”, or go with the “but I’d never do that route”. Her chest was heavy with guilt at the thought of making such an implication.

“No, no, no, it’s fine, really. Sorry for accusing you.” Amy said.

“It’s not fine. And you shouldn’t apologize because that’s a real fear. It’s on me,” he replied. She looked at him with confusion. It was rare for guys to understand that much. “And I’m sorry for being such a dick to you these past few months,” he blurted out.

Amy couldn’t believe that the guy sitting in her apartment was the same one who decided to address her via paper airplane for a week, and only stopped when he ran out of papers on his desk. “Hey I wasn’t much better. I was so obsessed with out-doing you, I never went to you for help—” he shot her an expectant glance,“—also I’m sorry for ratting you out all the time.” He nodded, and helped himself to another fry from her container.

“Why are you so competitive?” he asked through a mouthful of potato. She noticed a bit of ketchup on his chin and reached for a napkin.

“I have seven brothers,” she provided him with the stock answer.

“I know that,” he said, “that doesn’t answer my question.”

She pauses. “My parents were always comparing us, so many siblings meant the bar for anything was set super high, I don’t know, that sort of stuff.”

“But why do you care?” he pushed. She hadn’t ever considered that before. The endless treadmill she shoved herself on was just always there. Even when she knew the goals she set were irrational she would just keep running, because the idea of falling off was so much worse.

“I guess it makes me worried, if I’m not measuring up,” she confessed. “I feel like I did something wrong.”

“You know you’re crazy, right?” he asked, smirking at her.

Amy rifled through the bottom of the takeout bag. “Did they give you any mustard packets?” she asked.

“Nah. But, as your self-appointed guardian angel, I will go to the bodega and get you some,” he said, picking up the jacket he threw on her floral carpet.

“You don’t have to do that, really,” Amy insisted.

He looked back at her as if the very notion were ridiculous. “Amy, you just got injured in the line of duty. If all you want is mustard, you can have all the mustard in the world.”

“Thanks, Jake. You’re a really good friend,” she ventured. She waited for a moment, to see how he would respond, hopefully solidifying their friendship. Maybe she was friendzoning advances she wasn’t even aware of. Maybe he was confused, and he was just doing a nice thing for a coworker.

“You too,” Jake said. However he interpreted all the implications, he didn’t let her know. “When I get back we’re watching Die-Hard!” he added as he rushed out the door. Amy smiled to herself as she heard the lock click into place.

#tropetember #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #b99 fic #brooklyn nine nine fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #tropetember day 1 #peraltiago #peraltiago fic #my fic

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maree-ff · 3 years

Text

Walk by Faith, Not by Sight

CAMILA

Opening the blinds to let in the slightest amount of light I glanced over my shoulder. Andre’s been out for four days since the surgery and I’m growing impatient. I’ve prayed every morning and night since the shooting with hopes that he will wake up soon. The kids have been rotating their stays here with me but I always send them home before their bedtime rolls around. I can’t fathom staying home right now so Divya is taking my place.

A soft knock on the door reverted my attention from Andre to the entrance of his room. Elaine, the night shift nurse, walked in the room with a fresh set of towels, linen, flowers and medication.

Smiling gently at her I met her halfway to take some of the items off of her hands. “Good morning and thank you for bringing these in.” I began.

“Good morning to you. Don’t mention it honey, any updates for me?” She inquired.

Inhaling soundly I shook my head and parted ways with her to put the towels aside. “I’m doing all that I can to stay positive but I’m starting to worry.” The uneasiness in my tone earned me some encouraging words from Elaine. After I adjusted the temperature in the room I took a seat, watching in silence as she finished out her shift. She prepped Andre with a new morphine bag, took his vitals and tidied up the room. As Elaine began to wrap up her work a thought came to me.

“Elaine..” I called out to her. Rising from my chair I set my journal and planner aside, walking to her side of the room. “I know your shift is pretty much over but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind praying with me? It would mean the world to me.” I twiddled my fingers awaiting her response.

Elaine’s prayer over Andre’s health, recovery and my willpower brought me to tears. I said my temporary farewell to her and did my part in Andre’s upkeep. Once I was all done I sat down beside his bed studying the monitor watching his heart beat steadily. My mind must’ve gone blank for quite some time. I found myself listening to my cell phone vibrate within my bag and the rain began to downpour.

“I remember when you came down with the flu and Zoe stayed up all night trying to take care of you. She was yawning every two minutes..” I chuckled lightly at the memory. “She kept trying to convince herself that she wasn’t tired and you were too weak to argue with her. That’s when Kenja stepped in to drag her out of our bed and into their room. I listened to them bicker for a solid twenty minutes or so about how best to care for you when they got home from school the next day.” Using my thumbs to dab underneath my eyes I made the slightest turn of my head surprised at what I’m seeing.

Andre’s eyes fluttered open and closed before settling on remaining half open.

“Andre..” I said gently. Turning around I minimized the distance between us to get a closer look at him. His gaze met mine and a very shy smile set itself up on his face. I’m bubbling over with inquisition but I can’t overwhelm him at a time like this. “Andre? Honey, if you can feel this..nod your head for me please.” Tucking my hair behind my ear I exposed one of his feet to run my fingernail along his sole.

He nodded reluctantly prompting me to keep testing his senses. We went five rounds of this, easing my nerves about serious loss of sensation. “Can you hear me okay? Am I being too loud?” I asked.

“Yes and no.” He mumbled with ease. “How long have....I been here?” He shifted around, rotating a tad on his side. A tear rolled over his right cheek as he took a deep breath in and out.

“Four days.” I sighed. “Tell me what you remember.” I pulled my chair up to his bedside, leaning forward to clutch his hands. He struggled but successfully managed to intertwine our fingers. “I’m not rushing you. Take your time, sweetie.”

“Where’s Jo? Is he hurt? Are the girls okay?” I can see the deep concern for our children in his eyes and I can feel it passing through me.

“Jo is doing just fine baby, not a hair missing or a scratch on him. The girls are alright too. You can’t get your heart rate up or you’ll go into shock. Deep breaths okay? Can you tell me what you remember?” I asked again.

“Jo and I were outside getting the mail. Next thing I know, I heard the shot. I didn’t let him go.” Caressing the back of my hand, Andre fidgeted from underneath the blankets. “He was asking for you.”

I lowered my head as my brain flooded itself with the scene I was faced with when I walked out of our front door four days ago. To see my son shielded by his unconscious father who was bleeding out on the concrete scared me nearly to death. My mother’s voice flooded my brain to advise me against killing April point blank. My lawyer told me that if I had aimed just centimeters off of where I did shoot April, she’d be dead and I would be behind bars. That’s a mighty uncanny coincidence being that if the bullet from April’s gun had ended up just centimeters from where Andre was shot, he’d be dead. I owe God my never ending faith and obedience for sparing the lives of my boys.

“Hey..” he called out to me. Andre found some strength to squeeze the fists my hands turned into. I raised my head to see him kissing my hands. He bore into my eyes to say, “my hero yet again. When do I get the chance to save you?” He smirked.

I blinked rapidly to rid my eyes of tears. “I was so scared. My mind froze and my heart was racing but my body was doing all of the work. I didn’t think to pay attention to my surroundings because I was so focused on you and Jo.” I took a moment to reign in my feelings before continuing to share my point of view. “I didn’t even blink when I fired. I shoved the gun in the back of my pants, ran over to you guys and balled my eyes out trying to get Jorden from underneath you. The look on his face is burned into memory. The girls were screaming on the phone with 911, Jorden was foaming at the mouth with questions and your mom...she was hysterical.” I explained. The last thing I want to do is freak him out or upset him but I’m confident that he wants to hear my perspective.

“Come here, lay with me..” Andre created as much space for me on the bed as he could allowing me to stretch out beside him.

“I thought you died. For eight hours my mind had convinced me that I lost you. That we lost you.” I confessed. More tears sprang forward admitting the truth. “After Jo was finished being monitored he kept asking for you. Not one answer that I gave him was good enough.” I told him.

“Camila,” Andre ushered me to look him in the eye. “Thank you for saving our son’s life and mine. I don’t take the sacrifice you took regarding your freedom lightly.”

I nodded graciously. “How do you feel?” I quizzed.

“I’m worried about you more than myself right now. I can hold a long conversation. I’m not that weak.” Andre’s familiar snicker put a smile on my face. “Talk to me.” His hands on my face brought more tears to my eyes. “Baby, I’m okay and I’ll heal just fine. Our family is safe thanks to you. Where is my little boy?”

“He’s at home with your mom. You want me to call her and have her bring him here? It’s his day. He and the girls have been taking turns staying here with me. He needs to see you. He’s been very distant, curious and angry about what happened. He doesn’t understand why April did what she did.” I sniffled.

“Call her.” He uttered sharply. I urgently called his mom and she answered on the first round of rings.

“Camila? Is everything alright?” She panicked.

“That mommy? I wanna talk!!!” Jorden exclaimed.

“Hey mama, he’s awake.” I smiled. Divya began to cry and repeat her vocalized gratitude for Andre coming out of his four day coma. We agreed to talk later as she handed the phone to Jorden who’s still babbling with anticipation. “Jorden, baby, take a breath for mama please. Talk slow.” I advised him.

“Mommy, where’s papa? I wanna talk to him.” Jorden said boldly. Not arguing I handed Andre my phone.

“Jo?” Andre began.

Jorden went quiet on his end. “Are you okay?” He spoke up after a brief pause.

“Yeah, I’m alright. How are you feeling buddy?” Andre looked down at me, lowering his eyebrows to minimize the tension in his face.

“Sad. I want to see you papa, can I come back? Please. It’s my turn.” Jorden begged.

“Of course you can. Mama and I are waiting for you.” Andre spoke briefly to his mother agreeing that she would bring Jorden back to the hospital. In the meantime we shared our last moments alone before I had to bring the nurse and doctor in to examine Andre. They tested him to the fullest extent, talked in grave detail about the surgery and the blood transfusion. By the time they were done, I heard Jorden rambling from outside the door. I invited Jo and Divya inside, shutting the door behind them.

Jorden clung to me once he saw his father. It saddened me because I know Jorden is just confused by his dad’s current health status. He doesn’t quite understand the complexity of this matter. While I emphasize with him, I also want to comfort my little boy.

“Mommy..” Jorden pulled at my sweater, asking to be held. I hooked him on my hip holding him close. He and Andre stared at one another in silence. “Is daddy okay?” He whispered.

“Daddy’s okay. He’s been waiting to see you.” Looking down at my son I searched his eyes, confident he would settle down. Cautiously I walked over to the bed, sat down and waited for Jorden to let go of me.

“Hey man, you’re not scared of me are you?” Andre went to stretch out his bad arm, wincing in pain.

Jorden’s face twisted up in agony watching his dad reorient himself back to comfort. “Where does it hurt, dad?” That was Jorden’s cue to play doctor and tend to his father as best he can. Stepping away to allow Andre and Jorden their long awaited reunion, Divya and I stepped into the hallway. The minute I shut the door I threw my arms around her needing a moment to be selfish. She consoled me with the utmost love and empathy. She didn’t speak either. My mother-in-law simply allowed me time to cry, count my blessings and openly praise God for saving Andre’s life.

I used another couple of minutes to finish releasing these emotions before backing up to stand on my own two feet.

“I bet you feel so much better now.” She smiled warmly. A tissue appeared and she used it to dry my teary eyes.

Nodding with a growing smile on my face I fixed my sweater. “Much. I still have more left in me but I’ll be okay for now. Has Jo been terrorizing you or the house?”

“He’s been hostile but I know it’s only because he was confused about what happened. I’m sure that not seeing Andre for days after what went down has scarred Jorden to some capacity. It has scarred the girls and I, too. How are you feeling now?” Divya was quick to stop me from going back into the room. I know why and I’m grateful that she wants to check on me. I’m grateful that she cares for how I’m feeling mentally and emotionally.

“I just feel relieved. I hope that I never again have to answer the question of “where’s daddy” or “any updates on dad” or anything close to it. I’ve been telling Andre for quite some time now that I want the drama to be over. The girls have been through enough, Andre has been through more than enough and now Jorden…” shaking my head in disbelief at the trauma this family has faced I straightened out my top. “This has to be the end of it. I can’t take any more police reports and hospital visits. I may even talk to Andre about relocating. I think it would do all of us good.”

“Moving? Where to?!” Divya’s shock ruffled my feathers. I found her concern humorous.

“Not too far away mama I promise. Besides, it’s just an idea for now. Just to a better city where no one knows us. I just want the kids to be safe. I want for all of us to feel safe and at ease.” Divya and I went back into the room to find Jorden and Andre chest to chest. They look like they're asleep but I know this is how they are all the time at home.

Andre opened his eyes to smile at us.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Divya asked. She set her purse down to go over and greet her son.

“A little out of touch with reality but having you guys here is helping a l-lot.” He stumbled over his words freaking me out to the max. With Jorden front and center I have to remain calm. Jorden picks up on the slightest adjustment in attitudes and tones.

“Dre..” I hesitated to ask because I also don’t want to freak his mother out. Andre must have caught my drift because when he met my stare he smiled again.

“I’m okay. I just got tongue tied. I promise.” His sentence was crystal clear this time around so I had no choice but to take a deep breath and enjoy this time. God has yet again shown this family never ending mercy. Now is not the time to be ungrateful for God’s effort to bring the love of my life back to me. Back to earth and this family.

#maree-ff #short reads #short story #fiction

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beca-mitchell · 4 years

Text

if you wanted to, girl, we could cross that line (1/1)

Summary: Aren't you supposed to book the wedding venue after proposing? Word count: 3,316 words Author’s Notes: I’ve been thinking about recent discussion re: Chloe and Beca's relationship. Specifically how Chloe hates it when people think Beca is some uncaring/apathetic person. Or that Beca is aloof and distant in their romantic relationship. I had some ideas about that, but then it kind of spiralled into this which I don't even know if it addresses any of that discourse at all. But. Anyway. I've been binging Friends, so yes, this is totally inspired by Season 6, episode 22 (and a little of episode 23) of Friends. Fic title from Lauv's "Feelings".

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * *

“Aubrey this place is beautiful,” Chloe gasps, looking around the high ceilings and well-decorated walls of the country club lounge. “You’re really thinking about moving The Lodge to California?”

Aubrey flips through the brochure, nodding along to Chloe’s words. “It seems like a natural choice. Would be nice to expand out here. Lots of companies need their morale boosted.”

Chloe nudges Aubrey. “I’m happy for you, you know? You’ve done so much in the past few years.”

“Chloe,” Aubrey sighs. “Thank you.”

“And I’m so glad you didn’t move to Mykonos and become a doula.”

Aubrey frowns. “I don’t remember saying that.” She flips to the next page of her brochure. “Oh! Chloe, look! They host weddings here!”

Chloe shifts to lean over Aubrey’s shoulder to examine the glossy pages. “Oh wow, I’m sure they must be beautiful here. Expensive too. Oh!” Chloe points to the next page. “They can even host guests overnight.”

“Perfect for corporate retreats,” Aubrey muses.

“Or weddings,” Chloe says, tugging Aubrey’s arm along. “Just think about it. A beautiful day...a little bit of a breeze." Chloe sighs, somewhat wistfully, lost in her own world for a moment. "You’d look beautiful in the dress I have picked out for you.”

“Oh is this your wedding we’re talking about?”

To Aubrey’s immense surprise, Chloe glances away, clearly embarrassed. “I mean. It could be anybody’s wedding. I was just. Throwing it out there. You know.”

“Were you picturing yourself in the wedding dress?”

Again, hesitation from Chloe. “...Maybe.”

Aubrey moves so she’s standing in front of Chloe. “Hey, what’s this all about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You,” Aubrey gestures with a stern tone. “Getting all weird and shy about weddings of all things.”

It wasn’t that Chloe was fanatic about weddings, it was more that Aubrey knew Chloe was a complete romantic. And passionate about literally everything, on top of that. Plus, Aubrey, in her capacity as Chloe’s de facto best friend, knew just how much Chloe wanted a fairytale wedding. It was something that some people grew out of—Aubrey would know, being all about practicality—but it was also something that followed people and nestled within their hopes and dreams like a permanent reminder of what optimism and sunshine could bring.

Chloe is the embodiment of both of those things and Aubrey is fortunate enough to have experienced such a person in her lifetime.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chloe begins, going for nonchalance which Aubrey disregards completely. “I just. I—I’ve been dating Beca for a year and a half. And then soon it’s going to be two years. And then...more.”

“That’s how time works, usually.”

Chloe glares at her. “It’s just. Beca isn’t...I don’t think she wants to get married.”

“Has she said that to you?” Aubrey demands, surprised that even Beca of all people would have so little tact to say that to Chloe specifically. Chloe who has had her wedding planned since she was in second grade. Chloe, who would go to the ends of the earth for Beca Mitchell’s smug, talented ass.

“No! No, God, Beca is amazing. And she—” Chloe sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s what everybody thinks. Beca isn’t like that, okay? She loves me and she’s in love with me. There’s no doubt about it.” Aubrey shoots her a skeptical look. “You’re so unfair,” Chloe complains, upon seeing Aubrey’s expression. “She’s an amazing girlfriend. Honestly. Everybody thinks that she’s this distant, emotionless little...” Chloe makes a noise of frustration. “Well, she’s not. She’s passionate and beautiful and so so good at that thing she—”

“Chloe!”

Chloe blushes. “Sorry. But it’s not that. I promise.”

“Then where did...all this come from?”

“Well, I just don’t want to...freak her out.”

“Freak her out,” Aubrey echoes, contemplating the word choice and wondering whether she really does need to talk to Beca about her lack of decorum. “Has she said that to you?” she demands again.

“No!”

“Then—?”

“I just. I know I can be a lot, okay? I know that I want things too much sometimes. And that I can get loud and crazy about things. But I want to…” Chloe glances around. “I want to spend the rest of my life with Beca and I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Why would you two getting married mess that up?”

“Um? Hello? Has she not complained about her parents before?”

Aubrey can concede to that. “Once or twice. But I mean...we’re not all defined by our parents’ mistakes.” Chloe shoots her a look. “Okay, you know what? This isn’t about me.”

Chloe giggles, relenting. She kicks her toe against the ground, following the movement with her eyes. “I just know that Beca isn’t thinking about getting married. We just moved in together.”

“Like two months ago,” Aubrey mutters.

“More like four months ago!”

“Oh, but who’s counting?”

Chloe flashes a quick smile. “Yeah, it’s been four months hasn’t it?” She softens. “I love living with Beca. And I love L.A.! Oh—and of course I love that you’re going to be moving here.” She pulls Aubrey in for a quick hug, right in the middle of the hall. “It’s just...everything is coming together. I love my life just the way it is.”

“Chloe—”

It is that moment that a couple decides to make their way through the hall, led by a man holding a clipboard. He appears to be listing off amenities and accommodations.

“—host many weddings a year, especially during June. You are very lucky to get on the waiting list.”

Chloe, never one to really acknowledge social customs, somehow manages to insert herself into the conversation midway. “Is there a long list?” she asks conversationally, a hint of amusement in her tone. She tugs Aubrey along despite Aubrey’s attempts to mind her own business.

The wedding planner scrutinizes their intertwined hands. “Are you two ladies looking to have a wedding?”

Chloe tilts her head before turning to look at Aubrey with a glint in her eyes. “And if we are?”

“Chloe!” Aubrey hisses.

“Well, the wait list is about two years long, so you’ll have to get in line.”

* * * * *

“What was that about loving your life the way it was?”

“It wasn’t serious. I just won’t ever contact them again.”

“Yes, putting yours and Beca’s names down for a wedding venue wasn’t serious.”

“Think of it as a way to drum up some press for when you host corporate retreats there.”

“How does this help me? This absolutely in no way helps me at all.”

* * * * *

Chloe forgets about her little relapse until two weeks later. She and Beca decide to go for a nice dinner at the country club—a place where Beca can maintain some anonymity while they engage in things that Beca would prefer prying eyes to keep away from.

Namely kissing.

“You haven’t touched your dinner,” Chloe murmurs. She smiles as she catches Beca’s next kiss head-on, tilting her head ever so slightly to elicit the quietest of whimpers from Beca’s throat.

“You haven’t touched yours.”

Chloe tenses her fingers, splayed on Beca’s thigh. “Maybe I’m more interested in my dessert.”

Beca blushes immediately and clears her throat, drawing back to take in Chloe’s swollen lips and playful smile. “I’m so happy that you’re mine,” Beca drawls, reaching up to cup Chloe’s cheeks. “But you have to stop saying shit like that in public.”

“Why do I have to stop saying shit like that in public?” Chloe asks innocently, letting her lips and tongue emphasize the word shit while her hand glides further up Beca’s thigh.

Beca’s eyes darken further. She hums, leaning in to capture Chloe’s lips in another kiss. “You don’t play fair,” she complains when Chloe finally draws back and refocuses on her plate of untouched food.

“But you just get so cute and flustered,” Chloe points out. “How can I resist?”

Later, as they are leaving, Chloe barely has time to recall just why she recognizes the man walking towards them before he is greeting them both.

“Hi, Chloe, right? I just left a message on your phone earlier this evening. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Chloe opens her mouth, recognition dawning. “Oh it’s—”

“Hi,” Beca cuts in. “What message?” she asks curiously.

“It’s nothing,” Chloe says quickly, an unpleasant heat spreading quickly through her body. “I’ll check later,” she says politely.

“Of course! It wasn’t anything serious. Just letting you know that your position on the wedding venue waitlist got bumped up because we had a few cancellations in the past two weeks. We’re looking at much sooner than two years. Probably within the next year if you want to remain on the list.”

“The what?” Beca demands. “Chloe, the—” Beca looks like her eyes might pop right out of her head. “Chloe,” she hisses, following as Chloe quickly mutters a thank-you and tugs Beca’s wrist along until they reach Chloe’s car. “What the fu—”

“Don’t curse,” Chloe whispers.

Beca presses her lips into a thin line. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Are you mad?”

“I’m just confused,” Beca murmurs, sliding into the passenger seat. “Are we getting married?”

“No!” Chloe exclaims quickly. “No, of course not—”

“Of course not?” Beca echoes. “What—”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—it was just a dumb thing. Can we…” Chloe rests her hand on the steering wheel. “Can we talk about it when we get home?”

Beca stares out the window for a few long moments while Chloe pulls out on the main road. “Okay,” she finally agrees. “Okay, we’ll talk when we get home.”

The drive home itself is the longest and shortest of Chloe’s life. She shifts uncomfortably more than once, resisting the urge to look over at her girlfriend every two minutes. Scratch that. Every two seconds. She can’t believe that she forgot. That she wasn’t more careful. That a brief, silly moment with her best friend resulted in this. Whatever this is between herself and Beca right now.

It’s the last thing she wants, to have potentially messed something up in their life together.

When Chloe pulls into the private parking lot for their apartment complex, Chloe finds that she doesn’t want to leave the quiet of the car.

“Chlo,” Beca urges softly. “Let’s go inside.”

“I just wanted to see what it was like,” Chloe blurts, too stricken to restrain herself any longer. “I’m sorry.”

Beca reaches out to hold her hand across the console like Chloe wishes she had done during the drive home. The comforting feeling of Beca’s hand in her own makes Chloe look up, finally meeting Beca’s eyes for the first time since leaving the country club.

“Let’s just go inside,” Beca repeats, squeezing her hand.

Chloe hates that she feels too frazzled to correctly read Beca’s expression. She can’t figure out just what Beca is feeling or thinking and she hates that. She hates not knowing the one person she feels like she knows better than any other person on Earth.

“So...like.” Beca exhales, taking the keys from Chloe’s hands and placing them in their little shared bowl. “What did you mean? You just wanted to see what it was like? How do you just see what it’s like to reserve a wedding venue?”

Chloe bites her lip, still afraid to meet Beca’s eyes. She focuses instead on the flowery B&C engraving on their key bowl. It warms her. Comforts her. “I mean...it’s not really a wedding venue. It’s just a country club,” she points out evasively.

Beca snorts. “Where weddings are sometimes hosted.”

“Well. Yeah.”

“And you specifically put your name down—our names down—for a wedding. Sometime in the future.”

Chloe groans at that, covering her face with her hands. “Aubrey pressured me into it,” she lies, wondering if Beca will believe that.

Beca stifles a smile, instead choosing to step closer to Chloe in order to pry her hands from her face. “I bet she did.”

“You’re freaking out,” Chloe mumbles from behind her hands, though she does part two fingers in order to peer at Beca. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“I mean...I was,” Beca admits. “That was kind of…” Beca ponders her word choice. “Sudden,” she finally says with a delicate tone.

Chloe sighs. “I know it freaks you out when I do...stuff like that.”

At that, Beca frowns. “Do stuff like what?”

“I don’t know. Think about the future. Talk about this kind of stuff.”

Beca’s heart seizes for the briefest of moments. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not…” she swallows. “That I’m not, like, into that. Because I am.” She reaches for Chloe’s hands, pulling gently. “With you.” She bites her lower lip. “I hadn’t thought about it much before you, but it—” Beca laughs, a little breathlessly. “It drives me crazy that we haven’t talked about it, you know?”

“I just thought you weren’t…” Chloe shrugs, though her heart pounds at all of the words Beca has just thrown at her. “That it wasn’t something you wanted.”

“That was before you,” Beca reiterates.

Chloe feels a flush rising up her neck and spreading into her cheeks rapidly. “Beca…”

Beca, to her credit, does not flinch nor shy away. Chloe has been privileged enough to get to know this side of Beca over the past year and a half and especially over the past four months of living together. She is smitten and completely head-over-heels for Beca Mitchell and she doesn’t care if anybody knows that. That being said, she completely understands that Beca might not necessarily be the same, at least in terms of expressing herself outwardly (“Love languages are a thing, Beca!”) but she has never doubted that Beca cares for her. Loves her, even.

Beca is in love with her.

The thought only makes her blush again and offer a shy, demure smile at Beca who merely looks perplexed at the sudden change in mood. “What?” Beca asks quickly. “What is it? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Chloe chimes in, shifting so that she can wrap an arm around Beca’s shoulders. “Well, not nothing. For you, that was basically a public and cheesy romantic gesture. Like declaration-on-a-billboard level.”

Beca scrunches her nose. “What was?”

Chloe pecks her quickly, enjoying how squirmy Beca is becoming in her arms. “You saying that you think about the future with me.”

“I don’t know if I said it exactly like that.”

“A little like that,” Chloe pushes. She leans in to kiss Beca slowly, letting her breath linger against Beca’s mouth. “A little bit,” she murmurs when she feels Beca take a breath, likely to protest again.

“Okay, maybe I did.”

Chloe relaxes completely, wondering how she got so lucky to fall in love with her perfect match; how she got so lucky to find her soulmate in a world full of people who refused to believe in love like she did. That was a relatively painless conversation, resulting in some unexpected results. Namely that Chloe had been the only one standing in the way of this much-needed conversation, but also that Beca Mitchell wanted to marry her.

The thought only makes Chloe deepen her kiss, eliciting a noise of surprise from Beca. They kiss for a few more moments, hands beginning to wander more boldly and surely as their kisses deepen with each passing second. Beca groans when Chloe’s hands slip under the front of her shirt, fingers scraping up her stomach with purpose.

“Are we still talking about this?” Beca asks, snagging Chloe’s lower lip between her teeth.

Chloe hums, tilting her head to capture Beca’s lips in another kiss. “That can wait.”

“I mean,” Beca begins breathlessly, allowing Chloe to steer her towards the bedroom. “You are next on the waitlist.”

Chloe is already unbuttoning her jeans. “You talk way too much. Shut up, now. I want you.”

* * * * *

Another two weeks later and Chloe has all but forgotten about that wedding venue mishap, too caught up in the motions of her own hectic life and just how good her relationship with Beca has become. She hadn’t thought it possible, but she falls more for Beca every day.

“I can’t believe my girlfriend is ditching me to hang out with my best friend,” Chloe pouts. “This is so unfair. My two favorite people.”

“You could come,” Beca laughs.

“No, you know I have a long shift today.” Chloe sighs. “I’ll miss you. Say hi to Aubrey for me. I know she’s been busy setting up work stuff. Ask her if she needs our help.”

“I will ask her if she needs your help,” Beca says obediently.

“Our help,” Chloe corrects, leaning down to kiss Beca on the lips. “See you!”

Chloe heads out the door, without much thought as to the rest of her day.

Beca waits until she hears complete silence, then she waits for another few minutes estimating how long it would take Chloe to get into her car and drive.

Beca she’s gone, hurry up and get over here

Aubrey Rude. On my way.

Beca rushes to get ready in preparation for her day with Aubrey.

“What did you think of the place?” Aubrey asks when Beca climbs into the car. “Did you like the photos?”

“Yeah, but I kind of want to see it for myself. In person.”

Aubrey scoffs. “Chloe has amazing taste and so do I. We would never lead you astray.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Forgive me for wanting to see the place where I want to get married myself.”

“Beca, you don’t exactly strike me as the kind of person—”

Beca resists the urge to completely snap at Aubrey or say something snarky to cut off the other woman. She fiddles with the small box inside her jacket pocket before she pulls it out, running her fingers along the velvet surface. She smiles at the thought of Chloe’s expression—what her imagination provides at least—and suddenly she can’t quite wait another moment. She wants to marry Chloe immediately. She wants everything that she always thought she’d hate because of her parents’ own failed marriage. She wants that life and that future with Chloe and she wants it because she knows it’ll work.

It will work because they love each other.

Aubrey gasps loudly, pulling the car off to the side of the road and throwing her hazard lights on. “Beca! You didn’t!” She all but snatches the box from Beca’s grasp, both of them tussling over it for a brief moment before Aubrey finally shoves her shoulder and displaces Beca back into her seat. “Oh my God, you actually bought a ring. Without talking to me. Beca! How could you!”

“I didn’t know I needed your permission to buy a ring.”

Aubrey ignores her, opening the box. Her eyes widen comically and if Beca’s heart weren’t completely in her throat because it is now dawning on Beca that she absolutely craves Aubrey’s approval, Beca would laugh. But she doesn’t. She waits with bated breath as Aubrey lifts the ring closer to her face, eyes practically glittering.

“Are you...okay?” Beca asks. Is it okay? she wants to ask, but refrains.

“This is...beautiful, Beca. This is so beautiful.”

Beca exhales, feeling an entire year’s worth of tension leave her body. “For real? Like you’re not just...saying that, right?”

“No, Beca, I’m not just saying that. This is beautiful. And...and I’m so happy for you.” Aubrey presses the ring back into Beca’s hands before moving to grip the steering wheel with determination.

Beca waits, watching Aubrey for a long moment before she speaks up again. “Are we gonna go, or—?”

“I just need a moment to collect myself.”

“Oh, okay.” Beca flips the box open again, smiling at the ring. “Take all the time you need.”

She has never been more ready.

fin.

#bechloe #pitch perfect #chloe beale #beca mitchell #mine #my fanfic #bechloe fic #fanfiction

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bestworstcase · 4 years

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anyways race to the spire is my favorite episode of season three but i think in terms of cassandra’s villain arc and the cass/zhan tiri manipulation dynamic, once a handmaiden is the strongest.

fictional portrayals of “master manipulators” / the chessmaster archetype often get two things wrong: 1) they depict successful manipulators as meticulous planners, and 2) have them emotionally fall apart if their plans fall through, often by becoming enraged and violent. the second is not unrealistic per se, but it does shove the character out of the “chessmaster” category and into the “garden variety emotional abuser” one for me.

the first, however, i think speaks to a fundamental misunderstanding of the way skillful, chessmaster-level manipulation works. there is no plan, and there shouldn’t be a plan. people are much too complicated and unpredictable for any plan built around manipulation to reliably succeed; thus truly successful manipulators have a clearly defined goal, a solid understanding of human nature, and an exceptional ability to improvise. this is zhan tiri to a T, and once a handmaiden showcases this more than any other episode in season three.

let’s break it down.

it’s difficult to say whether zhan tiri intended for cass to find the mirror shard or not. it would have been good for her if cass never saw the missing piece of that memory, because then cass would have continued to trust her; on the other hand, zhan tiri spun the fallout of cass finding the mirror shard to her benefit so effortlessly that it’s conceivable she prepared for it ahead of time. in the end, i think i come down on the side of zhan tiri just didn’t care, because by now she knows cassandra so well that it honestly did not matter whether cass found the shard or not. +1 for zhan tiri.

so here is our starting position. cass realizes that zhan tiri lied to her and manipulated the situation in gothel’s cottage, and she’s furious. she storms up to her throne room to confront zhan tiri about it. what happens?

not only is zhan tiri not bothered, she seems almost pleased that cassandra has finally figured it out. instead of explaining herself as cassandra initially demands (“Do you want to explain to me how this got here?!”) or trying to make up an excuse, she calmly waits for cassandra to finish ranting. her only interjection is actually to goad cass into following the evidence to its natural conclusion:

CASS: Back at Gothel’s, I thought Rapunzel was hiding the one memory that proved my mother loved me.

ZHAN TIRI: And...?

CASS: And you manipulated that memory, didn’t you?! You took this piece out. You tricked me into abandoning Rapunzel!

zhan tiri also physically waits for cassandra to approach her, implicitly positioning herself as the one with all the power in this scene. note her relaxed posture here, also:

then, instead of answering the accusation directly, zhan tiri calmly flips it around to be about cass instead and again positioning herself as an authority, someone who knows cass, and what’s good for cass, better than cassandra herself: “Perhaps. Or perhaps I merely pushed you to become what you were always meant to be.”

this reaction lays the foundation for everything else zhan tiri does in this episode. she shifts the fulcrum of the conversation such that everything rests on cassandra’s identity rather than zhan tiri’s manipulation. she also reveals her true identity to cass in a manner that implies they are fundamentally alike by visually linking them together.

in race to the spire, both cassandra and rapunzel directly touch zhan tiri without getting any “glimpses” like this, so we can conclude that everything here is something zhan tiri consciously showed to cassandra. things to note:

1. the line between what is zhan tiri and what is cassandra in this vision is intentionally blurred. is the reaching hand at the beginning zhan tiri attempting to grasp the original ancient power, or is it cassandra claiming the moonstone and emerging from the sundrop’s shadow as the next piece of the sequence would seem to imply?

2. zhan tiri is depicted as appearing from within cassandra herself, visually implying that cassandra’s inner nature is similar to zhan tiri. this connection is further emphasized by the similar style in which they’re both drawn, silhouetted with glowing white eyes.

again, the purpose of this is to change the course of the conversation so that it centers around who cassandra is, rather than what zhan tiri has done, and zhan tiri’s argument here is that fundamentally, she and cassandra are The Same.

cassandra is shocked, and it is at this point that zhan tiri starts to lay on the emotion; switching from tolerant amusement to chiding cassandra:

ZHAN TIRI: Oh, quit pretending you’re horrified. We’re not so different, you and I. We were both cheated out of our destinies. In fact, we’re more like sisters than you and Rapunzel ever were! We even want the same thing, and we can get it, if you continue to let me help you.

in this little speech, zhan tiri: 1) dismisses cassandra’s fear, casting it as just another lie she’s telling herself that is stopping her from achieving her full potential, 2) leans hard into associating cassandra’s nature with her own, and 3) continues to position herself as not just cassandra’s ally but also her friend—a better friend than she had in rapunzel, even. on the face of it, this may seem a little silly. you may be wondering how zhan tiri could possibly have imagined this would be at all convincing to cassandra.

but the thing is... zhan tiri clearly doesn’t expect this to be at all convincing to cassandra. her goal here isn’t for cassandra to suddenly be all, “you’re right, ancient evil demon who’s been stringing me along for months, we ARE the same.” it’s to provoke cassandra into having an identity crisis.

and it works.

see, the thing is, as soon as cassandra found that mirror shard, it was game over for zhan tiri’s ability to lie to her effectively. the breach of trust was just too egregious. but rather than cling to her old strategies even though they’re no longer functional (as she might do if she were a ‘planning’ manipulator with the inflexibility that implies) or fly into a rage and attempt to force cass to do what she wants (as the possessed-cass theory anticipated), zhan tiri simply moves seamlessly into a different strategy.

she knows cassandra. she’s spent months digging into her brain, learning her weaknesses, familiarizing herself with what makes cass tick. she knows exactly how fragile cassandra’s self-justifications are, she knows how insecure cassandra is, knows how difficult it is for cass to be vulnerable and trust people. and she also knows, because she cultivated it, exactly how volatile and dangerous cassandra’s temper is.

so this:

CASS: ...No. No, I’m nothing like you. Just because I’m pursuing my destiny doesn’t make me a bad person!

ZHAN TIRI: [laughing] Doesn’t it?

is cassandra playing directly into zhan tiri’s hands. this is the Ideal Outcome, from zhan tiri’s perspective, of this confrontation, and that is why when cassandra turns around and sprints out of the tower to have a panic attack in the woods, zhan tiri just laughs and calls after her:

ZHAN TIRI: Run, Cassandra! But you can’t run from who you are!

simply watching the rest of the episode demonstrates precisely why zhan tiri provoked cassandra into having this identity crisis. not only did it divert cassandra’s focus away from zhan tiri’s actions (and motives), it also enabled zhan tiri to exploit her insecurity and volatility in order to get cassandra to snap, destroying corona, forcing an eventual confrontation with rapunzel, and getting zhan tiri one step closer to achieving her ultimate goals.

now let’s skip forward to the the scene in the tent, which i’m just going to quote in full here:

ZHAN TIRI: You didn’t really think your plan to make things right would work, did you?

CASS: What are you doing here?

ZHAN TIRI: I don’t understand. You could have just gone up to her and apologized, face-to-face.

CASS: I said, get away from me.

ZHAN TIRI: You’ve had more than a few opportunities, and even still you haven’t done it. Why is that? I think—

CASS: Because I’m scared she won’t forgive me!

ZHAN TIRI: You’re right to be scared. I’m guessing she hasn’t told you about Project Obsidian. A weapon that was designed to destroy you. Rapunzel just authorized it yesterday.

CASS: What?! No, I don’t believe you. She would never—

ZHAN TIRI: You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. You might want something to defend yourself against her; this potion may be your only protection against the princess when she inevitably turns on you.

the brilliance of this is that nothing zhan tiri says here is untrue. she is one hundred percent correct in her assessment of cassandra’s actions in corona: pretending to be someone else while doing vague nice things in no way makes up for what she’s done, and she has been purposefully avoiding the riskier but correct course of action ie to plainly apologize and accept whatever comes.

by playing evil therapist here, zhan tiri goads cassandra into articulating her exact fear that her actions are unforgivable. this is something that cassandra needed to express, instead of continuing to run away from her feelings. it’s a vital moment in her redemption arc, and like zhan tiri’s little speech in the tower it can seem silly or even outright counterproductive for her to push cassandra in this way. after all, she’s literally encouraging cass to go make up with rapunzel for real.

but what she’s also doing here is drawing cassandra’s subconscious fear into the open and putting that at the forefront of cass’s mind. she is forcing cassandra not just to articulate this fear but to intently feel it, which is the key to everything that comes next. this is why, after cassandra admits that she’s scared, zhan tiri moves right into reinforcing that fear—again, by bringing up objective facts. project obsidian does exist, it was created with the intention of destroying cassandra, and rapunzel did indeed authorize it yesterday. cassandra doesn’t trust zhan tiri anymore, but the beauty of zhan tiri telling the truth now is that cassandra’s doubt becomes a weakness rather than a strength.

because she no longer trusts zhan tiri, cassandra immediately goes out to “prove” zhan tiri “wrong” by doing the opposite of what she appears to want cass to do: from cass’s perspective, it looks like zhan tiri is making up lies to get cass to give up on reconciling with rapunzel and go back to following zhan tiri’s plan, so the most logical thing to do is to try harder to reconcile with rapunzel instead (despite the tiny grain of doubt that convinces her to take the potion anyway, just in case).

except project obsidian isn’t a lie, which means that cassandra is actually placing herself in an even more vulnerable position, by walking outside and approaching rapunzel so that they’re right next to each other when zhan tiri pulls the cloak away. and then, when the gun is fired, and cassandra finds herself encased in amber it creates this terrible moment for her of zhan tiri was right. and it’s that that makes cassandra snap. and that’s exactly what zhan tiri intended to happen, and that’s the outcome zhan tiri is working towards from the instant cassandra reveals that she found the mirror shard.

(i think in the end this manipulative strategy wasn’t 100% successful, because zhan tiri’s Ideal Outcome in plus est seems to have been that cassandra really would buy what zhan tiri was selling re: she and zhan tiri being The Same, and that didn’t happen. but again, zhan tiri knows cassandra well enough to see her betrayal coming, and swiftly and easily changes her tactics when it happens.)

so, more than any other episode in season three, i think once a handmaiden shows us not only that zhan tiri is manipulating cass, but how she does so, and just how skilled she is at manipulation in general. it also very neatly avoids the two biggest pitfalls of writing manipulation in stories and in general is a masterclass on how to write it well.

also here is a bonus picture of zhan tiri and her grapes

in conclusion i love gremlin baby and once a handmaiden isn’t about cassandra flip-flopping it’s about zhan tiri seamlessly switching from manipulation with lies to manipulation with facts and cassandra not being able to keep up with the change of tactics and thus falling victim to them again

#rta #zhan tiri #cassandra

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pipesflowforeverandever · 5 years

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Simply Second Nature

The lovely @ichaisme commissioned me to write a lyric fic about her and my Joey Drew interpretation, Gingie! The voice featured in the actual song is my voice canon for Gingie, and you can listen along here.

Thank you so much for commissioning me! I’ve always had very vivid imagery for this song and it was wonderful to make it come to reality.

The young woman could hardly believe that she was standing here, upon the cusp of magnificence and unlimited opportunity for dreams to come true. Ginger Drew threw open his doors, and she- yes, somehow, she- had caught in the corner of his eye, captured his attention; but the visitor had no doubt that the magical one was the old redhead with a golden smile escorting her now by his side.

But still, arm in arm in a private tour of his studio, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Sir…?” Maddie mumbled, eyes wide but stuck on his neat, polished shoes. The visitor refused speak until Gingie gave his hum, a hooded gaze flickering over and a touch down in a casual, waiting glance . She felt her breath hitch a moment, despite his casualness. “I- I was…wondering.” The last word was drawled as her chin tilted up, catching the essence of his work- the stray sketches, the rolls of film, the grinning cutouts- evidence of both his empire and of his more…personal creations.

“Why do you do all this, anyway…? Money?”

A brow underneath his top hat raised at the inquiry, and a flush burnt into her cheeks, immediately realizing that was perhaps the most impolite of first guesses. “No- Is it…to be famous?” Now, a higher pitch in the last question as she felt herself socially digging a hole. No, he didn’t respond to that either. Just the same curious look- although maybe she was missing precisely how amused he was beginning to be.

The ginger’s footsteps only gave a few more clicks along the wooden floorboards before he stopped in place, loosening his arm to fold it across his chest with the other. By now, her words were spoken with a grimace, a semi-desperate gaze for any sort of hint.

“…Fun?”

He was either the worst tease or most the dramatic planner as he remained silent in the room they happened to pause within. One shift of his stare gently fell upon the ticking Bendy clock hung high up above their heads, another, then, upon a projector quietly spurring in the corner as empty yellow film colored a square upon the wall. A final one, of course, fell upon her.

“You really don’t…see it, do you?”

The gal’s chestnut eyes softened as she finally noticed the sharpness of his own, glinting honey with a smile that reached at the way up to them. Something was about to happen, and she felt it shake in her bones even before it inexplicably, miraculously reached like a whisper in her ears, stealing her breath and raising the hairs on her neck. The first notes of a piano chimed low and sweet, but her twisting head couldn’t find the source. What she did see was the room- no, the whole world- turn white like a blank canvas.

A jump with a gasp as Mr. Drew reached to hold her wrist and wagged his finger, expression glinting in hardly contained enthusiasm. She had so much to learn.

“A painter needs no reason,” Gingie started to sing, “To make a thing of art! Yes, there’s no switch to stop and start the flow.” Having gotten her attention, the rosy hand in a ruffled sleeve gleefully let go, and a squint gestured for her to look as he stuck up his flexing thumb.

“A gardener has his season, his green thumb…and his heart!” He fluttered his fingers into a fist, shifting them like they were beating with his chest before uncurling to rhythmically, playfully pointing his index finger again. “Don’t ask a man, ‘Why does your garden grow’”

In imitation of such an ignorant person, the redheaded dandy shook his head before stepping away, coattails flapping. His movement was…ethereal.

Animated.

Maddie wondered if her stray hairs seemed to glow like his did against the heavenly pale backdrop.

“A poet sits for hours-” The woman lost her breath again as the man sang the next verse, running with an arm outstretched as she saw him trip-

…No!

It was on purpose, and with a shimmer of gold beneath him, he was seated with crossed legs upon a fluffy arm chair that could only have come from nowhere.

The mischievous old artist gave her a wink before looking away, as if performing for an audience.

“-With words upon his tongue.” A close of the eyes and a dramatic, slow shake of his head accompanied with a wide-armed shrug, feigning despondency. “He cannot help but rhyme his doom and gloom… But if you taste my flowers-!”

The woman gasped again, audibly this time, as his hands had spun masterfully in the air before something appeared in his grip like a baton, thrust right towards her face. Impossible! With a sheen of a papery yellow that glittered with the right tilt, he had materialized a flower with four petals and a perfectly round middle.

“You’ll see that I’m among- that…-”

It was then that she accepted Gingie was magical in more ways than one, as she hesitantly reached a trembling, awestricken hand to take what was offered… only for her body to lurch forward as he abruptly pulled it away to rub his chin and roll his eyes up in thought.

“…Certain group,” he decided, spoken as if he was trying out how each singular word sounded, “That…lucky troupe-” Petals tickling his nostrils, a look of someone so in love with his own mind went back to she who asked for a glimpse of it. As such, he drawled the next line for the grandiosity surely ahead. “For whom…it’s…-”

She saw his fingers gesture, and like paintbrushes were hidden in their tips, watercolors bled and stroked pastel red, blue, yellow across the white space with no clear idea how distant or close they were, or if it even mattered at all.

“Simply second nature, to wish away the grey…”

A lock of hair fell out of place as she jumped yet again, having stared so closely she didn’t notice Gingie was suddenly so distant, having painted himself the backdrop of his story. His wrist turned up, up, up, and suddenly there was a yellow trunk and leaves stained with the other two dyes.

“To make a licorice stick…and make a tree!” He gestured from floor to sky the entirety of his creation, proud of its wonder before curling his hand to his chest more pensively. “Yes, there’s no rhyme or reason.”

She blinked when that devilish grin turned her way again, the tips of his coattails held like a dress skirt and his knees bent in a courtesy.

“I was simply made this way!” And he nodded in such a way she couldn’t help but giggle. This being exactly what he was looking for, his eyes hooded and he straightened back up like a teacher in front of the class, seeking to share the wisdom of his years. “What’s strange to you is natural to me.”

But of course, it didn’t last, and soon he was sweeping across the space in front of her, a rainbow spotting the pale in the trail of his heels.

“It’s simply second nature! To paint outside the lines! It merely is the way that I was born!”

Fickle, the old man stopped yet again, a hand to his heart and a dreamy stare up to the heavens like he could see eternity waiting up ahead. “You see I’ve been selected,” the next words came much more tenderly, “To create the-” And his tongue was stuck again as he flicked his eyes to the other person in the room. She could feel him light up as something about her served as a proper reminder. “…Unexpected!”

The sound of clarinets hummed in tune, almost like they finally understood what he was saying. His gaze flicked to them, too, with a satisfied smirk towards a ceiling that wasn’t there.

“And make each day feel just like…- Christmas morn!”

Maddie heard a snap and suddenly to her left side was a portrait towering tall, realistic lips, nose, and eyes. Not a single strand of hair that didn’t look like it belonged hung over its forehead. It was so perfect, it didn’t take long for her to recognize it clearly as a painting.

“Picasso took a torso and turned it on it’s head!” She didn’t know whether to object or not as he bent to the ground to grab the ornate corner of the picture’s frame, but soon it was spun all the same.

It rotated so fast that it blurred, and when it finally stopped, body parts were shifted and the style was simplified into shapes. He really had made a Picasso!

At her amazed expression, he simply shrugged and inspected his creation. “It isn’t right or wrong; it’s what he felt!”

The instruments thumped like a man walking down stairs, and that was precisely what he seemed to be doing on air as the colors melted under her shoes- making her yelp- and swam to her left. There were clocks strung up and perfectly round, like the flower still flopping as it was tucked in his coat.

“And Dali, even more so, would positively DREAD!” The emphasized word was accompanied with both palms pressed to his chest as he feigned a heart attack, his heels tilting so far back they seemed to give way; even his hair seemed to stick out a bit more like he was electrified with shock. It was a shift that reverberated to the scene he had drawn, perhaps, as soon the edges of the clocks became less and less solid to the point they were dripping like ink.

“-Explaining why his hands of time should melt…!” Another twirl in the melody and like eggs cooked in the sun, the time ran runny and flopped over the surfaces they were laid.

Why did she keep losing her breath for the man that saw so much in her, saw himself in her, even? It happened again as a hand was placed on her shoulder and another pressed fingertips underneath her chin. She had asked him why he did what he did, and was yet continually surprised? This was his canvas, and she his apprentice. With all of his focus on making her feel as he did, he removed the touch from her face and plucked the flower from his coat. So close, it was undoubtedly not any ordinary blossom; it was a cartoon, not unlike the ones he made- like…he had drawn it himself, and now it simply existed.

Just like that.

And if she had looked, she would have been able to see more popping up one by one to place her in a whole field. If she had looked, she could see something not a color collecting around him like an aura. But she didn’t look, because that one flower and the unspoken reminiscence hidden upon a face so close was already so much to try to understand.

“And me, I take sweet honey and make a tasteful rose! What can I say? It’s simply what I do.”

The flower was finally hers to take, but his unbroken attention was short lived as the brim of his hat turned wistfully with a wind seen in the petals but not felt.

“Some men make pots of money… They're happy I suppose. But-”

He had walked a bit away to follow whatever he was looking for. Despite how certain she was that he didn’t do this for any financial benefit- although by all appearances he wasn’t without that sort of success either- he still seemed…distant.

Perhaps he himself didn’t even know why he did what he did, deep down.

“…Be grateful that for just a lucky few…its...”

The young woman and the old man knelt down together, pastels brushing at the cloth covering their knees. There were crimson little ladybugs and pollen-yellow bumblebees streaked across grass like sidewalk chalk. And as he offered his knuckles for a small, sapphire butterfly, she finally saw the black ink collecting in flecks on his skin and in the air about him.

“Simply second nature…to see what isn't there…the mind is such a wonder to explore…”

With concern brewing in her chest till it made her stomach hurt and a mouth open but unwilling to interrupt, her gaze trailed up his arm and realized he either saw something she couldn’t or that the growing black he seemed to manifest had begun to blind him from everything else.

“…And though some nights I dread-” She heard him choke, and his golden eyes widened in a flash, exactly as if he could feel how abruptly heavy these shadows had fallen on his shoulders like a halo of something secret, something wicked.

It could only hurt, and the labor of carrying the weight of darkness made him breathless instead, this time around.

“All the voices…” his labored voice managed to utter, “…In my head…-”

With a deep inhale and her supportive grip on his shoulder, he squeezed his eyes shut and his rainbow emanated again little by little with each and every word, stronger and braver in the face of what terrified him most.

“I’d rather be this way than be a bore...!”

Her hand held tight within his, they both stood up and took bold steps forward, the black fleeing him and swirling all around, its path mixing with the speckles of brightness like drops of paint from two different brushes held just above the paper. His free hand rose to in challenge and command to the onyx ink, and his voice was the loudest she had ever heard.

“It’s simply second nature!” Gingie shouted, “To dream of something new!”

He stopped his foot, the flowers beneath and around making a wave like throwing a rock in a puddle. They grew taller, their leaves and petals upturned, wild and overgrown in the face of uncertainty. He balled his fist like he was choking the malevolence he created.

“To wake on fire and try to sculpt each day!”

He threw his hand to his side.

“It’s no blessing- it’s a CURSE!”

And in his own passion, the crusade to convince himself so easily gave power to his own evils once again. The world itself stopped, and for a second Maddie believed she was the only thing moving in this living piece of art. In a split second it was all different; he had let go of her to bend over and hold both hands to his head, reaching into his hair and hiding his face as the ink stain grew and coated absolutely everything with its murk. The only flower left to be seen was between her fingertips.

…

Her chest rising and falling in silent panic, no music to tell her he was still alive, she was just about to try and shake him when she caught a glimpse of his honey irises once again, glimmering his magic as he recognized his curse.

“Wait…” Gingie hardly mumbled. His hand quivered as like this void before him was a person, he reached his hand out to the nothingness of his design that had consumed him. “No…!”

And as the darkness shrunk an inch at a time in response, its center right ahead, something else was created. A white gloved hand with smooth, thick black lines hesitantly twitched in tandem with his own.

But of course.

They were one in the same.

And so as Gingie pulled Bendy out of the puddle of ink, he soothed the devil, singing, “Strike that, and reverse.”

The cartoon was just like a small child, pie-cut eyes wide and innocent, unknowing what chaos he was born from, untainted by the very thing that could- and did- manifest a demon. He gave a blink to Maddie as the rest of the dark fog faded away, the aura about Gingie now being the proper red, yellow, blue he had always wanted others to find; they faded in and out like fairy dust, and she wasn’t sure if the pupils of Mr. Drew’s eyes symbolized something alongside their rings of magic- a circle of warmth around an abyss.

She stared for so long…that she didn’t see him staring back. His lips were slightly apart, and the expression he held was weary.

But…but…

The laugh lines that earned their scars bent again, and Gingie allowed her one last genuine grin as he reached into his soul and brought her a confession:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with tears in his eyes, he held Bendy towards him with one hand and the woman with the other. She remembered the small gift between her fingers and offered it, in turn, to demon, and he gave her a perfect, eight-toothed smile.

The reason he created was, perhaps, in hopes to give away. It was no coincidence, after all, that it was she of all people he chose to take by the hand. She was a creator, too, and so it was time to pass the pencil before his hands couldn’t hold it anymore; Bendy would always need an artist, after all.

He would always need to know he passed his legacy on. And before the end of the day, Maddie would know this, too.

#tak writes #writing commissions #commission #come on down to recording town #gingie #gingie writing #joey drew #batim #batim fanfic #lyric fic #charlie and the chocolate factory #ichaisme

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laylakilolu · 7 years

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The Importance of Epistemology in Planning

Planning scholar Karen Umemoto wisely wrote, “It would be naive to think that one could know the world from someone else’s shoes” (2009). Epistemology is the study of seeing the world from multiple perspectives, the theory and nature and the grounds of knowledge (Umemoto, 2009). Umemoto asserts that studying epistemology is very important in planning because of the existence of epistemological differences between cultural groups, and the planner’s role in reconciling and accommodating these standpoints in the planning process (2009). Planners must be mindful of epistemology because when working with communities, they will encounter multiple epistemic standpoints, and must take those standpoints into consideration into the decision-making. Appreciating multiple epistemologies does not necessarily mean that a planner will not reach consensus. Rydin asserts that the purpose of planning is to handle multiple knowledges. Indeed, “Knowledge is inherently multiple, with multiple claims to representing reality and multiple ways of knowing” (Sandercock, 1998). Rydin also acknowledges the importance of relying on both deliberative and collaborative approaches, she, along with other scholars acknowledge challenges with different epistemic standpoints (Rydin, 2014).

Before discussing epistemology, it is important to make the distinction between knowledge and information or data. According to Rydin, what differentiates the former from the latter is the causation that is importance in knowledge. Planners must understand the causal relationships between action and impact, which may be implicit in the data (2014, page 53). In the history of social sciences, epistemology has undergone significant change, from a modernist perspective to a post-modernist one. In the modernist era, knowledge was seen as a unit that was held by experts or institutions, but over time, planners discovered that knowledge was generated through social networks and practitioners, not just academics and experts. Now, it is accepted by planning practitioners and academics that diversity in planning is not just a fad, it is a necessity. Umemoto offers that diversity in planning can be categorized into several main areas including theories of difference in planning, diversity in planning processes, models for planning in multicultural society, and the impact of planning and identity politics in communities of color.

Naturally, there are difficult challenges when working within communities different from one’s own epistemology. Umemoto writes, “We generally understand that there are culturally specific norms, values, and ways of interpreting the world that, if not understood, can hinder the participation of historically marginalized groups, even in the most well-intentioned planning efforts” (page 18). Nevertheless, she strongly believes in planning in the midst of multiple knowledges. She writes, “It is not unrealistic, however, to create the foundation for social learning that emphasizes multiple epistemologies within planning processes” (page 21). Umemoto discusses five challenges that includes: (1) traversing interpretive frames embedded in culture, history, and collective memory; (2) confronting otherness in the articulation of cultural values and social identities; (3) understanding the multiple meanings of language; (4) respecting and navigating cultural protocols and social relationships; and (5) understanding the role of power in cultural translation (page 19). However, despite these challenges, Umemoto also offers practical advice for planners to counter these challenges. In the first challenge, a community might have a strong collective memory of its history and culture. If a planner enters the community as an outsider in terms of the planner’s own ethnic or cultural background, this can taint how the planner is viewed and how the community interacts with him or her. Umemoto urges planners to study the history of the community before entering, in order to gain a better understanding of how actions may be interpreted (page 21). In the second challenge, Umemoto succinctly writes, “Trust is a critical component of the creation of a safe environment for the articulation of cultural values (page 22). Due to the lack of collaboration that communities have encountered with planners (and developers) in the past, there is a suspicion of working with planners, much less sharing or articulating the community’s needs or values. In the third challenge, Umemoto discusses the weight of our words. She writes, “Language carries with it the power to discourage or encourage, express or release, legitimize or degrade” (page 23). It is important that planners understand that even how they say something can make an impact (whether positive or negative) in the community they are working with. She argues that although it might be impossible to know where the language discrepancies may be, that planners should be conscious of its existence, and be active in discovering which words or ideas may or may not resonate with a community.

The fourth challenge is respecting and navigating cultural protocols and social relationships, which can range from how people address each other in the community, the giving or receiving of appropriate gifts, to abiding by the community’s hierarchy which may be implicit. The dilemma is when these protocols may go against widely held moral or ethical beliefs, or the beliefs of the planner. In this scenario, Umemoto advises, “Depending on the role the planner sees himself or herself playing in view of the various traditions of planning, one may choose to respect cultural protocols or, in other instances, challenge them” (page 25). Whichever route the planner goes, Umemoto advocates for planners to acknowledge existing protocols as much as possible, as ignoring or disparaging them may undermine their efforts. The final challenge that Umemoto discusses is how cultural interpreters have power to either bridge the divide between planners and the community in question, or to widen the gap between them due to the interpreters’ own bias or moral code. This might be the most difficult of challenges, as sometimes, planners are at the mercy of these interpreters to have the opportunity to reach the community. Umemoto acknowledges that the best-case scenario is a community leadership that is inclusive and believes in the good of the entire community, not just one sector (page 26). Watson also asserts that, “Questions around knowledge are at one and the same time questions about power, and planners working in indigenous communities are unavoidably implicated in inter-subjective as well as intergroup power relationships” (page 123). What she means by this is that the simple act of a planner going into a community has already created a power dynamic, for better or worse.

In addition to the aforementioned guidelines that Umemoto offers to planners, she also advocates for finding planners who can “code-switch” – that is, planners who can move between different cultural languages. The other alternative is the practice of community-led planning, where planners and community members can create a process together that is culturally appropriate and values cultural differences, which furthers social learning and capacity building (page 28). Indeed, Rydin echoes Umemoto’s sentiment, as she describes planners as “co-producers of knowledge”, where planners should recognize the position of “more and less powerful actors” (page 57). Watson steps even further by acknowledging that Western planners tend to value more theoretical and abstract approaches, and naturally in the Western mindset. Like other planning scholars before her, she recognizes that indigenous knowledge continues to be marginalized, and planning processes continue to reinforce the belief that indigenous communities are not capable of choosing the best actions for themselves (page 122). To counter these Western ideals, Roy suggests an epistemological approach called, “Urban Informality,” which in essence, is planning without the rigidity (sometimes known as the “unplannable”). This informal manner of planning, which goes against every classical planning theory, legitimizes communities that are thriving by their own standards, not the standards imposed by an ivory tower. Roy writes, “Informality can be seen to be expression of such sovereignty” (page 149). Though radical in some regards, Roy’s ideas are already taking root all over the world empowering communities to make decisions that better their lives, with or without formal planners involved.

#urban planning #epistemology #sustainability #resilience #environmentaljustice #social justice #environmental justice #community planning

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i1976blunotte · 7 years

Photo

FIRST MEETING

Mars’ high heels nearly sank into the soil as she walked up to the hill.

She needed calm. She needed to reach the peaceful spot she learnt to love since her first coming to Earth. She needed to sit under the sallow and watch the lake, her feet in the fresh water as the leaves rustled in the wind and the sunlight played through the tree’s branches.

Annoyed. This is how she felt.

She murmured to herself, “Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion … I don’t know why but I feel something terrible is going to happen because of their love.” She shook her head in frustration, “Why these pesky feelings?”

And now, even Venus, Jupiter and Mercury looked closer and closer to the Prince’s Guardians.

She shook again her head, trying to forget about her talk with Venus, just few minutes before.

Annoying.

“Earth is amazing. One day, we followed our Princess to Earth and we found out how beautiful it is. Now I understand why Princess Serenity loves coming to the blue Planet.”

Venus gently placed her right hand on her mouth and had a soft laugh. She finally looked into Mars’ eyes, violet-blue eyes into purple eyes, “Earth’s beauty isn’t the only reason why our Princess is attracted to this Planet.”

Mars sighed and shook her head, “The main reason is Prince Endymion. I know it, Venus, and I am not happy about it: I feel this is wrong … and dangerous.” Venus shrugged, “Maybe not. Things look peaceful, here. Speaking about Prince Endymion, what do you think of his Guardians?”

Mars blinked and stared at Venus, “The Shitennou?”

Venus nodded, her look serious.

Mars smiled, “Do you want to know my opinion, don’t you? You are studying them in order to understand if they are a possible harm to our Princess, I see. And I reckon you asked Jupiter and Mercury the same question. OK.” She sat down on the grass and looked at the landscape in front of her, “The one with long silver hair … uh … Kunzite?”

Venus sat by Mars’ side, “Kunzite, yes.”

Mars nodded, “He is their leader. He is really serious and aloof. He looks strict and I guess he is really strong. Better not having him as enemy.”

Venus smiled, “I agree. He is a good leader. I can learn a lot from him, both about this Planet and the Court. What about the others?”

Mars tossed her long hair behind, “Nephrite, the one with long brown hair. He always has that self-confident smile on his face, like if he thinks he is better than you or he understands everything better than you. He gets on my nerves.”

Venus sniggered, “Jupiter says she feels very comfortable with Nephrite, instead. Despite that self-confident smile, he is really kind and clever, and he is also a great warrior. But, yes, you’re right, he is overly proud of himself and impulsive. What about Zoisite?”

Mars looked up at the sky, thoughtful, “He is polite and really elegant. He has a piercing look, and I guess he is really smart.”

Venus nodded, “Good analysis. He is the strategist of the foursome. Mercury too thinks he is really clever and smart; she is curious to understand how his mind works.”

Mars stirred and stood up, “Before you ask, I haven’t met the last one, yet … what’s his name? Uh, yes, Jadeite. When I’ll meet him, I’ll tell you my opinion about him.”

Venus remained sitting, “You haven’t met him, yet, ‘cause he was away from Elysion until yesterday. A reconnaissance. He is a sort of ambassador, the peacekeeper of the group. Kunzite introduced him to me, yesterday.”

“I heard some people of the Court … women … saying he is beautiful. It is true?”

Venus turned her head to Mars and smiled amused, “You’ll see. He has short blond hair and he wears a pale blue uniform. It seems any of them has his color, like us.”

Mars rested her hands on her hips and bent her head toward her right shoulder, “Short hair? I thought he had long hair, as the others. Blond hair, OK, and what about his eyes? You know, those women were babbling about strange eyes.” She folded her arms, closed her eyes and had a deep sigh, “Women’s talk. I don’t understand how they can waste their time this way.”

Venus laughed, “I don’t know what women say about Jadeite’s eyes. I can’t say what’s the color of his eyes, honestly. For sure, he doesn’t talk very much.”

Mars frowned, “You haven’t noticed Jadeite’s eyes ‘cause of Kunzite. It looks like you have a soft spot for him. Be careful, Venus. Love brings just complications, and Princess Serenity in love with Prince Endymion is already a BIG complication.”

Venus stood up and stared into Mars’ eyes, smiling sweetly, “Kunzite is just an interesting man to talk to and to learn from. Don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong in becoming friends with the Shitennou. Kunzite is teaching me a lot of things. He is the leader of the Shitennou, and it’s really interesting to talk with him about duty and responsibilities. Besides Earth, he’s talking to me also about the Court and the other Shitennou. For example, Nephrite is a great warrior, but he is also clever, kind and caring; his problem is his temper, he can be really emotional, so acting reckless. Jadeite is the calmest one, the peacekeeper, the negotiator; he is a planner, he isn’t strong as Kunzite, Nephrite and Zoisite during attacks, but he is pretty good in defensive maneuvers; his problem is that his calm and planning can turn into passiveness and being lenient. Kunzite says that Nephrite and Jadeite are like pain in the ass, for him, ‘cause he spends his time trying to cool Nephrite’s hot temper and inflame Jadeite’s coldness.” She had a brief laugh and then kept on talking, “Zoisite is the youngest one, a great warrior but also really sweet and joyful; unfortunately, sometimes he is a bit immature and provoking with his jokes.”

Mars sighed, “If Kunzite already talked to you about them, why did you ask me?”

She winked, “I was just curious of your thoughts. And you look really curious about Jadeite even if you haven’t met him, yet.” She gently brushed some grass off her short orange skirt and she walked away, waving goodbye, “See you later.”

Mars yelled at Venus going away, “I am not curious about him!”

Annoying.

Mercury was having fun with Zoisite’s joyful way to explain her everything of Earth, Jupiter was definitively falling in love with Nephrite and now Venus was coming closer and closer Kunzite.

Mars needed to calm down.

She arrived at the top of the small hill and stopped, surprised, staring at the hollow after the hill. She stared at her loved lake, at the sallow … and at the usurper lying under the tree.

She frowned.

She walked to the tree and recognized the pale blue uniform with cyan piping of the man sleeping under the tree: the last of the Shitennou to meet, Jadeite. The usurper of her favorite spot.

Damned annoying.

Jadeite was deeply asleep under the tree, in fetal position.

Mars observed his cape folded under his head as a pillow, her boots nearby (looking at his bare feet, she wondered if he liked to keep his feet in the fresh water of the lake), his belt abandoned in the grass, and his sword in his left hand. She wrinkled her nose at that negligence, but his negligence somehow emphasized his beauty: short blond hair, curly to the point to look disheveled, cowlicks nearly covering his closed eyes; perfect nose and fine features; perfect lips.

Women at Elysion’s Court were right: Jadeite was beautiful. And it annoyed Mars.

She frowned and folded her arms, “Hey, you! You should guard your Prince instead of sleeping!”

He slowly opened his eyes, sat up and stared at her with a curious look.

“I can’t say what’s the color of his eyes, honestly.” Venus was right. The color of his eyes was an indefinable mix of pale blue and gray; pale blue, gray and … some lavender too? Beside that amazing but indefinable color, his eyes’ shape too was puzzling: wide eyes faintly slanting. And those eyelids, long and perfectly defined.

Mars understood why Court’s women talked of Jadeite’s beauty: he was beautiful, of course, a different kind of beauty than the other Shitennou, a classical and clear beauty, objective beauty. She couldn’t deny that both Endymion and his Shitennou were good looking, any of them, nevertheless, but Jadeite …

Utterly annoying thought.

Towering on him, her arms folded, Mars kept on looking at him.

His curious look turned polite; he finally smiled amused, “Sailor Mars, I suppose.” He stood up and had a gentle bow, so strange in his negligent outfit, “Nice to meet you. My name is Jadeite, one of the Shitennou, Knight of Prince Endymion.” Soft voice, with a pitch of hoarseness.

Annoyingly formal.

Mars half closed her eyes, glancing at his uniform’s accessories scattered on the grass; she snorted, “Very strange Knight.”

He caught her look and burst out laughing.

His sudden and soft laugh surprised her. She opened her eyes wide and observed him laughing, his eyes closed and his head down while his cheeks tinged a soft red.

He slowly put his boots and cape on, then his belt, “Uh, sorry. I am not in my best look.”

Mars tossed her long raven hair behind and sighed, “I didn’t think I was going to find someone here. It’s always lonely and peaceful, here, and I love it.” Why was she telling him about her feelings for that place?

Jadeite shrugged, still that gentle smile on his face, “This is my favorite place, too.” He sat down, his back against the tree, “You can spend your time here whenever you want, I won’t bother you. There’s enough place for both of us, here.”

A sudden fire on her cheeks and her heart beating faster, Mars turned on her heels and walked away, her hair fluttering in the wind, “You shouldn’t spend your time sleeping under a tree but guarding your Prince.”

From the hill, before to leave, she glanced again at Jadeite.

He was laughing, that soft laugh of him.

And Mars felt again that feeling. Annoyance.

It was annoyance, wasn’t it?

#mars x jadeite #fan art #fan fiction #sailor moon crystal

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embracetheapocalypsewithme · 7 years

Text

Embracing the Apocalypose, Part 22: Are You a Killer?

Hello Readers! I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve slowed my writing roll a bit lately. Work has been crazy, and had been sucking my will to live (well, write anyway), but hopefully this will tied you over. I think we’re getting close to a conclusion, but there’s still definitely some story to tell...

Summary: Rebecca and Negan discuss what to do about Julie and her flying monkeys. Are they strong enough not to kill?

Word Count: 3,110

Content Warnings (or selling points?): Smut, Negan, Negan being Negan, language, violence, and drugs.

Part 1: The Tale of Thelma Facefuck

Part 2: What’s Up, Doc?

Part 3: A Successful Job Interview Begins with a Firm Handshake and Ends with a Salty Surprise

Part 4: A Crack in Everything

Part 5: Sorting Duty Sucks

Part 6: A Faint Whiff of Bullshit in the Air

Part 7: Turn and Face the Strange

Part 8: Poor Life Choices

Part 9: In Which Negan is a Total Jerk

Part 10: No Plan

Part 11: Negan Settles Rebecca’s Hash

Part 12: I know Where That Hand Has Been, Negan

Part 13: Gimme Danger

Part 14: The Loneliest Hours of the Morning

Part 15: Well, Fuck You Too, Kitty!

Part 16: That Escalated Quickly

Part 17: Well Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw

Part 18: Shards of Glass

Part 19: Donkey Heaven

Part 20: Morphine Dream

Part 21: Promises to Keep

Part 22: Are You a Killer?

Part 23: That the Hill You Wanna Die On?

Read on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8807527/chapters/22786547

Part 22: Are You a Killer?

Negan allowed Rebecca’s question to hang unanswered. He blinked slowly at her as he reclined in the tub before averting his eyes, “Let’s finish getting you cleaned up and out of the bath…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted, gently.

“I know. Just…let’s talk about this when you’re not fucking naked and wet, ok?”

“Ok. Fine.”

Getting up from his place on the floor, Negan moved toward a cabinet that stood in the corner of the room and grabbed a bottle from one of the shelves, “Get your hair wet again, and let’s get you cleaned up.”

Rebecca dunked her head under the tepid water and emerged to find Negan squirting shampoo into one of his large hands before lathering it against the other and placing them both on top of her head. His fingers dug into her hair firmly all the way to her scalp and the air filled with the scent of flowers as imagined by a cosmetics company’s chemist.

“Mmm. That feels really nice,” she mumbled, her shoulders relaxing a bit as he massaged her head.

“Like I said before, I’m really fucking great at massages. I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t a liar.”

Even with her eyes closed Rebecca could tell he was smirking as his bulky frame loomed over her from his place beside the bathtub.

“What kinds of things are you then?” she inquired, her voice taking on a dreamy quality.

“You know…I’ve never been asked that before,” he sighed, “I used to be a liar. I lied to Lucille a lot. But that’s done now. Now I don’t bullshit with anyone unless it’s about to cost me my life or something.”

“Mmm-hmm. What else?”

“I’m a leader,” he paused in thought, “I’m a planner. I’m a caretaker…I don’t know if anyone else thinks that, but I am. I like caring for people.”

“Evidently,” she said before dunking her head under the water again to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. As she emerged, she opened her eyes and locked them with his, “Are you a killer?”

Negan seemed taken aback by her question. Turning from Rebecca, he searched for a towel to warp her in, and murmured, “You already know the answer to that.”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

“Ok. Yes, I’ve killed people. I didn’t like it. I didn’t take any joy in it, but it had to be done. I’m a killer, but I’m not a murdering bastard.”

Rebecca stood up, grimacing as her ribs cried out in protest at the sudden change in position. Water streamed in small rivers down her body while Negan wound the towel around her shoulders before helping her to safely step out of the tub.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” she admitted to him, “I’ve never had to. We stayed out of sight so no one ever had the chance to fuck with us out there.”

“Good. Fighting’s overrated anyway,” he allowed her to dry off before grabbing the robe he had found for her and helping her to put it on. They exited the bathroom, and Rebecca settled back into the bed, propping her head up against the pillows. Negan walked around the bed and hopped up, causing Rebecca’s side to raise and dip slightly with his weight.

“Sometimes you have to fight though. For things you believe in, and for people you care about. Right?” her eyes were fixed to the middle distance, and her voice came out small and unnaturally timid.

“Fuckface,” he began, “To answer your first question: We’re not going to do a fucking thing about Julie or the other people who did this to you.”

Her head snapped around, “If you think that you’re killing them alone-“

“I’m not killing anyone either, Rebecca.”

“So they’re just going to get off with this?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I’m not killing them. There are other ways to get some fucking justice, you know.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Community service?” she asked with a mocking laugh.

“No. Not community service,” his tone became heavy and his voice deepend, “As much as I hate to admit it when I’m wrong, because I’m usually pretty fucking right, I had it all ass backwards the first time I ran this place, and I think that’s why people hate me so fucking much right now. I made them afraid, and that fear kind of snowballed into anger. And now this,” he gestured toward her, trying to emphasize her injuries.

“Makes sense,” Rebecca said weakly.

“But they should’ve taken it out on me, not you. It should be me all beat to hell for what I did. The fucking cowards need to pay for what they did to you, but killing or maiming them isn’t the answer. I see that now. Someone showed me that there can be other ways to deal with shitheads…He let me live when I probably deserved to die. And I was King Shithead back then.”

“You’re talking about Alexandria?”

He nodded, “Yep. I thought for sure I was a fucking dead man when they took me down. But they let me live. It’s funny how I used to draw the line on what was ‘civilized’ or ‘uncivilized’ around things like rape, but thought nothing about fucking killing people. I guess we all have our blind spots.”

“Seems like a pretty big spot,” Rebecca commented, and then followed this up with a question: “So, what are you suggesting we do?”

“I say we round Julie up and get her to tell us who she got to beat you down. Then we lock them all up.”

“For how long? I mean, we can’t lock them away forever. And what happens when they get out? What if they decide to try again, only this time they make sure whoever they attack dies?”

“Oh we won’t be locking them up here,” Negan replied, giving her a sly look, “There are other places with jails. Alexandria, for instance, has a lovely facility. Fucking fabulously run, might I add.”

“So we cart their asses to Alexandria, and get their leader-“

“Rick is his name,” Negan interrupted.

“We get Rick to watch them for however long we say, and then they stay there after they’re let out. So, basically, we exile them?”

“Exactly. Rick and I aren’t what you’d call friends, but I think I could work my charms on him and get him to help us out. If that doesn’t work I’ll just get you to make Bambi eyes at him and he’ll do anything we ask.”

“Might want to wait until my face heals up first. That’s my meal ticket,” she laughed.

“Awe, Fuckface. You’re always adorable as fuck to me. The bruising really brings out the color of your eyes,” he said, moving away slightly to avoid being swatted at by Rebecca.

“Asshole!” she inhaled sharply as her ribs stung, “Fucking Christ I can’t wait for that to stop hurting.”

“I bet. Think it’s time for some more of Rebecca’s happy drugs?” he asked, swinging his legs over the bed again. He began rummaging through the upper drawer of the bedside table, in search of the morphine that Krouse had given them. After finding it, he twisted off the bottle’s cap and fished out a single pill before handing it to Rebecca followed by a half-full glass of water that had been sitting on the table.

Dropping the pill on her tongue, she chased it with a mouthful of water and swallowed. After placing the water on the table nearest to her she turned to Negan, “There’s one thing I don’t totally get though: Why did Julie ask them to attack me? There are so many people here who hate you, but I thought that she was more annoyed with you. She’s definitely not afraid of you.”

Negan averted his eyes again, suddenly becoming very interested in his own hands, “Yeah, I don’t think that this was so much fear-motivated on her part.”

“So, if not fear then what?”

“Before I tell you why, can you just promise not to be too upset?”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, “What did you do?”

“Well, when we got back from the scavenger run, I was really fucked up about fighting with you, and I wanted to get my mind off of it,” he began, “So I asked Julie to come hang out one day.”

“And by ‘hang out’, you mean ‘fuck’, right?” her voice and face were expressionless.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean,” he said before quickly adding, “But I didn’t do it! I couldn’t. Little Negan just would not comply. So she got pissed off and started screaming and took off. I guess she was embarrassed enough that she wanted to take it out on someone.”

“On me.”

“Yeah. Fuck, I’m sorry, Rebecca. I fucked up again.”

“So, let me get it straight: You were mad at me so you tried to fuck Julie, but you couldn’t get it up?”

“Uh. I guess that’s the simplified version, yeah,” his eyes never left his hands.

A loud cackle left Rebecca’s lips as she threw her head back before doubling over in pain, “Oh fuck! You cannot tell me shit like that right now. It’s too funny and my ribs fucking hurt!”

“You’re not upset about me trying to fuck Julie?” he asked, perplexed.

Rebecca took a shaky breath to stop herself from laughing again, “Fuck no! I mean, we were fighting, and we weren’t exactly together at the time. Hell, you’re free to stick your dick in the crazy anytime if you want…if you can,” she added, giggling.

“You seriously don’t care?”

“No. But thank you for sharing with the group about your erectile dysfunction, Negan. Now the healing can begin,” she said gravely, placing a hand on his arm, “This is a safe place.”

“Oh fuck. Are you still a little fucking high?”

“Maaaaaybe,” she said, sliding down into the bed so that her head was no longer propped up by the pillow, “I might even still be high enough to fuck you, if you’re into fucking injured ladies.”

Negan loomed over her from above, before lowering his face to hers and kissing her gently, “As much as I would love to take advantage of you right now, my moral code compels me to let you get some more rest, Fuckface.”

“Awe. Damnit. But I consent!” she cried dejectedly.

“You are way too fucking high to consent, baby. Plus, I feel like I’d probably hurt you. Maybe we can try in a few days after you’ve had a chance to heal a bit.”

“If you can get it up!” she cried, another burst of laughter shaking her body.

“Ha! That’s all you fucking get. One ‘ha’, lady. I’m sure I’ll be able to fuck you back into that infirmary when the time comes.”

“You’d better, or I’ll have to go Julie on someone because of the sexual frustration. And then that’ll be on your head,” her voice slowed down and her eyes dipped closed while a dopey smile played on her lips.

“Get some sleep, Fuckface. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

Negan sat beside Rebecca in the bed for a long time, even after her breathing had slowed and he was sure that she was asleep. Although he was outwardly calm, his thoughts raced as his eyes took in the extent of her injuries. She would be fine after she healed, but would he?

He had convinced Rebecca that they should spare Julie and the others for what they had done, and had told her that he would find another way to punish them, yet something still nagged at him. His time in Alexandria’s prison had changed him because he had been ready to change, and was man enough to admit when he had fucked up.

But Julie and her cohorts weren’t him, and he wasn’t convinced that they were quite as open to a journey of introspection and self-improvement as he had been. He thought that their time locked up might only serve to harden them and cause their resentment to deepen. And what would happen when they got out? How could anyone stop them from leaving Alexandria and returning to the Sanctuary secretly to enact their revenge?

Pushing himself out of bed, he wondered if he was strong enough to resist killing them out of fear. It was time to find out.

The door to his room creaked softly as he pulled it open and stuck his upper body into the corridor, waving to get the attention of one of the men standing guard at near the far end. The man’s eyes widened slightly as he pointed at his chest and mouthed: “Me?”

“Yes, fucking you,” Negan hissed, stepping fully out of the room and gently gliding the door shut so as not to wake Rebecca. The man walked toward him, looking nervous. Ah he drew near, Negan placed a hand on his shoulder, peering down at him with his eyes still stern and dark, “I need you to get Chris. You know him?”

“Mechanic Chris or Garden Chris?” the man asked hesitantly.

“Neither one, dumbass! Why the fuck would I need Mechanic Chris up here? Do I look like I have a fucking car in there?” he said, gesturing toward his door.

“Um. No, sir. I guess not,” the man said, glancing down at his boots.

“Awe, shit. I’m sorry…what was your name again?”

“Stephen,” the man replied, his eyes rising slightly.

“I’m sorry, Stephen. It’s been a stressful fucking 24 hours, what with the lady getting beaten up and all. That was un-fucking-called for, and I was being unclear,” he placed a hand on the man’s other shoulder, “What I meant to say was that I need you to please go find Scavenger Chris. Dark hair? Resting Bitch Face? That Chris. Do you know who I mean now?”

“Y-yes, Negan,” the man replied.

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Thank you, Stephen.”

As the man scampered away to do his bidding, Negan re-entered the room to wait for Chris’ arrival. He lay back down in the bed, this time allowing himself to fully rest. It was only a few minutes before his eyes fluttered closed and he was snoring beside Rebecca, curled up onto his side with his cheek pressed against the pillow’s cool cotton.

***

The loud wrap of hard knuckles against the door catapulted Negan from his nap, dehydrated and disoriented. There were no windows in the room, so it was hard to tell immediately how long he had been out. Rebecca groaned and shifted beside him, her brows knitting together over the bridge of her nose.

“Whozzit?” she asked, still barely conscious.

“Chris,” he replied simply, his voice still horse with sleep, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just be out in the hall if you need me. Get some more rest.”

Getting to his feet, he stumbled slightly as he made his way to answer the door. Pulling it open just enough to slip out into the hall, his large frame forced the smaller man to take several steps back.

“How is she?” Chris asked, nodding in the direction of the door.

“She’s ok. Pretty drugged up right now for the pain. But I think she’ll make it. She’d fucking better anyway.”

“I’d like to come see her, when she’s well enough to have visitors,” he paused before adding, “If that’s ok with you.”

“Yeah,” Negan replied, a bit taken aback by the man’s final comment, “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”

“I know you used to be pretty protective of your wives in the old days. Didn’t like them hanging around other men, right?”

“Rebecca’s not a fucking wife though. She’s…” he trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what she was to him at the moment, “She’s someone that I care about, I suppose. She doesn’t have to be a wife for me to care about her.”

“And you don’t have to care about them for them to be wives. I know,” Chris said with the faintest of smiles.

“Well, fuck. You’ve got me there. Probably true.”

“Anyway. What can I do for you? Is there something she needs that I can find for you?”

“Yes and no,” Negan began. Thinking better of their proximity to the door, he led Chris further away to ensure that Rebecca wouldn’t hear them if she work up, “I need you to track down some people for me and lock them up for now. I need to have some words with them before I decide what to do about this whole fucking fucked up situation.”

“You’re talking about the people who did this to Rebecca?”

Negan nodded without saying a word.

“Are you going to kill them?” Chris asked.

“I haven’t decided that yet. That will all depend on what kind of information I can get out of them first,” he thought for a moment, “But you need to promise that, if I do wind up killing them, Rebecca will never know about it. Got that?”

“I understand what you’re telling me, but I don’t understand why. Won’t she want to know that they’re taken care of? To make her feel safer here?”

“She thinks that it’s what she wants. But once it was done and the dust had settled, she would know forever that people were dead because of her. I don’t want her to have to live with that knowledge. They say knowledge is power. But some knowledge just fucking sucks…Speaking from experience.”

“Ok. Fair enough. Who are we rounding up for questioning?” Chris asked, no reaction to Negan’s speech showing on his face.

“We’ll start with Julie from the commissary. Redhead. You know her?”

“Oh yes. Everyone knows Julie around here,” the scavenger replied, innocently.

“I bet you fucking do. Well, get her, and get Ted from the sorting room. I don’t know for sure that he had anything to do with it, but he does have an axe to grind with both of us, so it can’t hurt to ask him some questions. Lock them in the basement and make sure someone is guarding them at all times. Once that’s done, come get me and we’ll take it from there.”

“Right. Will do,” Chris replied, turning to leave.

“Oh! And, Chris?” Negan added. The man turned around and awaited this final thought, “If this goes well, there could be some good things coming your way.”

Nodding humourlessly, Chris continued on his way to fulfill his quest, “Eh. Stoic fucker,” Negan mumbled under his breath as he returned to Rebecca’s side.

#comicnegan>#twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #negan #negans thirst squad

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helloironwombatbouquetme-blog · 6 years

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The Energy of Monetary Preparing

https://aprevidenciaprivada.com.br/ "Someone's sitting in the shade these days since a person planted a tree a lengthy time back." (Warren Buffet) As a monetary lifestyle planner, my fundamental assumption is that organizing is a "great" thing. Preparing is broadly acknowledged to be a pre-requisite for enterprise success. Nevertheless, Benjamin Franklin's advice that "by failing to prepare, you are planning to fail" frequently falls on deaf ears in the individual atmosphere. This is usually, in my experience, because people truly feel they have neither the time nor the skills for individual economic arranging nor do they want to invest cash on hiring a skilled monetary planner. And a few people I have met have such confidence in their potential to make and keep considerable fortunes that individual financial arranging is deemed unneeded, even spineless. So this post is about why fiscal life organizing is crucial. I will share with you some of the existing ways to planning, present you how to plan in practice and emphasize the results. To strategy, or not to plan? I am passionate about arranging since it prospects to achievement. I recall my very first sales work in financial services, chilly calling to make appointments to offer insurance. I experienced an outstanding supervisor who made me program my concentrate on market, pitch, get in touch with technique, every thing. The initial call I manufactured was spot on, top to an appointment in minutes. I knew it was likely to function, my supervisor understood, my colleagues understood. And it did. So why must we program our life and money? In my check out, for 4 causes: 1. To create a sensible framework for running family finances 2. To attain profound targets as quickly as achievable 3. To make sure extended time period fiscal safety 4. To offer with life's setbacks Lets seem at each of these in switch. one. Monetary framework A lot of people these days absence a financial framework or method. When it arrives to expenditures, the core of economic organizing, we typically enter a fantasy globe. Even if family members can give a fairly correct set of current monetary statements (property, liabilities, earnings, expenditure and estate), they are hardly ever in a position to project what individuals statements will seem like ten several years, or even 5 several years into the foreseeable future. Monetary planners will normally tell you that clients occur to them for these motives: 'We are not totally in management of our finances' 'I will not understand money all I truly feel all around money is dread and anxiety' 'We don't know in which we are now or in which we will be in the future' 'We appear not able to dwell the way of life we aspire to' When people do obtain clarity it normally supplies fantastic reduction, even if the photo does not look excellent. They at least know in which they stand and can consider acceptable action. 2. Ambitions Regrettably, we live in an period in which wealth is often produced for its very own sake, instead than as the indicates to live a fulfilled existence. Income is employed to make more funds - it gets a proxy for the moi, and economic conclusions are frequently created to shield or therapeutic massage our egos, not to help the accomplishment of our deepest existence objectives. Existence and income are deeply intertwined. Identification of clear life objectives is essential to supply direction, and allows sound economic choices to be produced. So when asked to remark on an investment decision an individual is contemplating, I constantly pose yet another concern: "Will investing in this merchandise enable you to attain your targets a lot more quickly and proficiently?" Really often the solution is that it is not going to. 3. Lengthy-phrase safety The impact of escalating longevity on household funds is profoundly crucial. The keys to addressing this are the A few Motorists of Financial Freedom: savings, compound desire and asset allocation. Whilst conserving indicates a reduction in spending, and possibly the hijacking of these important and immediate existence objectives, financial life preparing can support to resolve these difficult conflicts between the limited and prolonged term. 4. Dealing with the sudden Life will have kicked you in the teeth in the past and it will do so yet again in the future. Accept it, and program for it. Lifestyle can throw a large assortment of fastballs at us, from the irritating nevertheless not also significant vehicle breakdown to the demise of a shut family member. Place in spot contingency ideas centred about a Safety Fund and insurance policy. No a single likes insurance coverage (even though I have however to meet up with a widow who complained her partner was above insured). Freedom What you are actually likely to accomplish from properly-formulated objectives and a structured, regarded as life and financial strategy to accomplish these ambitions can be obviously expressed in a single word - flexibility. Independence is a central theme of my function, so what precisely is it? True freedom comes from defining and setting boundaries and dwelling a lifestyle focused to achieving your ambitions inside of individuals boundaries. Better independence comes from individual expansion, the implies by which we can broaden our boundaries. Lianne's story illustrates this completely. A mom of two on a modest income, Lianne experienced absent through a difficult divorce and when she first arrived to me for support, she was consoling herself with a compulsive shelling out practice. However, her goals were to enjoy, assist and teach her young children and to be a genuinely very good mother to them to compensate for the breakdown of the marriage. I worked with her to prepare her boundaries. We established her life targets, tackled her paying and created an annual investing program. 1 Monday morning she called me to talk about her weekend. She experienced taken the women to London to see a concert and experienced completed so without having any emotions of guilt or stress above income. It had been in her program. She experienced attained her goal of bringing contentment and enjoyable to her children. In her boundaries she had reached genuine freedom, to be there in the instant with her kids, just to be. It really is the process that matters Strategies seldom survive speak to with truth, to misquote Moltke. Fact for a lot of of us can lead to a alter of direction. Even so, the procedure of planning is as much a advantage as the strategy alone, usually far more so. There are a variety of planning procedures close to, usually produced by skilled bodies this kind of as the Economic Planning Affiliation or the Kinder Institute in the US or the Institute of Monetary Planning in the United kingdom. My possess method is a six-phase process for called Long term: Basis: a entire stock and analysis of your existence, such as assumptions and an examination of your danger profile Utopia: developing what you want to have, to do, to be Transformation: determining and dealing with the obstructions on the highway to utopia Utilisation of sources: establishing the best alternative for your existing methods Roadmap: making the program to get you from exactly where you are now to in which you want to be Execution: applying and dwelling the strategy Possessing produced a strategy it is essential that you proceed to keep track of and renew the strategy every yr. Arranging is dynamic, a practice, not just a couple of sheets of paper to be drawn up then relegated to the bottom attract and forgotten. The fruits of the process We all in the fiscal group trust our procedures, due to the fact we know they carry benefits, results that are more than just a composed prepare. Originally you will create a personal inventory of your lifestyle. This will incorporate a in depth set of accurate monetary statements comprising a plan of property, liabilities, income and expenditure, as nicely as knowledge about your self and the environments you inhabit. Self-understanding builds on this foundation and by the time you are nicely into the process you must be capable to articulate your deepest and most profound goals. In performing so, you will discover oneself energised, focused and much sighted. Lastly, you will understand about funds. If you are working with a coach or adviser you will have a raft of economic concepts and merchandise described to you. If you are by yourself on this journey you will need to have to teach your self, and there are plenty of methods out there to help. What is the different to planning? Nicely, you can wing it with a very good deal of chutzpah, a significant dose of confidence, a wing and a prayer and a bit of carpe diem you may possibly effectively obtain excellent items, and get a true thrill and feeling of accomplishment when you do. Even so, I do imagine in the importance of dwelling in the moment. The current is the place we can actually 'be'. Crucially, financial existence organizing will really assist you to achieve this condition by eliminating regrets for the past and fears of the long term.

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rollinbrigittenv8 · 7 years

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France Tests Social Media Influencer Strategy to Engage Meetings Industry

Irina Trofimovskaya, founder of The MICE Blog, is emerging as a thought leader in online engagement with meeting and event attendees. Irina Trofimovskaya

Skift Take: Lots of destinations work with influencers to drive leisure traffic, but France's national tourism board is among the first to contract a meetings and events specialist to engage conference planners. This should inspire other countries and cities to try the same because it positions them as digital innovators to younger audiences.

— Greg Oates

The meetings and convention industry is jumping on the brand influencer trend.

Atout France, the national tourism development agency for France, launched a new influencer-based promotional campaign this past spring, leading up to the IMEX Frankfurt meetings industry trade show last month.

While destination marketing organizations have been paying influencers to promote their leisure travel experiences to niche audiences for some time, this is new for the group business side.

In February, Atout France contracted London-based Irina Trofimovskaya, founder of The MICE Blog, for a five-month project to drive higher online engagement around the #BizInFrance hashtag on Twitter and LinkedIn. (“MICE” is an industry acronym: meetings, incentives, conferences and exhibitions.)

Trofimovskaya has made a name for herself in the European meetings industry, especially with millennial audiences, with her popular #EventPlannersTalk Twitter chat.

Jerome Poulalier, manager of Atout France��s meetings department in Frankfurt, emphasized to Trofimovskaya that the campaign needed to impact the planner community online and offline.

Leading up to IMEX Frankfurt, he said, his primary goal was to increase the online visibility of France’s meetings industry stakeholders among international corporate, association, and third-party conference organizers.

And then during the three-day conference, the strategy pivoted toward delivering meeting planners to the Atout France exhibit area to meet with representatives from the participating French convention bureaus, conference venues, hotel groups, and group tour companies.

“Our other goals included increasing awareness of French destinations beyond the most popular cities, extending the engagement lifecycle beyond the IMEX Frankfurt event, and creating more sharable, visual content,” said Poulalier. “Atout France hasn’t been active on the social media front in the past year, but we believed that teaming up with an influencer would be the most efficient way to achieve our desired goals in a short period of time.”

More specifically, Atout France wanted the #BizInFrance initiative to drive higher engagement among five primary target meeting planner audiences involved with: Incentive travel, corporate hospitality, international associations, technology conferences, and automotive industry shows.

While Trofimovskaya was the primary influencer tasked to spread the message about meetings in France, she also encouraged fellow industry influencers to push #BizInFrance, including Amanda Thurlow (@AmandaThurlow), Caleb Parker (@Caleb_Parker), Padraic Gilligan (@Padraicino), Jason Allan Scott (@Penthouselord), Kim Goetze (@goetze_kim), and Johnny D. Martinez (@johnDmartinez).

Twitter and LinkedIn Content

The bulk of the #BizInFrance influencer strategy encompassed creating original content and sharing daily partner news on Twitter and LinkedIn, complemented with a weekly #BizinFrance Twitter chat.

Join us in 30min #eventprofs for #BizinFrance Twitter chat about how to make the most out of your @IMEX_Group visit #IMEX17 https://t.co/JEHAV5YdBH

— Irina Trofimovskaya (@themiceblog) May 10, 2017

On LinkedIn, Trofimovskaya posted “Partnering with Atout France to Launch #BizInFrance Campaign” to announce the influencer initative. She also posted stories on The MICE Blog such as, “Top Reasons To Choose Côte D’azur For Automotive Events.”

Poulalier contributed as well with LinkedIn content including, “Book Your Meeting with Atout France at IMEX Frankfurt” and “Get to Know Hotels Barrière at IMEX Frankfurt.”

And then on Twitter, right before and during the IMEX conference, Trofimovskaya posted tweets, like the one below, in an attempt to drive attendance to exhibitor booths and two educational sessions at IMEX discussing the tech and auto industries. For example:

Organise automotive events? Then join us on stand D200 to learn more about it from 2 industry experts #IMEX17 #BizinFrance https://t.co/SahxkolvG6

— Irina Trofimovskaya (@themiceblog) May 17, 2017

“What probably surprised us the most was the good turnout for our expert sessions at IMEX, because it was the first time we tried this format promoting technology and automotive events,” Poulalier explained. “The first session was about French startups and how they can enhance the MICE experience. The second was about using architecturally significant venues in France for things like car launches.”

Trofimovskaya agreed, stating: “The biggest surprise was the success of the expert sessions that attracted a new audience that might not have come otherwise. We also created high quality content from these sessions to share post-event.”

Influencer Challenges And Successes

The event company SoolNua tracks how European destinations’ meetings-specific Twitter channels perform. After IMEX, Atout France ranked in terms of engagement ahead of stalwarts like London & Partners, and the German, Swiss, Irish, and Danish Convention Bureaus — all considered innovators in digital meetings content.

“Most destination marketing organizations (DMOs) are using social on their leisure channels, and many are building great online communities,” said Padraic Gilligan, managing partner of SoolNua. “However, DMOs, in general, have not been so successful in finding and engaging audiences within the meetings and events sector, probably because it’s so fragmented across associations, corporates, third-party agencies, and independents.”

Poulalier added, “We saw immediate results during IMEX thanks to SoolNua’s leader board. We placed first among 37 international and national convention bureaus. Furthermore, we saw high weekly engagement during our weekly chat that run from February until mid-May just before IMEX.”

The below data show the rise of engagement on Atout France’s meetings Twitter channel, @CLUSTER_MICE.

While the gains were modest compared to a typical leisure travel influencer campaign, Poulalier said the increases were deemed significant because the #BizInFrance engagement specifically targeted the right planners.

Month 2017 Tweets Impressions Profile Visits Mentions Followers New Followers Jan 1 8,940 149 11 411 29 Feb 150 33,800 1,897 49 500 69 Mar 269 54,600 2,471 61 573 75 Apr 348 72,200 2,130 66 668 95 May 312 106,000 2,726 111 742 74

Speaking about some of the obstacles facing the influencer campaign, Trofimovskaya said, “Since we focused only on Twitter and LinkedIn, it was challenging at times to engage all the partners. For example, the Groupe Barrière has 18 hotels and was a big focus of the campaign on Twitter, but because they are not on Twitter they couldn’t engage back with us.”

A second challenge revolved around the disparity of how attendees from different countries use social media.

“The use of Twitter and LinkedIn across geographical regions it not even,” explained Trofimovskaya. “The UK and U.S. are both important markets and they’re very active on Twitter, but not everyone in France or Germany is using this channel as actively.”

Summing up the state of social media engagement between destinations and meeting planners, Gilligan said, “While there’s plenty of activity, our view is that it’s unfocused and not strategic.”

The reasons for this, he believes, are varied.

“There’s a lack of trained resources, lack of overall commitment, unrealistic budget provision, etc.,” Gilligan said. “Many DMOs know they should be there, so they set up the accounts and then they totally underestimate the time, expertise, and knowledge required to manage them successfully.”

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touristguidebuzz · 7 years

Text

France Tests Social Media Influencer Strategy to Engage Meetings Industry

Irina Trofimovskaya, founder of The MICE Blog, is emerging as a thought leader in online engagement with meeting and event attendees. Irina Trofimovskaya

— Greg Oates

The meetings and convention industry is jumping on the brand influencer trend.

While destination marketing organizations have been paying influencers to promote their leisure travel experiences to niche audiences for some time, this is new for the group business side.

Trofimovskaya has made a name for herself in the European meetings industry, especially with millennial audiences, with her popular #EventPlannersTalk Twitter chat.

Jerome Poulalier, manager of Atout France’s meetings department in Frankfurt, emphasized to Trofimovskaya that the campaign needed to impact the planner community online and offline.

Twitter and LinkedIn Content

The bulk of the #BizInFrance influencer strategy encompassed creating original content and sharing daily partner news on Twitter and LinkedIn, complemented with a weekly #BizinFrance Twitter chat.

Join us in 30min #eventprofs for #BizinFrance Twitter chat about how to make the most out of your @IMEX_Group visit #IMEX17 http://bit.ly/2si4Css

— Irina Trofimovskaya (@themiceblog) May 10, 2017

Poulalier contributed as well with LinkedIn content including, “Book Your Meeting with Atout France at IMEX Frankfurt” and “Get to Know Hotels Barrière at IMEX Frankfurt.”

Organise automotive events? Then join us on stand D200 to learn more about it from 2 industry experts #IMEX17 #BizinFrance http://bit.ly/2t1vNES

— Irina Trofimovskaya (@themiceblog) May 17, 2017

Influencer Challenges And Successes

The below data show the rise of engagement on Atout France’s meetings Twitter channel, @CLUSTER_MICE.

A second challenge revolved around the disparity of how attendees from different countries use social media.

The reasons for this, he believes, are varied.

0 notes