#The simple fact is that women can be relatively comfortable and able to move in their clothes and still have no voice in their government

[marzipanandminutiae]

I'm asking because it's something I've been trying to figure out myself. Do you have any theories as to why there is such an overlap of TERFs and people convinced corsets are Evil? Why do these beliefs go toghter?

My guess would be that it’s because they define womanhood so much by suffering, that questioning anything they’ve been told was a mechanism of women’s suffering in the past feels like a threat to them. Even though obviously nobody who says “corsets were not universal torture devices“ is saying “women weren’t oppressed during these specific eras.” It’s a threat to their idea of what the past looks like, especially womanhood in the past, and that puts them on the defensive.

They also often hate femininity at large, and the corset tends to be seen as a symbol thereof. Even though, you know… A lot of masc presenting women in the past also wore them, simply as support garments. and even some men, for back support and/or body-shaping.

And most historical costumers and dress historians who get a wide platform nowadays tends to be feminine-presenting. So TERFs see this as feminine women (traitors!) “defending” their favorite imagined symbol of patriarchal control over women’s bodies and gender presentation, and therefore go ballistic. Even though that’s not what’s happening

(Note: not everyone who expresses these views is a terf, of course. Pop culture in general still tends to believe that corsets are inherently evil, and thus it’s a very common mindset. And not even everyone who buys into the whole “historical costumers/fem dress historians are tradwives serving the patriarchy“ concept is a terf. But as you say, there is a pretty broad overlap in that latter category.)

It’s also interesting to me what their definition of defense is. A lot of them blow a gasket if you even say “the corset is a neutral garment that served practical functions for many women, and most women seem to have felt neutrally about it, though obviously some strongly liked or disliked it” or “ I and some people I know personally find corsets comfortable to wear,”and react like you just built an altar to sacrifice goats to a corset

[mooniefics]

— the hands that beckon me

pairing : zeke jaeger / reader

word count : 1.9k

tags : emotional hurt / comfort, relationship discussion, pillow talk, insecure zeke :(

summary : zeke is finally home, on a brief layover from the war, and you both finally get around to having that tough discussion you've been putting off for far too long.

— originally posted 1 / 21 / 21 on ao3 —

"what do you do while i'm gone?"

your skin was still hot from being pressed over his when he asked, thrumming with a warmth you hadn't felt yet craved so deeply for months. you turned to face him from your place on your back in bed, pressing into his side, peering curiously at his profile. you'd missed seeing him like this, out of his ironed, pristine uniform, hair messy from your fingers running through it, sharp features warmed with the flush of passion, unobscured by his glasses, eyes and voice sleepy and relaxed rather than alert and tight with self-awareness.

"what do you mean?" your reply was soft, almost playful to counter his matter-of-fact delivery, reaching out to draw your fingers across his firm, bare chest.

"i mean what keeps you busy? what do you do for fun?"

>readmore<

the war with the mid-east allied forces had been dragging on for just about two years now, and there seemed to be no end in sight, but after the marleyan army managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat on foreign soil, the news came to your internment zone that the soldiers would be returning on a brief layover as the countries' political leaders decided whether or not they'd be willing to smooth things over in a more peaceful manner.

this afternoon you had been there at the gates with his grandparents, barely able to stand still beside them as all three of you waited wordlessly with baited breath, balancing up on your tiptoes, straining to peek over the crowd to catch a glimpse of him. while others were stood by with looks of unmasked dread—men with clenched jaws and stiff shoulders, women with tears brimming their eyes, children tugging at sleeves and already crying with impatience—you felt an uncontainable joy. it was humbling to look around at all the panicked faces, to remember that not every family had the luxury of your confidence, the almost guaranteed certainty that the one you loved would return. but you couldn't help the blinding smile that broke out across your face as he ambled through the crowd, tired, well-kept, but looking warmly down at you and his family.

you had let him to greet them first, they were his blood relatives after all, but only after he'd finished giving his grandmother a tight hug and exchanging affectionate words did you allow yourself to throw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in his rich scent of gunpowder, pine, just a faint hint of cigarettes, melting easily into his strong embrace. you and zeke had wandered back alongside the older couple to their home, sharing a calm, easy dinner where zeke relayed what information he could to them about the status of the ongoing battle, but you were just itching to have some time to yourself with him.

you'd spent hours cleaning your quaint little home a few streets down, agonizing over every little detail despite how you knew he didn't mind whatever state it was in, just that you were there. and as soon as you'd both said your friendly goodbyes and made it through the door of your home, he was pulling you along to the bedroom, legs having memorized the path of weaving through the living room and kitchen and down the hall to the door on the left.

he was impatient, as he always was when he was tugging you out of your clothes, but sensual all in the same when he pressed his lips onto yours, murmured soft, longing words in your ear, hands squeezing and grabbing, reacquainting themselves with your soft figure. you both didn't last long—how could you when you were so eager—but felt satisfied all the time after everything was said and done, lowering back onto the mattress, flushed and panting, a faint sheen of sweat shimmering over your skin. his question just now had puzzled you. it was simple, but you knew it hid something deeper, he'd never asked something of that nature in all the time he'd been coming back and going away.

"well.. not much really. i go to work at the jewelry shop, have tea with your grandmother on thursdays, wander around the market if i feel up to it, help mary from down the street with her boys if she needs it."

you faltered at the mention of her, not remembering whether you'd seen her husband when you'd met with zeke at the entrance to the zone. you forced yourself not to frown. how selfish of you, you didn't even bother to check on her before you allowed yourself to be whisked away for the night.

he seemed to notice your sudden dismay, wrapping a comforting arm around you as he spoke, "you mean aksoy?" you nodded. "he made it back on the train alright. drunk off his ass, but alive."

you breathed a small sigh of relief, offering up a small smile at him. "good to hear."

and though his lips curled back in a similar expression, it didn't quite reach his eyes, and you only felt further perturbed by how his gaze briefly flickered elsewhere. "why do you ask?" you prompted, fingers trailing up his neck to rest at his jaw, gently turning him to face you again.

"just curious, is all.."

you could sense that he was lying, but about what you didn't quite know. "come on, zeke, we've known each other since we were kids. you don't think i know when you're hiding something?"

he hummed, the corners of his eyes creasing as an easy, genuine grin graced his features. "i apologize for underestimating your lie detecting skills."

you couldn't help but giggle softly at his words, thumb stroking over his warm cheek, body fitting perfectly against his. he was really here. finally, after all this waiting, he had come back to you, even if only for a few weeks that would surely fly past in an instant.

"i don't really know how to say this.." he seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, grey eyes traversing over your face, onto a far wall of the room, then up to the ceiling for a brief moment before it finally wandered back to you, "i guess you could say it started with me feeling a bit guilty, leaving you here all by yourself."

"i can bear the wait, you know that. as long as i know that i'll get to see you." for now, came the silent addendum.

he had three years left, barely a quarter remaining in his term, but you didn't broach the topic, and he seemed just as content putting off the discussion as you were. your relationship was easy, in a sense. there was never any squabbling over when the two of you would move in, or when he would retire from his position and settle down, milestones such as marriage and children were never issues. but there were days where you wished they were, though you'd never admit it.

just like how you'd never admit to the warm burn of envy that sparked to life when a man came into the shop you worked at searching for a ring for his partner, a spark that inevitably gave way to a cool emptiness settling deep into your chest, swallowing up your heart and balling an uncomfortable lump in your throat by the time you'd helped him choose out just the perfect jewel and sent him on his way.

"i know that, but," he swallowed, licking his lips, "sometimes i'm afraid that you're getting bored."

"bored?" the word felt strangely odd on your tongue, your own eyes blinking at him.

"bored." he reaffirmed, frowning slightly as he continued, "you see other people your age—our age—every day, don't you? when you go to the market, when you're at work, hell, even when you're spending time with your friends, you see people with lives, with structure." you knew the exact words that were coming next, but the impact of them hurt all the same. "people who don't have the thought of how time is running out hanging over their head."

it was you who turned away this time, feeling your lower lip tremble, eyes suddenly watering despite how you wished not to cry. all those complicated feelings you'd pushed down in favor of relishing in your feigned ignorance, of pretending that zeke was just a normal soldier with normal duties who was just lucky enough to come back each time. you'd always politely brushed your friends off when they'd pestered you of the absence of a ring on your finger, asking when you'd have children of your own rather than always being there to help them take care of theirs, you swept their concerns aside with a rehearsed smile because you didn't want to come to terms with the fact that you wanted those things for yourself.

the pill of zeke's looming mortality was hard enough to swallow on its own, all without mentioning how the love you shared was so rich yet so fleeting, fruitful yet futile all at once. you had no words to offer him, but your silence seemed to be enough of a reply, a forlorn, almost remorseful look settling over his handsome features.

"perhaps— perhaps you should search for someone else." you felt your stomach knot and twist, sorrow bubbling up like a geyser from below, biting at your cheek as to not let your shaky breaths spill from your mouth, "you're beautiful, it would really be no trouble at all for you to find someone—someone who can give you a good life. a fulfilling life."

"but.. there's still time left, isn't there?" your voice was quiet, thick with restrained tears, "there's still time for us."

"it isn't fair to you."

"it wouldn't be fair to you either if i left now." your brows knitting together, expression strained as you felt warmth trickle down your face, dripping down your chin onto his shoulder. "do you want me to leave?"

he looked away, hesitating just enough to make more droplets bead at your lashes before he shook his head, drawing a crooked finger across your cheek to catch a few stray tears. again, that disdain at your own selfishness came. he was worried for you, ruminating own his own impending death, trying to soften the blow of it for you at the expense of his own happiness, yet all you could do was cry at the thought of parting with him in any voluntary way.

"you're the one i want." you whispered, sniffling, "i knew what i was getting into at the start of all this, the things that i would miss, the things i would have to give up on, but they can wait. i can't be without you, not if i know that i can spend a single moment longer like this, loving you."

the sun had sank low in the sky, light abandoning the two of you in the dark of your room, alone with your shared, trembling breaths, his frown and distant eyes, your tears and imploring gaze. you felt weary in many ways as you allowed yourself to settle back onto his chest, closing your eyes at the feeling of his arm tightening its grasp around you, holding you close, a silent plea to stay just as you were.

he didn't speak, not another word of uncertainty exchanged, but you knew that he understood. he was here, and as long as that was the case you would always wait, keep turning down the hands that beckoned you, rescind your domestic desires for the sake of clinging to this one rare, importunate, lovely thing you had—clinging to him.

[haileyyanneupton]

under the stars (just you and i)   🌌

pairings:

hailey upton x jay halstead 

prompted by tumblr post by @snowwhite013​ and post by @upstellaride (on twitter)

| masterlist |

Chicago was chaotic by nature. The Intelligence unit had been completely and utterly slammed for months now. With increased gang activity not only in the 21st District but all over the city, everybody was being stretched to their absolute limits in every way possible. Jay and Hailey — whose romance had been placed on the backburner when the surge began — were no exception to this; they were both equally as overworked and exhausted as one other. Their apparent inability to pass up a case was costing them not just their precious beauty sleep, but quality time to spend together as a couple, leaving them both frustrated every time the phone rang. 

“You and me, Bartoli’s.” Hailey glanced up from the paperwork in her hand at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice. He was sitting across from her on his side of the desk that had slowly but surely become their communal desk over the years, his feet up on the edge of the surface as he stared at the blonde haired woman, awaiting a response. “When?”  The question was simple, but it was one that hung in the air for longer than either of them would have liked. It was a simple question that in theory required a simple answer, but with the unpredictability of work as of late, both Jay and Hailey were unwilling to offer up a time or day without proper thought being put into it. “What about after shift tonight?” Jay offered, hesitation evident in his voice as Hailey’s eyes flickered to the rest of the unit — it was relatively empty. At least, the emptiest it had been in a while. “It’s been kind of mellow today, right? I mean, the fact that we have time to be here doing paperwork is usually a good sign.” “Tonight. After shift. . .” Hailey considered it for a moment, humming lightly to herself in thought. “Sure. Tonight after shift sounds good.” Jay couldn’t help but grin as he hid his face in his coffee — caffeine was the only thing keeping him going at this point — he had been dying for a night out with his girl. It had been far too long since the two of them had been able to just talk, and his Hailey withdrawal symptoms were coming in fast and hard with no place to go. Sure, they worked together every day — but with how spread out the Intelligence unit had been, they were lucky if they even got to say hello to each other. All of these reasons put together were contributing factors to his particularly pissy mood when Voight made his way back upstairs and informed everybody that they wouldn’t be going home until they could pull up a lead on the drug-bust-turned-triple-homicide they were working out in Jefferson Park. “Guess this means we’re cancelling. Again.” Hailey sighed deeply as she stood beside Jay, the pair of them watching as Kim placed the victims photos up on the board. “This is what — the fourth time now?”

“It’s not my fault, Hailey,” Jay mumbled under his breath. “Don’t blame me. Blame the guy who shot three people for his fix.” Hailey’s eyes snapped over to him, the blue of her irises darkening as she made it very obvious she wasn’t about to put up with his bullshit for another long night shift when they were both exhausted. “I know it’s not your fault Jay. Did you hear me say it was? Because I sure don’t remember those words coming out of my mouth.” Jay mumbled again, although this time it was a practically silent sorry that Hailey’s Vulcan hearing only just managed to pick up on. She could feel his frustration and despite knowing it wasn’t intentionally being directed at her, she also wasn’t about to let her get pushed around to make him feel better, even if he was her boyfriend.  That’s how the next week or so went. Both Jay and Hailey were snapping at each other left and right, and although they both were mature enough not to hold a grudge against the other for longer than a few minutes, neither of them were exactly enjoying themselves. Their triple-homicide came and went, and before they knew it they had been thrown into an arson case — they couldn’t catch a break, no matter how hard they tried.  Jay had walked into the locker room one evening after Hailey had disappeared for a while, his search for the woman coming to an end quickly as he spied her sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. Just when he thought he’d give her some time alone, (he figured she was probably trying to gather her thoughts or something) the sound of almost silent cries coming from the blonde caused his heart to ache painfully. At first, he wasn’t sure — but when the sight of her back rising and falling sharply with each cry, Jay practically bolted over to her in panic. “Hails." Jay sat down on the bench beside his girlfriend, his voice soft as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hails, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?" Hailey shrugged his hand off of her shoulder — not in a cold way, just in a 'I don't want you to see me like this' kind of way. Nonetheless, Jay persisted as he wrapped his arm around the woman's torso, pulling her closer to him until her head was resting in the crook of his neck. Hailey tried to wipe away her tears roughly, the woman clearly worked up as Jay ran his fingers through her hair in a feeble attempt to offer up some comfort. "Hailey?" "I'm fine, Jay." Hailey's response was much too quick for Jay's liking. Even if she hadn't been crying, her response alone would have provoked concern from the man. He only frowned down at his girlfriend sadly, his heart aching; Hailey wasn't one to show her emotions to anybody. Any time Jay saw Hailey this way, he felt his entire body tearing apart in some inexplicable way — he had the overwhelming urge to find a way to fix it. Because seeing Hailey upset was the absolute worst thing he could ever see. It was so heartbreaking and tore him apart so severely that it could (and would) keep him at night. "You're not fine," Jay's voice was gentle and unthreatening, but he still balanced on the line of pushing as she took a deep breath against him. "You don't have to be fine. But I think it'd help if you talked to me — you're the one who taught me that, remember?" Hailey stayed silent, not daring to utter a sound. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon one of the lockers standing in front of her, studying it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world before she found her breath getting caught up in her throat all over again. Before she knew it, tears were pouring down her cheeks all over again, half of them sad and half of them angry, partly because she had no idea what the hell she was crying for. "Please tell me what's going on," Jay practically begged his girlfriend this time as he rubbed circles on her back, his brows shaped in a concerned V. "Please tell me so that I can — I don't know." "I'm just so tired," Hailey breathed, her sentence being interrupted by a hiccup as she ran her palms down her cheeks. "I haven't slept a full night in days, Jay — neither have you. I'm tired of fighting you and arguing every time we're in the same room together for no other reason other than the fact that we're both exhausted, I'm tired of the lumpy couch and sleeping without you. I miss you, Jay. I miss you so goddamn much it's physically painful right now and I genuinely just don't know how to deal." Jay was sure he could feel his heart breaking into two right there and then, his grip tightening upon Hailey as he held her close. Hailey only sunk into his hold in response to the gesture before sniffling softly, barely moving as the pair froze in time for a short while. It was Jay who broke the silence a few minutes later, his hand still circling her back as his words were muffled slightly by her head. "I'll tell Voight we're both coming down with something." "Jay —" "I'll get Platt to cover for us." "But —" "No buts. We're working something out right here, right now so that you don't have to spend another minute here in pain because if you're in pain. . . I'm ready to kill, maim or otherwise seriously injure whoever's responsible." Hailey let out a small snort of amusement despite her mood. After all — how could she not? It was Jay. Cracking-jokes-at-the-most-inappropriate-of-times Jay. Her Jay.  And despite the fact that she was still weeping silently in frustration and all of the other emotions that had decided to make themselves at home without her go ahead, her Jay was always able to put a smile on her face. "Let's just finish this shift." Hailey exhaled deeply, using a few fingers to wipe away her tears once more. "I'll be okay, Jay." Jay didn't seem all too convinced. "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," Hailey nodded as she wrapped an arm around her boyfriend and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath his skin; the sound was oddly calming. "I just had to have a little cry." Although Jay was still hesitant to let Hailey go (mostly because he loved having her close and she was so, so warm) he knew that his girlfriend was one of the most headstrong women to ever walk the earth; once she said they were finishing the shift, they were finishing the shift. As soon as six o'clock came around, Jay and Hailey were out of the 21st district and packing into Jay's truck, switching their phones off so that they could have plausible deniability if they were called back in for a case. Yes, the detectives were dedicated to their job and by extension, the city of Chicago, but tonight was a night for them. A night where they could breathe a little bit. God knows they needed it. Hailey had no idea where they were going once Jay passed the turnoff for not just his house but her's too, but quite frankly, she didn't care. She didn't even question it when she saw the "Thank you for visiting Chicago" sign, she and Jay sitting in silence until they arrived in an empty field. It was dark by then, the sky being lit up by nothing than the moon and stars above them. "Come with me." Jay wore a lopsided smile on his features as he spoke, heading around to Hailey's side of the truck as he opened the door up for her and helped the woman out with an extended hand that she gratefully took. Hailey couldn't help the suspicious (and slightly concerned) expression she wore on her features, just as Jay couldn't help laughing at the very same expression.  His lopsided smile turned into a grin as he pulled Hailey along, almost giddy as he pulled down the back part of his truck so that it laid flat. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed it before, but now that her attention had been bought to the back tray, she could see the pile of blankets of pillows that had been packed in there along with a 6 pack of beers calling her name from the back corner. Hailey's look of concern brightened into one of love and affection almost immediately, her eyes softening as she snapped her head up to meet Jay's. "You did this?" "I did." Jay was clearly very happy with himself. "You like it?" "It's absolutely sickening." Hailey's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed by Jay who grinned smugly as he watched his girlfriend clamber up into the back of his truck. Its height momentarily posed a challenge for the woman, but it was just another challenge that she overcame as she vaulted herself inside and practically pulled him in after her.  With the mountain of blankets pulled over each of them, Hailey and Jay sat side by side as Jay held two beers in his hand, handing one off to the blonde who took a sip as soon as it was made available. Neither of them had the words to verbalise it, but they both knew this was what they needed. They both knew this was perfect. As the night grew older, Hailey found herself laying with her head on Jay's chest and a hand comfortably resting on his thigh; his hands were running through her blonde locks absentmindedly — he had always found Hailey's hair remarkably soft. The pair of them were still sipping on their beers, but the conversation had shifted to a much calmer and heartfelt topic. "I love you," Hailey had declared suddenly, though, it wasn't the first time she had uttered the three words to her boyfriend and partner. "I love you and your grand gestures, and your smile, and your laugh." "I love you. I love you and your eyes, and the way you scrunch up your nose when you find something funny, the way you're impossibly stubborn but yet incredibly reasonable." "I love you and how you make me feel okay, and how you can understand what I'm trying to say without me ever having to say it, and how you hold me at night and when I'm upset. I love you and how you showed me a million shades of colour that I had never experienced before." Jay's lips curled up into a warm smile, though his eyes showed it more. It was hard to distinguish whether or not it was the way the corners of his eyes creased or if it was the sparkle among the green that did it, but she didn't mind the not knowing. When she was with Jay, she didn't need to know anything except that she loved him and that he loved her — that was enough. It had always been enough. An exhale escaped Hailey's lips as she gazed up at the sky above them, the twinkling orbs that were even brighter away from city lights filling her vision as she studied them closely. They twinkled and shimmered beautifully — almost entrancing — Hailey could barely peel her eyes or focus away from them for more than half a second. "They're amazing, aren't they?" Hailey wasn't expecting a response, but she wasn't shocked either when she received one. "The stars?" "Yeah," she nodded her head against Jay's chest lightly. "They remind me of you, in a way." Jay chuckled with a puzzled look on his face. "They remind you of me? How?" "They're pretty. They're perfect. . They're also everywhere, just like your freckles are. Not to mention that half of them are on the brink of exploding, just like you." He poked her in the side playfully as Hailey laughed heartily in response. "It was so sweet, and then you decided to make fun of me." "Making fun of you is my only hobby, Halstead. How else am I meant to fill my time?" "I don't know! There's a whole world out there — you could take up boxing, or knitting!" "You see me sitting still for long enough to knit?" "No, that was a stupid suggestion. I should have known." Jay's chest rose and fell beneath Hailey's head as he laughed. "Since you're you, I guess I'll let you get away with it. You're both far too dangerous and far too attractive to stay mad at." Hailey only smirked as she turned her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the night sky and gazing into Jay's impossibly green eyes. "Oh yeah? Far too attractive?" "Well—" Jay shifted slightly as his hand brushed up against Hailey's bare arm beneath the blankets. "— maybe — maybe you'll have to remind me just how attractive." "Oh, I can do that." 

🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌🌌

aaaa okay i hope this was good! i don’t know if i did it justice lmao

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 30

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow ‘whenihaveyou.romione’ on Instagram if you’d like to. 

------

Chapter 30

“You know,” Ron said, unable to contain the smile that formed on his lips when Hermione emerged from their room, “one day I’m going to be literally blown away by how amazing you look, and it’s going to entirely be your fault. you look beautiful.” 

Beautiful was an understatement. Hermione was absolutely stunning. She really did like to dress up for special occasions, and while he sincerely thought she was beautiful even when she got out of bed in the mornings and her already wild hair was askew and unbrushed, his heart skipped two beats whenever he saw her with it tied up, sleaked down smooth and wearing a dress, or something more elegant than her usual attire of Ministry robes. 

It reminded him of the Yule Ball back in fourth year, or Bill and Fleur’s wedding, when she had undoubtedly been the most beautiful person in the whole room on both occasions. At least now he had the ability and the sense to let her know that that was still the case. 

“You always know how to flatter,” Hermione said; she said it in a teasing way, but he could tell she appreciated the compliment by the way her cheeks tinged a pleasurable pink. She always appreciated it. 

Ron leaned forward to kiss her, but Hermione pulled back. “Not yet,” she said. “I haven’t placed the no-smudge charms on the makeup yet. If you kiss me, I’ll have to do it all over again.”

“That’s such a shame!” Ron called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom, perhaps to see if her makeup had smudged by him just looking at her. “Also, the party starts in ten minutes, and we’re not allowed to Apparate directly into the place, so we still need to walk from the Apparition point.”

“No one ever shows up on time to a party such as this anyway!” Hermione called back, her voice muffled from the walls of the bathroom. 

“That’s a very un-Hermione-like thing to say,” Ron said, thinking of all the times she’d hurried him out the door, or into the Floo, repeating about how they’ll be late. He collapsed onto the sofa, ensuring that his no-crease charm had worked on his suit. It had, thankfully. 

Wearing a Muggle suit was such a discomfort; he didn’t know how they did it. It was tight, there were too many pieces, and after many attempts to do up a tie, Hermione had ended up using her wand, but she’d performed the spell too well and for a brief moment, Ron had been unable to breathe. 

At least for Hermione, Muggle women wore dresses that flowed either to their knees, or their ankles, or somewhere in between, and they weren’t really any different to what he’d seen Hermione, Ginny, or even Fleur wear before. 

But Ron missed his dress robes. 

A moment later, Hermione returned from the bathroom. “Ready!” she said. 

“Can I kiss you now?” Ron asked, standing up. “Or is that forbidden?”

“You can kiss me as much as you want, and this makeup won’t budge,” Hermione assured him. 

“Good!” Ron said, and he moved to her, kissing her hard, trying to make a point. 

Once he pulled away, he looked her over once again, revelling in just how lucky he felt to be with her. He loved absolutely everything about her, and more than anything he wished that this engagement party was theirs. 

After their holiday together in Croatia, after promising her that he’d ask soon, he had been so ready to do it. He was ready to do it. It was no longer a ‘one day’ for him; it was a very real, very now thing, and he was fairly certain Hermione felt the same. 

He found himself thinking about asking her in every waking moment, and just how he’d do it. It had to be romantic. He liked being romantic with her, doing nice things, and showing her how much he loved her. Maybe a dinner — though that was a little cliche, but it didn’t have to be a traditional type of dinner. Maybe he could take her somewhere special, a place they’d never been. Paris, maybe. 

And he had to get her a ring. That was something he really wanted to get right, and the biggest reason he hadn’t yet asked her. She’d already promised she would say yes to him, and Hermione being Hermione, she’d probably guess any attempt he made to surprise her. But an engagement ring was something he could surprise her with, because there were so many options that there would be no way she would guess which one he had chosen. 

The only problem with that was finding the time to get it. Ever since their holiday in mid February, Ron had been hit hard with training. He was reaching the end of his second year of Auror training, and that meant a lot of cramming of information and practice. On the weekends he should have been able to look for a ring, he was being called into the Auror Office for extra courses. He’d had absolutely no time to go anywhere at all, let alone by himself. 

Then came late March, and Percy and Audrey announced their engagement to everyone, which meant that there was no way Ron could do it without stealing the moment from his brother. 

So now, in mid May, rather than preparing for their own engagement party like he and Hermione might have hoped, they were heading off to some fancy Muggle hall, no magic allowed, celebrating the impending marriage of Percy and Audrey. 

“Is the suit bothering you?” Hermione asked.

“What?”

“You keep playing with the tie. Is it still too tight? I could loosen it some more if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Ron said, though that was a lie. He’d still much prefer dress robes, and when he did marry Hermione, everyone was welcome to wear whatever made them the most comfortable. “It’s just weird, isn’t it? They haven’t been together all that long, really. And they’re getting married already.”

“Longer than we have,” Hermione reminded him, which was technically true, but he’d loved Hermione for much longer, and for Ron, that counted for something.

“Ready to go?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “We will now officially be late.”

Hermione nodded, smiling. She accepted Ron’s offered arm and Apparated them both to the Leaky Cauldron, which was near the party. 

Personally, Ron couldn’t understand why it needed to be so fancy. Wasn’t dressing up supposed to be for the wedding, not the engagement? What was wrong with a small gathering at a house? The Burrow would have been perfect. They could have gathered in the garden. 

But over the year and a bit Ron had gotten to know Audrey, he had learnt that Audrey liked things fancy. And so did her parents. Not the Granger kind of fancy, where they’d splurge on the occasional dinner, but everything needed to be the best and the most expensive. 

Really, the fact that she was marrying a Weasley astounded Ron. But then again, she had no idea about it, and Ron was sure Percy didn’t willingly share just how difficult things had been for them all growing up. He probably flaunted all of the money he had now and Audrey thought they were all like that. 

Another thing Ron had learnt was, whilst Audrey thought she had hit the jackpot with marrying someone who could perform magic, her parents were far from impressed. Any extended family was absolutely forbidden to know, and therefore — as they were paying for the party and the wedding — their rules applied. 

No magic. 

The request had been no wands either, but Ron had his tucked firmly in his suit, and he was certain Hermione had hers somewhere as well. No doubt Percy was also carrying his. Leaving a wand in another room of a house was one thing, but to go out without it…

Audrey’s parents did not need to know that wands were used to Apparate. 

“All these rules and regulations, you’d think her parents would like Percy a bit more than they do,” Ron said as they reached the hall where the party would be. Even the outside had been elaborately decorated with very expensive things.

“Take away the magic, and perhaps they would,” Hermione said, grinning. “But you have to admit, Audrey is perfect for your brother.”

“They’re the same person,” Ron reasoned. “It’s freaky.”

“Makes them a perfect match.”

Ron smiled at her, thinking that he and Hermione were a perfect match as well. He started to say that he wished this could be them, but stopped at the last minute. Why get her hopes up — or scare her away — when he couldn’t even get her a ring?

“Come on,” he said. “I’m sure Ginny is making fun of every little detail right now.”

If the outside of the hall was elaborate, then the inside was something else entirely. Ron had attended a few weddings in his life, those of distant relatives mostly, and none of the weddings had ever looked this fancy. He’d never even heard of an engagement party until they’d been invited to Percy and Audrey’s. Hermione had said it was fairly common in the Muggle world. 

Every single spare bit of wall was covered in white and red flowers. There were round tables with white tablecloths, the centrepiece was the same flowers on the walls, but in small pots. Guests — none of whom Ron immediately recognised — mingled around the tables, glasses of wine or other drinks in hand. 

Ron suppressed the urge to tell Hermione that when they got married they were having a simple wedding and Audrey’s parents weren’t invited. 

“Oh, look!” Hermione said, not sounding anywhere near as appalled by the state of this room as Ron felt. “We’ve even got place settings. How lovely.”

They walked through the crowd, checking the names at each table. They eventually found theirs on table three, where they’d been designated seats with Harry, Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, George, and Molly and Arthur. Oh, and Victoire.

“I’m expecting a surprise wedding by the end of this,” Ron said, spotting his sister in the crowd and waving her over. 

“Evening,” Ron said. “You look nice,” he added, noticing that Ginny was also dressed up wonderfully for the occasion, wearing a deep blue dress. 

“Thanks!” Ginny said, smiling. “Nice place, isn’t it?”

“A bit too fancy for my taste. Where’s Harry?”

“Talking Dad through how a water fountain works without… magic.” She lowered her voice at the last word, rolling her eyes. “I mean, we’re not stupid, we’re not all going to pull out our wands and start casting fireworks into the hall, are we? Besides, how were we supposed to get here via Apparition without our wands?”

“That’s what I said!” Ron said. “And this looks more like a wedding than a celebration to say you’re getting married one day.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Hermione said, scanning the room. “It’s always nice to dress up.”

“You look amazing, by the way, Hermione,” Ginny noted.

“That’s what I said!” Ron replied. “Doesn’t she?”

Ginny smiled, turning her head just as Harry joined them. “I don’t even know how the bloody water fountain works,” he grumbled. “I’m not a plumber.”

Everyone laughed as Audrey came over to them, smiling, with two older and wary people slightly behind her. 

“Hello, everyone!” she said cheerfully. “I’m glad you could make it. This is Percy’s brother, Ron, and his sister Ginny,” she said to the people behind her. Her parents, Ron assumed. “And their partners Hermione and Harry.”

In Ron’s opinion, Audrey’s parents looked far from impressed about having such wayward guests for their daughter’s engagement party. They probably had plans that she’d marry some wealthy businessman or something, not a red-haired, freckled and bespectacled bookworm. The only thing about Percy that would appeal to them was his pompous approach to life. 

“I trust you have received our instructions about… everything?” Audrey’s mother asked, looking them all over with uncertainty. 

“Absolutely!” Hermione said. “We completely understand.”

Ron looked at Ginny and Harry, who grinned. Not a single member of the Weasley family was here without a wand tonight. 

“Hermione grew up without magic,” Audrey said to her parents. “Remember, I told you about her?”

“Oh, yes,” Audrey’s mother said, and she gave Hermione such a fake smile she would have given Umbridge a run for her money. “Well, it’s nice to finally put faces to names. Audrey has spoken a lot about you.” She turned to leave, Audrey giving them all an apologetic smile before following. 

“Lovely people, they are,” Ron said. 

“It is a bit of a shock when you find out magic exists,” Hermione replied. 

“Yeah, but I like your parents,” Ron said. “They’re nice people.”

Hermione tried her best to look annoyed, but she smiled anyway. They all knew Audrey’s parents were rich, upper class snobs who thought themselves better than everyone else. One only had to look at the decorations to determine that.

“Come on,” Hermione said, sighing, “let’s sit down.”

They all sat around the table, taking in the finer details of the decorations. 

“These tablecloths are made from really expensive silk,” Hermione pointed out.

“How do you know they’re expensive?” Ron asked.

Hermione flushed, seeming reluctant to answer. “Because my parents have a few similar ones for special occasions.”

Ron grinned, but said nothing. Her parents could have been the rudest, snobby-ish people in the whole country, and it wouldn’t have changed his opinion of her one bit. He supposed that was how Percy felt about Audrey.

“So, how’s Quidditch going?” Hermione then said, turning to Ginny. 

“Training is good, I guess,” Ginny said. “Though I want to get out playing.”

“When will you play?” Ron asked.

Ginny shrugged. “When they need me. Probably not this season, though. Maybe next.”

“Well, whenever it’s your first game, let us know,” Hermione said. “We’ll all come to see.”

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny said, eyes widening slightly, “I never even thought about family coming to watch…”

“You’ll be fine,” Harry said, patting her on the back. “You’ll do great. I keep telling you that. You’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

Ginny smiled. “I hope so.”

They were then joined by Molly, Arthur, Bill, and Fleur, all equally dressed up in Muggle clothing. Ron was pleasantly surprised to find his parents had managed to find items that matched, though he did wonder if Audrey had helped them. She always seemed amused by wizarding style, especially those of her future inlaws. Arthur’s attempts, especially, to dress more casually had always ended in disaster. 

While Arthur also wore a plain black suit, Molly wore an ankle-length floral dress that really suited her. 

Everyone, in Ron's opinion, had done well to not stand out. 

"This is exciting, isn't it?" Arthur said, grinning from ear to ear. "I've already spoken to three Muggles along the way! One is a doctor. A Muggle Healer! He was more than happy to share with me all the details of an operation — you know, when they cut someone open. Fascinating stuff!"

"Yes, fascinating being cut open," Molly said with a sigh. "Not what I'd want to happen to me."

"Isn't that what your parents do, Hermione?" Arthur asked.

"They treat teeth," Hermione reminded him. "They don't cut — well, I suppose they've had to cut some teeth out of gums before, but nothing more than that. They’ve retired anyway."

“Fascinating!" Arthur said. "I really must remember to invite them for dinner one night and pick their brains about it." He glanced sideways to where Audrey's parents stood talking to their own family, suddenly looking disappointed. "I don't think they are as interested in sharing their stories as your parents are, Hermione."

Everyone turned to look at the couple, Audrey's mum still wearing a sour expression. 

"We are having lunch with them tomorrow," Hermione said, and everyone looked back at her. "Mum and Dad, I mean. Why don't you join us? They won't mind. You too, Molly."

"Oh, dear, I'm sure they don't want us intruding in on a family —"

"They'll be delighted," Hermione said kindly, and Ron suspected that was not the answer his mother wanted to hear.

"Then we accept!" Arthur said cheerfully. "I'll get the address from you later, and we will be there with bells on!"

"Not real bells, I hope," Ginny said, snorting.

"It's a Muggle phrase," Arthur explained. "It means we'll be there promptly. Eagerly..."

More guests gradually filled the hall to the point that Ron estimated around three hundred people, the vast majority being family or friends of Audrey's parents. Charlie and George joined them as some of the last to arrive. 

Ron spotted a few of Percy's friends from Hogwarts mixed with the crowd, but no one he knew more personally apart from the people who sat at his table. 

At least he’d be more prepared for the wedding, which was scheduled for November this year. 

One thing they could all agree on was that the food was good. Like everything else with Audrey's family, they'd hired only the best caterers to provide the food. It was three courses and all of them were as tasty as the next. 

As he didn't know anyone else here, Ron was glad he could at least enjoy the food. 

“You know,” Ron began, setting down his knife and fork from the main meal of chicken and potatoes, served elegantly on his plate, “I’m actually looking forward to the wedding now if it’s going to be like this.” He cast his eyes over to the table where Percy and Audrey sat with her parents and Audrey’s brother and sister. Percy appeared to fit in perfectly with them all, sitting straight, taking small bites, looking rather serious. Ron smirked. “And it looks like Percy has found the perfect family for him — more respectable our mischievous bunch.”

“Ron!” his mother scolded, though she did cast a nervous glance Percy’s way — as if she wondered if Percy might have been happier with the family he’d found with Audrey. 

Music had played through the whole evening, and as people began to finish their main courses, some ventured out onto the dance floor. They weren’t a bunch of dancers, these people, and honestly, the music wasn’t that great anyway, but it seemed to entice the rowdier people, including Bill and Fleur, Harry and Ginny, and even Molly and Arthur. 

“Maybe we should dance, too,” Hermione said to Ron, her eyes following Harry and Ginny as Ginny dragged Harry away.

“With this music?” Ron asked, scoffing. “No thanks.” He smiled at her as George also stood up, perhaps in search of a drink. “Though, I did like dancing with you at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Bill’s a lot more fun than Percy, though.”

Hermione returned his smile. “I liked that, too. I think about that often.”

Ron stared at her. “You do?” They hadn’t even really been together then, and neither of them had brought it up until now. He’d always thought for her, it had just been a dance, and for him… for him it had been a moment where he’d contemplated kissing her, but hadn’t. He’d liked being alone with her, touching her... and the fact that she’d still chosen to dance with him with Krum as an option had pleased him more than he’d ever admit. 

“Of course!” Hermione said. “It’s the only time we’ve ever danced together.”

“We’ve never been anywhere to dance since then,” Ron reasoned, though he was being convinced by just her presence and her words. 

“Well, now we have an excuse,” Hermione said, and she offered her hand to him from where they sat. “Dance with me?”

For a long moment, Ron watched her, unable to hide his smile. She was the most beautiful, amazing person in the whole world and he just loved her so damn much. Not a moment went by where he didn’t want to hold her, or kiss her, or run his fingers through her crazy hair. He thought the absolute world of her, and in their two years together, his feelings had only gotten stronger. 

Tonight, they were celebrating the engagement of his brother, but soon, Ron hoped everyone would be celebrating for him and Hermione. He wanted to marry her. As she smiled back at him, hand proffered, looking radiant under the light, he made up his mind. 

“I can’t come to lunch tomorrow,” he said abruptly. 

Hermione lowered her hand and frowned, understandably confused by the sudden change in subject. “I’m sorry?”

“I just remembered — I have some work to catch up on. Didn’t finish it in the time frame and it’s due on Monday... sorry.”

“Oh, well… I’ve already invited your parents…” She eyed him suspiciously, like she knew he was lying. 

“Great, then you’ll have company!” Ron now offered his hand to her. “I accept your request to dance. I love dancing with you.” He grinned. 

Hermione watched him for a moment, as if she was trying to work out what he was up to. But even if she did, she said nothing, instead taking his hand and jumping to her feet. 

As they weaved through the tables to reach the dance floor, Ron could only smile like an idiot. He was going to ask Hermione to marry him, and he was going to do it with the finest ring he could find. 

[shianhygge-imagines]

REQUEST: FFVII Dating Headcanons [Angeal Hewley]

AN: You know? Haven’t written much of anything for FFVII but these headcanons since my high school years... and I say high school years like it’s been soooo long... but that was literally only five years ago.... But you know... Angeal... I’ve always wanted to hug Angeal... always wanted to smack him, too... i seem to want to slap all the FIRST Class SOLDIERs....

Sometimes I mutter, “Embrace your dreams... and protect your honor.” and promptly break down in tears. I know it’s a Zack quote, but Angeal planted it in his head dammit. As you can tell, I’m still traumatized from Crisis Core. I’D LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR HOW LATE THIS IS!

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ I’m going to be honest, everyone... I’ve always imagined Angeal to be the most straight-laced and normal out of the SOLDIER First Class trio, so it’s kinda weird now that I’m actually trying to write a headcanon for him... I’m going to do my best, though, because he deserves just as much love as Sephiroth, Zack, and Genesis do. ~ Manly man. the Manliest man you will ever meet without being an obnoxious manly man. does that make sense? Probably not... >.>

~ This self sacrificing stupid wholesome hunk of a short sighed idiot (;.;) Is the gentleman of the FIRST Class trio that we all love to hate (or hate to love) so much. Angeal always has his friends’ backs... dealing with problems that probably shouldn’t even involve him in the first place.

~ Oh hey... Genesis needs an alibi to skip a social event full of adoring fans? Sure! No problem! Angeal’ll host a last minute dinner party for his friends so that his childhood best friend doesn’t have to spend an entire night dodging marriage proposals.

~ What? Sephiroth fled his apartment after coitus because he didn’t want to deal with a woman’s tears from being asked to leave?... 

“Sephiroth...” The use of his given name instead of a nickname is a telling sign of Angeal’s disapproval as the SOLDIER General leans against a shadowy alley, cell phone pressed to his ear. “I can’t keep kicking those girls out of your apartment. Maybe you should let her stay the night... maybe even have breakfast with her?”

The General grits his teeth, remembering the events earlier in the night before shaking his head, “Angeal... not her. Can you please, just... do something? I promise I’ll sit down and have breakfast with the next one.” There’s a heavy sigh from the other side of the phone, and Sephiroth knows that he’d won.

~ And that was how Angeal Hewley ended up walking into Sephiroth’s apartment with a bouquet of apology flowers and comforted the sobbing girl that his friend had abandoned in his apartment.

~ This is actually how Angeal gained most of his fans, and how the “Keepers of Honor” was founded.

~ Now, you may be wondering... oh! You’re probably one of the women that Angeal had to escort out of Sephiroth’s apartment with apologies on his lips! Or perhaps you’re one of the women’s friend? Mmmmmhmmm... nope.

~ You’re actually the one who made the bouquets that Angeal brings as apologies.

~ You don’t really care much about SOLDIERs in general, preferring to go about your life as a relatively normal civilian. The flower shop that you work at is owned by your family, and while you have always worked in the shop with your family, you didn’t start to pay attention to any of the faces that passed through until you were old enough to learn the meanings behind the elegant beauties that your parents worked so hard to maintain.

~ Eventually, your family decided that you should man the till for walk in orders. And it is while you work these shifts that you start to notice a rather tall man with raven hair enter the shop right before you closed the shop for the night, requesting bouquets that conveyed the sincerest of apologies. ~ One night, after seeing the man appear for the third time that week, you raised a brow at him and inquired:

“You always seem to be apologizing...” You knew that it wasn’t any of your business, but apologizing every few days with a bouquet of expensive flowers was excessive and a sign of a failing relationship. “Scorned lover?”

The question startled the taller man as he watched you move around the store, pulling bloom after bloom to put together another bouquet for him that week. It’s the first time you notice his eyes... and the subtle glow of Mako accenting them. The man, who you identified as a SOLDIER coughed in embarrassment before shaking his head, a kind smile on his lips. “No. They’re not for a lover... They’re for...” His brows furrow in thought, “for my friend’s... lovers.” You raise your brows, baffled as you arrange the flowers before wrapping them. “Sounds like your friend’s a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” type, aren’t they?” There’s an air of exhaustion and defeat on the man’s face as he moves to take out his wallet, pulling Gil from the pouch to pay for the expensive bundle. “You could say that.” “Why do you have to apologize for them though?” You wonder under your breath, not intending for him to hear you over the crinkling of the foil as you tied the ribbon on the outside and turned around with the completed bouquet in your hands. Glowing blue eyes met your own, a patient and gentle expression in place instead of what you expected to be annoyance. “My friend has a lot on his shoulders, and his upraising wasn’t the best. Even though it’s a bit of an inconvenience for me, I’m glad that he’s able to rely on me as he learns...” the man smirks, and you can’t help but find him charmingly handsome as the smile lights up his features. “Even if he’s a little slow at understanding things.” His hand extends to hand you the payment for your hard work, but you shake your head and extend the bouquet to him, pushing the handful of Gil back towards the SOLDIER. “It’s on the house.” The confused look on his face brings you great amusement as you shoo him out the door. “You’re a good friend, stranger. Just keep doing what you’re doing. And feel free to stop by any time you need to apologize for your friend. If I’m working that night, the bouquet’s on me.” He allows you to usher him out of the shop and turns just as you lean against the side of the door. “I.... that’s not necessary...” He falters, not knowing your name. “Y/N” You supply with a laugh before turning to walk back into the flower shop. “You better head back, SOLDIER, I heard that you guys had curfews.” “My name’s Angeal.” 

The SOLDIER calls out to your retreating form, giving you pause before turning your body to look at him one last time before the door closed. “Goodnight, Angeal.”

~ After that night, you were frequently visited by Angeal... most of the time, it was to pick up a bouquet and have a quick chat with you... but there were times where Angeal would appear halfway through you shift, bringing you dinner. (This was, of course, after you told him that you often skipped meals during your shifts).

~ It’s during these visits that you started to learn that he was a SOLDIER First Class, though he was surprised that you didn’t seem to care that he was friends with the great General Sephiroth or Genesis Rhapsodos. Angeal was surprised to find that your interest in his friends was just the amusing image of the mighty SOLDIER General running away from sobbing women

~ Eventually, Angeal bought less and less bouquets (due to Sephiroth calming down in his escapades), and the simple visits turned into long conversations, nights where the SOLDIER walked you home when he didn’t have an urgent mission, and just times where you two enjoyed one another’s company.

~ Neither of you put much thought into your relationship, and there wasn’t a dramatic reveal of feelings. It just seemed normal and right to slip into one another’s life. A seamless transition from sitting close to leaning against one another, to holding hands, to intimate nuzzling, to light chaste kisses...

~ Before you know it, you’re being asked to move in with Angeal... his official proclamation that you two are in a relationship.

~ It’s awfully domestic between the two of you. The apartment is full of flowers and other plants due to the fact that you both shared a love of flora, and the chores are often split... with Angeal cooking and cleaning whenever he has the day off, and you taking care of the days in between.

~ Angeal is a romantic... though not a dramatic one... and he’ll never miss a chance to tell you how much he loves you.

~ He’s the type to pamper you with chaste kisses at every private moment that you have together, putting your priorities first. Always.

~ He often feels guilty that he doesn’t spend enough time with you. That you’re taking on the burden of taking care of so many chores when he’s away. And you have to fight to reassure Angeal that you’re happy with him... that you wouldn’t trade your relationship with him for the world.

~ There are times where his work life bleeds into his personal life... Sephiroth and Genesis meddling with your relationship, being one thing... and when Angeal decided to mentor one lovable puppy of a teen named Zack Fair... but it’s almost like another family.

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Argh! Let me just wallow in my despair, he’s such a perfect husband ;.;

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 24

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 24: Think of the Children

“Before we begin, I have been informed by First Order High Command and the Supreme Leader this morning that per our discussion yesterday I have an update on the child restriction policy. Earth will become a two-child planet in 5 years' time. Any child conceived before that deadline will be grandfathered in. There may be exceptions to this case but otherwise, the Supreme Leader’s decision is final,” said Dr. Koroban.

Wait what? Kylo made this decision? In the beginning, it felt like he trusted you, with your own planet. But now you were beginning to see the truth, that the man behind the mask was the same man with the mask. If only he knew what repercussions were going to happen with this policy, he might then change his mind.

“So our discussion yesterday had no meaning. Do any of our discussions have meaning then? Are all of our decisions going to be overruled by the Supreme Leader,” asked the Surgeon General.

“The Supreme Leader has the final word on any decision we make. If he doesn’t like something he will change it. As is his right to do so. Need I remind you that speaking ill of the Supreme Leader is a crime. So beware of your thoughts and actions,” said General Pryde.

The three health officials shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They didn’t like being called out—no one did.

“Gentlemen,” said Dr. Koroban pointedly. “The purpose of this committee is to make decisions on Earth’s health. Our decisions go back to the Supreme Leader. If he likes something he will keep it, but if he doesn’t it is well within his right to change it. He takes all of our recommendations, now are we going to continue this discussion or is this meeting something you would like to end?”

All three of them looked to each other and then quickly to you before speaking quietly among themselves. “We would like to end these meetings as we see that Lady Ren may give the Supreme Leader any insight into what our planet may prefer.” And with that, the health officials threw you under a bus. They were leaving these important decisions for you. Someone who as of a few days ago was happily working in a small marketing firm, now you were making decisions for a whole planet.

“Very well then I suppose you are dismissed,” replied Dr. Koroban. The three health officials all got up and left. You just kept your gaze down on your folded hands in your lap. Secretly you hoped you became invisible.

Once they had left the room and the door was shut once more Dr. Dabrini spoke to you, “Lady Ren, you do not have to make any decisions you are not comfortable with. We can find others who will give us insight into how to best handle healthcare on your planet.”

You did not respond right away, the room was silent. When you did speak up there was hidden confidence in your tone, “But it is my planet. There are things that none of you understand. While I do not know galactic history like you all do, I do know enough of the history of my own planet to know that some of the First Order decisions will not go over well.”

“My lady, the reason the Supreme Leader changed the decision on the child policy is for the betterment of your planet. Your planet as we see now, if it continues growing as it has will be overpopulated very soon. In fact, many areas are. We are just trying to make sure your planet is healthy,” said General Pryde. “In fact much the First Order High Command wanted the child policy to go into effect immediately but the Supreme Leader wanted your planet to get used to First Order rule.”

How kind. Just enough time for everyone to be thoroughly brainwashed before it kicks in. Or just enough time for everyone to be thoroughly afraid to call to any action against First Order rule. You buried those thoughts deep within your mind. Even though Kylo was in Moscow, you didn’t know how his Force mind-reading thing worked and you did not want him getting even angrier with you.

“So shall we still go with the plan that we encourage birth control in women and before the law goes into effect, some encouragement to have fewer children. Other than that no one should object to STD screenings or anything else of the sort. I imagine there will be some people objecting to monogamy but then again they are against the vast majority of this planet anyways. Someone else should assist me with finding things on this in the Library of Congress,” you stated.

“Of course Lady Ren, I believe Petty Officer Ersela Tanau will be able to assist you in that endeavor,” said General Pryde. A young female officer stepped forward and bowed to you.

“I believe there is nothing else needed to be discussed today, but tonight I will come up with a list of anything else we may need to go over and send it out to you all,” said Dr. Koroban.

With that everyone left. You, Lieutenant Mitaka, Petty Officer Ersela Tanau, and General Pryde boarded the shuttle to take you to the library once again. Once there you, the general and petty officer all went your separate ways.

You combed the resources for what seemed like hours. You came up with some simple videos and posters. You knew they would most likely need to be approved by someone on the Supremacy so you were not as worried this time.

Good Eating Habits (1951)

Eating for Health (1954)

Vintage Army Nutrition for U.S. Soldiers

Weight Reduction Through Diet (1951)

"Cheers For Chubby" Overweight & Healthy Diet 1950s PSA

1950's - How To Eat Healthy - Diet & Nutrition

Feeling proud of your digging you turn to the lieutenant and ask if there is anywhere you could go for lunch. To which he just informed you that you could go anywhere and that it would be taken care of.

“Is there anything that you would like lieutenant,” you ask him.

“Ma’am we can go where ever you wish.”

“But I am asking you if there is anything you would like. Are there any earth foods you would like to try?”

The lieutenant paused at this question. If you could peer into his mind you swear you could see cogs turning. Or maybe some little men running around with papers in their hands panicking and running into each other. You could definitely tell this was not a question he knew how to answer.

“Ok. How about we go to an old fashioned American diner? If you are used to what the starships serve than this will be a change.”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like to go to one now?”

“I think that would be most preferable,” you respond. You looked up a local diner on your phone. It was at this moment that you forgot that General Pryde would have to accompany you, for your ‘safety.’ Loading up into the shuttle was you, Petty Officer Tanau, Lieutenant Mitaka, General Pryde, and your golden guard Commander Pyre and his stormtroopers.

Rolling up to the diner you could tell that the people milling about outside and inside were shocked at what was happening. You had to admit it was probably a sight to see a relatively normal-looking person surrounded by loads of First Order personnel. Overall lunch was pretty uneventful other than the diner basically clearing out after your arrival. All three officers ordered burgers and fries for the first time, while the commander insisted that his ‘troops were ok and would eat at a later time.

You all head back to the shuttle that takes you back up to the Steadfast. The lieutenant informed you that your laptop was back from wherever he had sent it off to. You made it back to your chambers as you still had some time before your daily tutoring session with General Hux.

You received a message from Kylo, ‘I will not be back until tomorrow evening. Lieutenant Mitaka has been ordered to get you whatever you may need.’

You decided you still weren’t in the mood to talk to him after the events of last night and his lack of informing you of his decision this morning. The lieutenant informed you that the general was ready for your next lesson. You made your way down to the conference room once again, where the red-haired man was pacing about. He seemed to also be in a mood today.

“General? May I ask you a question that is slightly unrelated to the topic before we begin?”

“Yes,” he responded with annoyance in his voice.

“General Pryde told me that he was a founding member of the First Order. Why didn’t you mention this?”

“Ah, I see,” you could tell there was something about this that turned on a switch in his brain. “Pryde is just that, prideful. While he was good friends with my father and Rae Sloane one argues why is he still here and they are not. I can answer that simply. He may have been from their time, but he has not helped the First Order as they have. The sacrifices they made. Their achievements. He is, was apart of the Empire before the fall. He holds onto that, he can’t move past that. He is stuck in time with no realism for the future,” said the general with disgust for the subject.

“Is this why you are Allegiant General and he is not,” you ask.

“One of the reasons. The other is that my achievements in my shorter military career outweigh his. That and Supreme Leader Ren and I have a history. Maybe not the best history, but he can generally trust my opinions and work ethic. Also although Ren likes his grandfather he wants to achieve more than him, so comparisons here and there are fine but practically obsessing over their similarities has proven to be too much for the Supreme Leader.”

“His grandfather?”

“Yes the late and triumphant Lord Vader. That is something I believe that the Supreme Leader will discuss with you when he believes you are ready. For now, let us stick to the topics at hand.”

Oh great, you were sure that the discussion of his grandfather might go over as well as the discussion of his parents. But if the general was so sure that Kylo might actually speak of it, then you should trust him. After all, Kylo trusts him more than Pryde, so that has to mean something.

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 17

Cuddling had shifted to dancing back home once a tiny determined cloud grew to drizzle across your lands causing you to blow out the candles and gather up the blankets and such to carry home again. A shift the following day however had you all grumbling your ways off to bed though. Half lazy kisses melted into dozing nuzzling closer with James half asleep across your chest with legs tangled in yours at your head drooping into your pillow with an adorable grin still lingering at your feeling his own heart shaped ring on his ring finger.

In his own impatience to share the link he had added to the knotted wedding band he had chosen with a ring his father had purchased for his own use. Black strips of golden bands woven with white gold diamond coated bands around a purple heart shaped stone. His father’s take on a claddagh ring seated facing out to mark you were engaged. For some the ring was a bit premature and odd but up in this secluded town most men once their dames had said yes that wedding band went on and didn’t come off unless work called for it. None too afraid to add colored stones or something sentimental to their partners worn shamelessly with great pride at being marked same as their partners. Where your heart stone was larger than his the band decorations evened them out, yours sleeker to be less bulky for you while his was perfect for him to always feel the weight of it like a mini hug from you until he could return to your side for a real one.

Sunrise stirred you and across James’ shoulder blade your fingers grazed until a reminding tilt of the heavy stone had your left hand raised slightly to admire the ring in the light causing it to shine. So much more than you had ever expected while growing up, most women sticking to simple golden bands or the odd diamond for the more wealthy of the men they were claimed by. The brothers certainly had more than enough to grant you this stunning heirloom ring you couldn’t have dreamed of. But then again it did seem fitting, being paired in such a public relationship you hoped didn’t mean your wedding would be publicized as well, not to mention the fact the brothers had been dubbed ‘old money’ and well off allowing great comfort to your future.

A low chuckle from the man in your arms had your hand lowering again to his bare back, a move making him hum out, “No early morning doubts?”

Angling your head to catch his slightly dazed grin in the tilt of his head, “Just never thought I’d get a ring like this.”

Closing the distance his lips met yours and he said, “Call me old fashioned, if it isn’t huge the other dames won’t be jealous. And you deserve to have some envy skewed your way, My Love.”

“You won’t get flac for yours?”

His brows inched up playfully in a smirking reply, “You haven’t noticed most of the men in town wear two rings? We flaunt our engagement too. Rightfully so. If you mean the color or cut no doubt if any would dare insult it they would meet the business end of my claws.”

“You would-,”

“Oh I would. No one insults you or my displays of affection for you.” After a moment he shifted to lay on his side curling you back to his chest cradling your hand to weave his fingers with yours allowing you both to admire the ring again. “You do like the ring?”

“I love it. It’ll take some getting used to. Certainly an eye grabber back in New York no doubt.”

“If you like I’ll have one of us with you always to make sure no one tries to snatch it.”

The seriousness of his tone wavered at your smirk, “I can tear tanks in half, I pity the man trying to take it from me. It’s never coming off my finger unless I’m baking or building something. Even then I’m magnetizing it to something heavy.”

Lowly he chuckled, “Their panic would be amusing, all the same, I love you, and I want you to feel comfortable wearing it.”

“I am. It does have a nice weight to it. Used to have this penny mood ring, had to be tin, didn’t feel right.”

“It means a lot, can’t tell you how many times I imagined how you might take to the old thing. Just feels right, us being the ones to wear them.”

“Yes it does.” The alarm sounded and another kiss was stolen on your way to readying for your shifts once breakfast was through.

Bashful grins lingered and timid glances stolen in the time and drive you had to the diner where the brothers would leave you and Eddie. Another warm kiss was stolen and out he slid to help you down wishing you a good day watching you head inside.

Though halfway down the street James was exhaling to calm down before the guys would no doubt spot the ring he would be adding to the chain with his dog tags around his neck to keep it safe joining the group ritual. Smirking to himself once they had parked knowing the grins he would get in picking you up. Your reaction was a startling scream from one of the girls across the room luring the rest to pool in around you and your giggling slightly bashful self sharing how he had proposed leaving the girls dreamy eyed until huffs sounded and the sharing had to be paused for now at the entrance of a duo of trucks pulling up.

.

“Now,” Dot smirked easing your hand closer to her with a loop of her fingers around your wrist, “You have to tell me, did you pick the ring, or did he?”

Softly you giggled brushing your bangs behind your ears, “It’s been in their family since the early 1800’s, same as the ring he’s wearing. Apparently thought to be absurd by the woman meant to have worn it, just been sitting around and he had it resized for me. Might have been absurd for her, but it’s more than I could have dreamed of for how we grew up.”

Dot’s cousin came over, “It certainly is a stunner. No doubt it will go phenomenally with your dress and those girls in Barnard won’t be able to close their jaws. Put them and their city money to shame with that.”

Dot asked with a plotting grin, “Did you hear about the new films Marie got her hubby to order for this month?”

You shook your head and the excited gasp they had expected escaped you in hearing it was That Hamilton Woman with a lesser known to you film called Fantasia. Your favorite black and white film, a topic also brought up by the men in the mill who all knew through the ladies that Marie had been trying to get it in town before you were leaving. For how long he had avoided romances just hearing that you loved the film, that Eddie had snuck you into the film back before the war, James grew more excited to see it with you. Between bouts of their studying up on building codes and manuals they had ordered date nights and monthly film nights when new films were brought to town.

.

A bout of storms pushed your packing ahead of schedule and loaded up the truck was aimed for a much shorter trip to Brooklyn than the last time. Post prepping trip to Brooklyn for paperwork and ensuring things were in order from the brothers for a two day trip you were all eager to be back again. Once again the same apartment sat waiting for you and Eddie was off with relatives to help out in the pool hall. While you, in your t shirt under a mostly buttoned work shirt complete with trousers and boots, wound up your braided bun with a bandana to keep your bangs from your face guiding the guys to the town hardware shop. The pair of them in matching boots, trousers, mostly open work shirts and tank tops showing underneath they would strip to once inside the apartment.

Most of the tools had been brought with you, however a few were still needed and to their surprise the pair saw just how your community stuck together. From upholstery, paint, even the little knickknack shop by the drug store were all eager to help a fellow Irish Catholic from the town to fix up their home while other buildings had been scooped up by outsiders. Each community kept to their own and even with the guys as the technically legal owners it was made clear you were to live there, and child of two Irish immigrants and a war hero to boot were to be protected by your own.

Outside the building a giant metal dumpster sat with a chute settled inside a window feeding into it and in the garage on the side the truck was parked. Lowly Victor hummed out, “And here I was expecting some fight in this.”

Smirking at him while grabbing as many tools as you could you replied, “We keep to our own. Irish immigrants have to stick together, can’t let anyone boot us out of our homes or businesses.” Victor up front unlocked the door leading the way inside to unload everything and turn again to grab another load.

James said, “Good thing about the block being in construction the neighbors won’t complain about our noise.”

“As long as we are at Mass Wednesdays and Sundays they won’t care.”

Victor, “Every week? You up for that?”

“Steve missed one Mass when we were kids and Mrs Cahn was out for blood. Wasn’t till everyone found out he was having his appendix removed and we were in the hospital that she calmed and got the whole congregation to pool what they could to help.”

James smirked, “Why does that not sound like the end of that?”

In a giggle you replied, “He couldn’t so much as sneeze without her glaring at him from then on. He was given a stern warning from her.” Making the pair chuckle, “You don’t have-,”

The pair said, “We’re going.”

James stole a kiss on your cheek eyeing the ring on the chain with your dog tags around your neck poking out under your shirt, “As long as you are happy with it we will all keep up with Mass.”

Victor nodded, “Don’t let our lapsing tarnish your own wishes for your beliefs. Hold tight to that as long as you can. We know how dark things can get when you break with that.”

The final things were brought in and up to the top floor with mallets and hammers in hand you were on your way up to the top floor as James said, “Best to start from the top down.”

Inside the first apartment there Victor said, “Jimmy will handle the doors, shelving and cabinets first, I will mark off where the studs are and you can get started on punching out the spots between them.”

You nodded and in the first corner he tapped the wall and using a pencil marked a three foot space that James showed you how hard to hit to punch a hole through the drywall. Chunks for how high you could reach were pulled out and added to a tarp on the floor the guys would take to be dumped through the chute into the dumpster with the final sections higher out of your reach to be taken down by them. The shoddy job on wiring and pipes sorely in need of replacing became all the clearer with dust clearing with help from all the open windows. Using ladders a few spots in the ceiling were broken open as well to check what the condition of the beams and oddly colored patches had been hiding.

Floor by floor you spread their smirks at your determined status on wanting to help with the demo and as much of the build as possible even if it just meant clearing up after the crews. A job they greatly supported hoping that this would not be another of their homes you would be moving into, it was very much in fact yours, outside of the legal aspect of course that with you under 21 with no male to back your ownership claims past your fiancé of course. Legally you were short handed and they had to wait before your name could be added to the deed, after your birthday and the wedding to have it be in all three of your names. Eddie was clear it was yours and he was glad to just be welcome to stay with you all and refused to claim a piece of it as legally he could always claim a patch of his own somewhere whenever he wished, quite unfairly in their eyes at the continued barriers you had to face.

Added chutes for trash and laundry were among the tiny touches that you were a bit excited to have and show off to others that the rich kids in town had bragged about. This whole building was to be yours and any touch you wanted to try and fluff it up they would try to ensure that they could get them included in the group home. A nearly to be demolished patch of door frame was noticed and pointed out to James by Victor to be saved for later, markings of your heights growing up that was set safely away from the rest of the scrap piles of wood to be sorted through later for possible reuse. Anything possibly able to keep a piece of your mother and a glimmer of happiness from your childhood was added to the pile.

Nearly to lunch you had reached the end of the second floor when loud knocks sounded on the front door. Victor said, “Good, should be the inspector.”

That had your stomach clenching knowing who would be sent for this district, who most certainly would be aiming to hinder the process and gouge whoever he was sent to inspect. “I thought you wouldn’t need an inspector until after the repairs were through.”

Victor turned for the door as James said, “One before you get started with crews too.”

A chuckle came from Victor as you muttered, “This won’t be good.”

Leaning in James kissed your cheek murmuring, “I love you.”

Peering up at him you gave him a curious grin, “I love you.”

Quickly his lips met yours in a sweet kiss and he said, “We have prepped. Leave it to us.”

Though with a nudge he guided you to finish up the last section of the floor while Victor reached the door greeting the dressed up Italian inspector you could hear from upstairs and upon completing the last section of wall you went down to meet him. “Hi, Vinny Tortelli, Mr-,”

“Victor Creed.” Down the steps you came and the man looked you both over, “My brother Jimmy and his fiancé Bunny.”

Vinny looked you over, “I know you. That nurse’s kid.”

You flashed him a quick grin, “Yes.”

“Heard you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

He looked you over again then said, “Best start from the top.” Walking to head up the stairs to search each room. Every little thing he made sure to shake his head and make it known that he was going to fail the building until he got to the main floor again saying, “Clearly, it’s almost a teardown. As soon as you get a certified architect to sign off on the design plans and hire a contractor to head the rebuild I’ll sign off on the permit.”

Victor proudly finally having his chance to speak up for you all said, “They have been signed off. We have a notarized letter to validate that and I am a certified contractor. We’ve already filed the permits and the crew arrives tomorrow.” Displeased after checking out their papers to be legit he signed his name to the sheet he tore from his book and handed it over to Victor.

His eyes switched to you and he asked, “I would have thought it to be cleaner with you here.” At that your brow arched and he said, “Usually dames don’t get involved with builds.”

James said, “We are managing the build while Bunny is the owner, ensuring we stay on time and budget.”

Vinny’s tongue clicked in looking at you again and smirked saying, “No doubt you’ll be running over both then. You’ll need all the luck in the world.” Turning for the door that on the other side of started to cackle making you roll your eyes.

Victor rumbled, “Where’s squishy when you need him?”

Shaking your head you sighed only to feel James kissing your cheek again, “Now that we have the sign off to start work we can head off to lunch then get back to check the back yard. Tomorrow the work is mainly rough and detailed for specialists so if you wouldn’t mind working in the yard while we just shell the place-,”

You shook your head, “No I’m good with that. I wouldn’t want to slow things down.”

James said, “When we start to get back into moving walls and re-plastering we’ll show how to do it. We aren’t bumping you out, Love.”

.

Down the street you all dropped into the diner there for a meal and shared news of what you had accomplished so far. Back again the overgrown green knot of a patch of land you sat on the back steps with a notepad to sketch out possible ideas you could get managed the following day after trying to mark up what it did look like and what might be buried there. Hard and rough the overgrown plants were torn free by the pair while you used a copper pipe you sharpened the side of to slice through more and more. Cut down decently the courtyard sat with in an approved barrel by the fire department you watched the largest of bushes and branches burning down to ashes for the hour they allowed before dumping a bucket of water on top of it.

Yawning widely you drove back to the apartment after locking up to shower, change and have the dinner Eddie had fixed up for you three. Tired and sore you stretched out in bed with eyes drooping through James’ easing out behind you wrapping you in his arms in a press of his lips to your cheek. “Love you,”

You sighed out and were gone making him chuckle bringing you closer to his chest to hum back, “I love you more, Darling.” Closing his eyes to get some rest before the early morning to meet the first crew coming to help them.

The hefty breakfast nearly didn’t last you to lunch, and under the gazes of the curious crew members wondering what you were up to alone in the yard digging out the pathways and courtyard you used a broom and buckets of water to uncover the haphazard stones forming the seating area. Across from that the raised yard that would need some new stairs, the grass was cut more with the help of a couple kids the Brocks sent over once they heard what you were up to with push mowers aiding the task. Bushes were revealed and a line of hedges badly needing to be trimmed. Taking a break once you’d done all you thought you could achieve the men tried to pretend they hadn’t been watching and got back to work as you browsed through the house seeing the plumbing being checked and each ruined piece being switched out while the wiring was being removed altogether.

A second team along with James was checking the floors while Victor showed another the beams and supports needing to be swapped out. For the inspector’s hopes to hinder the supply chain and delay further with connections in Canada to keep from being ripped off and confirming a limitless supply out of the hands of the people here to restrict how easily you were able to complete the job. Catching you wandering James called you over to show you how they had tested the wood and the marked patches they would have to tear up before showing you into the kitchen of the first apartment to start hammering up the tile. What was assumed to be cheap laminate was even cheaper tile you chiseled away with a screwdriver and hammer creating a growing pile of rubble you used a dustpan to pour onto the tarp laid out for it.

Sheer determination had the full floor’s tile was torn up and dropped into the chute before the crew and you broke for a meal. With the tile torn back more plumbing was available for the guys to check and jumping in to help James and Victor helped to clear the other floors quicker, though oddly enough the main floor had the laminate on badly bowing wood. Beams would be coming in the following day and by the end of the week the boiler was swapped out along with most of the pipes. The fuse box was moved to a safe location away from the boiler and you were tasked to help with the crew replacing bad chunks of the floor. Mainly fetching and helping to steady certain planks while tools were being traded before Victor called you over to aid in moving some walls after support beams were settled in place to be removed once the new walls were secured.

The focus for weeks was the foundations of the house and with wood, pipes and wiring checked you were cleared to add the insulation after your day of helping installs some new windows and metal bars for the outside of them that gave you a good idea. With the old pipes just laying around and nails discarded with metal odds and ends on a late night with the blessing of the brothers you began to lace a thick layer of metal on the inside of the bricks in the small gaps left in construction. After his shifts Eddie would drop by and it was Venom to catch onto the addition and race off into the night to fetch more suitable metal to help finish fortifying the home. But much to the irritation of the inspector his job was complete as it was mainly cosmetic now.

New tiles and carpets came with the fixtures for the bathrooms and kitchens. Laundry room was the last to be customized before you got to help in hanging the new drywall helping the crews get to aiding James in installing new shelves and cabinets. Victor however broke James’ fifth stolen moments of lovingly staring at you in a gleefully proud mood in helping on the build to show you the now functioning laundry and garbage chutes earning a tight hug from you and a chuckle from him.

Paint and wallpaper was the next step once everything was built and mounted into place sending the crews back home again. Heavily you dropped into bed and seeing how hard you had been pushing yourself to help the men so used to these jobs. At the foot of the bed James knelt grinning at you in the cradling of one of your aching feet, “Thank you,”

“You know I love giving you massages.” He hummed.

“I meant for not teasing me about my smashing my thumb and nearly crying at splitting my nail.”

Holding back a smirk he replied, “We have all been there. It is excruciating.”

“I didn’t cry when I got shot.”

Lowly he chuckled folding both hands around your foot to deepen the massage, “Thumbs toes and elbows, breed all their own on scales for pain.” After a pause he hummed out, “You have been magnificent, you know that. More than half the teens to help on our old jobs didn’t pick things up half as fast as you. All the crews saw that, and were very impressed.”

Ghosting a smirk across your lips you asked, “Are you trying to bolster my ego?”

“Perhaps, first though, I know you are sore, full rub down then snuggles and breakfast in bed.”

Shaking your head you said, “If only you from five years ago could see you now.”

James’ grin split wider, “He would have had proof there was something to keep pushing for past helping the world through another war. Some magic ball of impossible to have pulled our broken selves back together again.”

“I was talking about your lost scowl.” Making him chuckle again, “So serious, determined to scowl your way through the days.”

“Easier to keep from grinning at you like an idiot that way.”

“Nazi’s would have been terrified.”

“Oh yes they would, you tearing their planes from the sky and me smiling chasing after you.” Over every inch of you he massaged your aching muscles until he had eased under the covers he had pulled up over you in the drooping of your eyes. One more lingering kiss in the cupping of your cheek and he nestled closer holding you to his chest allowing you to drape across it clinging to the warm body easing more around you.

Clamping his eyes shut every moment he allowed to seep into his memory, taking up yet another chance to just hold you in belonging to one another. Traded rings on one another’s fingers, so close to being publicly official. But none of that mattered, because he’d been there staring at a pine box holding his family, one by one buried except for Victor. Every injury, every bullet you had taken, even today in hitting your now silver thumb so hard on a slipped board you split your nail squeaking out in pain and on the edge of tears he prayed so hard. Harder than he ever had, that it meant like them you would be here, his, because he would be yours always. Even if it ended in another pine box he wouldn’t waste a moment with not loving you.

.

“Jaqi,” Victor practically growled out lowly so only you could hear when you reached the kitchen for breakfast as James was finding a shirt that wasn’t torn or coated in dust. “Mr Tortelli is in the sitting room saying we need a permit to have the phone line mended, but he won’t approve the permit until the out of date mounting system is replaced and we have a certified installer come to approve that they can install the system, which they won’t do until we have the permit.”

“O-, okay, i,”

“I need you to do the mind thingy to make him think it’s mended, because the installer is coming in an hour and it’s easily a hundred bucks to get him out here in the first place to put in our phone lines.”

“Okay,” You said turning for the sitting room.

Quickly he leaned in to give you a quick hug saying, “Soon as he goes you three can go to the diner and eat.”

With a nod you left the room and entered the sitting room picking up the keys for the building eyeing the Italian turning from his inspection of a painting on the wall he pointed to, “My niece painted something like that in kindergarten.”

“Well the Brocks do like to use local artists to decorate their rentals, maybe later we can drop by and have her sign it.”

You smiled as he gave you a smirk and pointed at you, “You got jokes.”

You showed him the keys, “Makes up for my whole female debacle I’ve got going on. I’ll lead you over and we can get this started.”

He joined you to the door saying, “Well I was just telling Victor-,”

Again you grinned at him, “Yes he informed me, you need the installer to come and sign off before the permit can be given for the work to start.” In your looking forward you could hear Victor muttering curses in a momentary plop onto the couch to calm down confusing Eddie when he came down. “Installer’s on his way, should be there in a bit.”

Purposefully he glanced at his expensive watch saying, “Well I can’t wait too long, busy schedule and all-,”

“Oh I don’t doubt that. Whole block is on cinder blocks and tarped bet you’re making a killing.”

To himself he chuckled and adjusted his tie, “Well, business is business. Doesn’t look like you’ll make much when it’s through with three, maybe four apartments.”

“We’re not renting,” he glanced at you, “I got accepted to an Ivy League school and we need a place to stay while I attend.”

“How’d you get into Ivy League? Didn’t think they let in dames.”

“Few do.”

“So you’re telling me you’re keeping all that space to yourselves?”

“I also have a cousin and aunt up in Canada right now that might move to New York in a couple years. They’ll be visiting too, and the guys have friends from Canada who would be coming down to visit most likely.”

At the stoop you eyed a few of Vinny’s friends, including a cousin of Bucky’s who said, “Looky here, Brock let out his little piece on her own. Huge splash you made running off with him. Not hard for some to think the worst on how you paid off your guards to get  through the war safe. Rumors you know how they can flood through a small town like ours.”

Grinning at the man you asked, “Have you visited your cousin Bucky’s grave yet?”

“Of course, every month.”

“You know there were some who had a hunch him and Steve would be buried in lovers plots.”

He pointed at you and Vinny smirked at the nerve you were aiming for, “Some whispers of light loafers and such,”

“Don’t you dare!”

“But then you know, see, I’m the only Rogers left in Brooklyn, and well, there’s just so many Barnes around. Like you said rumors are like floods, and, no telling who drowns in it once it’s out there. Especially when it’s laced with hellfire.”

Vinny chuckled saying, “I underestimated you.”

Glancing at him as you unlocked the door in Victor’s trot up to catch you, you replied, “Who hasn’t?”

You led the way through the door and Vinny gestured for him to drop it while he passed through to join you to the main mount for the phone system for guests on the main floor that would feed out to the upper floor connections. With brows furrowing Vinny looked from the clearly needing to be repaired and replaced mount to his notes, “Huh, could have sworn it needed a full gutting.” Shaking his head he muttered, “Must have switched notes with Murphy’s down the block.” Scribbling our the final details to the permit he passed to Victor who stood holding back his smirk until the trio left passing Eddie and James in their way in. “Come on fellas, let’s go wake up Murphy.”

“Thank you!” Victor whispered once the door was shut behind them. Rolling his head back in a flex of his fingers and nails extending them shrinking back again. His eyes fell to you again and he asked, “What’s what he was saying about floods?”

“Oh he was saying he was apparently keeping people from saying that I ran off to be Eddie’s whore.” That dropped Eddie’s jaw and you said, “And I reminded him if he wants to play with rumors then Steve and Bucky fueled more than a few.”

James growled out, “I hope that shut him up.”

“Oh it did, and Vinny said he underestimated me. Made him shut up.”

Victor asked, “Is that a good thing? Impressing Vinny?��

“Depends. Barneses are close to the Tortelli’s, by marriage, who hate the Brocks’ and I was taken in by the Brocks. They weren’t really sure on Steve, cuz he was still Irish and they were Italian, only Bucky was around to keep the other guys in line. I was a girl so worst I got was some scorn or verbal jabs, then again I kept to myself mainly so I was mainly ignored. They mainly keep to their end of Brooklyn and I’m not really part of anyone’s business, so, no, not really.”

Eddie smirked saying, “Just means it goes towards her reputation as more than just Steve’s sister. Not a bad thing but not overly needed for anything past if we had to cross to their side of town.”

Victor looked you over then leaned in to kiss your forehead in a sideways hug, “Alright, now, off to eat, I’ll wait for the phone guy to show up.” In your nip at your lip he asked, “Whats that look for?”

“You know how you said no more edits to the design yesterday to Vinny?”

His hand waved, “Don’t mind that, that’s for him, what did you want to change?”

“I was just thinking, you know how Dot’s dad’s barn has those rolling doors, could we do something like that for my office and the library? Could save room with the doors.”

“Absolutely,” he and James said.

James added, “Won’t be a hassle at all, and the doors you picked would be great for that. Just slip metal grooves on the beam above and along the walls on either side, just tuck the carpeting right up to it won’t notice it at all from far off.”

Victor, “We could do that for your closet too if you like? It is an oversized door could keep it from reaching the window if you swing it open too hard.”

“If it would be easier sure.”

Victor nodded saying, “Sliding doors it is, I will see how many of our other communal doors can be sliding as well to save on space and keep our future puppy from being closed off too much.” You giggled and he added pounding at James, “Jimmy promised a puppy and we are getting one.”

Again you giggled and James looped his arm around your back saying, “Let’s feed you.”

Pt 18

@changelingkhat, @alishlieb​

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 155

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Tom spend their two weeks by the seaside enjoying themselves and thinking over what they plan for the future.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine. All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle inhaled deeply and stuck her head under the water again, pulling herself through the waves for as long as felt comfortable before taking another deep breath of air and continuing.

Having calculated how far she needed to swim to meet her training requirements the day previous, she checked her watch and made for the shoreline. Pulling herself from the water, she smiled at seeing Tom waiting for her with Mac on the beach.

“Do you need a rest before we start?” He smiled, handing her the pair of shoes she had given to him for after her swim.

“No rest on the day, come on.” She smiled back as she put them. “And remember I have small legs.”

Laughing, Tom turned to head to the road. “And you just did a mile and a half swim.” He added.

“That too.” Danielle laughed as they jogged off, Mac in tow.

“Am I going too fast?” Tom asked as Danielle increased her speed halfway through their run.

“I need to push myself.” She declared as she continued.

Mac trotted happily beside them, elated at the early morning run as the hot days meant he and Bobby were forced to hide in the shade and cool tiled floor of the house. Bobby was still too young to go jogging so he was safely back at the house with Poppy, asleep in his bed.

For seven miles, Tom and Danielle ran a fast enough pace before coming to the carpark they had left the car in beside the beach once more. When they came to a halt, Tom inhaled deeply. “Is the route that uneven on the day?” He asked, referencing the Ironman.

“Not that they have given the maps for, no. But if you are prepared for shitty terrain, then easy terrain will be simple.” Danielle informed him. “Did you talk to your cousins, about your aunt?”

“Yes, Laura will be making more of an effort to get her to settle down with her badgering yet spend time with her, sans Rupert.”

“Good, it's not healthy to be more obsessed with your dog than your children.” She stretched her leg out. “I am going to walk the dogs tomorrow at this time, are you coming?”

“Yep.” Tom smiled loving the idea of an early morning walk. “I can't wait to see what Bobby makes of the water here.”

“He's a spaniel, chances are he'll have to be forcibly removed from it.”

Tom laughed at her words. “Most likely, yes.” He placed Mac in the car and tied his harness to the belt clip to keep him safe. “Elle?” Danielle looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Taking the time from work to come here, for getting your work and ignoring it rather than cutting into our time with my extended family.”

“I need to balance my home and work life. You matter more to me than that job. I love my job, I really do but between you and it, you win.” She leant up and kissed him.

Tom was taken back, not by the show of affection or even the declaration, though both were bold but the fact that it was outdoors, anyone could see them and she dismissed it all to reassure him that her love for him was more important than being seen by some bottom feeding photographer. “You wouldn't risk your happiness at work for us too much though, would you?”

Danielle's brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

“Well, if it was us or being a Safety officer?”

“Depends on the circumstances. If I was being forbidden by you to work, then no, I wouldn't allow it. If it was a choice of it and you and it was dragging me from what makes me happy then I'd drop it like it's hot.” She shrugged. “Why?”

“Just asking.” He stated, going to the back seat of the car to get her a towel as she was still damp from her swim before their run.

“I worry with some of your questions sometimes. It always feels like there's more to them.” She commented before taking the towel. “Thank you.”

“I am a normal person who on occasion asks odd questions when I think of them, the same as every other person on the planet.” Tom defended before getting into the driver's seat. Danielle said nothing else before getting in the passenger side. “I am also considering upgrading my car.”

“Is there an upgraded version of free?”

Tom chuckled. “Not that I'm aware.”

“Up to yourself.” Danielle shrugged. “But don't go too mad, this thing already takes up a lot of the driveway, so no stretch Hummer or something similar.”

“Well, that's my plans ruined.” Tom laughed as they headed back to the house as Danielle laughed beside him.

*

Over the first week, Danielle and Tom spent the most of it in the company of his family, knowing that the following week, they would have the place to themselves.

Danielle spent time with Diana and Emma mostly, but also Sarah on occasion. She insisted that she would mind the Duchess while they went out for tea but the Hiddleston women were disgusted at the mere thought and instead told her that their fathers would mind both girls, that she was to come also.

Tom spent time being an uncle, something he did not get to do with enough regularity in his opinion. With his busy work schedule, he had not been able to invest as much time in being there for his older niece as he wanted but for the week they were on the one house, he ensured that he played with her and spent time getting his younger niece used to his face. In fact, Lucy beamed brightly at her silly faced uncle when he came over and acknowledged her. He also spent time with Jack and Yakov; as again, his busy life meaning he rarely saw them. His sisters he was more often in the company of but that did not indicate that they often met.

Come the end of the first week, the family was saddened to be going their separate ways once more, even with an argument or two, as is natural, the week was incredibly pleasant.

Saying goodbye to the family, Tom and Danielle relished in the fact they had another week to enjoy the seaside.

“Stop bragging.” Emma growled as she hugged Danielle close.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don't need to, I can see the look on your face.”

“I will be back next week for the wedding.” Danielle promised.

“You don't…”

“I'll be there.” She reiterated. “You want to go to this. Diana and I will spoil Lucy in your absence.”

“Thank you.” Jack smiled, giving her a hug also. “We will see you then.”

“Drive safe.” Tom grinned, joining them.

“And you two better not get up to too much mischief.” Jack joked.

“Damn, they're onto us.” Danielle joked. “No parties.” She held her hand up like she was swearing an oath.

To a chorus of laughs, Danielle and Tom said goodbye to the last of the Hiddleston clan to leave, leaving them to the large home for them and their dogs.

As soon as Emma and Jack's car left the drive, went down the road and out of sight, Tom and Danielle walked back inside. By the time Tom had closed the front door and turned around, Danielle had taken off the open plaid shirt she had been wearing over a string top. “I need to find shorts to wear.” She commented, playfully grinning at Tom. “Or perhaps just my panties and bra.” Tom's eyes widened. “I think I brought those black ones, didn't….oh I'm wearing them.”

“If you are just teasing me…”

“Come upstairs and find out.” She smiled, sashaying her hips as she went up the stairs.

Tom barely locked the front door before rushing up after her, scooping her into his arms when they got to the top of the stairs before carrying her to the bedroom and placing her on the bed, kissing her as he did while leaning over her, her hands going immediately to his ass.

*

“Elle?”

“No, I'm not getting up.” She groaned, curling into the pillow.

“What about walking the boys?”

Danielle sighed before forcing herself to stretch. “Fine.”

They got ready in relative quiet before grabbing the dogs and getting into the car.

Usually, Tom had no issue with driving but he requested that Danielle do so specifically. It was odd but Danielle had no issue doing so. She noticed Tom seemed somewhat distracted on their journey but said nothing. On their walk, though he spoke on occasion, it was clear Tom was thinking of other things.

They got to the place that both Tom and Danielle swore they would go on a non-training day, on top the cliffs that showed the beautiful white-rocked coastline that made the section of Southern England so iconic, both making comments of the beautiful scenery as they walked.

“These are the places that make you think about life.” Danielle smiled, sighing as she looked at the sun, though still only half way to rising in the clear sky, the water glistening below and the cliffs looking radiantly white.

“And what do you find yourself thinking of it?” Tom inquired.

“Just how happy I am. The weather is good, it's a lovely few days break, this place is so beautiful, I really enjoyed having your family around for a couple of days, work is ticking by well with the new office and we are doing really incredibly, I think anyway, and I can honestly say, overall, I am really happy.” She smiled, looking to Tom to see his reaction.

For his part, Tom felt elated at the analogy of her life and her happiness with him. “So you never regret moving in with me?”

“Well, the toilet seat thing drives me barmy at four in the morning, but no, I don't.” She professed. “What about you, are you happy?”

“More so than I thought possible. Two years ago...Jesus, when I think back…”

“Don't, don't think back, no one wants to think back to that.” Danielle laughed.

“I am so grateful for how things turned out, how we turned out.”

“Do you think if worth it? Your summer of madness?”

“I do now.” He nodded. Tom smiled at her before looking across the water. “I think back two years and also wonder what lies ahead.”

“We all do that. I think back to two years ago. I loved being a paramedic, being able to help people but I love my work more now and the more I do, the more I think of. Say a year from now and how much more I will have learnt, how much more we will have done together.” Danielle's smile was a content one as she thought of perhaps having a similar conversation with Tom in a year's time atop the cliffs again, that would be something to covet in her opinion. “What about you?”

“Something similar.” Tom confessed, startled as to how Danielle had turned the conversation to the future, something he had wanted to discuss with her. “But I hope to see other new things in it too.”

“Such as?”

Tom inhaled deeply and forced himself to say what he had been thinking over for longer than he would care to admit. “Well, given how long Irish people seem to like to have engagements, I hope that perhaps we could be discussing the final requirements for a wedding.”

Danielle frowned, having been listening to Tom's words as she looked out to the ocean as she processed them but on that statement, she turned and faced Tom again, startled to see him at her nervously before getting on one knee with a ring box open in his hand. “What?” her voice shook from what she was seeing.

“Danielle Constance Hughes, would you please consider doing me the immense honour of becoming my wife?”

[hecohansen31]

Tinder date anon here (again!): write more please!

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Ahhh can you believe that a few days ago I literally went like ‘I need to write something christmass-y for Ivar’, and then I wrote it and then you asked… so… this is low key creepily magical!

But on a more serious note, my period has started (TMI), so if you want anything with Ivar, because that is my actual mood, I am more than happy to write and in the meanwhile I hope you’ll like this little babe!

Have a nice day!

WARNINGS: Family Drama, Abandonment Issues, Problematics Relatives, Talk of Medical Problems and Family at Christmas In General (also I know… I am the only person who can write Christmas fic… AFTER CHRISTMAS).

You hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly.

But when Ivar had asked you to come to meet his family for Christmas’ Eve dinner, you hadn’t been able to reject the proposal, mostly when you, yourself, had no plans for it…

… and you would have loved nothing more than to spend it with your boyfriend.

So, it was all settled, although you had had to rush all your gifts for his bothers and his parents, since he had let you know about the proposal only a week before Christmas.

‘I didn’t want to seem like an obsessed kind of type…’ he had mumbled, once you had asked the reason behind his timing ‘… I didn’t want you to feel rushed’.

Well you certainly weren’t feeling rushed for that, but it didn’t mean that you weren’t feeling less anxious about meeting Ivar’s big family, although you already knew Hvitserk, who was fine and nice, once you understood how to take him.

(And to ignore the condoms laying around all over his and Ivar’s shared house, which had come quite handy a few times).

‘… well then you have seen the worst of us’ had mumbled Ivar, after you had asked him to prepare you for what you were going to have to deal with ‘… Ubbe is nice, if you ignore the fact that he is annoying as hell and that his wife is a bitch, Sigurd is a bitch, but he is not a threat, and Bjorn won’t probably come…’.

The fact was that you weren’t exactly worried by Ivar’s brothers.

Who truly worried you was Aslaugh, Ivar’s beloved mother.

If you were Ivar’s love, Aslaugh had been his first love and you could see with the way he constantly talked about her, valuing her opinion as if it was the Law which both irritated you and made you anxious about her opinion of you.

Would she consider you not enough for his son?

And what would Ivar do in that case?

Would he discard you without a second thought or would he dare to go against his beloved mother’s opinion?

You had tried to push any of those thoughts down, but the day you had  had to get ready to reach Ivar’s childhood house, they all came back to you and you tried not to panic hard in front of Ivar and Hvitserk, who were the calmest, even going as far as joking around, rather brotherly.

And you were tying not to throw up, in the car.

When you finally arrived, you tried to focus on the luggage that needed to be brought inside, helping Hvitserk, meanwhile Ivar insisted he could get also something.

‘You are wearing heels, woman, for Odin’s sake!’ he swore, looking at your polished booties, which you had worn to try to impress Asluagh with a classier look, having stalked her profile on Instagram to try to match her style, in order to impress her.

‘I can handle, sweetie’ your tone was sickly sweet, and Ivar sent you a confused look, before he turned around, giving up on his mission and going to knock on the polished door of the beautiful manor.

Although Hvitserk and Ivar referred to it as a simple ‘house’, for you it was a manor, with a perfect garden and even a swimming pool, which Hvitserk had suggested you used for the traditional ‘Lothbrock Christmas Swimming’, on Christmas morning.

You followed Ivar a few minutes later, with your backpack on your shoulder, carrying two suitcases (yours and Ivar, trying not to swirl and fall onto the iced surface, since all around the manor there was snow, in a beautiful winter-y atmosphere that looked like it was brought out of a winter legend.

It wasn’t Asluagh that opened the door, but an elderly man, although he looked as handsome as he had been in his earliest years, but his age was evident, alongside the wolfish grin he held, taking you in, although surprise quickly blossomed in your eyes as Ivar’s hand tangled with yours.

Your boyfriend, also, seemed surprised by the vision and it was Hvitserk who made the man known also to you, gently saluting him:

“Hey dad!” he muttered, quickly hugging him, as he dragged himself and the rest of the luggage inside, leaving you and Ivar blinking for the surprise “… didn’t know you would be there”.

And apparently didn’t Ivar, who after a first moment of holding his eternal grudge, moved in, bringing you alongside him, grabbing ahold of his luggage, trying to avoid with expertise his father, who still managed to catch him.

And more importantly: you caught his attention.

“Hello there, Ivar!” mumbled his father, once he got away from Hivtserk’s hug, who soon moved away towards what you thought was the kitchen “… and you brought a little friend”.

You didn’t know much about Ivar’s father: he had abandoned his family after Ivar’s birth. but he had still tried to be present in his sons’ lives.

At least economically.

“… dad, I thought you were dead” mumbled Ivar, no sarcastic tone his voice, and Ragnar quickly realized that he wasn’t welcome there, as his son quickly sprinted away, suggesting he was tired and would bring the suitcases to his room, on the first floor.

Leaving you with a rather sad Ragnar.

“He is just tired, he tends to get grumpy when he is tired” you tried to justify the situation, not even knowing why you were trying, but feeling a bit bad for the man: he wouldn’t have won best father of the year, but he had showed up “… I mean he is constantly grumpy…”.

“That’s the Ivar I know!” smirked Ragnar, softly as if he was remembering sweeter times, before gently offering his big hand to you “… I am Ragnar by the way, Ivar’s asshole dad”.

“I am (Y/N)” you mumbled, accepting the hand graciously “… Ivar’s…”.

“Oh you must be (Y/N)” a chirping voice exited the kitchen and a blonde girl a bit older than you appeared with an older woman that you recognized as Aslaugh: they both looked like they came from a cookie batch competition, but Aslaugh managed to seem regal even covered head-to-toe in flour.

She looked at your cryptically and for a minute.

You were wondering whether she was analyzing each flaw she could find, but then she gently smiled at you.

“Poor (Y/N)” she mumbled, pushing Margrethe, the blonde girl, which you had recognized as Ubbe’s wife a bit away from you“… five minutes she is in here, and she already gets stalked like an animal… I am sorry for my husband and son’s behavior, mostly Ivar’s, he should know better than to leave a woman, alone…”.

Ragnar found this as his cue to move away, sending you one last smirk at you, as if he knew all too well that you were going to go through a lot

“He was a bit tired and said he would have gone to his room to lay down” you suggested trying to shift the conversation away from you, having received more attention than you had hoped for, since Margrethe also kept on looking at you, definitely trying to find any weak point you owned.

“Still… he knows better than to come here, without at least letting his poor mother that he is still alive” she mumbled, huffing annoyed, although you could detect a bit of worry in her tone “… I also am rather sorry for not properly presenting myself to you: I am Aslaugh, Ivar’s mother… I hoped he told you this at least, and I would gladly hold your hand, but… I have flour in places I didn’t know flour could get…”.

You laughed, a bit relieved that Aslaugh was this fun and gently nodded, before you showed her the direction, Ivar had gone to, although you felt like she already knew, getting Margrethe to grab your coat and show you the wardrobe where you could store that.

‘I’ll check on my son a few minutes and then we can meet in the kitchen for a few cookies, hoping Hivtserk hasn’t eaten all of them, in the meantime, you and Margrethe can have a good talk over tea’.

You doubted you could have a ‘meaningful’ conversation with Margrethe, although you’d have to admit that you were used to ‘small talk’ having had to deal with Elaine all your college and work life, but you still didn’t like it, in the slightest.

Also, with the ‘totally weirded-out’ look she kept on sending your way, you didn’t feel in the slightest at ease with her, although you could understand why.

Ivar had confessed you that one of the reason why he didn’t feel comfortable having sex, was that once he had tried to hit it off with Margrethe (‘I was young and stupid and all my brothers had had their own experiences with women… it made me feel… self-conscious’) and he hadn’t been able to ‘raise up to the occasion’.

And Margrethe had laughed at him, taunting him enough that sex for him had been a rather taboo topic and only lately he had been more open even getting some control visit to see if it was truly some kind physiological problematics or simply psychological.

So, you understood that the blonde girl was trying to understand what you were staying with Ivar for.

“Oh Gosh, we weren’t certainly expecting you” her voice was slightly noisy and you couldn’t help but feel like it had some haughty tone that made you feel even more at unease and were secretly thankful that Aslaugh quickly reappeared.

“… but I am definitely glad that you are here, (Y/N)” her tone held an immediate warmness that you couldn’t help but appreciate, feeling more at ease, as she joined you on the table you had set down onto, before she quickly grabbed from an ‘hidden location’, as she called it, a jar of cookies “… and my son will join us shortly, I gave him quite my piece of mind about not leaving his pretty girl all alone, I was once also all alone in some stranger’s house, so I know it can be intimidating”.

You dared a shy smile at her, meanwhile Margrethe applied onto her face a smile of circumstance.

“Thank you, I truly appreciate it, but I stopped trying to get Ivar to do what I want… he will… eventually” you joked and Aslaugh laughed lightly, before adding.

“He was also a stubborn child” and then her eyes grew a bit sadder, a memory flashing in them “… he had to be, because… of how he was born”.

“… it never stopped him from doing what he wanted” you reassured Aslaugh and she sent a small smile at you, gripping your hand.

The sudden gesture made you flush lightly and you were happy when Ivar appeared on the kitchen threshold, quickly setting himself between you and Aslaugh, donning both you and his mother with a quick kiss onto your cheeks.

“Oh cookies…” he mumbled, trying to grab some from the jar, but Aslaugh slapped off his hand “… ouch… mom!”.

“Cookies are for people who don’t leave their girlfriends all alone” she mumbled, and you smirked a bit, meanwhile Ivar just flushed and pushed himself a bit closer to you, something which didn’t go unnoticed to the other women in the room.

The cookies didn’t go unnoticed so long to Hvitserk, who walked in the kitchen fascinated by the smell of freshly baked cookies, fighting with Margrethe for cookies, meanwhile you slipped one of yours to Ivar, who kissed your hand in a gentleman way to thank you.

“Sorry for having left you there…” he whispered softly into your ear “… I just wasn’t expecting him to be here”.

You simply patted one of his hand, before dragging him closer, in an almost kiss.

“… just don’t do it again” and then pushed him lightly away from you, making him giggle, and he managed to set a little kiss on your forehead.

“… cross my heart and hope to die” he whispered back, softly kissing your cheek, meanwhile Margrethe looked at you half disgusted and half weirded out “… do you think that Margrethe has something stuck in her eyes?”.

“Only her dignity” you mumbled, gaining an immediate smirk by Ivar, as Hvitserk joined your side, hoping to gain some cookies, with his puppy eyes, but he didn’t get none, moving onto trying to plead Aslaugh, who eventually relented.

“… oh, by the way, where are Ubbe and Sigurd?” asked Hvitserk, mouth half full of cookies, probably to know if he should just rush in eating the rest of the cookies before they came back from wherever they had gone, or if he could consume them more calmly.

“They went out grocery shopping, for a few missing things for the dinner” which low key surprised you since Aslaugh didn’t seem the type who missed anything for her ‘perfect dinner’ and soon Ivar solved the enigma.

“… they went to get dad a Christmas present, didn’t they?”.

Aslaugh nodded darkly, before some softness washed over her face.

“He just came here a few days ago, saying that old age is making him value what truly matter and what doesn’t”.

“It never seemed to stop him before” muttered darkly Ivar, gaining an annoyed look by Aslaugh “… oh c’mon, mom, you certainly can’t be happy to see him here, he left you! For another woman!”.

“I am certainly not happy to have him, here” her tone was stone cold, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were an outside to all this drama “… but I still have to recognize that he is your father, and he still deserves to see you and make peace with you, before it’s too late”.

Something broke in Ivar’s eyes and he relented in the word-fight with Aslaugh, meanwhile Hvitserk stopped eating his beloved cookies, probably understanding the graveness of the situation.

“… I still… it is strange…” mumbled Ivar.

“Well, then get used to strangeness because he is going to stick around at least till tomorrow morning” Aslaugh now donned her motherly tone and Ivar didn’t seem to have any intention to disobey her, meanwhile Hvitserk stood on his toe a bit more upright “… and now won’t you help me setting up dinner?”.

—

You couldn’t help but feel definitely inexperienced about dinners once Aslaugh got everything ready for the night, mostly because she made it seem so easily, as it it wasn’t something that came from experience or such.

Margrethe was quickly able to follow her commands, meanwhile you were extremely clueless and were glad for Hvitserk and Ivar’s back up in the kitchen, since they had also been put to use (‘I didn’t raise my sons to be some annoying sofa-warmers’ had mumbled Aslaugh, ordering them to get ready the vegetables).

But what made the experience even more nerve-wracking was the constant chit-chat going on between you and Aslaugh, which seemed harmless, but again… you didn’t want to fail her interrogation.

She asked a few personal questions of circumstance, asking whether you were still in college or working, and what you did, if you liked it or were aiming for something more., probably trying to sound out whether you were a gold digger or not.

Then she pushed the themes onto your and Ivar’s relationship, involving also her son in the questions: how long they had been together for, how they had met (Hvitserk bumped in this question, explaining the entire ‘tinder date’ thing, gaining quite the annoyed look by Aslaugh) and if you felt well together.

“Aren’t three months a bit too little for meeting the family?” asked naively Margrethe, the tone calm only onto the surface, under it, there was some kind of intent to break her apart to see what was going down, behind closed door.

“Ahem… yes…” you honestly wanted to reply that it was ‘none of her business’, and it was what Ivar’s face said, but you thought ‘kill her with kindness’ “… but I felt like I was personally ready for it, and Ivar didn’t make me feel rushed into this, so I think that timing only counts when you feel like it”.

Margrethe looked like she had been smacked, meanwhile Aslaugh gave you a soft smile.

“Ah, you are completely right, (Y/N)!” she smirked, before moving her examining glance to Margrethe “… also weren’t you and Ubbe already ‘dating’ a few weeks after having met, and with ‘dating’ I meant that you were coming over here, and acting like you owned the place”.

That seemed to shush her for quite a bit, for which you were thankful, because it made the conversation more lighthearted.

Finally, at 5 p.m. the two wandering brothers came home, bringing some grocery bags, meanwhile they hid badly a bag form a jewelry store, as they passed a horrendous Christmas card with a sloth to Ivar and Hvitserk to sign it.

And meanwhile this happened, they presented themselves to you: Ubbe in a more heartwarmingly way, even going as far as to hug you, meanwhile Sigurd simply gripped your hand in a loose shake, looking at you as if he had a unicorn in front of him.

And then they moved onto their brothers, giving a similar treatment as they had done with you, with Ubbe hugging warmly his brothers, before he moved onto kissing softly Margrethe and you almost shipped them, then and there.

Meanwhile also Sigurd hugged Hvitserk, he simply acknowledged Ivar, with a look of hostility in his eyes.

“… we weren’t expecting you to bring her, here” he muttered, more a whisper than actually anything, not wanting to be heard by you and Aslaugh, who was looking through the groceries “… we all thought she was some kind of fake joke…”.

Before Ivar could kill him, you gently pushed him back, suggesting you went to change for the dinner, gaining a little nod of approval by Aslaugh, who suggested that she brought you both the towels and something to wear.

You didn’t know what she meant with ‘something to wear’ but simply nodded, pushing Ivar away from the kitchen and Sigurd.

As you were under closed doors, and you had actually smashed your face against Ivar’s fluffy comforter, thankful for a few minutes alone with your mind, before Ivar smashed against you, making you let out a loud ‘ouch’ and him a laugh, as he kissed onto your neck to ease the pain.

You moved to face him and kiss him, gently, feeling him melt against you and you gently smashed your finger into his hair, getting a low moan from his chest.

“… we are making out like two teenagers, and we are even in your childhood room” you joked meanwhile he started nibling onto your neck, his way of releasing stress from Sigurd’s affirmation was to worship your body, getting lost in it.

“You are the first one” he blushed, shyly, his inexperience always surprising you, even more when he would kiss you like that.

“Am I not lucky?” you giggled softly, pushing him softly away, to get a look at your luggage, in order to decide what to wear, meanwhile Ivar got himself in the shower, as you told him to shout if he needed any help “… also what was your mother meaning with ‘sending us some clothes for dinner’”.

“Oh, mom is probably going to lend you some clothes, nothing on your fashion style, but she has her own clothing etiquette for Christmas Eve dinner…” he shouted from the shower, before water poured over his voice.

Although it was obvious that Aslaugh didn’t mean it badly, the clothing thing still made you feel a bit at unease, both for the lending and both for the clothing and as you were in the shower, you heard Ubbe walking in the room and quickly exchanging a few words with Ivar.

And when you walked in, Ivar was already in his expensive suit, and your elegant burgundy dress was waiting for you: it was rather conservative and definitely a bit different from what you were expecting.

“Is this your mother? Or does she buy new clothes for your girlfriends’ each year?” you mumbled “… because I don’t know which is creepier”:

“They are some of her oldest dresses, and she adapts the one she doesn’t use whether for charity or friends” Ivar explained to you, meanwhile he helped you adjust the dress, pushing the zip up, meanwhile he laid one last soft kiss at your neck.

“Is there something that your mom can’t do?” you mumbled a bit worried that you couldn’t ever be half as amazing as her.

“Stop us from screaming at each other, each dinner” he joked, before he made you turn to him and look at him “… and you shouldn’t compare yourself to her: I know that you are fucking nervous, but you are the most perfect thing that has ever happened to me, whether my mom approves or not”.

“I am still…” you mumbled, lowering your eyes, just for Ivar to push them up.

“You are perfect, never ever fucking forget that” and then he entangled your elbows together “… now let’s go to eat, hoping Hvitserk hasn’t eaten everything”.

You giggled and dragged your handsome man by his tie, meanwhile he smirked at you.

Once you were down the only thing that had stopped Hvitserk from eating anything on the table was the fact that Aslaugh was looking at him like she would straight up disown him had he through about eating anything, before everyone was down there.

After you and Ivar, followed Ubbe and Margrethe who had changed in a stunning icy blue dress, that highlighted her delightful completion and her pretty eyes: you were almost jealous, hadn’t Ivar sent her the same look he had given in the lamp, illuminating the stairs.

Last but not least came Ragnar, who just looked around curiously, probably checking his sons’ reactions to his presence, smirking softly at each of them, trying to avoid the pure hate glares he received and you couldn’t help but pity him a tiny bit.

As you settled down you were sat on Ivar’s right, meanwhile Aslaugh set up on his left and Ragnar onto your left, and in front of you there was Sigurd, on his left Hvitserk and on his right Margrethe and Ubbe.

It all started with a little appetizer, alongside wine, for which you were grateful, because the situation was kind of awkward: Ivar kept on looking at Ragnar, as did Aslaugh, but whereas she was more checking whether he was still there or not, Ivar was sending him his constant reminder that he wasn’t welcomed.

As did Ubbe and Sigurd.

Hvitserk was too bothered by sniffling the appetizers, meanwhile Margrethe had set herself up on the most distant place of the table to avoid the drama, which was a smarter move than you would have thought from someone like her.

In all this you tried to keep polite conversation between your two in-laws, not wanting to get on their nerves.

Ragnar mostly seemed interested into knowing details of your relationship, as a proud father would, sending rather shiny grins over at Ivar as if to say “that’s my boy”, meanwhile Aslaugh tried to keep the conversation also on you, asking your interests and hobbies and suddenly your worst nightmare had become true.

You were the center of attention.

And you were secretly thankful when Aslaugh had to take a bit of a break to gather the first dish, bringing alongside Ragnar, asking for his help with bringing the plates and you were already full but were thankful for the distraction that broke the main conversation in different smaller groups.

You risked spitting out all your wine, when Sigurd talked next, staring blatantly at you.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore we all know that the only way Ivar can land a girl like you is through money”.

“Excuse me” you shot back, pushing your glass of wine down, because you were quite sure that you would have certainly splashed Sigurd with it “… I don’t think I heard what you said quite right”.

“You either are doing it for money or for pity, I am sure” he mumbled back and, you were extremely thankful that you had put down your glass.

“I am sorry but that is none of your business first of all” you mumbled, meanwhile Ubbe tried to stop Ivar from getting up “… and second of all, you might not see it, but Ivar has qualities and I am with him for that, not for money or pity”.

“Oh, you’d be the first one to like Ivar because of his personality” mumbled Sigurd, his tone sarcastic and your tone immediately matched his, in your reply.

“At least he has one, unlike someone else” and with a roll of your eyes you sent him a look that meant that that ‘someone’ was him.

Silence fell down upon the table, but you felt Ivar’s hand gently push itself onto your thigh in an attempt to calm you down, but you were far too gone and turned to him, kissing him on the lips furiously.

You weren’t the expressive couple in the slightest, both you and Ivar taking PDA to a bare minimum, although you would always have your hands on each other, in a subtle and elegant way.

But you just felt like in that moment it was the right thing to do, and as soon as Ivar’s plush lips were onto yours, you were very much in heaven and only separated at a slow clapping of hands, found Ragnar looking at you even more fatherly-proud.

Ivar quickly hid his head into the crook of your neck and you were almost thankful when Aslaugh walked in bringing the first dish, completely disrupting the attention from you and Ivar, although you still felt Sigurd’s eyes following you, meanwhile Margrethe blushed, hiding her gaze behind her hands.

“… what did I miss?” asked Alsaugh, noticing the strange silence.

Hvitserk was halfway through opening his mouth full of food to answer, when Ivar kicked his knee under the table effectively shushing him.

“Nothing mom” mumbled Ubbe.

You were able to continue the dinner without a hitch, although you still felt self-conscious about your ‘excessive’ reaction to Sigurd’s provocation, but Ivar was smirking as brightly as the sun, staring all victoriously at Sigurd, meanwhile he twirled a knife in his hands.

The conversation helped you a bit, since it quickly shuffled onto more ordinary stuff and you were more than grateful to be chosen to be the one who had to help Aslaugh in the kitchen.

And she immediately noticed it.

“Ahh, my boys can be quite ‘too much’, sometimes” she mumbled, taking a huge gulp of wine “… and when Ragnar is with them, it is even worse”.

“I am sure that everything is alright” you mumbled, taking your own gulp of wine, meanwhile Aslaugh got the meat out of the oven, as you brought some plates where she could put it once it was cute “… and I honestly feel almost bad for Ragnar…”.

“I don’t want to risk on sounding like a vengeful woman: but it’s what he deserves for running away for all these years” although Aslaugh was trying to keep her tone calm and posed like she always did, there was some rage beneath it, and you just retired yourself back, helping her bring out the dishes.

The dinner continued calmly, and then once you had all washed the plates and collected the tablecloth to scroll it down for the crumbs, effectively moping them away meanwhile the boys helped set up the fire in the chimney, you all came around it to share your gifts.

The first ones to receive them were Aslaugh and Ragnar: all the boys had teamed up at least for the gifts, choosing a beautiful pendant in glass for Aslaugh, which looked like it was handmade, resembling a rose.

Ragnar instead received the jewelry bag, you had seen that afternoon and seemed more than delighted just at the appearance of the bag, as if he hadn’t expected the gift, being even more surprised as it turned out as a pretty watch, expensive from the little golden inserts.

He looked like he was about to cry at the thoughtful gifts and received a few small smiles by his older sons, meanwhile both Sigurd and Ivar kept themselves indifferent, although you felt Ivar gripping gently your hand a bit tighter, excited to see his father happy, although he didn’t want to let him see his happiness.

He wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Then the boys passed to share their gifts with each other.

You and Ivar had chosen together the gifts, dividing the brothers, you would take Sigurd and Hvitserk (since it was impossible to hide something from that idiot) and Ivar would take Ubbe and Margrethe.

In the end you had gone with two tickets for Hvitserk’s favorite soccer team and a little music playbook for Sigurd, which you had embellished with some music sheet you had found online, as a way to let the playbook feel more familiar (you almost thought he didn’t deserve it for the stuff he had pulled at dinner).

Meanwhile Ivar had chosen a two-days-trip to one luxurious spa, which seemed to please Margrethe, who wasn’t certainly expecting this, from Ivar.

You were also surprised to receive gifts, because your presence had been announced much later: Ubbe and Margrethe gifted you two pair of golden earrings shaped as stars and Hvitserk gave you and Ivar a ‘tasting experience’ for a luxurious restaurant (although you were well aware that his first option had been a ‘vibrator’, but Ivar had literally threatened to change the locks of their shared house, had he chosen that gift).

Even Sigurd gifted you of a little something: a beaded headband, elegant and classy, matching your style.

You were surprised but hastily took it, even trying it on, as Ivar complimented the look, sending a slightly softer look at his brother, who blushed, his eyes speaking of unspoken apologies.

And even more weirdly, both Aslaugh and Ragnar had a gift for you: the latter one gave you a pretty flower vintage dress, this time, completely new and suiting you perfectly, a famous brand in the little label.

‘Oh, I don’t know if I got the measurements right! If you ever need to chan…’ and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from hugging the woman, almost immediately regretting the decision till she hugged you back.

Ragnar’s gift was instead for you both: a trip to England, in one of his lofts (at which Ivar huffed in an annoyance, but you thanked your father-in-law, since you had always wished to visit England again).

Many more gifts were exchanged, and the things got a bit out of hand as also Floki and Helga joined the night, and you were swept off the floor as Floki brought you in a bone-crushing hug, meanwhile Helga giggled softly.

Although you were happy, and Ivar was literally the most at ease you had ever seen him, you had to retire a bit outside, in order to calm yourself down, with the excuse for a toilet break, from anyone.

Ivar followed you, gaining the wolf-whistles of his brothers, who joked about ‘what you truly were going to do in that bathroom’.

You went out, Ivar donning his coat onto your shoulder, since you had forgotten about it, a bit too warmed by the niceness of this new family.

“I am sorry if it was a bit too much” mumbled softly Ivar, gently getting a few sweaty strands away from your face, meanwhile you shook your head.

“No no, it was perfect” and softly kissed his face, meanwhile he scrunched his nose, faking that he didn’t like your affection “… I just… they are low key all so… welcoming”.

“It went better than I expected” he mumbled, meanwhile you adjusted your hair “… with you by my side, everything is better”.

“Flatterer” you mumbled, and made to go back inside, knowing that Ivar couldn’t handle the cold for long, but then he stopped you and got something out of his pocket, a small box.

Breath got stuck in your lungs, but Ivar quickly reassured you.

“It isn’t what you think I swear, but I felt like I just had to get you another little thing for Christmas…” you were a bit at loss of words: you had made a deal about getting a simple gift for each other for Christmas, since you didn’t want to disappoint the other “… oh c’mon! I know that you got me that Viking book, other than the beautiful tie”.

You blushed being caught red-handed, but still didn’t do anything else.

“You didn’t have to get me…” you mumbled, but Ivar shut you up with a slightly angered look.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore, I am low key anxious that you won’t like it!”.

And you finally opened the box to reveal a little necklace with a ladybug on it, Ivar’s silly nickname for you, because according to him ‘you were his lucky-charm’.

You sighed a bit at the prettiness of the golden beauty, before Ivar suggested to help you put it on, and he adjusted it, gently giving a soft kiss to the back of your neck, as he slipped another bigger present from one of the pocket of your coat, making you send him an exasperated look.

“Oh, c’mon! This one is for us both!” he mumbled, blushing distinctively the reddest you had ever seen, as you revealed under the elegant box a simple set of burgundy lingerie.

“Is this a sign that you want to try?” you tried to be the most delicate possible with your words.

And Ivar grabbed softly your hand, pushing up to kiss your lips again.

“… didn’t I tell you? You are my lucky-charm, little ladybug!”.

[firewoodfigs]

Summary:

“Fate must be so kind to reunite us like this -”

Riza grips his hand so hard, he can almost feel an incoming fracture. Her stiff upper lip makes it clear that she’s not interested in idle chatter. “This is a fate worse than death, if I do say so myself.”

(a/n: this was the piece I originally wrote for the @royaiweek prompt ‘old wounds’ (aka the high society au no one asked for), but I got hit with the angst / hurt & comfort truck xD it’s meant to be a prologue of sorts to a multi-chap which I'm not too sure about atm. feedback & concrit are always welcome! <3) 

prologue: of old flames and old wounds 

~x~

It’s impossible to miss Roy Mustang even amidst the crowd of handsome bachelors sprawled out like chess pieces on the tessellated ballroom floor tonight. He sticks out like a sore thumb; five feet eight inches of saviour complex wrapped in corded muscle, armed with a damnably dashing smirk and a lascivious glint in his eyes as he scans the crowd for a particular someone.

Ordinarily, he might've been content with another run-of-the-mill socialite hanging off his arms, but tonight’s debutante is special - because it is finally a certain lady’s turn to make her official debut in high society."

As if aligned with the stars, the lady enters, dressed to the nines in a stunning blue number; aureate locks done in a tasteful up-do to reveal her pretty countenance in its full glory. Independence hangs off her shoulders proudly, the way diamonds cascade down her neck. Her lips are painted a bright, bloody scarlet, and a subtle blush adorns her cheeks like the genesis of tulips blooming in spring. She’s exquisite - dangerously so - and even as she trails behind the other girls with the smallest hint of awkwardness in her gait they fade into the background like shadows.

Elizabeth Hawkeye bows courteously as her grandparents introduce her to the eager audience. Raucous applause envelops her being, and cameras everywhere are quick to go off. She grimaces subtly at the attention, but just as quickly schools her expression and returns to her seat along with everyone else.

And - quite unfortunately, Roy thinks - they’re seated on opposite ends of the dining table tonight.

Notwithstanding, his eyes continue to linger on her, and Roy can’t help but notice just how much she’d grown from the last time he saw her. Any childlike roundness that might’ve once rested on her lovely face was replaced by distinct angles and prominent cheekbones, and her delicate, cuplike bosom made her maturity very, very evident.  

Before he can continue his observations, though, he’s interrupted by an inviting, outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Mustang,” says the girl seated beside him. “I’m Juliette Astor.”

Juliette Astor is attractive, as all upper crust socialites generally are, with a soft smile that beguiles hidden insecurities and vanities. An innate thirst for approval makes its presence known from under fluttering eyelashes. Roy manages a half-hearted smile in response as he shakes her hand politely, forcing himself to make eye contact.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Astor,” he pauses, contemplating his next move. “That shade of blue compliments your eyes very well, I must say.” Juliette grins widely this time. It’s concealed behind a carefully-positioned palm and well-manicured nails, but it’s all very deliberate. All part of the game.  

The other girls seated within his vicinity begin to do the same. They introduce themselves to him, to the other women around the table with all the enthusiasm of old friends reuniting despite any underlying tension that might be there.

The sea of names are lost on him eventually, but Roy smiles all the same, and they’re disarmed by his charm.

Dinner is finally served after all the frivolous formalities, the first appetiser of the night being a luxurious beef carpaccio. Chateaubriand, to be specific. There’s certainly no scrimping on a grand affair like this tonight (thousand dollar wines are poured with largesse as a live orchestra plays), and neither would Roy Mustang be skimping on his efforts to rekindle the old flame between them. 

~x~

It’s all very methodical, really, like simple geometric progression. Every so often, a girl will reach out to check her reflection on the back of a silver spoon before puckering her lips in an attractive pout, desire seeping from beneath. Another will bite down on her appetiser slowly, careful not to smear her crimson lips, and chew daintily before flashing a set of pearly whites invitingly at Roy - a dance, and then a kiss or two? Finally, yet another will shyly refuse any dessert on the menu and look at him as if he were the intended substitute of the night.

Once in a while, Roy responds with an appreciative, crooked grin as his eyes take in the creamy expanse of milky thighs gleaming from the slits of their dresses. But he finds himself getting bored easily, mind wandering back to the girl who’d stolen his heart since time immemorial.

(Riza, however, doesn’t do any of this, doesn’t dabble in any of this needless seduction - but she doesn’t need to, not when she already has him, amongst many other gentlemen tonight, wrapped around her fingers.)

He continues watching Riza quietly now and then while trying to keep the girls around him entertained with senseless talk. Her back is ruler-straight the way all girls in high society had been taught by their governesses to do so, but the slightest hint of discomfort mars her sharp features - such things had never been her cup of tea, after all.

Perhaps somewhat ironically, despite their differences Roy had always been more accustomed to such events than Riza. Despite being the Grummans’ - who were practically royalty, even in the world of socialites - heiress, she’d always been disinclined to make an appearance at such events, which to her mind were honestly just riddled with false niceties and fake pretenses.

Neither made for a particularly comfortable night for her.

Roy, on the other hand, fits in with unnerving ease, despite the fact that he didn’t descend from a long line of aristocrats like Riza, and was perhaps way too good at playing the role of a shameless flirt whenever the need arose. The ladies, of course, enjoyed this terribly. With every crooked grin, every deliberate wink they’re quick to fall head over heels for him.

But of course, it’s impossible for anyone to be universally loved. For every woman who was head over heels over his debonair charm there was someone speaking of him with decided malice, disguised envy. Unlike the others in the room, Roy Mustang was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth - he was raised in a bar (occasionally turned brothel), for goodness’ sake!

Relative to the people of this perfectly manufactured world, therefore, he’s practically made from nothing. An anomaly amongst the crowd of corporate darlings who’ve always had the backs of their disgustingly wealthy families to ride on.

Which, of course, made him quite the topic of discussion.

Once upon a time, the yammerings and yakkings might have bothered him, but he’s learnt to disregard the irrelevant thoughts of others. It’s all background noise to him, and if he’s being unabashedly honest he would even admit that he’s come to even revel and relish in such gossip. For he’s made his way here, to this exclusive circle, and being able to unravel the insecurities of the rich with his mere dastardly presence certainly did wonders to his ego.

“Are you alright, Mister Mustang?” The girl sitting across him (what’s her name again?) asks pleasantly, but there’s a hint of well-disguised jealousy to her honey-sweet voice.

“Why, of course,” he replies distractedly, placating her with a reassuring smile before turning back to observing a certain blonde.

Finally, Riza turns to meet his gaze - but it’s met with a baleful glare, as if she’s admonishing him for even existing .  

Despite her infuriation, though, she’s quick to resume her role as the civilised, well-bred lady. Riza turns back to the other bachelors sitting with her after that moment of self-indulgence, keeping up her semblance of perfect calm amidst bubbling champagne and scandalous gossip and julienned vegetables.

Roy grimaces internally. Of course she would be angry at his sudden reappearance, after his equally abrupt disappearance.

The girl - ah, yes, Cornelia - tries again, resting a palm atop his knee under the table. “So, what are your... preferences?” she asks coyly.

Roy observes her for a brief moment. She’s a waifish lady with splendid brown curls, styled to perfection.  

“Brunettes,” the lie slips from his lips naturally.

It works like a charm. Cornelia Adler lets out an easy laugh, spilled with prodigality; a blush gracing her delicate features as she sends a coquettish wink his way and sits a little more upright to better display her willowy physique.

Roy smirks appreciatively in response, if only to mask the guilt beginning to flare up his throat.

The wine quells it, but only slightly. Despite the chatter and laughter around him his mind continues to wander back to a certain blonde incessantly (of course, blondes were his definite preference, but Miss Adler didn’t need to know that). For as much as he wanted things to go back to how they were, he knew he’d done wrong by Riza. Terribly, terribly wrong.

And though he was inclined to think that his departure was… explicable, he wasn’t sure if she would even be willing to hear his explanations.

In the end, Roy simply resigns to playing the role of a conceited flirt to belie the turmoil stirring within. The other ladies on the table make his job exceedingly simple, and he does his level best to keep up with Miss Adler’s mindless chatter with well-timed laughter and rakish smiles.  

~x~

As was tradition at every debutante that marked the official joining of society, females were required to dance and socialise with the eligible bachelors lined up before them after dinner. Elizabeth Hawkeye, now a stunning lady of twenty-one was no exception.

She queues reluctantly behind a slender brunette as she awaits her turn, feeling every bit like a lamb about to be led to the slaughterhouse.

Her first companion whisks her into a slow dance eagerly. The first song of the night is a traditional waltz - rather unfortunate, if Riza said so herself. Slow dances were, in her opinion, one of the worst inventions of mankind, because it was the perfect opportunity for mundane, aimless conversations.  

“So, Miss Hawkeye,” her partner says, in a husky voice which he must have wrongly assumed to be - seductive? “Has anyone had the good fortune of catching your eye yet this lovely evening?”

“No,” she replies curtly. Most certainly not you, if that’s what you’re asking.  

“What a pity, Miss Hawkeye. You’ve caught the eye of many gentlemen, myself included.” She shrugs casually, unimpressed by his flirting.

“How are your shares faring?” Riza asks disinterestedly, but he takes to the bait like a fish. Almost immediately he launches into a speech about how they’ve never been performing better - with the recent acquisition his company has only expanded in size, and the share prices have only been going up ever since.

Surely, a remarkable feat for someone who’s not even thirty yet -!

“All in a day’s work,” he quips. Riza doesn’t even remember his name, but she manages a dry chuckle.

His ramble continues, peppered with a witty joke here and there; an eloquence reeking of opulence. Riza’s lips tug upwards with practiced politeness, but if she’s being honest she doesn’t care at all. Regardless, she’s content to listen to white noise instead of having to do any further unnecessary talking, and he’s more than happy to stroke his own ego in front of the blonde.

Finally, the song ends, and Riza manages to get a momentary reprieve when he finally lets go of her hand.

It doesn’t last for long, though. From her peripheral vision she catches a glimpse of a certain - damned horse! - again. It’s an unwelcome barb at an old wound, one that could’ve been easily avoided if she had just been a little wiser.

Ah, the folly of man.  

Because, god - it’d been so easy at the start, when they were just somewhere in between acquaintances and friends, back when she was still just Riza Hawkeye. Eventually, though, his aunt had pointed out that she was the perfect girl with the perfect family to raise his social standing, to turn his pipe dreams into a reality with their wealth and power and connections.  

And Riza, naive, silly Riza had agreed. He'd been the ideal candidate to stave off the many bachelors who looked at her with yearning and desire, and suited her purposes just as well.

So really, it was a win-win for the both of them.

Riza had thought of him as tolerable, at the very least. He was someone whom she could sustain a conversation with, and was most certainly preferable to another loaded chauvinist who just wanted her to look nice at galas and giggle prettily and flutter her eyelashes.

Eventually, it became a rather - dare she say, enjoyable? - companionship. Between dinners under crystal chandeliers and brunch at posh cafes, it seemed like something more than what either of them had bargained for had developed - trust? - a luxury that the wealthy darlings of their world sadly could not afford. Everything was going fine, though there was nothing to make the relationship ‘official’ (because the term girlfriend sounded disgustingly juvenile to Riza’s ears, as did its counterpart).

And then, Roy had left without a word, jetting off somewhere to pursue his lofty dreams with the financial backing from her family. Her family, of all things. It made her feel like she’d been nothing more than a pawn on his chessboard, and it didn’t take long for her to come to loathe him in his absence.

Riza Hawkeye had her pride, after all, and she was not going to let herself be used by some manipulative bastard who conceived of her as nothing more than his one-way ticket to high society. So excuse her if she was affronted, angered by his sudden reappearance; if she couldn’t keep up with all the niceties and gaieties, because - damn it! - she had every right to be.  

She feels his gaze lingering on her again, but before he can so much as utter a word she’s ushered to another bachelor again.

The torturous cycle repeats itself.

It’s a welcome distraction for once, though. Riza would rather dance with the sandy blonde droning on about his investments and yacht parties and how beautiful she looks, than the raven-haired bastard inching dangerously closer towards her.

Patience, Roy thinks, as he waits for his turn to finally dance (and talk) with Riza. There’s an uncomfortable lump in his throat, and though he tries to attribute it to the cool, dry air and the countless conversations he’s had to sustain for the night it’s undeniably because of nervousness.  

Nonetheless, he plays it off suavely. The ladies are absolutely enthralled by him. Roy allows a pleased smirk to grace his handsome features before switching partners again.

~x~

“A dance for the lovely lady?”

Riza rolls her eyes, but not wanting to cause a scene and draw any more attention to herself she obliges. Very begrudgingly.

Roy takes her hand gently in his, resting the other on her cinched waist as they glide smoothly across marble like old lovers dancing to a familiar tune - but he can almost feel the displeasure radiating off her skin, despite the gloves separating their palms.

“Fate must be so kind to reunite us like this -”

Riza grips his hand so hard, he can almost feel an incoming fracture. Her stiff upper lip makes it clear that she’s not interested in idle chatter. “This is a fate worse than death, if I do say so myself.”

He ceases the fruitless flirting and keeps his mouth shut. Roy’s lips are pursed in a tight smile as he continues to lead her in the dance.

The tension between them feels like a violin string strung far too tightly, waiting to snap and slap him in the face at any moment. It’s an unsettling, almost eerie silence, and he scrambles for something appropriate to say in order to break it.

Nothing comes to mind. The quietness lingers, along with Riza’s frown. He swallows, guiding her awkwardly as they continue to dance.

Mercifully, the orchestra begins to play a faster-paced waltz. Five steps per measure. The words lay unspoken on his tongue as they concentrate on the steps, adjusting to the rhythm. Roy spins her once, twice. Her dress flutters gracefully as she twirls, a lovely shade of blue that matches her hair, the way the sky complements the sun, and is -

Coincidentally, the exact same shade as Roy’s tie.

Riza blanches visibly when she realises this. Any fondness for the dress she’s wearing (which, even then, didn’t amount to much) disappears into thin air immediately, and Riza finds herself suddenly overcome with the overwhelming desire to change out of her gown and perhaps incinerate it afterwards.

Roy, on the other hand, thinks she looks positively divine, and is somewhat pleased that they match even without any prior planning. Before he can control himself, the words pour out like a gushing stream. “You look stunning, Riza.”

The string snaps.

“Who said we were on a first name basis, Mister Mustang ?” she asks, hostility clouding her vision.

For the first time that night, Roy feels his confidence beginning to crumble, but he keeps himself in check. “I do apologise for my impoliteness, Miss... Hawkeye...” he trails off unsurely, but decides that it’s now or never. “Amongst many other things.”

She doesn’t respond. Roy tries again, waltzing her in time with the tempo. “I mean it, I’m really sorry, Ri -”

“The fact that you vanished for years without a word after using me for your dastardly plans is really helping your point, I’m sure,” Riza remarks drily before he can finish addressing her by her first name - the bloody temerity of him to do so, really - once more.

Silence falls upon them once more as the elephant in the room finally makes its grand appearance. Riza feels the familiar jabbing of the old wound that she’d buried deep within her heart once again. It’s uncomfortable, almost painful, but she purses her lips tightly instead of making her hurt known.

“You… you have every right to be angry with me.”

It’s the first thing he gets right the entire evening. “You’re right on that front, at least.”

Roy, at least, had the decency to look shamefaced. He’s speechless for a moment, but he lets his yearning, his longing for her make itself known. “You can’t deny the chemistry we have, though,” he murmurs under his breath, leaning closer to her.

“Had,” she corrects sharply. “And the last I remembered, you managed to blow up quite a number of things during your chemistry experiments.”

The insinuation behind her witty comeback is clear. You’ve blown this one up too.  

Roy swallows, choosing his next words carefully. “Look, I’m… well, I’m aware that whatever I did wasn’t the nicest -”

“Lovely to know that your self-awareness has improved, but I’m not some piece of garbage you can recycle after you’ve realised what it’s worth.”

It’s a bit of a struggle for him to keep up with the beat now, but they continue their dance nevertheless. Being accomplished social dancers themselves, it’s easy to make their movements look natural, graceful like flowing water despite the ongoing argument.

Roy doesn’t have an answer. No matter his explanations, there’s an undeniably painful truth to her acerbic words.

Nevertheless, he’s always had a bit of a short fuse - one that only worsens whenever he doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions. The guilt that’s been lingering in his throat all night finally makes itself known in the form of an indignant retort. “I never said that you were a piece of garbage,” he bites. “And… I’m genuinely trying to make amends here, but you’re not even giving me a chance, Ri -”

“What’ve you done to even deserve one?” Riza counters angrily.

“I’m back now, aren’t I?”

“And how, pray tell, is that supposed to make anything better?”

Their steps slow down as the orchestra’s playing draws near to a close. “Because…” Didn’t you miss me while I was gone?  

“If you thought I’d just wait around, pining for you during your absence…” There’s a traitorous spark of hope that lights up in Roy’s heart, but it’s instantaneously trampled upon. “You’re terribly wrong.”

The song finally ends, as does their dance. “Well, have a wonderful evening.” Riza flashes him a beatific smile before kicking his shin with the pointed tip of her stiletto. Hard. “And break a leg.”

“I think I just did,” Roy manages to sputter out weakly.

Riza gives him a patronising, unsympathetic pat on the shoulder before storming off, leaving him alone on the dance floor with a bruised leg and an equally bruised ego.

[things2mustdo]

I heard a family member make remarks on the ‘victims’ of Hurricane Florence, who knew well in advance the possible horrors which came crawling their way. But were those who decided to stay victims given the warnings? They also espoused, essentially, that rescue teams shouldn’t put their lives at risk for those who remained in harm’s way.

This brought me back to a conversation with a man who has been big on situational awareness in terms of avoiding assailants who aim to pierce your heart and rob you while you lie in a pool of your own blood. He asked this question about what one does when in a dark alley and you see a suspicious character coming your way? My response was something to the extent of whether or not I even had to be in the dark alley? That was his point.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHq4dbQBa14

Now, I’m not remotely suggesting rescue teams avoid doing their job, but it did get me back to situational awareness and understanding the justice brought about when you are foolish enough to venture into a dark alley on the wrong side of town, or remaining in Florida when you damn well knew the potential risk involved.

That got me thinking about the recent political violence and acts of domestic terrorism caused by Black Lives Matter and Anti-Fascists. So, in regards to our contemporary state of the political and cultural arena, and what surely awaits us in the next US presidential election, here are some simple, basic tips about situational awareness and being prepared in case civil unrest breaks out.

1. Understand The Baseline Of Your Environment

Political rallies across the US demonstrate the capacity of violence and the willingness to assault in ruthless manners. Both men and women of more right-wing views have been assaulted, been threatened to be raped, have their families killed, get doxxed, have dead animals thrown at their living quarters, had their finances threatened, etc. It’s a goddamn nightmare on the more North Side of America than the South Side, where not everyone has a bamboo stick up their ass.

There are many great articles written on situational awareness. And that’s key: situation. The environment, in a general sense, has a baseline. It’s the basic overall feel and operation of that set area.

For example, you go to the mall. What’d you expect to see, generally speaking? People walking and talking, laughing and usually carrying a bag or two. It would, in this context, be out of the ordinary if an individual, dressed in all black, is quickly walking through a crowd while he has his hoodie on and hands in his pockets. It’s odd behavior. Same for someone moving nervously carrying a bag that does not appear to be bought at a store or, to add to that, he doesn’t have workman apparel. It’s out of the ordinary.

If I’m at a bank and someone walks in, sits in the corner for an unreasonable amount of time without engaging in any transaction and appears to not work there, I’m alert. Are his eyes moving around scanning for cameras, are his lips moving to suggest he’s counting something, is he in apparel which could perhaps more easily conceal a gun?

Same if I’m out sitting while enjoying coffee and an all-black car pulls in and just sits. Whether the engine is on are not does slightly change the degree of the potential threat of the situation. If it’s on, is it a quick getaway for a potential crime? And is it at night where there are fewer people and witnesses?

These are all pretty basic to practice, in my view. So it doesn’t help when everyone’s head is glued to their smartphones. Especially with women. They appear to be much less aware than men who themselves very much have this issue with their smartphones.

2. The Gray Man At Political Rallies

The concept of the Gray Man is simple: blend in. Do not create stimuli around you. Gray is often considered a very bland color. It’s boring, lifeless, moot. This isn’t to suggest wearing gray makes you undetectable, but the concept works well with this color.

Blend in so well to your environment that you essentially appear bland. But if you’re at a political rally, then you know anyone is a potential threat. Wearing a Trump hat or an American flag raises suspicion, creates stimuli from your political adversary, and now you are made. If you’re European-American, wearing a hat over your shaved head is a good idea in terms of lessening your presence because there is still widespread delusion about the reincarnation of literal Nazis.

People involved with BLM, AntiFa and other leftist gangs are already going to make assumptions about your character and will dehumanize you and engage violently. Perhaps lessening that delusion, if even possible, could potentially add to your safety and security, in some respects.

It’s not that one desires to give up their chosen headwear and so on, but weighing the pros and cons should be obvious if you wish to avoid conflict. Which, again, these days is hard to do.

3. Consider Your Neighbors And Conversation

Depending upon your living situation, if you’re in California, talking openly with your neighbors about politics in relations to conservatism, in a positive light, creates quite a stir of stimuli. And, given the next US elections are coming up, you’ve made an impression in their mind. If they believe you are a literal Nazi, you’ve coined a political adversary. If you’re in the deeper South surrounded by red-necks and American-loving Christians, chances are, from my observations, you’ll be less likely to be attacked for your political (or religious) views.

I personally despise having to sometimes lower my voice or take a quick glance around because I’m about to say something that might cause stimuli to a potential assailant. But, in these contemporary times, it’s up to you to decide what’s worth it and what’s not.

Conclusion

These are merely a few things of quality in regards to your safety and security. I’ve been quite observant. It’s not always intentional, but I’ve seen things and made assumptions (or had a strong thought about it) and turned out to be spot on.

Identity your adversary. Weigh in how much of a threat they are to you. Pay attention to who they know or talk to, then extend that person’s conversation partners and then extend it again. Leftist are ruthless, dangerous, hateful devils. And remember, if you ever see anyone wearing the hammer and sickel, then be even more alert.

Read Next: Being Situationally Aware Is A Matter Of Life Or Death

It is 7:30am on the day after Christmas in 2004. The sun is already up in the blue sky of the Andaman sea, and some rare tourists are walking on the main beach of Phi Phi island in Thailand. Most of the tourists are still sleeping, dealing with the usual hangover that comes with the traditional Christmas party.

The locals are busy preparing the long tail boats they use to cruise around the nearby islands. Some Westerners like me, who live here, fill and carry the diving tanks the scuba divers will use to explore the underwater reefs today.

In less than an hour, this idyllic landscape will turn into a dramatic nightmare and many of those people will die, crushed and drowned by the powerful wave of a tsunami coming from the Indian Ocean.

Was there a way to prevent that? Not more than preventing a hurricane in Florida or an earthquake in California. Scientists can predict it, multi-million dollar sensors can detect it, information networks can announce it through various media, but there is no way to prevent it from happening. But we can be more prepared than when I experienced this tsunami in Thailand. Governments and local administrations can invest in infrastructures to mitigate the potential risks and better inform the general public.

And individuals can be better prepared to deal with the consequences of natural events. The people who tragically died on this island were not different from any other people on this planet. As a matter of fact, a vast majority of them were young and relatively fit. They didn’t survive for only a handful of reasons, mainly:

lack of situational awareness

lack of appropriate mindset

lack of physical skills

The situational awareness and appropriate mindset are mainly due to the fact that, when we are on vacation on a tropical island, the last thing we want to think about is the remote possibility of a tragic event of any kind. If the place is nice and sunny, if the locals are friendly and smiling, we quickly feel safe and let our guard down. No pickpockets, no fire, no mugging, no earthquake, no car crash, and therefore no need to pay attention to any precursor sign, no need to keep our valuables and documents with us at all times, no need to have a look at evacuation routes, fire exits, etc. In other words we quickly become complacent when everything looks like paradise.

But this lack of situational awareness and appropriate mindset was only one side of the coin for the many fatalities that occurred that day in Thailand. One of the main culprits was the lack of physical skills. Many people didn’t survive simply because they didn’t have the physical abilities to deal with what happened to them and around them.

Some were not comfortable in the water and couldn’t swim across the strong current that the wave and the obstacles created. The event only lasted a few minutes but the water raised quickly and submerged the lowest part of the island.

Some were not able to hold their breath for a few seconds. When the wave hit the hotels and guesthouses near the beach, most of the rooms were submerged very rapidly, but not for very long. Surprise and panic killed a lot of people in their rooms.

Some were not able to hold on to fixed objects for more than a few seconds. The current was strong and being able to hold on something, or even better to climb onto something, was a good way to increase the chance of surviving.

Some were not able to run away and climb a hill or a stairway. For those who were on the beach and saw the wave coming, the proper action was to sprint and find high ground. Reaching the highest floor of a hotel or one of the nearby hills was a good way to avoid the full force of the tsunami.

Some were not able to push away heavy objects. Entrapment was one of the major risks in this event. Many people drowned because they lacked the necessary strength to move away the objects that the current pushed onto them.

The Western world tends to rely heavily on tools to make our life easier and tools to make it safer. Instead of dealing with the weather, we use tools to make it more bearable (A/C, heater, umbrella, raincoat, sunscreen, etc). Instead of moving in this environment, we rely on tools (a car or an ATV instead of walking and running, a canoe or a boat instead of swimming). We easily blame the lack of protection that can get us injured (“I cannot walk/run without shoes”, “I cannot float without a flotation device”, “I will fall and break my skull if I don’t wear a helmet”, etc).

Tools are fine and make our life more enjoyable most of the time, but what if? What happens when we don’t have them? That’s where skills and physical abilities make plenty of sense. Every one of us, regardless of age, gender and race should be able to do at least the following things:

sprint for at least 100 yards/meters in order to get out of danger (collapsing building, wild fire)

climb over a wall or fence at least shoulder high (to escape an angry pitbull or a group of thugs)

carry for at least 10 yards/meters someone of 3/4 of your size and bodyweight (to save someone from an immediate danger)

swim at least 100 yards/meters without stopping and float at least 10 minutes with no aid or support (to get out of a dangerous zone and wait for a rescue vessel)

walk 5 miles in an hour (to reach a gas station when you run out of gas and you cannot call for help)

perform some basic self-defense techniques (striking, grappling) to react appropriately in a mugging/rapping/life-threatening situation

hold your breath for at least one minute while walking/moving at a slow pace (to escape the toxic fumes of a building on fire)

crawl for at least 30 yards/meters to seek cover (active shooter situation) or rescue someone (a child hidden under a car, or someone trapped under or inside something)

If you think that any of those abilities is way beyond your limits, it’s maybe time to reconsider your priorities in life. Being self-sufficient and prepared doesn’t mean relying on tools—it’s knowing that you can deal with dramatic circumstances to the best of your abilities. Tools come in handy when you have physical limitations (age, injuries, illness) but they shouldn’t be the first line of defense.

Having some regulations that require a floatation device in every hotel room in Thailand will not save any life if the next tsunami in the region happens in South Korea. Use your body and your brain. They are the original tools, and you have them with you all the time!

Read More:  How To Improve Your Situational Awareness From One Minute Of Effort Per Day

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Kait!

You have been accepted for the role of ANNALISE FAWLEY! We loved your thoughts on the very Hufflepuff nature of Annalise’s loyalty-fueled treachery and all the details you gave of her “normal” life before she lost her sister, and can’t wait to see all the trouble she’s going to cause for the Order. We’re so excited to have you join us!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Kait, she/hers

AGE: 25+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m returning to in-person work after 3+ months of WFH, so I can’t say with absolute certainty what my activity will be, but I’ll definitely be able to post every couple of days at least!

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers. I have a bit of rp experience, in a similarly character-focused, literate marauders rp.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Annalise Fawley

AGE: 23

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: female, she/hers, identifies as straight

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff

ANY CHANGES: Nope!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Everyone knows Annalise—she’s one of the many Fawley cousins, a cheerful former Hufflepuff, a familiar face at pureblood soirees. But not all that many people really know her. Very few know that she’s good at sketching but definitely can’t paint. Or that she’s an excellent liar, even if she almost never uses that skill. That she often feels shy when she has to meet new people. That she doesn’t have a temper, but she does hold grudges like nobody’s business.

A relatively private person, Annalise has always been content to live a simple life, compared to many other pureblood women. She’s happy with her flat and her job and her friends. She adores her sprawling family— anywhere she turns, she can find a familiar face. And she delights in the social whirl of pureblood society— the beautiful dresses and jewels, the gossip, the parties. The fact that she’s never at the centre of that whirlwind is perfectly fine with her.

A sociable extrovert with a touch of shyness, Annalise craves interaction but isn’t always great at making new acquaintances, and her shyness can sometimes make her seem standoffish to strangers. She’s certainly capable of saying the right things—her mother raised her well and she can handle whatever social situations she needs to—you can’t survive long in pureblood society if you don’t know how to hide your thoughts and say the right words. But Annalise has always been most comfortable around people she knows well. And there’s no one closer or more important than family.

While at Hogwarts, Annalise had been sorted into Hufflepuff house, and it had been an absolutely perfect fit. She has always been patient and hard-working; though far from a prodigy in any of her classes, she managed to earn consistently good grades simply by putting the time and the work in applying herself. This has continued into her adult life. Not coming from money, she has worked since finishing school, and even though she’s jumped jobs a few times as she tries to figure out what she wants to do, she’s never had a bad word from an employer.

And of course, loyalty. The Fawleys as a whole tended to value loyalty, especially to family, and Anna was no exception. She never snitched on her sister for stealing a cookie when they were little, never dated a friend’s ex, and she’s always said that she would kill for her family. It had been meant as a figure of speech… but, well…

These traits are the sort that normally define people from her house as cut-and-dry good; there’s a reason Hufflepuff boasts the fewest dark witches and wizards of any house, after all. But after Leina’s death, every one of those values honed in on finding justice for her sister. Annalise has always believed that those in the wrong should be punished, and since she obviously can’t rely on the Ministry to avenge her sister’s death, there was only one choice: become a Death Eater, and make those responsible pay.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Annalise Fawley was the younger of two daughters. Or, she is the younger. She’s not quite sure. Are you still a younger sister, if the elder has died?

Leina Nott, nee Fawley, had been a year older than Annalise, but when they were small they’d always claimed they were twins. Though there was a difference in height, they had looked similar enough that a stranger probably would have believed them. But more than in appearance, they were as close as twins. The age difference was near enough that Leina didn’t remember a time when Anna hadn’t been around, and when they weren’t visiting the many Fawley cousins scattered around the country, they mainly had each other for company.

The sisters grew apart somewhat as they grew older; Leina having had a year’s head start at Hogwarts, and Annalise being sorted into a different house, meant they didn’t spend quite as much time together as they once had. But they were still close, even if they disagreed at times. Not very long after finishing Hogwarts, Leina became engaged to Josiah Nott. Annalise never quite understood her sister’s decision to marry him; yes, he was wealthy and well-connected, but he wasn’t exactly likeable—not to mention he was so much older than them! But Leina seemed happy enough, and even more so after her son Theodore was born.

The match had been quite a coup for Leina; though the Fawleys were a perfectly respectable family, part of the Sacred 28, and automatic invitees to all the best parties, they weren’t from money. Their branch of the Fawley family tree was one of the less important ones—Annalise’s father Alistair had been the younger son of a younger son several times over, so they’d never had the opulent wealth of many of their peers. But they’d never quite lived in poverty, either. The one thing that the Fawleys were rich in was connections, and through a combination of Hufflepuff work ethic and a touch of nepotism, Alistair worked his way to a high-ranking position at the Ministry, and was able to keep his family comfortably sheltered and clothed and fed. He always made it clear to his daughters that there was nothing shameful about hard work, and he lived that example as he climbed through the ranks.

Annalise’s mother, Calliope, left her own job at the Ministry once her husband began to advance and their daughters were born. She needed the time when she was raising two children—the Fawleys were never quite in a position where they could afford help. These days, though, she has an awful lot of time on her hands. Enough time to have absolutely devoted herself to arranging Leina’s marriage and planning her wedding, and more recently, fussing over her grandson, and pushing prospective husbands in the direction of her younger daughter.

Leina’s murder hit the whole family hard. Family was everything to the Fawleys, and with her death, their family was broken. Alistair has thrown himself into his work, while Calliope has been focusing all her attention on caring for Leina’s child, Theo (and though she’d never say so much to her mother, Annalise hopes it stays that way; she does not have time right now to fend off her mother’s matchmaking.)

Annalise, of course, has been busy. After the initial shock, it wasn’t sadness threatening to overwhelm her; it was anger. These people, these self-proclaimed do-gooders, they’d broken into Leina’s own home and murdered her. Because she’d been in the way. They’d taken her sister’s life and shattered her family, and she was going to make them pay. She was going to burn the Order of the Phoenix to the ground for what they’d done.

OCCUPATION:

For the Fawley girls, there were two options: earn a living, or marry money. Though her parents certainly expect her to marry a pureblood wizard sooner rather than later, they haven’t pressured Annalise too much about this; Leina had made such a good match, after all, that it bought her some leeway. She certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea of marrying well, but she also wanted to actually like the person she married.

So, while her sister opted to marry up, Annalise chose the employment option. She was her father’s daughter, after all, and she was not afraid of hard work. After finishing Hogwarts, she moved through several different jobs, helped here and there by a recommendation from a Fawley relative. She was an assistant for a while, spent a bit of time in the Ministry, and passed one very unpleasant summer waiting tables.

For the past year or so, she’s worked at Twilfitt and Tattings in Diagon Alley. It’s a perfect job: decent wages and commissions, hours that don’t conflict with her social life, and a generous discount on robes (a very useful perk when you don’t have a bottomless Gringotts vault to spend on new dress robes for every party). When she first started, she mostly just worked the cash register, but she’s picked up more responsibilities over time, and has recently started design work as well.

Working in a high-end boutique means that she has very steady contact with all the well-to-do of the wizarding world. As she pointed out when she approached the Order—who knew what sort of conversations she might overhear? And, of course, the revolving parade of customers will make it easy for her to smuggle information back to the Dark Lord, too.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Annalise is filled with grief for her poor sister’s untimely death. She knows that her brother-in-law is almost certainly a Death Eater, and he put Leina in danger by conducting Death Eater business in their home—and now her nephew is left without a mother. She’s determined to help the Order stop the carnage before anyone else can be hurt in the crossfire. And, with her pureblood connections and her job in one of the most upscale stores in Diagon Alley, she is a definite asset to the Order.

As far as the Order is concerned, that is.

Annalise is a wolf in sheep’s clothing—and she makes a very convincing sheep. Wide green eyes filled with tears, insisting that it was that bastard Josiah’s fault that Leina died—that she wanted to help end the war before any other innocent lives were lost. There’s a chance some people might be suspicious, but she is pretty certain most people couldn’t fail to be convinced. Especially when it’s mostly true. She did blame Josiah, for putting her sister in danger in the first place, for not being more careful, for not protecting her. And she did want the war over before anyone else she cared about was murdered. The part she didn’t add was that it was the Order, not the Death Eaters, that she was determined to stop at any cost.

As far as Annalise is concerned, it’s not even that risky a plan. Certainly these cowards are capable of murder—her sister’s grave is testament to that. But she is confident in her ability to convince the Order her intentions are good. She’s always been an excellent liar, after all, able to think quickly on her feet. Yes, she will be the perfect spy, and by the time she’s finished with them, every single one of these courageous and honourable cowards will be dead.

Though her grief and anger are driving her to waste no time in burning the Order to the ground, Annalise has always been a patient woman, and her anger has always been the sort that burns cold and slow. She’s playing a long game, and she can’t get caught before she has found a way to destroy every single one of these people. The Dark Lord doesn’t expect daily intel, or trivial hints about the Order’s day-to-day operations—certainly she is to pass on what information she can without getting caught, but her focus is on rising through the ranks until she can learn valuable information. The type of information that will bring this entire organization to its knees.

SURVIVAL:

So far? She’s survived by not being involved. But her sister wasn’t involved, either, and now she’s dead.

The Order isn’t as ruthless as the Dark Lord and his followers, but Annalise is still going to have to tread very carefully. They clearly are willing to kill, after all. She can’t pass over information that might expose her as a spy—only things that most people in the Order know, or information that she comes across by snooping, that can’t be traced to her. But letting the Dark Lord down could be dangerous, too.

Everything about her position is dangerous; quite aside from the risk of discovery, she could be killed by a Death Eater as easily as anyone else in the Order, since only a handful know she is one of them. And if the worst happens and she’s found out, there’s no telling how much help will come. Though Annalise would never have described herself as a reckless person before, she probably wouldn’t have said that she was overly cautious, either—but she’s going to have to be, now.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Family is the most important relationship, as far as Annalise is concerned. Her parents have both been devastated by Leina’s death, but like Anna, neither are wallowing in it. Her father, always one to lean on the side of emotional unavailability, has retreated into his work, while her mother is devoting herself to caring for her motherless grandson. The three of them don’t really talk to each other anymore—her family has been shattered.

After an initial retreat from public life to mourn her sister and plan her revenge, Annalise has returned to socializing and attending parties. Though most of her thoughts and energy are now devoted to destroying her sister’s killers, the social scene is a good distraction at times when she just can’t take it. An extrovert who is prone to shyness, she’s rarely had close friends outside of her family, so the friendships she’s maintaining are relatively shallow—but it’s easier that way.

Joining the Order gave her a few shocks—in terms of how many people she recognized. The number of purebloods from good families is astonishing. Vanity, Greengrass, Selwyn and Macmillan—these are names she knows, faces she’s seen at parties. The Yaxleys—she knows they are Death Eaters, so what in hell is Branwen doing here? Could she be on the same page as Annalise, or has she actually fallen for the Order’s bullshit?

And the McKinnons—they might not have been quite high society, but she’s still surprised to learn of their involvement. The fact that Marlene is using her family’s house for the Order—that she has werewolves camped right outside—does she not see that she’s putting her family in danger? It’s so selfish! And Alaric—she’d known him at school, they’d been in the same house, and she knew her parents had tried to arrange a match between them. She probably dodged a bludger, there. Learning that he was working with the Order was disappointing—but at least he’s not actually one of them.

Frank Longbottom is a distant cousin, and it’s dreadful to know that there is family here. Does he just not care that they killed Leina? But she’s willing to use that connection to her advantage. After all, the entire extended family shares one value in common: family is important. So of course he’ll look out for her.

She doesn’t recognize Peter Pettigrew or Severus Snape. The names are vaguely familiar, since they were only a few years below her at school, but they’re not even a blip on her radar. The fact that the Dark Lord has other spies in the Order is not known to her—and she certainly wouldn’t have picked Pettigrew as one of them.

At present, she doesn’t know that Lily Evans was the person responsible for her sister’s death. If that fact is revealed to her, it’s going to take all her self-control and willpower to keep her cover and not avenge her sister on the spot.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: No ships in particular, just chemistry. Honestly, Annalise growing close to anyone in the Order (romantically or platonically) would be fascinating, since she’s only there to see them all dead!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Annalise did not come from money, but her family was never poor, either. She is a woman in a patriarchal society, but she is a woman from a well-connected and respectable family. Her bloodline is pure, going back at least a dozen generations. Annalise’s position is unquestionably one of privilege—not extreme luxury and decadence perhaps, but certainly privileged enough that she’s been able to opt out of caring about the war until now. She is aware of her privilege to some degree—knows the value of her connections and status—but she doesn’t really think about it.

While she’s dimly aware of her privilege, she has no concept at all of her biases. She really would consider herself among the more progressive of purebloods. She works for a living, after all, and while she’s never been moved to fight for Muggleborns rights, she’s never actively fought against them either. It’s not like she supports the Dark Lord’s ideology, after all. And while she certainly thinks that any sort of contact with the Muggle world is to be entirely avoided, she’s never felt the urge to go around murdering them for fun.

Certainly she looks down somewhat on Muggleborns, and half-bloods to a lesser extent, but that’s not a bias—it’s just a fact that purebloods are superior. It’s nothing personal! She had plenty of half-blood friends in Hufflepuff, after all. It’s just the way it is. Sure, there are some half-bloods who exceed expectations, but they’re the exception, not the rule. As for certain Muggleborns—well, Annalise has always privately believed that the more talented of that lot probably have some magical blood in their history. Honest-to-goodness talent can’t just spring up out of nowhere.

In the same vein, half-breeds are dangerous and have no business socializing with regular folk. That isn’t bias. It’s fact. Werewolves—they’re wolves! The fact that there is one of their kind in the Order—well, it’s just another nail in the Order’s coffin, as far as she’s concerned.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? The amount of attention and detail that has gone into this rp is incredible. I’m all about worldbuilding and the world you’ve created here is fascinating! I also just love Annalise’s bio—she’s a loyal, hard-working, and patient Hufflepuff, who is channelling that loyalty and hard work and patience into burning the Order to the ground. She’s not fuelled by lust for power or pureblood idealism—this is personal. That’s the most Hufflepuff way to go dark, and I’m here for it. I’m so interested to see how she’ll balance the need to stay under the radar and out of suspicion, with the need to advance and gain access to more information—as well as how she’ll cope as she gets to know people in the Order better. It’s easier to hate all of them when she doesn’t actually know any of them.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): I’d definitely like to see information that Annalise passes on, be put to use against the Order. Also, plots that will challenge her and put her in difficult situations—for example, if a Death Eater is taken hostage by the Order, will she be able to risk setting them free?

ANYTHING ELSE? Just that this group looks so great, and I hope you like my app!

[vavuska]

If you do quick search on Google Imagine for draw of chubby persons, you will see that most of the subjects are drawn with sad expressions, while their slim and athletic alter egos are happy and smiling.

Why they are sad? Because they are “overweight” and they have low self-esteem.

Mmmm. They have low self-esteem because society told them — and us — that if our bodies doesn't match with standards imposed by mainstream media, we have no value: we are not attractive, ambitious or, yes, smart. We have no talent and no one will love us. That's not true, obviously.

Being slim and athletic won't make necessarly us happy.

Some girls who have a natural thin body structure for genetic reasons, have find their selves slotted into a footnote: “Oh yeah, and if you’re naturally skinny—must be nice—you’ve got a fast metabolism and stuff so, ya know, just eat more.”

That “just eat more” advice would work fine for most people, but the fact that they aren’t most people is precisely why they’re being given that advice in the first place, and also why that advice is rather naive. For most people, eating lots of food means gaining weight. Maybe the person who heard that thing, is actually eating a lot and they probably even like it (but they don't got fat).

What most people don’t realize is that telling someone to eat more is as silly as us telling someone other, “Just eat less—duh.” That’s not going to solve any problems: it is just making them feel uncomfortable with their body.

Again, if you search for "skinny girls draw" on Google Imagine, you will find smiling persons, that show proudly an apple, compared with chubby sad persons with fuzzy drinks and hamburgers.

Ok. A complete meal against a fruit. Wow.

Both being underweight that being overweight could cause or be caused by depression.

Although depression amongst overweight people is more common in women than men, both genders are equally prone to feeling depressed when it comes to thin people.

The study was conducted by Seoul National University of Medicine, but experts have not concluded whether being skinny is a cause or symptom of depression.

They pointed out that depressed people may be more likely to lose - or gain - weight, or it could be that being thin - or overweight - makes people depressed.

However there are gender differences.

“It seems that the current ideal of thinness affects women more than their male counterparts and causes more psychological distress in women, which can, in turn, lead to depression,” the researchers said.

“In contrast, men who are overweight showed a significantly decreased risk of depression.”

Dr Agnes Ayton, vice-chairman of the eating disorders faculty at the Royal College of Psychiatrists, said: “This large study confirms that optimal nutrition is fundamentally important for physical and mental health. Both being underweight and obese is associated with an increased risk of depression.”

“It is an important finding, as people with eating disorders often assume that losing weight will improve their happiness. This study shows that the opposite is true and malnutrition has a detrimental effect on people's mood. Maintaining a healthy weight is essential for good mental health.”

Ok, so... An happy life and an happy mental health is very connected with a good self-esteem than the actual “healthy weight”. People with healthy weight can have a low self-esteem and depression too.

I admit that I lack a lot of confidence and do not feel good about myself most of the time.

And when low self-esteem becomes a long-term problem, it can have a harmful effect on our mental health and our day-to-day lives.

What is self-esteem?

Self-esteem is the opinion we have of ourselves.

When we have healthy self-esteem, we tend to feel positive about ourselves and about life in general. It makes us better able to deal with life's ups and downs.

When our self-esteem is low, we tend to see ourselves and our life in a more negative and critical light. We also feel less able to take on the challenges that life throws at us.

If you have low self-esteem or confidence, you may hide yourself away from social situations, stop trying new things, and avoid things you find challenging.

In the short term, avoiding challenging and difficult situations might make you feel safe.

In the longer term, this can backfire because it reinforces your underlying doubts and fears. It teaches you the unhelpful rule that the only way to cope is by avoiding things.

Living with low self-esteem can harm your mental health and lead to problems such as depression and anxiety.

You may also develop unhelpful habits, such as smoking and drinking too much, as a way of coping. Or searching for comfort in food.

People with a good self-esteem are able to feel good about themselves for who they are, appreciate their own worth, and take pride in their abilities and accomplishments. They also acknowledge that while they’re not perfect and have faults, those faults don’t play an overwhelming or irrationally large role in their lives or their own self-image (how you see yourself).

HERE SOME USEFUL TIPS TO RAISE YOUR SELF-ESTEEM:

Our self-image is deeply connect with our body image.

What is body image?

Body image is defined as an individual construct that is influenced by mixed feelings and ideas about one’s own appearance.

However, because there is a complex overlap between emotions and self-perception, body image is not always reflective of how an individual actually appears. Like self-esteem, body image can be distorted or inflated, relatively accurate or slightly ignored depending on the individual.

If you’re an individual who has struggled with poor body image and depression, it can be difficult to distinguish which came first.

Understanding where negative self-talk begins can be an overwhelming endeavor. Many people have become so accustomed to the emphasis our culture places on appearance that obsessing about it seems normal. In addition to this, there are unlimited ways an individual’s self-esteem and the way they perceive their body can be influenced.

Women are generally characterized by being concerned about attractiveness, and less satisfied with their appearance based on achieving unrealistic standards of thinness. While the foundations for acceptable appearance may be built in adolescence, as adults we often find attractiveness correlated with success, competency or happiness. This message, however it may be played out in media, can reinforce scrutiny about body image and dissatisfaction or unhappiness at not meeting the standard.

This by no means indicates that men are not vulnerable to the cycles of negative body image and depression. In fact, it’s estimated that roughly 45% of men are unhappy with their bodies (Better Health). The same factors and pressures exist for men, but the ways in which the disorders will express themselves can be different.

Men, for example, can be more likely to engage in over-exercising, generally being pushed toward the use and effectiveness of their body being likened to a machine.

There is a correlation between poor body image and eating behaviors. When people feel poorly about themselves and have a negative body image, they are more likely to be susceptible to disordered eating behavior (Cargill, 2012). The negative self-talk and appraisal of one’s body and appearance, coupled with depression, can lead to a negative cycle of living.

HERE YOU CAN FIND SOME USEFUL TIPS ABOUT RAISING YOUR SELF-IMAGE:

The article above give precious advice:

- Give yourself some daily task: I know that can be difficult, but it will give a purpose to your day and it will make you fell better, if you completed your "to do" list. Search for quotes that will inspire you to give your best. Set realistic expectations for yourself: Consciously think how reasonable and manageable your goals are before striving for them, remembering that life in general is imperfect. Recognise there is a huge difference between failing at something you do and being a failure as a person. Don’t confuse the two. Redefine failure, and keep trying. When you have low self-esteem, it’s common to think of yourself as a complete and utter failure. But failure is part of success. Failure doesn’t characterize you as a person or determine your self-worth.

- Develop your interests: When you’re depressed and your self-esteem feels like it’s sinking daily, it’s easy to overlook your passions. Take the time to “write a list of things you used to love to do and stopped doing along with things you always wanted to do but haven’t done yet.”

For exemple, if you loved to draw, then take your time, a paper and draw something inspire you.

- Do some exercise: that don't means that you must to start to have hard gym training, it have a cost, and you could be not ready for that (myself avoid gyms because I don't want to be judged for my body), but you can make some movement in other ways: instead of moving your care, you can walk to reach near destination or use a bike, if you have one. One of the best parts of my day is biking to university: when I'm nervous, it calms me.

That's why I decided to turn that negative narration in a positive one: I edited the pics to meke people happier and give them various interests!

[teaandcrowns]

Cultural Examinations: Water Tribe

The thing that drew me in the most about the Avatar world is the influence of so many different cultures.

To me, it’s more subtle than just throwing a world-wide mix of cultural analogs together (which is also fun, but will yield a completely different story), and that’s something I very much appreciate.

When I approach writing fanfiction within this universe, I try and take as much care inserting and adding details unique to each culture, as inspired by ones that exist on our world—much as the creative team did for the shows themselves.

When writing fanfiction in such a lush world as Avatar, I do my best to take care and put as many cultural details and cues as the show had visually. This means doing research into the cultures that are analogued or used as inspiration for the ones that appear in the show. Though a fanfic can be written without this, I know that the fics I’ve enjoyed reading the most have all had deeper cultural inclusions and references. It gives both the fic itself and the world its set in more weight and breadth, and I consider that if it’s something I deeply enjoy reading, I should do the work to put the same effort and detail into fics that I add, as well. (Also, enjoying doing that doesn’t hurt, either.)

The Water Tribe is not solely based off of Inuit/Arctic Peoples, but also Mongolian. The parkas they wear are very Arctic in inspiration, but the robes resemble the Mongolian deel.

The Water Tribe is very family focused, as are both of these types of cultures. Inuit/Arctic Peoples are not one uniform culture, nor are Mongolians, though there are commonalities held throughout. The Water Tribe is well suited to this type of connected but not uniform culture, as the Tribe itself is split into two main sister tribes, and also I feel that with the expanse of the antarctic region we see in the show, there would certainly have been more than one gathering of tribesmen before the Fire Nation decimated the population.

Aside from their dress, what else can we know, culturally, about the Water Tribe?

We know they are very close-knit with one another—both within blood family and outside blood relatives. We know that at least half of the Water Tribe people, the Northern, are severely patriarchal, and it seems that perhaps the Southern Tribe was to a much lesser degree. They are a seafaring people, comfortable on the ocean and sailing in community-built ships, and they are a people who feel a deep sense of cultural pride and connection to tradition.

With as family oriented as Water Tribesmen are, it’s easy to see smaller clan-like settlements being the norm rather than a crowded city. Despite the appearance of a large city in the Northern Water Tribe, it’s easy to believe that there are settlements outside that city—or at least were, perhaps before smaller clan units retreated to the city for greater defense and survival during the War.

While Sokka exhibited misogynistic views at the beginning of the show, it’s most likely because of his fragmented upbringing rather than the South holding to as fiercely patriarchal ways as the North. Hama, for example, was a combative waterbender, as were plenty of other women waterbenders fighting against the Fire Nation.

This was probably known between the Tribes, which would be the reason Kanna left the North and her arranged marriage to find her own path (and husband) in the South. The fact that the North did not keep in contact or appear to offer any real help to their Southern tribespeople during the Fire Nation attacks (despite the claim that the Northern Water Tribe leader headed both tribes), could also be evidence that the North did not exactly approve of the South’s views. Then again, the lack of help could also be because of the risk across such a great distance to send help, but Water Tribe people have a deep sense of kinship toward one another, even if they never met (see Foggy Swamp Tribesmen Huu, Due, and Tho welcoming Katara as kin). I am of the belief that it’s the disapproval of the more liberal Southern views rather than simple complex and risky logistics.

Both Inuit/Arctic Peoples and Mongolian peoples have the same tribal/clan-like sense of community, and are welcoming into their homes. One of the traditions of the Mongols is a host offering tea—it is so ubiquitous that a host would not think twice about offering tea and the guest would not think to decline. It’s simply good, expected hospitality. 

This reflects nearly directly in the Water Tribe. The Northern Water Tribe hosts a great feast to which of course Aang, Sokka, and Katara are invited; Hama immediately sets about making a personal feast of traditional Water Tribe fare for all the kids without question; and the Foggy Swamp benders share their fires and food with the group as soon as they discover they’re distant kin. Even Bato unquestionably makes Aang an honorary Water Tribe member after Sokka’s Ice Dodging—not because he’s the Avatar, but because he’s a close friend of Sokka and Katara.

On the same token, Katara, Sokka, Hakota, and Bato all express deep sorrow, akin to physical pain, upon the separation of them from family. For Hakota, it’s being separated from his children for so long; for Katara, it’s the loss of her father and her mother, which still affects her years later as keenly as it did when she was eight; for Sokka, it’s mostly the loss of growing into the brotherhood of warrior tribesmen on top of losing their father for years; for Bato, it’s the loss of that same brotherhood, established for years, that he feels most, however temporary it may be.

What seems the most tragic about the Water Tribes, however, is their loss of culture. It is especially so for the Southern Tribe, which by all exhibits seems to have some significant differences from their Northern cousins. Even this is reflective of both Arctic Peoples and Mongolian cultures, though primarily more in the former. A lot if heritage has been lost, by assimilation of other, more dominant cultures—such as post-AtLA when the Northern Tribe sends benders and tribesman to help their sister tribe—and by simple loss of elders and people and their knowledge. It’s a shame that Hama wasn’t able to impart more cultural heritage knowledge to Katara and Sokka before her confrontation with them. With all that, it’s easy to see how people have internal conflict about moving forward after the War is over—is it really okay to make new traditions and technological advances that ultimately have an effect on culture, or should a greater effort be put into relearning and preserving?

This theme of traditional culture versus progress at the (potential) sacrifice of those traditional ways being in conflict in both the world’s nations and in individual characters is a repeated one that I feel is one of the more important themes to the entire series. The Water Tribe still struggles with this even into the story of Legend of Korra, some seventy years after the end of the Hundred Year War.

It doesn’t wholly define the Water Tribe, no, but it does have a hand in defining it. Every culture experiences its own growing pains in the aftermath of the War, and we can see that it’s not something that even a generation and a half has been able to solve.

It’s easy to see both sides of the argument, especially for the Water Tribe. Half their people were lost, it’s time to move on to newer and better things. But at the same time, half their people were lost, they should honor the memory and keep tradition alive, especially when that tradition seems to help preserve the very balance of the world.

I don’t think there’s a true right or wrong answer of one side over the other, but that, as with another integral theme in the show, of balance. With the Water Tribe, being who they are, I feel that so long as they are able to maintain their sense of community and family (blood or extended), they will always be able to adapt with change and make it work to their advantage.

There are, of course, a lot of cultural details that I like to add when I write fic concerning the Water Tribe that are by no means in any kind of canon. What I feel fits and gives greater depth into a world may differ from what another author may decide. I don’t uniformly migrate details over, either—I pick some that I feel would fit with how the Tribe is presented and how it will add to and impact whatever story I am writing. So long as it meets all the criteria—does it honor whichever culture it comes from? Does it fit into the Avatar world? Does it add to and/or impact or deepen the story itself somehow? Does it feel Water Tribe enough?—then it gets added in. Like an artist would do with visual clues that don’t immediately stand out but enhance the scene and world anyway, I believe adding these cultural details achieves the same effect in fanfiction.

[fulldreamsahead]

Super Virus Testing Facility

Believe it or not, last night I actually had another freaking iZombie dream. Like where are my The Good Place dreams? Maybe it’s because The Good Place was so amazing that my brain just really wanted more out of iZombie? I once again cannot stress enough that these dreams are coming weeks after finishing the series, but I digress... This one at least isn’t some sort of alternate ending and instead I borrow some of the characters to make some kind of mishmash dream about busting out of a compound with the help of some familiar characters and a helpful robot, but I’ll get into that after the break... 

I am Liv Moore, but I’m not a zombie. I've recently been living very comfortably in Minnesota when I found out I was pregnant. Unfortunately I contract a virus during the pregnancy that has been going around the US. It is quite lethal and even though I’m testing positive for it, I’m not showing signs, but it’s threatening my fetus. To keep the virus under control, they are sending people who test positive off to a quarantine facility. I am therefore trucking from Minnesota to an unknown location which is basically some enormous military medical base impounding facility. I spent my first few months withdrawn, refusing to acknowledge the other people there because I miss my old life.

After awhile, I got used to the daily routine which includes getting up at 7 a.m. to eat breakfast and then going through regimented exercise activities. At exactly noon there is lunch and from this time until 7pm at night we are allowed to have supervised time with the opposite gender with whom we are typically quarantined off from. The weirdest thing about the virus is that none of us really seem to be sick. Most of us seem completely normal, but we keep being reminded that it is indeed a horrific virus and all the guards are in Hazmat suits. We cannot rebel or even ask questions because they are also equipped with taser guns to keep us in line. Since a few months have passed, my stomach is really starting to swell from the baby. While I still don’t feel comfortable around others, the loneliness is starting to set in. I am the only woman who contracted the virus via pregnancy and that anomaly causes the other women to avoid me for some reason. It seems to stem from how rare that scenario is. 

After scoping out the lunch scene for a few days, I finally select a group of three men who seem relatively approachable. I meet with them and while two of them are faceless, one of them is none other than Major Lilywhite. I strike up a friendship with them and after a lot of talking I finally voice my concerns aloud about how I think it's ridiculous that we're being held up like this and I don't really see a reason why. I don't want my baby to have to grow up in a holding facility not knowing the outside world. Major is a recent quarantine, he was only been brought in the last month, and he is exhibiting great behavior among the officers watching over us. It just so happens that prior to infection he actually worked for the military and was pretty high up in the chain of command. The officers can’t help but treat him a bit differently and so me and the other two men  coerce Major into hatching a scheme with us. 

It takes a lot of convincing, but Major finally agrees that this is a bad scene and he also wants to get out because there just doesn’t seem to be any real virus. Our plan begins by using Major to guilt-trip the general with whom he used to be close friends. Major pretends he is going  stir-crazy in the facility. It just so happens that the base is situated in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hundreds of miles of empty wilderness. Major reminisces about his old love of fishing and how he’ll never be able to do it again. The general is sympathetic and since there is just open space outside the facility he grants Major a day pass to go out and fish in a nearby lake. Instead, we all prepare to use Major’s one-time use day pass keycard to escape like a line of cars sneaking into a gated apartment complex. The general has left Major with the keys to his old Hyundai so we all pile in to leave. 

We drive like our lives depend on it, not realizing that, though it is not within eye sight, there is a second outer wall that we must pass through before we are actually off-base. The outer wall is thick, un-climbable, and comprised of a vaccination facility where they've been trying to produce vaccines for everyone being detained. Faced with those facts we are forced to ditch the car, since our group will be easily spotted at the drive-thru checkpoint, and instead go through the vaccine facility. Major helps us take out a couple of guards walking the perimeter and we don their uniforms to sneak inside. Since I am heavily pregnant, I stick out like a sore thumb and my uniform doesn’t fit at all. 

As we navigate the facility we run into a robot that looks like Justin McElroy. Instead of just being Justin McElroy, it’s more like a shiny metal and squared edged robot that has a striking resemblance to the eldest McElroy brother. His AI is incredible and after working at the facility to move deadly strains of ‘virus’ even he has come to believe that everything going on in the facility is made up. His data led him to believe that the military is being unjust. He tried to voice his concerns to the highest authority, but he was brushed off as a simple malfunctioning robot. While he was checked over by the tech guys, he played dumb and acted completely normal so he could get cleared to return to operation to collect more data. He joins us so he can globally spread what he has found and we maneuver the facility with him leading as if he is meant to. 

As we get out of an office-type area, we enter a part of the vaccine facility that is just rows and rows of tiny Porta-Potty sized cages with people in each stall. There are multiple levels of stalls and narrow walkways suspended overhead leaving little blind spots for monitoring guards. There are small ventilation windows just above the stall doors and we peek into them to find that people are in various stages of disfigurement. We realize that the military is creating some sort of super strong mutating virus by infecting people over and over again with more and more virulent strains. AKA they are purposefully creating super-bug viruses with coordinating vaccines by torturing people. Our urgency levels go up one million fold and we know we have to get out. 

As we follow Justin-bot we are almost immediately spotted and we have to run down winding halls of stall doors to try to get out. We get separated from the two faceless men so my party includes myself, Major, and Justin-bot. We turn another corner and end up in a dead end with no choice other than to try the stall doors. It just so happens that some of the stalls are empty and we all cram into a stall to try and hide. We hear our other two comrades get captured in the distance so we really start getting nervous. Thankfully our compatriots put up a huge fight and buy us some time. Meanwhile, Justin-bot is using one of his attachments to unscrew the top of the stall so maybe we can sneak out onto an upper platform. He gets the top propped open, but we see there is a guard taking his sweet time strolling right above us. We can hear the men finally breaking down the stall doors that lead to ours and Major readjusts the way we are all crammed into the stall. When they bang our stall door open, the door conceals me and Justin-bot while Major allows himself to be captured peacefully. While they are cuffing Major and berating him for betraying the brotherhood, Justin-bot finally gets the top loose and we quietly creep up to the upper platform where the guard has finally left and run for our lives to escape.

[hardlyfatal]

gary’s writing workshop: lesson 3:

Plot Structuring, Part 1

What is a story? Stories are accounts of transformations: situations, people, attitudes, establishments. If something isn’t changing, what is there to write about? Nothing.

Our job, as writers, is to describe the change and repercussions so that they’re effectively and entertainingly communicated to our readers with as much readability as possible. There are three components to managing it, which I’ll be going over here..

In this lesson, I’m going to ask you to change how you perceive and write stories.1

1. Plot Points & Purpose

Instead of looking at scenes from the outside – instead of looking at them from the POV of the reader, and considering their entertainment value – I want you to look at them from the inside. Or, rather, from below. From what basis, to what purpose, do they spring?

Scenes do not exist just to be entertaining. The wow factor is great, but it’s the icing on this particular cake. You can dress up a scene with elaborate setting, intense dialogue, brisk pacing, and boatloads of UST… but if they don’t move the plot along, they’re like a broken pencil: pointless.

Thus the new way to look at stories, at individual scenes, is to scrutinize them for purpose. The only purpose or reason any scene should make it into a story is because it moves the plot to its next point. These are in fact called plot points, and every scene requires one.

It’s a pretty existential way of looking at the matter, but it’s necessary, in order to create a satisfying tale that flows logically from one place to the next, that feels continuous and makes sense. Making sense is a very important, and often overlooked, aspect of storytelling.

Let’s use my story, Shoot the Moon, as an example. Going into it, I knew my overarching story premise: I wanted them to meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, eventually love each other, and then part. Not knowing that they actually lived in the same city, they meet again and reestablish their relationship. Finally, they find the motivation to overcome their personal demons to be together.

If you tease apart those plot points, you’ll see there are three acts:

They meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, and eventually love each other.

They part, not knowing that they lived in the same city, then meet again.

They overcome their misapprehensions about each other, and personal demons, to be together.

So how do I get them from A (beginning of each arc) to B (end of each arc)? The chapters in each arc have to have purpose; they have to have a point. Thus each scene was created to serve the purpose needed. A few examples:

I wanted Jaime to see how loving and gentle Brienne could be in contrast to her appearance and behavior to that point, so I created the scene where she shows the twins the bird eggs.

I wanted Brienne that, for all Jaime’s dickishness, he carried pain and perhaps deserved a bit of understanding and patience, so I created the scene where she confronts him and he reveals how he’s been parenting the twins by himself since his wife died.

I wanted to show Brienne’s persisting lack of self-esteem and reinforce Jaime’s attraction to her, so I created the scene where Arianne opened the door in just a robe, exposing most of her goodies, and Jaime hardly noticing because he was paying attention to Brienne instead.

As long as your story is driven by plot points– that make sense – that’s it. You’re probably suspicious of how simple it is, but it really is just that uncomplicated.

Despite that simplicity, I see a lot of people including gratuitous scenes, the purpose of which is to stroke the reader’s kink for whatever (hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, drama, etc.) instead of to push the plot forward. Either nothing much occurs in the scene, or it’s merely a reiteration of plot development and exposition that has already occurred before.

In the case of the latter, you need to have self-discipline and choose one or the other. There is no need to repeat yourself in romantic fiction – it just bogs things down and kills the pacing. Redundancy is wasted time and effort. If you’ve made a point, the point is made and does not need repeating. Have you noticed yet that I’ve said the same thing four times in this paragraph, just worded differently? Yeah.

In the case of the former, it just needs to go. If it’s dead weight, it’s dead weight. Be like Marie Kondo: thank it and let it go.

That’s not to say that hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, and drama can’t be included. They absolutely can and should be; they just need to have a point, and you only need to make that point once.

The point of a hurt/comfort scene could be one of them learning to trust the other, or discovering they have the capacity to be gentle and caring with another person, or that being vulnerable – with the right person, i.e. the other half of the couple – is not only safe but freeing.

The point of fluff could be one of them revealing they feel secure enough to let their inhibitions down and show spontaneous affection, or to show their joy in being able to openly express their love instead of having to keep it hidden and fearful.

The point of smut could be one of them developing the confidence to be a more active or even dominant lover, or show their surprise to be given pleasure for their sake instead of used for their partner’s satisfaction before their own, i.e. that they matter as well and that they doesn’t have to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to make the other person happy.

The point of a dramatic scene could be an expression of any of these – trust, capacity for gentleness, security in the other’s affections, confidence, realization of self-worth, revelations of secrets – possibly with some sort of action-y component. Is there a dramatic revelation that will somehow directly impact the romance between the couple?

To illustrate what I mean, I chose to deconstruct a scene from the show specifically because it is so spare of dialogue (relatively speaking), to show you how effective scenes can be even when there’s not a lot of verbal exposition, at least about the true reason for the scene.

This scene has nothing to do with her loyalties to the Starks or Catelyn Stark, though it may seem that way at first. It exists to give Jaime an opportunity to get to know Brienne better in ways that speak to her core personality and character.

Example:

TV!Brienne takes on three Stark men – who had killed a group of prostitutes after servicing Lannister soldiers – while Jaime watches. Youtube link, if you’d like to watch it to see exactly what happens..

Reason it was included:

To give the audience not only more evidence of her fighting prowess but also insight to her thoughts/feelings (her pity for the prostitutes in particular and of women’s plight in being under the control of men in general, and that she’s empathetic to the point of being vengeful on behalf of others who have suffered).

To make the audience understand that Jaime is now aware that Brienne is a formidable fighter; is not an empty braggart/can back up her claims of ‘knocking men into the dust’; is passionate enough about her convictions to fight and kill for them; is brave enough to face, and skilled enough to defeat, three men at once; is more committed to her loyalty to other women than she is to the Stark cause.

What was accomplished:

Jaime sees her as more than just her unusual appearance or another random person who loathes him like everyone else or a Stark lackey. She becomes a real person to him in this scene.

2. Making the Reader Give a Damn

You have to retain the reader’s interest from one chapter to the next. If you lose them along the way, you’ve lost any reason to keep going with the story. I know we all tell ourselves “I’m just having fun!” and “I’m doing this for myself!” but I think we all agree, though maybe just secretly, that it’s kind of bullshit: stories are made to be read by someone, somewhere.

If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? If no one reads our stories, was it worth the effort of writing them? If we’re boring the pants off our readers, why bother? Maybe it’s because you love to know you’re making others happy, maybe it’s because you love the appreciation you receive, whatever. IDK your life. But for the most part, there’s some external validation going on, and if others are quitting your story in the middle, or foregoing your stories entirely because past things you’d written had been unreadable, you’re just shouting into a void.

The main issues where readership hangs in the balance are pacing and description (setting, blocking, inner voice/narration). We’ll go over all of these to a greater degree in later lessons. For now, I’ll just say… if these are compromised, you’re going to be giving a skimpier, shallower, boring-er version instead of the lushly-detailed story it could have been.

3. Making Sense

Getting them sucked in with your word-picture and the flow of plot points is only two-thirds of the job: you also need to make sense. And before you start yapping about suspension of disbelief, yes, that’s a thing, but it only goes so far. There are certain premises than can stretch credulity and still work, but others that go too far and just ruin it.

This is one of our Battles of the Balance: you have to find how far you can go until it just doesn’t work and starts to feel stupid. It negatively impacts readability because it’s so outlandish that it tugs the reader from their reading trance and makes them wonder WTF you’re trying to do because what you just wrote is highly improbable. It kills the story’s readability. It’s important to stay grounded and retain an open mind about your balance in this regard. You need to be able to analyze what you’re doing and seeing if it is going over the top rather than blindly trusting your first impulses and, worse, ignoring feedback that indicates that you need to tone it down.

This is why the work of A Certain Someone fails: she contends that human people are able to produce bodily secretions to a volume that is not physically possible. She loses us because she forewent logic for the payoff she was reaching for (presumably arousal?). Instead of us getting all into the smut and romance, grinning dirtily, instead we frown and grimace because we’re imagining rivulets and puddles and sodden carpets and crusty mattresses, etc. And her ego prevents her from understanding that she is imbalanced in this way, with the result that she keeps churning out fic after revolting fic that many potential readers avoid.

It’s also why Mary Sues and Gary Stus spur such a knee-jerk loathing in so many people. It’s fine to give your characters fine, admirable qualities, but if you heap them on, or don’t counter them with just-as-significant flaws, it will no longer make sense because it’s illogical that anyone would be so fantastic and lacking in defects.

Chekhov’s Gun3 vs. Deus Ex Machina

Chekhov’s Gun2 and Deus Ex Machina are two sides of the same coin: the need for continuity. If it happens earlier, there needs to be resolution later. If it happens later, there needs to be mention (aka ”foreshadowing”) earlier.

Chekhov’s Gun is a literary principle stating that elements in a story have to be relevant. The presence of superfluous details constitute ‘false promises’ on the part of the author, because they’re offering a concept to the reader that will never have any point.

This doesn’t mean you should never mention non-essential things that have no bearing on the plot for fear of creating Chekhov’s guns willy-nilly; you need to create ambiance with description of setting, etc. It just means don’t make a point of mentioning something beyond its level of importance to the story. Brienne’s nose is mentioned as being crooked to emphasize her ugliness as well as symbolize her atypically unfeminine lifestyle since the huge majority of Westerosi women don’t get their noses broken, due to their less active lifestyles. Jaime’s nose is mentioned… never, because it doesn’t matter.

Disclaimer: I am terrible at the Chekhov’s Gun thing, because I have a shitty memory and will put in a detail that I fully intend to do something with… only to completely forget it exists and never mention it again. This is bad. Do not do as I do on this one. I mention it because it’s a continuing issue I struggle with and continue to work on. My poor betas...

Deux Ex Machina is a plot device whereby a problem, conundrum, obstacle, or mystery is solved when an unlikely resolution presents itself without any hints or foreshadowing earlier in the plot, often in such a convenient way that it feels contrived and anti-climactic.

Example that I just cooked up: The big fight in King’s Landing, Jaime and Brienne fight a pitched battle to reach the throne room where Cersei is seated upon her pile of swords. Together, they manage to defeat Gregor Clegane and just as they’re about to confront the queen, Arya pops up3 from behind the throne to tug on Cersei’s left earlobe. Turns out, Cersei is actually an android and had been malfunctioning for a long time, hence her erratic behavior. Bran had a vision about where her off-switch was, and used magical mind-speak to tell his sister how to cut Cersei’s power. Et voilà!

Example that actually happened in the show: Dragons fly at the speed of light and can whisk people around a continent comparable in size to the United States in an hour or two. Similarly, ships can navigate long distances at a fraction of the time supported by actual reality, and horses can rocket down the Kingsroad like Maseratis, if the speed with which Brienne and Pod made it from Winterfell to the dragon pit is any indication4.

Homework

If you are currently working on a story: create an outline of its plot in terms of each scene’s purpose. Identify any gaps in the progression of plot points, and come up with ways to bridge those gaps.

If you are not currently working on a story: do this with one of the stories you have already published. Think up what you could have done differently, or what you could have inserted, to connect the loose ends.

If you are not currently writing anything, and have never published anything: Take one of my stories, nothing too short because it won’t have enough transitions to make the effort meaningful, and nothing too long because LOL this is supposed to be fun, and do as instructed above. I suggest Signs of Life, Vision of Love, or Full Fathom Five because of their middling lengths. Identify gaps, and suggest fixes for them.

Remember to look for connections and flow from scene to scene, NOT chapter to chapter.

Footnotes

1 – Unless you already do this, in which case… well done! Carry on! 

2 – This refers to Anton Chekhov, Russian author, not any Star Trek character.

3 – I SWEAR TO GOD I wrote this months ago, before the last season. Wish I hadn’t been prescient about it... *weeps*

4 – Like, I know about the compression of time through editing but COME ON.

© 2019 to me